Shabbat Mosaic in Netanya

Netanya, the coastal Mediterranean city halfway between Tel Aviv and Haifa, has become one of our regular Shabbat destinations in Israel. This is thanks to the remarkable work of Rabbi Edgar Nof—more about him in a moment—and our dear friends Anita and Fred Finkelman, who bring me in as a scholar-in-residence to teach some classes. I’m so grateful, because this is one extraordinary community.

Kehillat Natan-Ya, part of the Israel Movement for Progressive Judaism, is a mosaic of nationalities. Looking around the packed room during the Shabbat services, I saw people who came here from Africa, Russia, Ukraine, Thailand, Georgia, Central and South America, the Philippines, the U.K., France, South Africa, and the U.S.—as well as the stam Israelis who were there. Part of the miracle of this place is that many of these are people who would not have found a place in a more mainstream Jewish community, for any of a variety of reasons. But Rabbi Edgar Nof brought them all home.

Here’s a photo of Rabbi Edgar Nof doing Mitzvahs in a Haifa school from two years ago. (Photo: NG)

Edgar is a whirlwind of Mitzvahs. The Kavod Tzedakah Fund, which my friends and I founded over 30 years ago, has supported Edgar’s organization Bridges for Hope (Gesharim LeTikvah) since its inception. He’s supporting impoverished families, victims of terror, new immigrants, elderly Holocaust survivors, and other people living on the fringe. He’s in a half-dozen of the poorest schools in Haifa, teaching pluralistic and open-hearted Judaism and working with administrators to get supermarket food cards to the neediest families.

Like everyone else, Edgar’s life and the life of this community was profoundly changed after October 7. He once told me about how, in the wake of the massacres, he officiated at a funeral of a family of four. And there are memorials all around the synagogue of its local heroes who were killed that day and in the aftermath.

Most indefatigably, he’s doing Jewish life-cycle events for those who may not have had any Jewish connection otherwise. Edgar must have officiated at four bar/bat mitzvah ceremonies this week alone. And conversions to Judaism: he tells Heidi and me that at this point he’s brought over 800 people to Judaism in his career. Just amazing, and we got to see some of it up close on Friday.

I arrived at Netanya to teach my class. Edgar said he couldn’t be with us beforehand—he had a memorial service earlier in the day and a bar mitzvah in the afternoon; then my class, which segues into Shabbat. (I used to think I had a busy schedule.)

The service is gloriously energetic. It’s noisy, and there are no formalities, and there aren’t enough  siddurim. Children are up and down to the bimah to help Edgar out throughout the service; so, too, are adult honorees who come up to mark joyful milestones. Half the room has been given percussion instruments to tap or shake as we sing out the Shabbat prayers; it’s Shabbat Shirah, after all. The whole thing is a whirlwind and it’s wonderful.

In the middle of the service, a boy and his father are called up to the pulpit. Edgar opens the Aron Kodesh and places the Torah in the boy’s arms. He’s been studying and preparing for conversion—his mother is not Jewish—and this moment will make it official. He processes the Torah around the room, as everyone else rains candies upon his head and sings, Siman Tov u’Mazel Tov! The boy is composed, but his father has an awestruck look in his eyes—the echo of a hundred generations of Jews before him—as if he can’t believe that this moment was actually possible.

And then the entire room—this congregation from at least five continents—erupts and cries out: Achinu Atah! Achinu Atah! Achinu Atah! (Three times: “You are our brother!”).

Excuse me a moment, there’s something in my eye.

The service continues, Edgar strumming his guitar. Singing beside him is his longtime volunteer cantor Anna—she’s a young Philippine immigrant whom Edgar also brought to Judaism.

Elisheva officially becomes part of the Jewish people (screenshot from Natan-Ya’s livestream)

And then, breaking with the idea that the sequel is never as good as the original, another woman is called to the podium. She’s originally from Guatemala; she came to Israel and married a Sefardi man. Her husband and a handful of children stand beside her; she’s the second person tonight to celebrate a conversion to Judaism. She’s taken the Hebrew name Elisheva.

Elisheva takes out her prepared notes, and starts to thank her family, and the rabbi, and this community… but she gets choked up; it takes a while for her to regain her composure. And so, too, for the rest of us. And then, in unison and resounding with unbelievable excitement:  Achoteinu At! Achoteinu At! Achoteinu At! (“You are our sister! You are our sister! You are our sister!”).

