Reflections on the Rally for Israel in DC

Aerial photo of the Rally for Israel in Washington DC, with an estimated crowd of 290,000 people. Image: Washington Post

A few days ago, I wrote about how this week’s Rally for Israel in Washington, DC, was arousing old and important memories for me. Namely, I’ve been thinking of Freedom Sunday, the national march for Soviet Jewry in this very same spot back in 1987—and what a pivotal moment that was in my life, the awakening of my own political consciousness.

So how profound that this afternoon, as my son Avi and I entered the National Mall, I turned and bumped into—Natan Sharansky.

Natan Sharansky speaking at the rally, November 15, 2023

Sharansky, of course, was the “face” of the Soviet refusenik movement. When I was a kid, his face peered down from posters in the Temple Shalom Hebrew school, with the slogan PRISONER OF ZION or LET MY PEOPLE GO! (He was called Anatoly back then; only when he was freed and reached Israel did he start going by his Hebrew name, Natan.) Of course, he became a prominent public figure in Israel—but he was also there that day on the Mall back when I was in high school, a searing voice of conscience from the stage.

This time, Sharansky was the first invited guest to speak, and he reminded everyone of the rally for Jewish freedom thirty-six years ago. His presence this week made clear: this, too, is a moment for Jewish people to stand in support of one another in the face of another tyrannical, violent regime.

Looking around, the numbers were astounding. We’ll see what the news reports say in the days ahead; the Times of Israel is putting attendance at 290,000. (That seems right – I’ve been in football stadiums with 80-90,000 people before, and this felt much bigger.)

There were some inspiring speakers from the podium. I was particularly moved by the passion of Ambassador Deborah Lipstadt, House Minority Leader Hakeem Jeffries, and—most especially—by the families of Israelis who are currently being held hostage in Gaza. The politicians were from the left and right, and most everyone stayed on-message: Israel is fighting a just war; bring the hostages home now; and we are all united in the fight against the antisemitism that has emerged aboveground in the past 37 days.

But speakers were besides the point. The point was presence, showing up in the face of all that’s happened in such a short time: the massacred Jews and towns and kibbutzim that have been decimated; the 240 hostages held in Gaza’s dungeons; the insane apologetics for terrorism against Jews; the silence of so many who, ahem, see “very fine people on both sides.”

Lest we forget precisely what this fight is all about.

This wasn’t a warmongering crowd. (Sure, in any crowd of nearly 300,000, there will be some who are off-message.) This was a gathering in support of a people ravaged by terrorism, who are responding with justice. As I’ve written before, anyone who doesn’t grieve for all innocent victims of war has lost their moral bearings. But yes, we believe that the sadism of Hamas must be uprooted—for the well-being of Israelis and Palestinians alike; and, for that matter, for the good of America, Europe, and the Arab world that fears the rise of Iranian-backed terror groups.

Did we accomplish anything? I hope so.

First, it was invigorating to hear the Congressional leadership declare that standing by Israel is a bipartisan American ideal. Here’s an idea: let’s hold one another to that as the presidential campaign unfolds!

Second, there was a feeling of klal yisrael / Jewish unity in the air: while it is sad that such a tragic crisis has brought a fragmented Jewish community together, the truth is it has brought us together. 

And third, I hope that our Israeli friends and family see such a massive demonstration and find some sense of comfort and strength in this testimony that they are not forgotten. Indeed, they are in our thoughts perpetually.

I do know this: attending the rally was personally important to me. Living as a Jew in the Diaspora is difficult when Israel is under siege; there is a heartsickness that comes with being far away. (And Moses’s words in Numbers 32 continue to haunt me:  הַאַֽחֵיכֶ֗ם יָבֹ֙אוּ֙ לַמִּלְחָמָ֔ה וְאַתֶּ֖ם תֵּ֥שְׁבוּ פֹֽה / “Are your brothers and sisters going to go to war—while you stay here?”) There is a desire to be there, to want to do something more. (Surely that’s why I can’t stop clicking on each of those Tzedakah opportunities—to support the families of the hostages, to send necessary supplies to the reservists, to care for the victims and the communities that have been devastated…)

More than anything, this rally restored in me—and perhaps in you—a much-needed sense of hope. I admit that, even at the beginning of this week, I was feeling very low on hope. The brutality of Hamas is clear. Even worse, their knee-jerk, juvenile supporters in the streets and on campus were making me feel terribly disheartened and alone. Surveying the scene on university after university, never before I have been so acutely aware that there is no correlation whatsoever between being educated and being moral. And that was making me terribly sad.

And then… this. Hundreds of thousands of us, insisting by our very presence that the abandonment of the Jews is not moral and it won’t happen on our watch. This war against Hamas will be won—but today I’m a bit more hopeful about what comes afterward as well.

And on a very personal note, I must say: It was also wonderful to be there alongside my son Avi, who works at the Israeli Embassy in DC. I hope it’s not maudlin to observe: in 1987 I stood for Jewish peoplehood on this historic patch of land with my father. On Tuesday, I stood here with one of my sons.

Am Yisrael Chai! 

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A Letter to a Liberal Minister Friend

Dear Reverend L.,

Thank you for your note. I, too, am saddened that the Jewish-Muslim program in which I was invited to participate was cancelled for Sunday. I am very committed to these sort of programs and agree that they are more important than ever.

And I very much appreciate the spirit in which your note was written.

I probably should stop writing here. But I cannot.

 
You write, “I am someone who believes in both Israel’s right to be a nation as well as the rights of the Palestinian people to have their own state.” I do too.

“I appreciate that you believe in “Israel’s right to be a nation,” but please consider what a paltry statement that is. ”

But: Is that what you think this war is about? Seeking a two-state solution to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict?

Two weeks ago, at least 1,400 Jews were massacred; more Jews in a single day than at any other time since the Shoah (“the Holocaust”). Perhaps you saw the videos of the teenagers who were slaughtered at a desert music festival in Israel. Or the images of towns where most of the populations were murdered by terrorists who went house to house, executing everyone within. (I recommend Anderson Cooper’s “The Whole Story” on the festival massacre, which was released on HBO-MAX today.)

Perhaps you have seen how the terrorists have posted videos to social media of beheadings, burnings alive, desecrated bodies, and humiliated hostages, with the same sort of twisted satanic joy that we saw on the faces of the perpetrators of the lynchings years ago in the American south.

There are currently at least 230 Jewish people who have been kidnapped and held hostage by Hamas, secreted away in subterranean tunnels that were constructed for the purpose of terror. Some of them are octogenarian grandmothers and grandfathers. Some of them are children.

Today, a friend of mine—an Israeli rabbi, a lifelong advocate of peace and interfaith bridge-building—officiated at the funeral of a family of four; two parents and two of their children. One son, the lone survivor of his family, spoke, somehow, at the ceremony. They were members of Kibbutz Be’eri, a communal town that in 2021 had a population of 1,047. At least 10% of Be’eri is dead.

Do you think this massacre of Jews is about the failure of the two-state solution? It is not.

“Hamas” is not equivalent to “the Palestinian people.” Speaking as someone who knows Palestinians, who has spent time in their homes and knows well their frustrations and true grievances and injustices they have suffered, I know that those of good faith are likewise held back by the Hamas—a fascist and repressive terrorist organization. What Israel is experiencing is the proportional equivalent of twenty 9/11’s. The elimination of Hamas is not only just—it is rational and necessary for both Israelis and Palestinians in order to have any sort of livable future.

What about Iran? Every indication is that this terrorist assault was planned meticulously for months—and that it has the fingerprints and probably a greenlight from Tehran on it. Do you think Hamas and Iran are working for a two-state solution? They are working for the goal that is articulated in the Hamas charter: the annihilation of the Jewish state.

