Never Hide!

The streets of Jerusalem were quiet at 3 am.  I walked with my two daughters to our friend’s home to watch our beloved Chicago Cubs lose game one of the NLCS.  I felt completely comfortable at this hour, in a way I never felt safe walking to the 7-Eleven nearest Wrigley Field to get ginger ale for a sick child.  Walking the streets late at night felt normal, even during this wave of attacks.

The game ended, we walked home and started our day.  I dropped my youngest daughter off at school and went to the gym near the Old City.  Afterwards, I had a strong feeling inside that I needed to walk around.  Strolling felt necessary.  

First stop: Roladin in the Mamilla Mall to get a large café hafuch.  While there were people walking, window-shopping and sitting in the restaurants, the mall was far from full.  It seemed there were as many police officers and soldiers as there were customers and it felt safe.

Second stop: The plaza outside the Jaffa Gate.  I met a group of Armenian Christian tourists from Australia finishing their tour.  At the same time, another group, from the Philippines, was just setting off on their Old City adventure. Standing across from the outer walls of ancient Jerusalem, I saw that the tourists looked happy and comfortable, not  nervous or frightened.  

Third stop: The Old City.  I talked with Zaki who sells Middle Eastern bagels and breads. We exchanged pleasantries and he complained that all he wanted was  “to be able to feed his family and for us to live in peace.”  I agreed.  Zaki then asked, “But tell me, Why do you people want to go to Al Aqsa?  It is not your place.  Why do you provoke?”  The “Jews want to take over and destroy Al Aqsa” is a total fabrication, a lie spread by Fatah and Hamas to provoke Palestinians that has no basis in truth. But I knew I would not be able to convince  Zaki of the truth. Instead, I asked him which of the yellow bagels was more authentic, the chocolate or the date-filled, purchased the date-filled one, and continued my walk.

Fourth Stop: Jaffa Street.   Like Mamilla Mall, there were people going about their regular errands – shopping, eating, talking and working – and plenty of soldiers keeping watch, keeping us all safe.  Like the Arab shopkeepers at the Jaffa Gate, there were plenty of storeowners complaining about the lack of business. During these conversations, I started to get a hint of why this walk was so important.

Fifth Stop– Ben Yehuda Street.  I moved down Jaffa Street toward Ben Yehuda Street. I found the answer to my question, my need to walk around town, in a Simon & Garfunkel-esque way, almost straight out of The Sounds of Silence.  The words of the prophet were not written on subway walls – we don’t have subways in Jerusalem – or tenement halls; rather, it came in the form of an advertisement for Ray Ban Sunglasses. In big, bold letter, above a group of  athletes were two words:

NEVER HIDE!

“Never hide.”  It is so simple.

I needed to walk around downtown Jerusalem because I could not hide.  

Hiding means the terrorists win, they cause me, they cause us, to change our lives. They dictate where we go and what we do or don’t do.  They breed fear, hatred and, unfortunately, more violence.  I won’t hide because this is my home, my country, my city.

“Never hide” doesn’t mean take needless and careless risks.  Like any major city in the US, there are certain areas here I don’t go to because the “crime” statistics are too high to make it worth the risk. At the same time,  “Never Hide” also means not to avoid your gym or your regular coffee place or wherever you like to sit and work.

“Never hide” means not conceding our Jewish values.  It means being like the children of Aaron:  pursuing peace.  It means remembering that redress is in the hands of God, not people; that we demand safety but won’t execute vengeance. It means that even in a war on terror, we trust the IDF and Police to protect us and to do so in an ethical way.  At the same time, “Never Hide” does not imply or permit violence, vigilantism, chants of “Death to Arabs.” That is simply not our way.  “Never Hide” demands that we call out our own who act counter to our tradition, who murder, beat and berate in the name of vengeance; it means we don’t let them hide from justice.

Unlike in the past, we no longer need to hide. We are a “Free people in our own land.”  We can and must be publicly proud, both in Israel and across the world.  We cannot sit alone in our darkened rooms, letting life pass us by, conceding victory to the terrorists.

In fact, I believe that the more we are out and about, the greater the sense of individual and collective security we will feel. I write this secure in the knowledge that things will ultimately quiet down and return to normal.  One day, there may even be Peace here.  Let’s hope and pray it arrives before my Cubs make it to, let alone win, the World Series. While we wait for and work toward it, we can say, as Cub fans do every year, “There’s always next year.”  And there is always the next cafe hafuch, the next moment of pride and the next possibility for Peace.

Until  that time, the words of the Ray Ban prophet will continue ringing in my ears:

“Never Hide.”

A Funeral in Israel

For me, it was the gunshots - three rounds, seven shots per round – piercing the heavy silence that brought home the finality of the moment: the burial of Staff Sargeant Liel Gidoni. He grew up and lived in a neighborhood I know well.  Nonetheless, I never met Liel, or his family, prior to Sunday afternoon on Mt. Herzl.  The entire neighborhood came to bury Liel.  I joined hundreds of others who did not know Liel and, nonetheless, came to pay last respects, to honor his service to and ultimate sacrifice for the State of Israel.