In the language of our tradition, she has been embraced “under the wings of the Shekhinah.” But she’s also just been embraced by the Jewish people, as represented by this beautiful mosaic of worshippers.

Frankly, it was one of the most joyful and loving Shabbat services I’ve been to in a long time, amidst the joyful cacophony. This is the authentic face that I wish Israel were more adept at putting forward to the world: pluralistic, joyful, and welcoming—with room for everyone.

Shadow and Light (Israel Reflections #1)

Heidi and I came to Israel this week with some particular goals. We wanted to be with as many of our friends and friends-who-are-like-family as possible, to do some volunteering and demonstrating, and to give away Tzedakah money to people and places that are making the society better. It’s not a vacation; Israel evokes deep feelings and I’ve been on shpilkes for much of my time here.

This has been a poignant week in Israel, a week of shadow and light.

First, the shadows.

I hope that by the time you read this we are not at war with Iran. This is a war-scarred and traumatized society; nearly two-and-a-half years since the terrorist massacres of October 7, it seemed as if some sort of equilibrium was, at least, within sight. Everyone seems to be going about their daily lives with some semblance of normality, but the emotions beneath the veneer are complicated.

Last July, Iranian missiles fell from the skies, sending people in the middle of the nights into their shelters and safe rooms. Everyone is geared up for that to happen again this week, as American carriers are in place in the Persian Gulf, the U.S. Air Force is conducting drills, and Iran is threatening to respond in kind on Israel.

I’ll admit I’m a little nervous about all this, but my Israeli friends have told me how to take precautions and prepare for an attack that seems like it’s coming.

Beyond that, Israelis are wrestling with a parallel dilemma as Americans: the assault on democratic institutions by a corrupt administration. The horrible situation of unchecked settler violence in the West Bank — as well as surging rates of intra-Arab violence — is at a boiling point here. So we joined, with thousands of others, the pro-democracy rallies and demonstrations that have been running perpetually for years. Everyone knows that the status quo can’t hold.

So of course there are shadows in Israel. But shadows don’t exist in unrelenting darkness, and we’ve also experienced an enormous amount of light.

The biggest story in Israel this week was—finally, 843 days after that cursed Oct. 7—the retrieval and return of Ron Gvili’s body from Gaza. For the first time in 12 years, there are no Israeli hostages, alive or dead, in the dungeons and tunnels of Gaza. Every Israeli is cognizant of this; everyone was aware of his funeral that took place this week. Ron Gvili was an Israeli hero, and his family had been desperately holding on to the slimmest hope that he was perhaps still alive. This week they received the closure of at least knowing his fate.

So the yellow and blue ribbons are coming down. The Hostages and Missing Families Forum / “Bring Them Home Now” organization held its final Kabbalat Shabbat service in Tel Aviv.  Synagogues no longer recite special prayers for the hostages. And I removed “Bring Them Home” from my email signature. People are finally trying to move forward and confront the long process of healing a traumatized generation.

Considering the trauma and the healing, there were two particular points of light that I want to share with you:

Transcending Trauma: We visited with my friend Anita Shkedi this week. I’ve written about Anita before; she is an internationally recognized authority on hippotherapy, using horses for physical and emotional therapy. But that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Anita’s most recent book is Horses Heal PTSD, and since Oct. 7 she and her Transcending Trauma team have been caring for survivors of the massacre and the IDF soldiers who have been in Gaza and elsewhere. How clearly can I say this? She puts shattered lives and bodies back together, teaching her clients the art of grooming and caring for and bonding with horses, and then the therapy that takes place on horseback. It’s awesome to be in her presence and to hear the stories of her people; it’s a great privilege to support her work through the Kavod Tzedakah Fund.

Neal and Anita Shkedi of Transcending Trauma teaching in Netanya, January 29, 2026

 Shai Tsabari with Avner Gadasi and Yehuda Keisar: Heidi and I did some volunteer work and spent time listening to a lot of Israeli stories over the past few days. By Wednesday night we were ready for a break, and I spotted that Israeli musician Shai Tsabari was performing with two of the most renowned Jewish Yemenite musicians of the generation, Avner Gadasi and Yehuda Keisar. Tsabari is of  the generation of Israeli rock stars whose music is a mixture of western (rock, dance, psychedelia) and eastern (Jewish piyyutim, and especially the melodies of Tsabari’s ancestry in Yemen). He’s also known for his engaging and soulful personality that draws people in and gets them up and dancing.