I appreciate that you believe in “Israel’s right to be a nation,” but please consider what a paltry statement that is. “We agree you have a right to exist.” That’s really not a very high or generous standard, is it? (Although there are plenty of monstrous people in the world who will not even grant that.)

“Hamas is the “good people on both sides” moment of 2023.”

Reverend, I want you to know about the conversation that is happening in every Jewish community in America right now:

First, we are grieving. Jewishness is first and foremost about being part of the Jewish people. Our history and our traditions emphasize that Jews are one interconnected family, a subset of our larger human family. So there is pain—an open, bleeding wound—in every Jewish community in the world right now.

We are praying collectively for the hundreds who are being held hostage in terror cells. We are praying for those families that have been ripped apart. We are praying for the dead.

Second, we grieve for the suffering of innocents everywhere. Most every Jewish community grieves for the suffering of innocent Palestinians, and those who will inevitably suffer in this war.  Anyone who cannot feel compassion for all innocents who suffer has surely lost any figment of a moral compass. I know that my community prays for all the victims of war and terror everywhere, and we pray for peace.

But we also know that the Palestinian people suffer from Hamas’s fascism and cruelty. We are not warmongers—but we also are not pacifists; we recognize that there are moments when evil must be counteracted with the force of justice. We learned that lesson in World War 2 and many other times in the history of the past century.

Third, Jewish communities are asking today who our allies are. Every day, I’m hearing shock and dismay—and worse—from Jews who are experiencing the ugliest sort of old-school antisemitic hate, especially on social media. We see the pro-Hamas rallies in the streets of some cities, where the protestors seem positively euphoric about the deaths of Israeli Jews. We see demonstrations on college campuses from “progressive” faculty and students who point their fingers at us to say: It’s your fault. While we’re attending funerals, these people tell us that we are responsible for the rapes, beheadings, and abductions.  

Jewish students on college campuses are shocked by the amorality of their professors, administrators, and others in authority, in their “both-sidesism”. Every synagogue and Jewish community center in America has amped up its security for protection in ways that we never imagined we would have to do in the 21st century. We are waiting to see who our allies are.

Last year, we all flew Ukrainian flags in support of the victims of unchecked terror and aggression. We suspect that, no matter how many Jews are murdered, our neighbors will not be flying Israeli flags anytime soon. The title of Dara Horn’s recent book on antisemitism is People Love Dead Jews, and she has a point: Dead Jews can be martyrs, but Jews who defend themselves from those who would murder them are somehow less sympathetic.

After Charlottesville—when white supremacists chanted “Jews will not replace us”—the President of the United States claimed he saw “good people on both sides.” He was appropriately excoriated for it.  Hamas is the “good people on both sides” moment of 2023, especially for progressives. Anyone who cannot unequivocally say, “We stand with Israel in its fight against terrorism,” will fail the test.

So, L., please know that I understand where you’re coming from; you thought you were being compassionate with your note. I appreciate that. Please know that I wouldn’t have taken the time to write if I didn’t hold you in high esteem as a man of peace. But Jews need to know who our friends are right now, and who will stand on the sidelines, in that Swiss sort of amoral neutrality.

Sincerely,

Neal

Seeking Inspiration Before Shabbat Noach

Like you, I can’t think of anything else.

I can’t sleep; I wake up thinking about Israel and go to sleep at night saturated with the war. I can’t stop thinking of the victims, the bereaved families… and the 200 people seized by terrorists and being held hostage in the subterranean web of tunnels beneath Gaza City.

And I suspect, like you as well, my thoughts occasionally drift to Hamas’s apologists nearby: the sycophants so consumed with satanic bloodlust that they would gaslight the Jews, suggesting that the victims of rape and murder justifiably brought this on themselves.

I’m not afraid to use that word, “satanic”; I wish I could find in my vocabulary an even stronger word. I think of the kibbutzim where a significant portion of their residents were slaughtered, like Nahal Oz and Be’eri (400 people massacred on Be’eri alone). Children and their grandparents – a merism for others in-between, too – kidnapped, raped, beheaded; paraded through the streets of Gaza and displayed to the world on social media by human monsters with the same looks on their faces that we see in the old photos of southern lynchings from a generation ago.

Tonight, The Atlantic is reporting on a seized Hamas handbook that describes in detail how to kidnap children and adults (yes, kidnapping children was part of their plan from the beginning) – and how to execute any hostages that prove to be difficult.

As I think of those at Harvard, Yale, Berkeley, Columbia, and so many other campuses who think that their facile commitment to “social justice” justifies their blood libel, I keep returning to this poem by Natan Alterman:

אז אמר השטן: הנצור הזה
איך אוכל לו
אתוֹ האמץ וכשרון המעשה
.וכלי מלחמה ותושיה עצה לו

 ואמר: לא אטל כחו
ולא רסן אשים ומתג
ולא מרך אביא בתוכו
ולא ידיו ארפה כמקדם,
רק זאת אעשה: אכהה מחו
.ושכח שאתו הצדק

 כך דיבר השטן וכמו
חוורו שמים מאימה
בראותם אותו בקומו
.לבצע המזימה

So Satan said: This besieged one,
how can I defeat him?
He has bravery and talent,
Weaponry and cleverness and knowhow.

 And he said: I will not take his strength
And I will not harness him with a bridle and rein
And I will not make him succumb to fear
Nor will I weaken his arms like in the past.
No, this is what I will do: I’ll blur his thinking
And he will forget that his cause is just.

Thus spoke the devil,
And the heavens grew pale
Watching him step up
To fulfill the scheme.

I’ve been thinking about this poem all week. I’m ambivalent, because of my difficulty with Alterman. He’s one of the great voices of the first generation of the State. But his politics were quirky: early on he was the conscience of the new nation, associated with the left wing Mapai party; but after 1967, he shifted to the far-right. In a sense, he’s claimed by every Israeli—and he’s a bit of heretic to everyone, too.

But those words—“he will forget his cause is just”—are emblazoned on my mind as I hear about intelligent people who are devoid of decency or morality.

Yet Shabbat is coming. I’m searching for words of… not hope, and not comfort; offering those things would be shallow and fake.  But there is inspiration to be found:

I find inspiration in the staggering stories of bravery of individuals like Noam and Gali Tibon, who drove into the combat zone and rescued their children and grandchildren and other survivors of the music festival massacre on October 7. And there are more stories like this: of responders whose impulse is to go towards the chaos to save lives, not to run.

I find inspiration in the student leaders who are putting themselves at significant risk by standing up for truth in the face of dissembling professors and the forces of antisemitic hate on their campuses.

I’m inspired by those who do the work of Tzedakah and Tikkun Olam. My inbox—like yours—is full of invitations to support the work of those who are providing healing and strength; this is the Jewish reflex. The Kavod Tzedakah Fund gave away over $8,000 this week to support Israelis who are hurting.

And, frankly, I’m inspired by some of our leaders—G-d bless President Biden for his moral clarity!

I’m even grateful for certain elements of the news media. It is very easy (and appropriate) to criticize the tendency for moral equivalency in the media, and I realize that I may be naïve and this may change next week. But I have to say:  I’ve had CNN on constantly these past few days, and I’ve seen reporting that is overwhelmingly sympathetic to the victims of terror and will provide no outlet for the dissembling of Hamas or its sycophants. Shoutouts to Jake Tapper! Kaitlin Collins! Wolf Blitzer! Anderson Cooper!