Liel was killed last Friday when he and two other comrades, Major Benaya Sarel and Second Lieutenant Hadar Goldin, were preparing to destroy a tunnel in or near Rafah in the Gaza strip.  Three hours into a cease-fire, during which Israel indicated it would continue destroying tunnels, terrorists burst onto the scene and murdered the three Israeli soldiers, one more cease fire ignored or broken by Hamas.  A tunnel is not a human being. It sounds so obvious that it may be better not to even say it. In the eyes of the attackers, however, a destroyed tunnel seemed to be equal to a human life.  During what was to be a period of quiet, Hamas could not help itself.  They attacked, broke the cease-fire and killed another three Israeli soldiers.

While I attended one military funeral in the past in Fitzgerald, Georgia, this was completely different.  In Fitzgerald, we buried an 82-year-old, Jewish WW II war hero.  I knew the family and almost everyone at the funeral very well.  He had a wonderful wife, children, and grandchildren.  He lived a full life.  On Mt. Herzl, however, we were burying a twenty-year old, killed in the line of duty.  We were burying a teenager, someone with an entire lifetime to live.  I knew nobody at the funeral, not parents or siblings, grandparents or friends. My connections to Liel were distant at best: 1) I heard about his death while on the plane on Friday, two hours before we landed at Ben Gurion and 2) He was defending my and our collective home.  Yet, I felt as if I was burying a member of my own family.

Each of the eulogies for Liel was more heart-rending than the one before it. Representatives of Givati, where Liel served, as well as the Mayor of Jerusalem, Nir Barkat, spoke in personal, yet official roles.  Neither knew Liel personally yet managed to capture the importance of his service and sacrifice.  Principals, teachers, classmates, best friends and relatives painted a picture of Liel for those of us who didn’t know him personally.  Liel was always smiling an infectious smile, striving to be the best.  He came back to school even after he was drafted to volunteer.  Whenever he could, he came back to help out, joining the Yom HaZikaron ceremony the school put together annually.  His cousin and played a song in his memory.  The gathered mourners tried as best as possible to pick up the chorus and join in.  The memorial prayer, El Maleh Rachamim, wailed forth, echoing across Mt. Herzl.  If there were any dry eyes left by this point, the power contained in the sadness of the shaking voice brought out the tears they were meant to evoke. 

And then there were the gunshots of the twenty-one-gun salute. 

A final farewell. 

Once the funeral ended, a throng of people went to visit the Liel’s grave.  There it was, among five other freshly dug graves.  Liel joined ten other Jerusalem residents killed in Operation Tzuk Eitan, now resting rest in peace on Mt. Herzl.  I paid my last respects to this wonderful soul I never had a chance to meet, stood quietly praying several Psalms. I moved out of the way to make space for others.

 Staring at his grave, I pondered the meaning of Liel’s name.  The first syllable, Li, means “me.” El is one of the names of God.  There are so many hidden meanings: the combination of the human and the Divine; the personal and the transcendent; the true meaning of faith, recognizing God within us.  Seeing the Godly in each of us, in every human being, honoring the Godliness residing in every person, describes Liel. I can only imagine what he would have accomplished if he had not been killed last Friday.

Today, I think about the news of Liel’s death last week and his funeral on Sunday.  I think about where we were and where we are going, both of which lead me to…

Send prayers of comfort to Liel’s family as they mourn his death.

Hope there will be an extension of the cease-fire today.

Pray the cease-fire will continue through Erev Shabbat, becoming a long-term cease-fire.

Dream that, someday, there will be peace in Israel and the region.

And I pray that the quiet is not broken by more gunshots - those of war or those of military funerals – ever again.

May the memory of Liel, his sixty-three other IDF compatriots killed in battle, and the civilians killed, be blessings for all of us.

Reaction to Calls for Vengeance and Another Murder

Written just after the announcement of the discovery, in the forests of Jerusalem, of the body of murdered 16 year old Muhammad Abu Khdeir from Shuafat, 

At this time, we do not know the perpetrators or reasons for the killing of a 16 year old Arab boy, discovered in the early hours of this morning in the Jerusalem Forest. 

And you know what?

It doesn't matter. 

The pain we feel here for the murder of the three kidnapped teens, for Eyyal, Gilaad and Naftali,  CANNOT be channeled into acts of "Nekama" or vengeance. 

Last night, I wandered through downtown.  I saw a procession of far right extremists chanting "Death to Arabs," looking for Arabs to harass and harm.

This is not the Jewish way.

We cannot stand idly by. 

We must demand quick action from our Government to protect all citizens.

It does NOT matter if, in the end, the Arab teen was murdered by other arabs due to internal family tensions or by Jews. 

If this was a family problem, we are still left with "ours" walking through downtown Jerusalem, chanting hatred and looking for innocents to harm.