Avner Gadasi, Shai Tsabari, Yehuda Keisar (photo: NG)

Shai Tsabari and a member of his band with a unique instrument (photo: NG)

I knew the concert would be fun—but I didn’t realize how deeply it would move me. The place was packed with Israelis, who by the second half of the show were on their feet, singing every word, and some dancing on chairs and tables. It struck me: here is a nation that has been so traumatized and so soaked in grief; a society that for the past two-and-a-half years could recite the name of every hostage. Tonight I felt a catharsis, a release, a transcendence that is reflected in the slogan “We Will Dance Again.”

It doesn’t mean that the next morning the nation won’t resume confronting its PTSD. But for one night, a few hundred of us were smiling, slapping hands, dancing to the old-new sounds of Jewish musicians, and realizing that there is an unspoken spirit that binds this people together in history and hope.

This is Not Zionism

“Offensive, unworkable, dangerous.”

While I occasionally write about political issues in this blog, I don’t do so very often. I don’t feel like it’s my responsibility here to reply to every crisis, especially when there are those who can do so with much more knowledge and authority than me. I’ll write when I feel like I have a perspective that isn’t being addressed by others, or when it simply feels like a moral responsibility to speak out in this forum.

I suppose the astounding announcement on Tuesday of Donald Trump’s vision for Gaza falls into the second category. Sane Zionists—the overwhelming majority of American Jews who represent the widest swath of the political spectrum, left, center, and right—need to call out Trump’s proposal to forcibly displace two million Gazans for what it is: offensive, unworkable, and dangerous.

A plan to remove two million people from their homes and resettle them in another country is obviously abominable. The Jewish historical experience speaks directly to the moral revulsion of being forcibly removed from our homes. The fact that once-glorious and vigorous  Jewish civilizations flourished in Europe, Asia, and a dozen Arab countries that are now judenrein speaks to this. But what part of “What is hateful to you, do not do to other people” is so hard to understand?

There’s also that fact that the Trump scheme is unworkable. Others will address this more directly than I can, but certain aspects seem obvious. Two million Gazans will not submit to being forcibly repatriated. And the Arab nations of the Middle East have no capacity nor intention of absorbing hundreds of thousands of refugees, many of whom are surely Hamas radicals. Jordan’s population is already predominantly Palestinian; it surely is not going to destabilize itself by bringing them in. Egypt, too, can hardly be expected to bring in potential radicals to bolster the Muslim Brotherhood that already gives it enough problems. Lebanon and Syria are failed states that have no capacity to absorb thousands of refugees. And so on. It’s hard to imagine any of these countries giving the Trump administration a “win” on this anyhow.

But what I don’t hear people talking about is how utterly reckless and dangerous the Trump plan is—dangerous for people whom Zionists are supposed to care about. For instance, just as the hostages are finally starting to be released from their terrorist captors, Trump and Netanyahu drop this bomb about depopulating Gaza. I pray that there is not a violent counterreaction to Trump’s irresponsible declarations—with the hostages as the victims.

Moreover, there is the issue of surging antisemitism—locally and around the world. I’m thinking of the Jews of central and western Europe. Typically I would not blame antisemitism on Jewish behavior; antisemitism is the derangement and the problem of antisemites, not Jews. (Same goes for every other form of hate: It is always abominable to say that the victims “asked for it.”)

But that doesn’t mean that Trump and Netanyahu aren’t brazenly pouring gasoline where there are already open flames. While I’m concerned for Jewish communities in America, especially on our disgraced college campuses, I’m downright fearful for the well-being of the Jews of France, the U.K., Australia, and across Europe, where it is already open season and Jewish blood is cheap. Violent responses, G-d forbid, against Jews across the globe are not hard to imagine.

One of the true horrors of Trump’s rise and Netanyahu’s relentless grip on power is the way that each of them have brought into the fold extremists who were once beyond the pale. For decades there have been voices that urged the “transfer” of Palestinians out of Israel—but those voices were always the radical far-right that were considered unacceptable in civilized discourse. In the 70s and 80s, those voices were represented by the despicable Meir Kahane and his followers; but Kahane’s party was outlawed in 1988 by a special law prohibiting racist political parties. In the 90s, Kahane’s ideology of “transfer” was adapted by the Moledet party—but they, too, were recognized as the lunatic fringe, even if they garnered a few ultra-right Knesset seats. But Netanyahu legitimized and elevated Itamar Ben-Gvir and Bezalel Smotrich, both adherents of violent strains of Kahanism, and brought them and their parties into his bloc. Even if “transfer” wasn’t Netanyahu’s plan all along (and I think Trump took Netanyahu totally by surprise with his scheme), he has empowered and normalized those voices that were once considered too extreme for decent society.