And I find inspiration in the Torah. This week, we read anew the story of the Noah and the Flood, recalling a time when the whole world seemed full of nothing but brutality, cruelty, lawlessness, and hate. But that’s my translation. In the Hebrew Bible, there is a single word for “brutality, cruelty, lawlessness, and hate” that describes the state of the world before the Flood. That word is חָמָֽס / hamas.

Of course, in the Torah hamas subsumes the world, and Creation is destroyed.

But after the Flood, G-d makes a promise to Noah and to all subsequent humankind:

וְזָכַרְתִּ֣י אֶת־בְּרִיתִ֗י אֲשֶׁ֤ר בֵּינִי֙ וּבֵ֣ינֵיכֶ֔ם וּבֵ֛ין כּל־נֶ֥פֶשׁ חַיָּ֖ה בְּכל־בָּשָׂ֑ר
וְלֹֽא־יִֽהְיֶ֨ה ע֤וֹד הַמַּ֙יִם֙ לְמַבּ֔וּל לְשַׁחֵ֖ת כּל־בָּשָֽׂר׃

I will remember My covenant between Me and you and every
living creature among all flesh, so that the waters shall never again
become a flood to destroy all flesh. (Genesis 9:15)

The point is: G-d tells humankind that there are no more “do-overs.” When the fires of hate and murderousness rise, it will take human beings to put out the flames. And, as Alterman said, don’t be distracted by those forces that will make you doubt the justice of your existence.

One more thing: I’ve heard many Jewish friends remarking, “Where are our interfaith neighbors? Why are they so silent at this time?” Perhaps you’ve felt this way too. I was starting to think that way on Tuesday, and my mind was drifting to some very dark places…

And then my doorbell rang. It was my next-door neighbor, an older woman who moved in over the summer; we’ve just begun getting to know her and her husband. In her arms—a large peace lily, whose white flowers were just beginning to bloom. She said:  “You and your family have been constantly in our thoughts. You must be in so much pain. We wanted to bring you this gift, with our affection and blessings.”

And then I was inspired anew, because all these cases remind me that light and love and decency have not been completely extinguished from this world.

The Battle for Decency and Truth Has Begun: Big-P and Little-P Politics

The people of Israel are like a single body and a single soul…
If one of them is stricken, all of them feel pain.
—Mekhilta d’Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai 19:6

 
Can it be that this is only the fifth day since hell emerged on earth? Only five days since Hamas terrorists spilled out of Gaza, slaughtering and beheading and raping and kidnapping, murdering Jewish teenagers and children and elders and adults, gleefully posting the pictures of their carnage on social media, with the lust for Jewish blood dripping from their lips, recalling the festival-atmosphere around Black lynchings in the American South?

Less than a week from October 7, 2023, the day on which more Jews were slaughtered than any other day since the Holocaust? Since the massacre of Kibbutz Be’eri, where Hamas terrorists calmly walked from room to room, executing over 100 children and adults?

In Israel, the names of the 150 Jews who have been kidnapped and stolen away into the dungeons under Gaza are still being tallied and released. The funerals have begun. The hospitals are full of the wounded.

We here in the Diaspora sit with broken hearts, watching our screens with a mélange of helplessness, outrage, grief, and devastation. Many of us are increasingly feeling the dismay and outrage as we see the propaganda war that is beginning against the victims of Hamas’s carnage. Already we are hearing the gaslighting that would turn the victims into the perpetrators.  

The fight will be political, and it will be rough. But I’d like to point out that there are some signs out there that we are not going to be all alone.

I want to differentiate between “Politics” with a big-P and “politics” with a little-p.  

By “big-P” Politics, I mean the actions of our elected leaders and people with power. If it gives you any peace of mind at all—it does for me—I feel inspired by the leadership of many of our officials. Starting at the top, praise must be given to President Biden. Every public statement he’s made has been note-perfect: the message is unequivocal and exactly right, and the tone is genuinely empathetic and honest. And Biden’s speech from Tuesday—please watch it in full—is just the most perfectly toned message that we could ask for.

Further, there is the spectacle of world landmarks being lit up with blue-and-white and the images of the Israeli flag. There seems to be a momentary awareness, for the time being at least, that Israel’s fight against terror is the world’s battle as well. Scroll through these pictures - some of them from cities with grotesque antisemitic histories - and be amazed at what is being expressed:

Brandenburg Gate, Berlin (!!!)

10 Downing Street, London

Bulgarian Parliament, Sofia

Kyiv, Ukraine

Melbourne, Australia

Eiffel Tower, Paris

Baku, Azerbaijan

Ground Zero, New York City

I’m not naïve; perhaps all this goodwill will evaporate as the battle in Gaza rages on. But for the time being, it is good to know that there are leaders out there with moral clarity.

Closer to home, there were hundreds of us at the Boston Common on Monday, and all the senior leadership of Massachusetts was present: two U.S. Senators, the Governor, and the Mayor of Boston. Senator Elizabeth Warren—who historically has not been a champion of Israel—was superb. Her message was crystal-clear and to-the-point: the U.S. Congress will support Israel with the resources it needs to defeat this vicious enemy. What more could we ask for?

If your elected leaders have done likewise, they need to hear from you (and so does President Biden): A short, concise email or phone call that says: “Thank you for the clear and unambiguous support of Israel and the Jewish community in their battle against terror.” Anyone who’s worked in an elected office will tell you:  Critics always make their voices heard, but it is so important to hear encouragement from constituents when leaders do the right thing.

And then there’s this letter that the Massachusetts Board of Rabbis received today from the Black Ministerial Alliance in Boston, representing over 20,000 Black parishioners in the region:

It is breathtaking in its courage and compassion. To each signatory to this letter: Thank you; THIS is what moral leadership looks like.

Which leaves the “small-P” politics, the propaganda wars that spread locally, on social media, and on campus.

Here, too, it’s not all bad. I must tell you: yesterday I was walking the dog downtown, and a stranger approached us. She said, “I see that you’re Jewish. Do you have friends and family in Israel?” (“Yes.”) And then she proceeded to say how horrified she is, and expressed her sympathy and support. It meant so much; I hope you’ve had similar interactions.

Because surely encounters like these counterbalance Twitter (X), Facebook, and Instagram, the cesspools of antisemitism and conspiracy theories that consume the “progressive” left as much as the reactionary right.

American universities, too, have fallen from places of serious discourse to places of Jew-hatred (where we pay hundred thousand-dollar tuitions for the privilege of being scapegoated).  Well-documented, already, is the shame of Harvard University, reminding us that higher education is often synonymous with higher antisemitism. But it's happening everywhere, as cowardly college presidents “All Lives Matter” the Jews by issuing statements that wring their hands over the suffering of “all sides.”

When a “friend” posts anti-Israel rhetoric that blames the victim and sympathizes with terrorists, you essentially have two choices.

If the person is someone with whom you have a real-life relationship and you think actually respects you, you might engage in a conversation that starts like this: “Your post is extremely hurtful right now. This is a community in mourning, and you are compounding their—my—pain with your thoughtlessness. Please remove your hateful words.”

And if the person is someone who doesn’t respect you, and is in no sense a “friend,” you really only have one option: “Your post reveals that you are an antisemite who has no grasp of the situation, and it is hateful. You have chosen the side of some of the most bloodthirsty killers in the world. I have no interest in engaging with you from this point forward. Goodbye.” Unfriend immediately.

I fear we will be living with this into the foreseeable future. And I greatly fear for our students on campus, as well as all of our kids who will be assaulted on social media. But there are also occasional reminders that we are not alone in this moral and righteous fight—and for that we must express our gratitude.