As a Zionist, I believe passionately in the legitimate Israeli narrative to be a free people in our historic homeland. And also as a Zionist, I believe it is our absolute imperative to work toward a just solution to the horrible status quo, under which Israelis live under the fear of terror and Palestinians are subject to constant humiliation—and no small amount of terror from far-right thugs.

Look, I know that the Israeli-Palestinian conflict is a disaster, and I share the desire for a game-changer about how to live in an Israel free from terror. Especially post-October 7, I appreciate that the old thinking has been more than non-productive; it’s been catastrophic. There is a genuine need for new thinking and big ideas. This is where the Abraham Accords emerged from, which was the last time there were any glimmers of optimism in the Middle East. But “new thinking and big ideas” must come with a sense of moral obligation and decency.

So what should we American Zionists do? A few obvious responses are demanded of us:

·      SUPPORT Zionist organizations that offer a different vision of the future:  the Israel Movement for Progressive Judaism, ARZA, Zioness Movement, Hiddush, and so on.

·      VOTE in the upcoming World Zionist Congress election: It is crucial that American Zionist Movement is represented by Zionists who are committed to democracy, pluralism, and human rights.

·      SPEAK OUT AS SUPPORTERS OF ISRAEL against this plan—for the sake of Zion and Judaism.

As Zionists, we have a moral responsibility to say: This is not the path for a sustainable future. It is a road to moral oblivion.

From October 7 to 17 Tammuz

Our calendar is beginning to bulge with days that have become so notorious that they are simply known by their dates. “9/11,” of course. “January 6.” And “October 7.” Days that live in infamy because of the awful events that happened on them.

Jewish tradition has long had a few of these as well—commemorations that are just known by their dates on the calendar. The 17th day of Tammuz is a minor fast day that falls this year on Tuesday, July 23. According to the Talmud (Ta’anit 26a-26b), 17 Tammuz is associated with historical tragedies for the Jewish people. Some of these calamities can be seen as “preludes” for disasters that would fall on the 9th Av, exactly three weeks later:

…חֲמִשָּׁה דְּבָרִים אֵירְעוּ אֶת אֲבוֹתֵינוּ בְּשִׁבְעָה עָשָׂר בְּתַמּוּז
,בְּשִׁבְעָה עָשָׂר בְּתַמּוּז נִשְׁתַּבְּרוּ הַלּוּחוֹת
,וּבָטַל הַתָּמִיד
,וְהוּבְקְעָה הָעִיר
,וְשָׂרַף אַפּוֹסְטְמוֹס אֶת הַתּוֹרָה
.וְהֶעֱמִיד צֶלֶם בַּהֵיכל

Five terrible things happened to our ancestors on the 17th of Tammuz…

1. The tablets were shattered (by Moses upon seeing the Golden calf; Ex. 32:19);
2. The Tamid/daily sacrifice in the Temple was cancelled (by the Roman authorities);
3. The city walls of Jerusalem were breached;
4. The Roman general Apostemos publicly burned the Torah;
5. And an idol was placed in the Sanctuary of the Temple.

It's that third item that cuts to the quick this year. It’s not difficult to imagine the carnage of the “breaching of the walls.” After all, we saw it with our own eyes on October 7, nine-and-a-half months ago, when Hamas terrorists tore through the Israeli villages and kibbutzim in the western Negev, murdering and raping their victims, setting fire to the towns, and seizing hostages, 120 of whom are still being held prisoner in Gaza.

Last week, I visited the ruins of Kibbutz Nir Oz. Of the 427 residents of that community, one in four were murdered, wounded, or taken hostage on October 7, 2023, that cursed Simchat Torah. Nine-and-a-half months later, the kibbutz is a ghost town—desolate and frightening. And like a prehistoric insect embalmed in amber, Nir Oz is frozen in time. Broken glass still carpets the ground, the walls remain ashen, children’s toys litter the floor—and the sukkah is still standing.

It was brutal to be there, and I struggle to post this here. But it’s essential that we keep sharing the images and telling the stories of what happened in Nir Oz (and Be’eri, and Kfar Aza, and all the other devastated towns, and at the site of the Nova music festival), so that the world can bear witness.

Images are more powerful than words (at least they’re more powerful than my words), so I’ll share this as a photo-essay of what I saw at Nir Oz last week. The images are devastating, but important. Please note: I’m posting this from a laptop computer, and the photos are neatly arranged on my screen—my apologies if the formatting is messed up on phones or iPads.

The entrance to the main building at Kibbutz Nir Oz today.

Some of the destroyed homes of the kibbutz:

The Hadar Ochel / communal dining hall and kitchen of the kibbutz:

The kindergarten classroom of Nir Oz:

The sukkah is still standing, in shambles, nine months after the festival (“the Season of our Joy”) ended:

And the rage and resentment against this government’s failures - in preventing the attack and in bringing the hostages home - is palpable everywhere:

This sign, posted outside one of the scorched homes, says, “Netanyahu: My family’s blood is on your hands!”, and is signed by the residents.

A few more images from the houses of the kibbutz, include the burnt house of Oded Lifshitz, an octogenarian journalist and lifelong activist for peace between Israelis and Palestinians, now one of the hostages.

The names that are on everyone’s lips in Israel are those of the Bibas family of Nir Oz. Their family of four - parents Shiri (age 32) and Yarden (age 34), and their children Ariel (age 4) and Kfir (age 9 months) - were kidnapped and remain hostage in Gaza today. Shiri’s parents Yossi and Margit Silberman were murdered on Oct. 7. Kfir Bibas has now lived more than half of his life as a hostage to the Hamas terrorists. The scene at the Bibas home is devastating:

The Bibas family mailbox, with four labels that read “hostage.”

THIS is why we’re fighting this just war. THIS is what is at stake when we say “BRING THEM HOME.” It pains me to post these pictures here, but the world must know about what happened here and elsewhere on October 7.

The view through the fence at the border of the Kibbutz, with Gaza just beyond.

The flag flying half-mast at the entrance to the kibbutz.

What are You Reading?💔

A visit with my friend Rabbi Dalia Marx today took me for the first time to the new building of the National Library of Israel. It’s a marvelous place - the world’s largest collection of Hebraica and Judaica - and a must-visit on a trip to Jerusalem. (It’s across the street from the Knesset, and the 24-hour non-stop demonstrations against this government are particularly intense on the streets out front.)

But even in this quiet place of reflection and intellectualism, the trauma of the war pervades. There is a profoundly moving exhibition near the entrance to the main hall of the library. A chair is set for each and every person still held hostage in Gaza. And on each seat lies a book, custom-selected to reflect the interests or passions of that unique individual:

Some of the books are history, or sports, or classic literature; each has been selected by a family member, or loved one, or by volunteers in honor of that person. Everyone is just waiting for each of them to come home (now!) to claim their book.

My eyes gaze from one seat to the next, as I read the names and ages and the books that have been selected: fiction, non-fiction, hardcovers, paperbacks, old books, recent books…

And then I get to the end of the row, and I see this - and the tears come again:

Kfir Bibas, 9 months old, kidnapped from Kibbutz Nir Oz on October 7, hostage of Hamas terrorists in Gaza. Kfir’s book: איה פלוטו, “Where’s Pluto?”

Ariel Bibas, 4 years old, kidnapped from Kibbutz Nir Oz on October 7, hostage of Hamas terrorists in Gaza. Ariel’s book: אמא ואני, “Mommy and Me.”

Transcending Trauma in Israel

Trauma is a brutal word. It’s not only the damage that occurs from physical or psychological wound; it’s also the wound that festers, long after the initial damage has been inflicted.

Israel is a traumatized nation this summer. On the surface, the cafés are occupied, the beaches are full, the tourists are touring, and so on. But the trauma is everywhere, barely beneath the surface. Even if every hostage were to return home tonight (amen!), and if Hamas were to surrender, and if Hezbollah were to cease raining missiles on the North—still it will take a generation to heal the trauma.

My friend—truly one of my heroes—Dr. Anita Shkedi is an authority on trauma, and earlier this week I went to observe the power of the therapeutic work she is doing.

I’ve known Anita for 30 years; she’s one of many Mitzvah-heroes I first met through Danny Siegel. She is a world-renowned expert on equine therapy (“therapeutic horseback riding”), which uses the holistic power of horses to heal broken bodies and broken spirits. In recent years, her attention has moved to healing trauma; her book Horses Heal PTSD: Walking New Paths is full of staggering stories of love and hope that should be read even by people who have never given horses more than a moment’s thought.