Kohelet Speaks

We awoke on Shabbat morning to emergency alerts on our phones about the terrorist assaults in Israel: the massacres, the kidnappings, the missiles, the bloodthirsty sadism of Hamas. It was the 50th anniversary, to the day, of the Yom Kippur War—when the Arab nations launched a coordinated surprise attack against Israel on the holiest day of the year. The timing was lost on no one.

The kidnappings—they’re preoccupying me more than anything. The perversity of seizing over 100 elders, teenagers, and children—and dragging them across the border for the most hideous sort of cruelties. The ghastly social media videos of terrorists celebrating the display of their humiliated captives, which remind me of the old photos of southern lynchings and the celebratory smiles of the Klan and their allies.

My friends relate: Today Israeli TV is reporting that Hamas has kidnapped a mother with her one year-old and five year-old. Hamas has put out videos on social media of Gazan children beating a 5 year-old kidnapped Israeli child. It is being estimated that well over 100 people are being held hostage.

The brazen evil of the enemy is staggering.

I’m writing now on Sunday morning. The events are unfolding in real time. Israel is the only story that’s being discussed on the news. It’s a nightmare. There are political pundits much smarter and more authoritative than I, so I won’t contribute anything new here.

All I want to relate is what I experienced in shul. Saturday was Shemini Atzeret as well as Shabbat, the culmination of the Days of Awe. It’s supposed to be a day of cumulative joy, a day that reflects on the intimacy that communities have experienced with each other and G-d over the past 3 ½ weeks since Rosh Hashanah (as reflected in the Haftarah reading from 1 Kings 8).

But we also read Kohelet (Ecclesiastes), one of the most astonishing books of the Tanakh. Kohelet is astounding because of its humanness, its profound awareness that faith cannot provide easy answers to the true reality of a world that can be cruel and unjust. Kohelet, more than any other book of the Bible, acknowledges the dissonance between religious faith and the fact that the world can be terrifying.

Knowing that terrorism was ripping through Israel, it seemed to me that the words of Kohelet were on fire. This happens sometimes—the Rosh Hashanah after 9/11 comes to mind—when the words of the ancient text come scorching off the page, filled with resonances that we’d never seen before.

Here are some of the verses of Kohelet that grabbed me. I offer them here for no solace, no comfort, and no radical insights. Simply that they spoke to my soul yesterday and they continue to do so today:

וְשַׁ֣בְתִּֽי אֲנִ֗י וָאֶרְאֶה֙ אֶת־כּל־הָ֣עֲשֻׁקִ֔ים אֲשֶׁ֥ר נַעֲשִׂ֖ים תַּ֣חַת הַשָּׁ֑מֶשׁ
וְהִנֵּ֣ה ׀ דִּמְעַ֣ת הָעֲשֻׁקִ֗ים וְאֵ֤ין לָהֶם֙ מְנַחֵ֔ם וּמִיַּ֤ד עֹֽשְׁקֵיהֶם֙ כֹּ֔חַ וְאֵ֥ין לָהֶ֖ם מְנַחֵֽם׃

I further observed all the oppression that goes on under the sun:
the tears of the oppressed, with none to comfort them;
and the power of their oppressors—with none to comfort them (4:1).

וְאִֽם־יִתְקְפוֹ֙ הָאֶחָ֔ד הַשְּׁנַ֖יִם יַעַמְד֣וּ נֶגְדּ֑וֹ
וְהַחוּט֙ הַֽמְשֻׁלָּ֔שׁ לֹ֥א בִמְהֵרָ֖ה יִנָּתֵֽק׃

Two are better off than one…
For if one attacks, two can stand up to him (4:12).

אֶת־הַכֹּ֥ל רָאִ֖יתִי בִּימֵ֣י הֶבְלִ֑י
יֵ֤שׁ צַדִּיק֙ אֹבֵ֣ד בְּצִדְק֔וֹ וְיֵ֣שׁ רָשָׁ֔ע מַאֲרִ֖יךְ בְּרָעָתֽוֹ׃

In my own brief span of life, I have seen both these things:
sometimes someone good perishes despite their goodness,
and sometimes someone wicked endures despite their wickedness (7:15).

…וְעֵ֣ת וּמִשְׁפָּ֔ט יֵדַ֖ע לֵ֥ב חָכָֽם׃
כִּ֣י לְכל־חֵ֔פֶץ יֵ֖שׁ עֵ֣ת וּמִשְׁפָּ֑ט כִּֽי־רָעַ֥ת הָאָדָ֖ם רַבָּ֥ה עָלָֽיו׃
כִּֽי־אֵינֶ֥נּוּ יֹדֵ֖עַ מַה־שֶּׁיִּֽהְיֶ֑ה כִּ֚י כַּאֲשֶׁ֣ר יִֽהְיֶ֔ה מִ֖י יַגִּ֥יד לֽוֹ׃

…Someone wise, however, will bear in mind that there is a time of doom.
For there is a time for every experience, including the doom;
for calamity overwhelms.
Indeed, what is to happen is unknown;
even when it is on the point of happening, who can tell? (8:5b-7)

…גַּם־זֶ֖ה הָֽבֶל׃ אֲשֶׁר֙ אֵין־נַעֲשָׂ֣ה פִתְגָ֔ם מַעֲשֵׂ֥ה הָרָעָ֖ה מְהֵרָ֑ה
עַל־כֵּ֡ן מָלֵ֞א לֵ֧ב בְּֽנֵי־הָאָדָ֛ם בָּהֶ֖ם לַעֲשׂ֥וֹת רָֽע׃

And here is another frustration: the fact that the sentence imposed for evil deeds is not executed swiftly, which is why people are emboldened to do evil (8:10b-11).

And of course:

עֵ֥ת מִלְחָמָ֖ה וְעֵ֥ת שָׁלֽוֹם׃

A time for war and a time for peace (3:8).

Pray for the safe return of the hostages.

Demand justice.

Support the victims. (Some prominent Tzedakah organizations are already mobilizing on the ground: IsraAID, the Joint Distribution Committee, and more.)

Refuse to tolerate equivocation and “both sides-ism” in the media. Failure to retaliate would be immoral: it would allow evil to flourish unchecked.

Call your Israeli friends and let them know that we are doing these things.

And may G-d have mercy on us all.

Against Defeatism

“Pessimism,” says my teacher Donniel Hartman, “is a luxury we cannot afford.” There is simply too much at stake at this political moment in Israel.

By now, regular readers of this blog know that I’m utterly preoccupied by the Israeli pro-democracy protests. It’s been two weeks since I’ve returned from Jerusalem, and I’m still processing all that I experienced. As the very fabric of Israeli society appears to be unraveling. I have no doubt that the righteous protesters in Israel are fighting for the nation’s soul.

“For me, Judaism is the antonym of defeatism and hopelessness. So, for that matter, is my Zionism.
”

As you know, Netanyahu’s coalition just struck down the Supreme Court’s ability to declare extreme legislation “unreasonable.” This is just the first salvo in an attack on one of the basic pillars of democracy: a system of checks and balances of the legislature by an independent judiciary. No wonder the despicable National Security Minister Itamar Ben Gvir—a racist thug with a terrorist background—tweeted that “the salad bar is open.” What he meant: This initial legislation is just the appetizer; a full entrée of laws castrating the court and dismantling democratic norms is now on its way to being served from the legislative kitchen.

This is what those demonstrations in the streets of Israel are fighting against.

I’ve written about this in previous posts over the past few months. But today I’m struck by what I’m hearing from some American Jews, and I’m distressed.

Since my return, I’ve heard from many acquaintances—in person, via email, and on social media:

Many are despondent about what’s taking place in Israel.

Some have suggested that they’ve lost hope in Israel’s future: the ultra-nationalist, theocratic takeover is nearly complete.