And then, October 7 and its aftermath: the massacres, the hostages, the horrors of war; the 125,000 Israelis from the Gaza envelope and the northern border who have been forced from their homes. The nation is grieving and writhing. In response, Anita and her team pivoted and created a new program: TRANSCENDING TRAUMA, “supporting individuals in the early, mid, and post stages of trauma, and then later if chronic PTSD has developed. It provides immediate intervention and treatment, builds resilience and encourages post traumatic growth. Transcending Trauma is an excellent way to regain a sense of trust and learn to manage this ongoing crisis.”

They’ve created groups from survivors of the Nova Festival. They’ve had groups of survivors from the kibbutzim that were devastated by the terrorists. Today, it’s a group of traumatized soldiers.

Anita Shkedi (left)

Nikki Kagan

I visited Anita and the team at “Piloni’s Place” on Moshav Hibbat Tzion, at the backyard horse farm of Nikki Kagan, a noted leadership consultant and horse expert. I met the group of eight participants who had gathered there for the day’s program:

·      A soldier who is the lone survivor of his unit of thirteen fighters. Can you imagine the trauma that he carries with him?

·      Another soldier whose job in Gaza is to recover the dead; to piece together pieces of bodies, give positive IDs, and get the bodies out of the combat zone to central command. Can you imagine…?

·      A young soldier from Westchester County, New York, who came to be in the army of the Jewish people…

·      And so on; five more people each of whom has seen death and destruction among friends and comrades-in-arms.

None of them, as far as I know, was a “horse person” before discovering this place.

The day unfolds this way:

First, the group gathers to say good morning and greet each other in the mercifully air-conditioned patio. They’ve become an intimate group in a short amount of time. Prior to finding Piloni’s Place, they had never met each other; each comes from a different army unit and lives in a different part of the country. As they arrive, we discover that each has brought a snack to share with the group: a watermelon, pastries, cookies, and so on—far more than we could eat that morning. As each person comes in and places onto the table the snack they’ve brought for the others, the whole groups bursts into laughter. No one asked anyone to bring anything! Anita tells me this instinct to take care of each other is a sign of their growing camaraderie and friendship.

Next, Nikki leads us in a short meditation and spiritual intention. And Anita gives gentle instructions for the day: “Talk to your horse as you’re riding,” she tells each participant. Not superficially, but she encourages each one to share how they’re feeling—what terrifies them, what keeps them awake at night, what they’re feeling deep inside. The bond between horse and rider is remarkably deep and holistic.

Then we adjourn to the stable, where the participants began to dress and groom the horses. But I also observe a process of getting in sync. The grooming is so physical and tactile: human hands caress the horses’ bodies as manes are combed, saddles are assembled, hooves are cleaned of debris, and so on. I can see the horses grow calm and comfortable, and the riders, too, are becoming attuned to their animals.

Then it’s time for riding and exercises. Each student mounts their horse and rides, occasionally raising their hands, or moving through obstacles, and following some basic exercises as instructed by Anita and her daughter-in-law Shani. There are smiles, serenity, a growing sense of security and self-awareness. The horses are steady and calm. Even though the day is brutally hot, I could stand in this spot and watch these riders for hours.

When the exercises end, the riders hose down their horses, return the equipment, and reassemble in the room where we began. There is some discussion and processing of emotions, as in any sort of therapeutic support group. There is laughter. Everyone seems looser, relaxed, and enjoying each other’s company.  A beautiful sort of camaraderie has taken place among them; over the weeks that they’ve become part of this group, they’ve shared some intense therapeutic time together. They’re on the long, slow march to a place of confidence and self-worth, and fewer night terrors and isolation and doubt.

Tomorrow, a different group will be meeting here: Anita will be training trainers, who can spread out around the country and offer similar therapeutic groups on horseback for a traumatized nation.

I’m glad to be an emissary for the Kavod Tzedakah Fund, and I deliver a check for a few thousand dollars (each day’s session costs about $1000 to run; of course none of the participants pay anything). I’m also eager to give Anita some of the cash that friends entrusted me to give away in Israel: This, I tell her, is for ice cream and snacks for future groups, to make everything that much gentler.

This is an awesome place, and Anita and Nikki and their team are doing life-saving work. But the need is huge, for a damaged nation coming to grips with its trauma.