Some have said that, after a lifetime of supporting Israel, that they’re “out,” and can no longer pay lip service to a regime so antithetical to their democratic values.

Some are saying they will now refocus their identity as a “proud Diaspora Jew,” shaping a Jewish identity that excludes Zionism.

Some well-known Israeli pundits—and not necessarily those of the left—are grieving Israel’s future.

Some rabbis in prominent synagogues have announced that they can no longer recite Tefillat HaMedina / the Prayer for Israel at Shabbat services. Periodically we hear of rabbis (in non-prominent communities) declare that they are non-Zionist, if not outright anti-Israel.

And so on.

I don’t know how widespread those feelings of defeat are, but the sentiment is growing. And for every Jew who declares that they’re “out,” there will no doubt be a much larger number of silent resignations, of Jews who simply will construct their Jewish lives without Israel.  

I feel the pain that is inherent in every one of those exchanges. These are the heartfelt reflections of people who historically have acknowledged that Israel’s situation is different from ours: its battle against bloodthirsty enemies is existential. But many of these same individuals are now asking: How can I support a regime whose values have so profoundly diverged from my own?

But I can’t go there. And it’s desperately important that you don’t, either. We cannot afford pessimism—not when there is so much on the line.

This is my respectful response to all those friends and students who have shared their fears and concerns with me:

Our Israeli friends need our support, now more than ever. I’m quite clear that the battle that Israel is facing—from within this time—is as much an existential battle as it has ever faced from external enemies.

All around the country, hundreds of thousands of Israelis have been demonstrating for more than half a year, every Saturday night. (Israel’s population is approximately 9.7 million people. Do the math and be amazed by the breathtaking, massive proportion of the country that has taken to the streets in the name of democracy!)

Here are three more points I’d ask every person who is wavering to keep in mind:

(1)   The protests have been going on for 30 weeks!, and show no sign of weakening.

(2)   The patriotism of the demonstrators. The rallies are oceans of blue-and-white, with flags everywhere. Most rallies open or close with “Hatikvah.” In a world where the right wing tends to co-opt patriotic symbols, this is remarkable.

Consider this, by way of contrast. During the Trump years, I and many of you went to our share of political rallies: the Women’s Marches and Black Lives Matter. We believed in those causes. But what would it have taken for us to go and demonstrate every single Saturday night for months on end? That’s the depth of the commitment Israel’s pro-democracy camp has made.

And for that matter: Imagine showing up at a Women’s March or BLM rally with an American flag and singing the national anthem. It would have been more than strange—it would have been completely tone-deaf and out of place. By contrast, the rallies in Israel are a united call of the authentic voice of Zionism: democratic, patriotic, and inclusive.

(3)   What about the “insurmountable demographics” that we keep hearing about? Some of the defeatism has stemmed from a great resignation that these battles will never end, as birthrates among the religious right soar.

But that misses the point of what these demonstrations are all about. Because the revolt against Netanyahu’s coalition is not primarily a leftist revolt. It is a great upheaval by the broad democratic MAJORITY of the country: the center-left, center, and center-right. They may disagree on a wide variety of public policies, but who completely agree about the heart of the matter: That Zionism and Judaism are inherently democratic, and that an assault on Israel’s basic democratic institutions endangers everyone.

For me, Judaism is the antonym of defeatism and hopelessness. So, for that matter, is my Zionism.

For those with long memories, there have been dark times before. Israel emerged from the ashes of the Shoah—when 1/3 of the Jews in the world were murdered and the very question of any Jewish future at all was worth considering. There was June 1967—and a news blackout when it wasn’t clear for several days whether or not Israel had been wiped off the map. There was October 1973, when Jews ran from their synagogues on Yom Kippur to fight off a multilateral sneak attack by there enemies. There was, and remains, the threat of a nuclear Iran.

In none of these moments did we concede defeat or abandon our vision of the future. 

Diaspora voices in this struggle are crucial. Israelis are telling us that we are desperately needed for this battle. If you’ve ever been inspired by Israel’s seemingly endless reserves of innovation and perseverance in the face of implacable enemies… well, this is the moment when that inspiration and fortitude is needed more than ever.

Reliable polls show that this government has lost the backing of its supporters and a significant majority of Israelis—left, center, and the democratic right. A line has been crossed by the empowerment of theocratic fascists: that’s what those demonstrations are about.

There are no guarantees. Who knows how much damage this regime can wreak before it collapses or is voted out? But I do know this: If America’s liberal Jews sit this one out, or if we renege on the seventy-five-year commitment to the State of Israel, we will be complicit in empowering the forces of an anti-democratic theocracy in the Jewish state.

I’m writing these words on Tu B’Av, a date in the Jewish calendar devoted to love. “Love” is the way I was raised to describe our relationship to Israel. Love, of course, demands conviction and dedication over the long haul. We say to people whom we love: “My love for you is not conditional. We will, on occasion, disappoint one another. I will challenge you and criticize you when you let me down. But my commitment to you is undying.”

If you share similar sentiments, please: Do not submit to defeat. Recall the words of the Talmud, written in tears at another time of Jewish anguish:

,כּל הַמִּתְאַבֵּל עַל יְרוּשָׁלַיִם — זוֹכֶה וְרוֹאֶה בְּשִׂמְחָתָהּ
.וְשֶׁאֵינוֹ מִתְאַבֵּל עַל יְרוּשָׁלַיִם — אֵינוֹ רוֹאֶה בְּשִׂמְחָתָהּ

Whoever mourns for Jerusalem will merit to see her future joy,
and whoever does not mourn for Jerusalem will not see her future joy. (Ta’anit 30b)

Those words tell me that we will win this struggle, too. But we must not surrender to despair. To be part of the grand wonder of Israel means we must share in her battles, and not give up on the vision of what the state could and should be.  

Zealots and Tisha B'Av

In the middle of the Talmud tractate Gittin there is a long stretch of stories about the destruction of the Second Temple and the fall of Jerusalem on the 9th day of Av in 70 CE.

 One of those stories begins with these words:

...הֲווֹ בְּהוּ הָנְהוּ בִּרְיוֹנֵי

There were Zealots among the people of Jerusalem… (Gittin 56a)

Who were these Zealots? In the context of the stories in the Talmud, they were extremists who were so fanatical in their opposition to the Romans and to any Jew who disagreed with them that they would resort to violence and even murder. More on them in a moment.

In the meantime, what can we say about this word בִּרְיוֹנֵי / biryonei / “zealot”? The Klein Dictionary of Rabbinic Hebrew (1987) is blunt in its translation: “terrorist, bully, hooligan.” It says that the etymology of this word is obscure; it may be related to the Akkadian root barānū, meaning “violent, impertinent, rebellious.” (The old-school Jastrow dictionary of the Talmud suggests “rebel” or “castle guard”, losing the intimation of violence that the author is surely suggesting.)

Whatever the origin of the word, there is no mitigating that the Talmud holds these villainous, murderous Jews accountable for the desperation and ultimately the destruction of the city.

Yes, the Talmud speaks of fellow Jews in precisely this language, when necessary.

After introducing the Zealots, the story unfolds. The war with the Romans had been building since the year 66 CE. The people of Jerusalem—as well as Jews who had fled from outlying villages—sequestered themselves behind the city walls. The Roman onslaught was temporarily held at bay. And, the Talmud tells us, there were enough storehouses of food and cisterns filled with water to sustain the Jerusalemites for at least twenty-one years to come!

That is, until the biryonim / Zealots assert themselves.

We learn that there were a variety of political opinions among the refugees in Jerusalem at that time. Some wanted to fight; others wanted to appease the Romans; others thought it might be possible to work out terms of a compromise. The Zealots, being zealots, demanded adherence to their armed revolt—and would not tolerate dissent. The Rabbis counseled patience (so we see where the editors of the Talmud come out in this debate), and Zealots revolted:

.קָמוּ קְלֹנְהוּ לְהָנְהוּ אַמְבָּרֵי דְּחִיטֵּי וּשְׂעָרֵי, וַהֲוָה כַּפְנָא 

[In order to force the residents of the city to engage in battle],
the Zealots rose up and burned down the storehouses of wheat and barley,
and a famine ensued. (Gittin 56a)

They burn the 21-year supply of food that had been secured for the people’s survival! Because that, too, is what Zealots do: They are so certain of the righteousness of their cause, it doesn’t matter if there are brutal shortcuts that need to be taken to strong-arm or threaten people to their side. It doesn’t matter if there is death and destruction in the short term; all that matters the ultimate adherence to the cause. Violence for them is a necessary tool towards the ultimate ends—and it doesn’t matter who suffers.

The Talmud makes its anti-Zealot position perfectly clear. Immediately after the Zealots burn down the storehouses, we’re told a series of tragic stories about individuals who suffer horribly and die as a result of the desperate situation the Zealots have triggered. One thing leads to another—a tragic chain of events—that ultimately leads to the destruction of the Temple, the devastation of Jerusalem, and the Exile of the Shekhinah, G-d’s Intimate Presence.

This is what we mourn annually on Tisha B’Av.

Here's one more warning from the Talmud. As Jerusalem was in flames, the great Rabbinic leader, Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai, sought to save the city. He approached Abba Sikkara, the leader of the band of “dagger men” among the Zealots, asking Abba Sikkara to stop the madness:

.שְׁלַח לֵיהּ: תָּא בְּצִינְעָא לְגַבַּאי. אֲתָא.
?אֲמַר לֵיהּ: עַד אֵימַת עָבְדִיתוּ הָכִי, וְקָטְלִיתוּ לֵיהּ לְעָלְמָא בְּכַפְנָא
!אֲמַר לֵיהּ: מַאי אֶיעֱבֵיד, דְּאִי אָמֵינָא לְהוּ מִידֵּי קָטְלוּ לִי
.אֲמַר לֵיהּ: חֲזִי לִי תַּקַּנְתָּא לְדִידִי דְּאֶיפּוֹק, אֶפְשָׁר דְּהָוֵי הַצָּלָה פּוּרְתָּא

Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai sent a message to Abba Sikkara: Come to me in secret.

He came, and Rabban Yochanan said to him, “How long will you keep doing this, killing everyone through starvation?”

Abba Sikkara replied, “What can I do? If I say something to them [my Zealot followers], they’ll kill me.”

Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai said to him, “Find a way for me to get out of the city. Maybe there can still be some small salvation…” (Gittin 56a)

This is astonishing, if not surprising. The leader of the Zealots in Jerusalem knows things are out of control and that his followers have gone too far. But he’s passed the point of no return: by empowering his violent followers, he’s placed himself at risk. If he steps back from the brink, he knows they will turn their violence back on him.

Yes, I’m thinking about the political situation in Israel. (How could I not be thinking of it?) Today we’re seeing the devastation of what happens when Zealots—ultra-nationalist extremists coupled with the ultra-religious political parties—are permitted to dictate their terms to the majority of the nation. Such is the nature of coalition politics: the radical fringe is allowed to set the agenda—and they are willing to sacrifice the well-being of the rest of the country that dares to oppose their agenda.

In the days of the Talmud, they burned the storehouses of food—to force the people’s hand. The result led to the maw of the Roman legions and the destruction of Jerusalem.

Today, they will undermine the very foundations of Israel’s democracy, placing the economy, civil liberties, and the very promise of the “Start-Up Nation” at risk. I do not believe Jerusalem will be destroyed, but there are plenty of people this Tisha B’Av who are entertaining that very thought.

Tisha B’Av will have a profound and shocking resonance this year. Clearly, there are Zealots unleashed in Jerusalem. The extent of their destruction is yet to be known—a forceful, fully awake citizenry is determined not to allow them to burn down the country. The importance of our voices can’t be overstated.

There will be much to mourn this year on Tisha B’Av, and many lessons for our own time. May the reflections of this season help us to turn back from the brink of disaster, and may we save ourselves from the Zealots in our midst.

Tisha B’Av begins on Wednesday evening, July 26.
All are welcome to join me of an online study session on its themes on Thursday, July 27,
at 12:00 noon Eastern time. Register here to receive the Zoom link and Passcode.

"Tzav Shemoneh" in Jerusalem

.כּל מִי שֶׁאֶפְשָׁר לִמְחוֹת לְאַנְשֵׁי בֵיתוֹ וְלֹא מִיחָה — נִתְפָּס עַל אַנְשֵׁי בֵיתוֹ

Those who have the ability to protest the conduct of members of their own house
and do not do so are held accountable for the behavior of the members of their house.

—Talmud, Shabbat 54a

What is happening in Jerusalem right now?

Tzav Shemoneh is a military term meaning “an open ended call-up of army reservists” at a time of war. On Tuesday, a Tzav Shemoneh went out to Israeli society . But it wasn’t to report to military centers: it was a call to turn out it the streets of Jerusalem and Tel Aviv and elsewhere, to combat the enemy from within.

My friends and I were there—in our anguish. I love this city, more than any other, and its pain causes me pain. And Jerusalem in microcosm reveals a country that is pulling apart at the seams.

The first thing you notice at these pro-democracy demonstrations is the flags: they are everywhere. These demonstrations are an ocean of blue and white. This is really rather astounding: it’s a statement that they are being conducting in the name of Zionism and the history of Israel. This movement is not an anti-Israel movement; to the contrary, it’s a demand tht the country return to its First Principles that were inscribed in the Declaration of Independence: a liberal and democratic Jewish state.

Israel is experiencing an existential crisis against internal political enemies, and we were being called to action. Today the Knesset passed the first reading of the “reasonableness” bill. I won’t go into the details; you can read about it here. There is broad consensus that this bill is the first big step in the government’s attack on the judiciary, a bastion of democracy in this land, and a bulwark against tyranny. This government has declared war on the independent judiciary—and its traditional role of providing checks-and-balances on the legislature.

But that sounds like far too genteel explanation of why, for 27 straight weeks, hundreds of thousands of Israelis have marched and demonstrated.

In fact, the battle in the streets of Israel is the struggle for the democratic and Jewish soul of this nation. It’s that important, no overstatement.

That’s why there were hundreds of thousands of people around the country who spontaneously poured into the streets today.

The government, on the other hand, turned water cannons on the protesters in Tel Aviv. Water cannons? The same as in Birmingham in 1963? Yes.

The background to this crisis:

Last November, Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu assembled the most extreme – and most religiously Orthodox – ruling coalition that Israel has ever seen. Since then, the coalition has begun its draconian assault on the democratic consensus that has held Israel together for 75 years. The ultra-Orthodox parties have drained public coffers of social funds and funneled them to support their yeshivas and other institutions. The tacit endorsement of radical violence in the West Bank has condoned settler riots in Palestinian towns in of tit-for-tat violence after Palestinian attacks on Jews. The cabinet is populated by a handful of politicians who have been indicted or are under investigation. And there’s “judicial reform,” the all-out assault on the Supreme Court’s checks and balances on legislators.

The Minister of National Security, Itamar Ben-Gvir, is a man who the Israeli army refused to draft into service years ago because he was considered too extreme in his views, given his association with the racist, terrorist Kahanist movement. The Minister of Finance, Bezalel Smotrich, who also has a history associated with Jewish terrorism, has essentially been granted a militia of his own in the West Bank, where he has offered words of encouragement and assent for the settler pogromists who have stormed Palestinian towns, burning vehicles and buildings.