If you’d like to support the work of Transcending Trauma (the non-profit is officially registered as “Friends of Jonathan”) from America, there are three ways to do so: 

1.     A wire transfer directly to their bank in Israel; more information here: https://www.anitashkedi.com/transcending-trauma/

2.     The Good People Fund, run by my friend Naomi Eisenberger in Millburn, NJ: www.goodpeoplefund.org;

3.     The Kavod Tzedakah Fund, for which I am a volunteer allocations director, founded by Rabbi Yoshi Zweiback: www.kavod.org. (If you give through Kavod, please send me an email saying that you’ve directed a donation for Transcending Trauma.)

The Mood of Israel from Its Graffiti

I just returned 24 hours ago, so I’m still processing the complicated feelings and spirit of Israel that I’m encountering. I’ll have more to say about the national trauma (literally; as well as the people who are trying to heal it) in the days to come.

But below is a collection of images of Israel from the past 24 hours, especially the graffiti of Tel Aviv, that tell a story about the national pain, anguish, and resilience of the extraordinary nation, the Jewish people. Last year the graffiti was all about the fight for democracy against Israel’s internal demagogues; today it’s about the shared destiny of the nation.

Upon arrival at Ben Gurion airport, on the long ramp from the gate to passport control, we are confronted with the faces of every hostage that remains captive in Gaza - not one is forgotten - courtesy of Bring Them Home Now-The Hostages and Missing Families Forum:

To each one, people have added personalized inscriptions of love and hope. No one is a statistic or a number. Hersh Goldberg-Polin: we are thinking of YOU, and want YOU to come home now! The numbers that have been added to the poster represent the number of days he has been held hostage.

Their faces, and the message BRING THEM HOME, is everywhere. This is one people, one family - and when part of the people is in pain, the whole people feels it:

This image pops up on the ATM before you withdraw cash.

And so it goes, throughout Tel Aviv - on billboards, placards, and on the sides of skyscrapers:

”Bring the kids back home”

“Release them from their hell!” Seen on the streets of Tel Aviv in different forms.

“Free the Bibas family / Bring them home now!” The Hamas terrorists kidnapped the family of four: 34 year-old mother Shiri, 35 year-old father Yarden, 4 year-old Ariel, and 9 MONTH OLD Kfir; Shiri’s parents were massacred in Kibbutz Nir Oz on the same day. Hamas and every sycophant in the west who justifies the terror has the family’s blood on their hands.

On the side of a Tel Aviv highrise: One People, One [Shared] Fate

In this most progressive of cities, there is a spirit of defiance against the hypocrisies of the world that have come out into the open since the war began. For instance, all those who consider rape a war crime, always and forever—except, it seems, when the victims are Jews. So here are two powerful images asking: where have the UN women’s forums and everyone else been as Hamas’s sexual assaults have been documented over and over, including by the perpetrators themselves?:

But below are the ones that I’ve found most powerful - and haunting. These are images from the walls of one of the train stations in downtown Tel Aviv. Each sticker is about one of the victims: who they are, who’s missing them at home, and so on. If they are a hostage, there’s a call to bring them back to the circle of family life. And if they’re dead - massacred on Oct. or killed in the line of duty - each is a howl of pain that they will not be forgotten, by their loved ones or by their people.

Actually, it’s astonishing how many of these contain a message of optimism, or love, or hope; epitaphs that represent the love the each of these individuals brought into the world:

What a country this is! From the Midrash:

.וְאַתֶּ֧ם תִּהְיוּ־לִ֛י [מַמְלֶ֥כֶת כֹּהֲנִ֖ים וְג֣וֹי קָד֑וֹשׁ]…מלמד שהם כגוף אחד ונפש אחת…לקה אחד מהן כולן מרגישין…

You shall be to Me a kingdom of priests and a holy nation (Exodus 19:6).

This teaches that they, Israel, are like a single body and a single soul…
And if one of them is stricken, all of them feel pain.

More to come in the days ahead…

Bein Ha-Sh’mashot: Between Memory and Independence

Sunday evening, May 12, is Yom HaZikaron / Israel’s Memorial Day.
Monday evening, May 13, is Yom HaAtzma’ut / Israel’s 76th Independence Day.

תָּנוּ רַבָּנַן: בֵּין הַשְּׁמָשׁוֹת סָפֵק מִן הַיּוֹם וּמִן הַלַּיְלָה
.סָפֵק כּוּלּוֹ מִן הַיּוֹם, סָפֵק כּוּלּוֹ מִן הַלַּיְלָה

Our Sages taught:
Bein Ha-Sh’mashot, twilight, is a place of uncertainty. Day or night?
It is uncertain if it belongs to the day or if it belongs to the night.  
(Talmud Bavli, Shabbat 34b)

The Israeli national calendar does something rather extraordinary: it juxtaposes Memorial Day and Independence Day, so the former segues directly into the latter.