Then there’s Aryeh Deri, who has been convicted multiple times of taking bribes and tax evasion. Netanyahu wants to appoint this “religious” man, whom everyone knows is profoundly corrupt, as his Minister of the Interior. The Supreme Court quite properly told Netanyahu that Deri’s appointment to a senior cabinet position was absolutely “unreasonable” and illegal. So Netanyahu’s response is to attempt to castrate the Court by removing their authority to declare such things illegal by virtue of being “unreasonable.”

This is a ruling coalition, in the words of my teacher Yossi Klein Halevi, of “political zealots, religious fundamentalists—and the ‘merely corrupt.’”

Have no doubt: This is not a partisan political spat by the opposition who lost an election. This is the great awakening of the political center, who are saying:  Yesh Gvul: There is a limit to indecency. A limit to assaults on the very foundations of democracy. A limit to racist violence committed in the name of the nation with the winking assent of the government. A limit to cruelty which is contrary to the fundamental values of Zionism and Judaism.

How do I feel about this struggle?

It is hard to write these words. I am a passionate lover of Israel, and recognize that its very existence testifies to the fact that we live in an extraordinary chapter of Jewish history. A 2,000 year-old dream became a reality—together with a rebirth of its ancient language, the building of one of the most robust economies in the world, and the growth of an international hotbed of hi-tech innovation and development that transforms communities around the world for the better.

But I write because of my love and admiration. Because as Yossi has also pointed out, all this is at risk if we allow these zealots to achieve their goals in the dismantling of Israeli democracy. Israel’s economic “start-up nation” miracle will disappear quickly, because the young, centrist population of the country will abandon a Jewish fundamentalist state for freer societies, without a doubt.

I am quite clear that this struggle is as much of an existential threat as Iranian nukes.

This is no time to stand on the sidelines, or to abandon the people of Israel who are asking all of usto support them in this fight.

And so we poured into the streets tonight, marching up to the Knesset and chanting “Dem-o-krat-yah!”

I’ve written about this struggle for Israel’s soul a lot by now. But it’s pretty clear to me that keeping Israel Jewish and democratic is the most urgent Jewish task of this moment.

Israelis have made it clear that our voices are essential. What can Jews living in the Diaspora do?

(1) Stay informed (read the daily Times of Israel) and let those who have a direct line to the government know that we will not allow our beloved Israel to become a fascist theocracy, that we oppose this government’s cynical judicial reforms, and so on. Who needs to hear it?  Your nearest Israeli consul. The President of your local Jewish Federation (demand to know how your Federation is directing its money to support democracy and pluralism). And others with ties to Israeli political, business, and institutional leadership.

(2) Show up to local demonstrations in your nearest city. The group on the forefront in the U.S. is UnXeptable—Saving Israeli Democracy, created by Israeli expatriates living in America, and you can follow them on Facebook.  

And when you go, make it clear that you’re protesting as a Zionist and a Jew. It is essential that we make clear: this is not an anti-Israel or anti-Zionist movement. Quite the opposite: our love for Israel and her people demands that we fight for her freedom. That’s what all those flags are about.

(3) Support those organizations that are doing the work of fighting for democracy in Israel.

·      Israel Religious Action Center

·      Hiddush—For Religious Freedom and Equality

·      USA for Israeli Democracy

·      New Israel Fund

… among many others.

(4) Support those organizations that are promoting a non-coercive, liberal form of Judaism in Israel. That includes:

·      The Israel Movement for Progressive Judaism

·      Gesharim Letikvah—Bridges for Hope

·      Specific Reform and Conservative communities in Israel with which you may be associated
…among many others.

I haven’t written much here about how this is a pivotal moment for Israeli-Diaspora relations; I’ll do that another time. But suffice to say that this is a moment, for all “supporters of Israel,” to put their cards on the table. As the Talmud teaches, “Those who have the ability to protest the conduct of members of their own house and do not do so are held accountable for the behavior of those members of their house.”

Jerusalem's Past and Present (A Fast Day in the Eternal City)

Shalom from Jerusalem.

 Today (Thursday) is the minor fast day of 17 Tammuz, a date which has a special resonance in this place and time. 17 Tammuz ushers in the three-week period leading up to the Fast of Tisha B’Av, which commemorates the Exile—from Jerusalem, from G-d, and from one another.

In truth, a great many Jews don’t observe the so-called “minor fasts” that are sprinkled throughout the Hebrew calendar. These days mark ancient calamities and, frankly, Jewish history has enough other tragedies to fill the entire year. Personally, when I’m in the U.S., I don’t typically fast on this day.

But Jerusalem does twisty things to my soul. When I’m in Jerusalem in the summer, these Three Weeks pack a lot of spiritual resonance for me. That’s what I’d like to share with you here.

According to the Mishnah, five calamities befell the Jewish people on this date in antiquity—events which serve as an overture to the dark dirge of Tisha B’Av:

חֲמִשָּׁה דְבָרִים אֵרְעוּ אֶת אֲבוֹתֵינוּ בְּשִׁבְעָה עָשָׂר בְּתַמּוּז וַחֲמִשָּׁה בְּתִשְׁעָה בְאָב
,בְּשִׁבְעָה עָשָׂר בְּתַמּוּז נִשְׁתַּבְּרוּ הַלּוּחוֹת
,וּבָטַל הַתָּמִיד
,וְהֻבְקְעָה הָעִיר
,וְשָׂרַף אַפּוֹסְטֹמוֹס אֶת הַתּוֹרָה
.הֶעֱמִיד צֶלֶם בַּהֵיכָל

 On the 17th Day of Tammuz:
1.     The Tablets were shattered by Moses [when he saw the Israelites had made the Golden Calf];
2.     The daily offering in the Temple was cancelled [by the Romans in the buildup to the Temple’s destruction];
3.     Jerusalem’s walls were breached [by the Roman legions];
4.     The Roman general Apostomos publicly burned a Torah scroll;
5.     An idol was place in the Sanctuary.

—Mishnah, Ta’anit 4:6

Each of these events is noteworthy as the launch-pad for deeper tragedies for the Jews, several of which took place three weeks later on the 9th of Av.

But here I’d like to focus on #1: The Rabbis consider this to be the date that Moses came down from Mount Sinai with the tablets in his arms, saw the Golden Calf and the Israelites dancing around it, and smashed the stones with the Ten Commandments to pieces.

Of the five items listed in the Mishnah, this one is an anomaly. Most of the events in this list occur later in history, at the end of the Second Temple period when Rabbinic Judaism was emerging. But #1, strangely, is a throwback to the era of Moses and the Torah.

Why would the Rabbis of the Mishnah link their recent tragedies—from which they were still reeling—to Moses’s story from the distant past?

The Torah relates that when Moses came down from Mount Sinai with the Tablets of the Law in his arms, he was stunned to see the Israelites cavorting with the idol that they had compelled Aaron to make:

וַֽיְהִ֗י כַּאֲשֶׁ֤ר קָרַב֙ אֶל־הַֽמַּחֲנֶ֔ה וַיַּ֥רְא אֶת־הָעֵ֖גֶל וּמְחֹלֹ֑ת וַיִּֽחַר־אַ֣ף מֹשֶׁ֗ה
וַיַּשְׁלֵ֤ךְ מִיָּדָו֙ אֶת־הַלֻּחֹ֔ת וַיְשַׁבֵּ֥ר אֹתָ֖ם תַּ֥חַת הָהָֽר׃  

As soon as Moses came near the camp and saw the calf and the dancing,
he became enraged; and he hurled the tablets from his hands and
shattered them at the foot of the mountain. (Exodus 32:19)

 
This cries out for interpretation. Even though we can understand Moses’s anguish, we must ask: How could Moses smash the Tablets? These were the words of G-d, inscribed by the finger of G-d and infused with holiness! It’s hard to imagine that, even in a fit of rage, Moses would treat the Tablets with disgust. (Think of our own internal reflexes, if a Torah scroll totters in our presence, to leap and make sure it doesn’t fall to the ground.) How could Moses do such a thing?