“We find ourselves in a twilight place between memory and freedom.”

I’ve often wondered, as an American, how each of those days in our calendar would be more profound and meaningful if our national holidays were similarly positioned. As it is, the American Memorial Day, the last Monday in May, mostly becomes a three-day weekend of barbecues and the informal beginning of summer—unless, of course, you happen to be in a military family.  And the 4th of July becomes a day of fireworks and beachgoing. Physically separated by five-and-a-half weeks in the calendar, these days are distinct and isolated from one another. Imagine how the meaning of each day would be deepened if they weren’t so far apart.

By contrast, in the Israeli model, the two days are inextricably connected, and each throws light upon the other. In other words, Israel’s fallen soldiers (and victims of terror) are remembered in the context of paying the ultimate price for everyone else’s gifts of freedom.

The flow from Yom HaZikaron into Yom HaAtzma’ut is organic, meaningful, and solemn.

This year, that seam between the two days seems to be the profoundest metaphor of the condition of Zionism. We truly find ourselves בֵּין הַשְּׁמָשׁוֹת /  bein ha-sh’mashot, in a twilight place between memory and freedom.

Please, please this year take a moment on Yom HaZikaron to remember. Remember not only the victims of Israel’s wars and the terrorist onslaughts she has faced throught the decades. Remember, too, the Hamas butchery of innocents on October 7: 1,139 people who were murdered, including the 364 who were killed at the Nova Music Festival in the desert, and the others from the kibbutzim and towns where the terrorists ruthlessly went door-to-door, executing children, elders, women, and men.

Remember that 250 people (in some situations, several generations of a single family; toddlers and grandparents) were kidnapped and held hostage in the dungeons beneath Gaza.

Remember that many of these women were raped and assaulted by the terrorists, and then their humiliations were sadistically posted to terrorist social media (with beheadings, torture, and more).

Remember that 128 people remain hostages today. May they be returned home before the holidays conclude on Tuesday.

And yes, we have room in our hearts to remember ALL the victims of war and terror, including the innocent Palestinian victims in Gaza. We have not forgotten, and we weep for all the victims. By mourning all the innocents, we assert that we are of a different moral caliber than our enemies.

But we also remember that there are such things as just wars, and we did not seek out or choose this war. The massacre of innocents and the hostages who are still behind enemy lines, without any Red Cross lifelines:  we remember them, and we will not forget, until every one is brought home.

Our Day of Memory will segue into our Day of Independence. And it may be hard to celebrate this year. But even acknowledging our diminished joy, I believe it is incumbent upon us to observe Yom HaAtzma’ut this year; to say in awe: “My G-d! We live in a generation that knows a State of Israel. What would our great-great-grandparents have said to us, to remind us that we live in one of the most extraordinary moments in all of Jewish history?”

Included in that sense of wonder is this: The reminder that Israel represents our refusal to be victims ever again. We have known pogroms and hostage-taking before in Jewish history. But the difference in our generation is the agency to fight for our freedom, to stand for justice and decency and independence and not to wait desperately for “deliverance from another place” (as Esther 4:14 would have it).

With that agency, of course, comes grave responsibility. A just war must be fought with just means. And the internal debates and wrestling that are going on within the Jewish community are (mostly) fair and, in the very fact that they are happening, a fruit of Independence.

As the world seethes—as antisemites aggressively spew their hate on college campuses and hypocrites dominate the opinion pages, as Jews are threatened once again from every quarter and every political angle—it occurs to me: I will observe Yom HaAtzma’ut with a renewed sense of vigor this year.

Observing Yom HaAtzma’ut with gratitude, commitment, and no small amount of wonder, will demand a certain amount of intention:

It will be an act of commitment to truth, which is in ever-diminishing supply.

It will be an act of pride in all the marvels that make up modern Israel.

It will be an act of solidarity with Jews everywhere, who continue to look towards Zion in hope.

It will be an act of rededication to working towards building the democratic and free society that is described in its Declaration of Independence:

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.

In other words, celebrating Israeli Independence this year will be an act of countercultural DEFIANCE that is at the heart of the Torah and Jewish tradition.

It may be hard to tell if this moment between memory and freedom belongs primarily to day or night, as the Talmud (above) would have it. But Israel and its extraordinarily resilient people continue to shine the light of courage, and I for one will raise a glass this year with my community to celebrate that unextinguished hope.

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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