There are many commentaries on this, but here is my favorite: Moses didn’t carry the Tablets—the Tablets carried him. After all, Moses was an eighty-year-old man at this point in the story. Are we to imagine that he lugged weighty stone tablets  from the mountain peak down to the base camp all by himself?!

No, says the Midrash: the letters—the writing of G-d—made the stones light as a feather. Their inherent holiness carried Moses along with the Tablets.

When those very letters saw the people cavorting with their idol, the letters peeled off the tablets and fled back to their divine Source. They had to: Holiness and the worship of gold don’t mix.

And with the letters gone from the tablets, suddenly Moses was holding the full weight of the stones. He didn’t exactly smash the tablets; it’s more like he lunged forward due to their new-found enormous weight and he couldn’t hold them anymore. They fell to the earth and shattered. (This midrash is found in Pirkei d’Rabbi Eliezer Chapter 45.)

It’s a good story, but there’s a deeper lesson going on here.

This midrash maintains that when people behave obscenely, then the Shekhinah, G-d’s intimate Presence, flees. So do her accoutrements, such as the letters on the tablets. Holiness can only blossom in the fertile soil of ethical living.

And that brings us right back to Jerusalem. The Second Temple, the Talmud teaches, was destroyed because even though the people followed the letter of the law, they treated one another with senseless hatred (sinnat chinam), and because no one—not the political leaders, nor the Rabbis, nor the Jews of the community—would stand up and counteract the hate. So the spirit flew back to G-d, and the Temple imploded. Because holiness can’t abide in the idolatrous atmosphere of hate.

The Rabbis saw the idolatry of the Golden Calf as the prelude to later apostasies in history: namely, when human hatred was so ever-present that people couldn’t see the Image of G-d in their neighbor. And they treated one another accordingly, leading to tragedy and Exile.

Jerusalem 2023. The city is as sublime as ever—it’s my favorite city in the world. The history, grandeur, and spiritual power of this place touch me as much as ever. But there is a weight that is evident in Jerusalem, too. Not far from the surface—the ancient explosiveness is still there.

There are deep tensions permeating Israeli society right now. Monstrous zealots and their enablers are running the government and given unprecedented power and authority. The West Bank is seething with violence—including the violence of Jewish radicals running amok, in tit-for-tat retribution with Palestinian extremists, burning vehicles and property. The very ideals of democracy are under attack.

Fortunately, there is also a huge swath of Israeli society that is determined not to allow the Zealots to bring down all that we’ve built. And so on Saturday night—as they have for the past six months—tens of thousands of demonstrators will take to the Israeli streets again, carrying Israeli flags and singing “Hatikvah.” This is no extremist gathering; it’s a patriotic display against zealotry and assaults on Israel’s democratic institutions, a demand to return to the ethical first principles of Zionism and Judaism.

As I’ve written before, the most pro-Israel stance that we can take today is to support these pro-democracy protests around Israel and America.

Today I’ll be fasting, in remembrance of how Jerusalem was lost 2,000 years ago, and how hatred, violence, and cruelty drive the Shekhinah into Exile. And then on Saturday I’ll be with the demonstrators, to show that we’ve learned the lessons of our living past. For the sake of Jerusalem: because G-d help us all if the Shekhinah is forced to flee from this place once again.

Photo: Arch of Titus, Rome; depicting the plundering of the Jerusalem Temple by the Roman army in 70 CE (NG)

On the 75th Anniversary of Israeli Independence

Macht keine Dummheiten wherend ich tot bin.
"Don't make any stupid mistakes when I'm dead."

—Theodor Herzl

 Over my desk hangs my prized possession: A framed copy of Der Tog (“The Day”), the daily Yiddish newspaper published in New York from 1914 to 1971, dated May 15, 1948.

In 1000-point font, the headline cries Yiddishe Melukha (A Jewish State)!

On that day, the paper was printed in blue ink rather than black newsprint.

And there are images of three people on that front page:  President Harry S Truman, who sent official recognition from America; David Ben Gurion, the new Prime Minister; and Theodor Herzl, who set the political processes in motion half a century earlier.

I love this artifact and look at it every day. It was stashed away in my grandfather’s closet for years after he died; my grandmother presented it to me one day with an understated, “Do you want this?”

“This is what patriotism looks like: A return to First Principles, enshrined in Israel’s Declaration of Independence, signed by a mosaic of ideologically diverse patriots exactly 75 years ago.”

What I love about it is: It’s a reminder of the extraordinary impact of this moment for Jews everywhere in the world. As Ahad Ha’am predicted decades earlier, the arrival of Israel held enormous reverberations for Jewish people everywhere, not only those who would become citizens of the new state. Jews all around the world responded with celebration and wonder and dancing in the streets. Since it was Shabbat, special prayers were sung in shul the following morning. Most everyone recognized that a new chapter of Jewish history was being written.

I look at that headline with wistfulness today, as Israel is going through a revolution that is playing out in its streets.

What troubles me today are those—including Jewish leaders who should know better—who are saying that celebrating this 75th anniversary is “you know, complicated.”

I hope that for most of us, the celebration need not be complicated. 75 years is a wondrous milestone, a time for reflection and gratitude and celebration. We live in a generation that knows a Jewish state. What an incredible sentence that is! Our Jewish ancestors would have been astonished by that fact. Whoever they were, wherever they were in the world, they most certainly: (1) turned and faced the Land of Israel when they prayed; and (2) prayed daily to G-d to “bring us in peace from the four corners of the earth, and allow us to walk with dignity in our land.” They would have staggered to know that a Jewish state would become a reality, nearly 2,000 years after Jewish autonomy in our homeland ceased.

Look, I’m not naïve. I’ve been watching the political situation unfold in Israel for a long time. Israel is right now engaged in a genuine struggle for its very soul. For months, hundreds of thousands of Israelis have been pouring into the streets, on a weekly basis, demonstrating for democracy against the most extreme, autocratic, and corrupt regime that the nation has ever known. And those protests aren’t slowing down.

I’m with them. I know the implications if this governing coalition is allowed to succeed in its abominable, anti-democractic agenda.

But rather than ambivalence, I’m more energized than ever in my love for the state of Israel.

Why? Because those demonstrators in the street have revitalized me.

This is what patriotism looks like: A return to First Principles, enshrined in Israel’s Declaration of Independence, signed by a mosaic of ideologically diverse patriots exactly 75 years ago:

THE STATE OF ISRAEL will be open for Jewish immigration and for the Ingathering of the Exiles; it will foster the development of the country for the benefit of all its inhabitants; it will be based on freedom, justice and peace as envisaged by the prophets of Israel; it will ensure complete equality of social and political rights to all its inhabitants irrespective of religion, race or sex; it will guarantee freedom of religion, conscience, language, education and culture; it will safeguard the Holy Places of all religions; and it will be faithful to the principles of the Charter of the United Nations.

Tomorrow, there is a lot of work to do. It is imperative that we align ourselves with the voices of freedom, democracy, and peace.

Today, however, we celebrate—unambiguously, unapologetically, and with no small amount of wonder at reaching this moment. Our ancestors would have demanded nothing less.

Chag Samayach!