If this was done by "ours," we have serious cheshbon nefesh, soul searching,  to do.  When we are done with out accounting,  we must then  act as a nation to uproot this hatred. Punishment for "our" perpetrators, when found and tried, must be ma'asar olam - life sentences - and sealing of homes. Homes here can't be destroyed because almost all live in multi-family apartments. But families can be locked out permanently

Those who know me know I am a pragmatist, a realist, and center just slightly right on security issues. They also know that I am center, slightly left, when it comes to questions of civil rights.

But this is not an issue of left or right, religious or secular. 

This is a matter of the soul of our country.  

Nothing less. 

Praying this is a quiet Shabbat, one of comfort for the families of Eyyal, Gilaad and Naftali and for the family of Muhammad.

Praying there is quiet in Sderot and the communities in range of the Hamas missiles.

Praying we witness Peace, Shalom, soon and in our day.

העשה שלום במרומיו הוא יעשה שלום עלינו ועל כל עם ישראל

May the One who makes Peace in the Heavens make Peace for all Israel...

ועל כל יושבי תבל

And for all humanity.

Amen

What we need to do now: Thinking of Eyyal, Gilad and Naftali, zichronam livracha

Watching the news, listening to the politicians and the analysts, reading the status messages on Facebook and Twitter, the following is clear to me:

Now is the time for one thing and one thing only: 

mourning. 

To feel the deep, penetrating sadness. 

To send messages of support and embrace to the families.

That is all.

Now is NOT the time to argue about the strength of a response.

Now is NOT the time to talk about either showing military restraint or building new communities in whatever name you use to refer to the land to the East, between the "Green Line" of armistice and the "Blue Line" of the Jordan River.

Now is NOT the time to dehumanize the "Smolanim," the leftists  or those Israeli citizens who live in Gush Etzion (often referred to as "Mitnachalim," Settlers).

There will be time to debate what is cause and what is effect. 

There will be time for all of the above.

But there is only now to feel the immediacy of the pain, of the loss, of the sadness.

Now is the time to focus on what binds us together as a family, as a people, as a nation.

We owe it to the three beautiful souls snatched from this world, to their families and last, and in this case least,

to ourselves. 

Let the memory of Eyyal, Gilad and Naftali forever be for a blessing.

May their parents be comforted along with all the mourners of Zion and Israel.

Bring Them Home Alive!

ויש תקווה לאחריתך, נאום-יהוה; 

ושבו בנים, לגבולם

And there is hope for your future, declares The Lord; 

Your children shall return to their country.

Jeremiah 31:16

Walking around Jerusalem, you might think everything is “business as usual.”  Traffic in the morning is as bad as ever and people honk their horns within a nanosecond of the light turning green.  As always, the woman who hands out newspapers at the corner of Keren HaYesod and Agron Streets is there today.  People still say hello and smile.  

The reality, however, is different.  The tension in the air, the concern, the hope and the fear are all palpable.  Three teenagers, Gilad Sha'ar, Eyal Yifrach and Naftali Frankel, kidnapped on Thursday night, are still missing. Their safety and well-being is in the forefront of our minds. Talking with others, I hear the same thing over and over again.  It is hard to concentrate.  It is hard to focus.  Little problems that under other circumstances elicit disproportionate, frustrated reactions are swept aside as if they are nothing. The return, alive, of Gilad, Eyal and Naftali is all that matters.

Right now, we are stuck between the compelling desire to want to do something and the grating frustration that there is little we can do.  We send words of support to the family, we share messages on social media and we look for any shred of good news.  The tradition of praying from the Book of Psalms helps us act and articulate, privately and communally, our  thoughts and feelings.  The Psalms are aspirational.  They express our hope for a certain outcome, a positive outcome: the return of our boys to their families. They are not a guarantee.  While the IDF forces search for Eyal, Gilad and Naftali, we send them and their families strength through our prayers.

I ask that you, my friends of all faiths, join me and others throughout the world in praying the words of Psalms 121 and 142 several times each day, keeping in mind our three kidnapped boys in the hope that they will return alive into the warm embrace of their parents and their families very soon.

Amen!

תהילים קכ״א

 שִׁיר, לַמַּעֲלוֹת:

אֶשָּׂא עֵינַי, אֶל-הֶהָרִים--    מֵאַיִן, יָבֹא עֶזְרִי.

ב  עֶזְרִי, מֵעִם ה׳--    עֹשֵׂה, שָׁמַיִם וָאָרֶץ.

ג  אַל-יִתֵּן לַמּוֹט רַגְלֶךָ;    אַל-יָנוּם, שֹׁמְרֶךָ.

ד  הִנֵּה לֹא-יָנוּם, וְלֹא יִישָׁן--    שׁוֹמֵר, יִשְׂרָאֵל.

ה  ה׳ שֹׁמְרֶךָ;    ה׳ צִלְּךָ, עַל-יַד יְמִינֶךָ.

ו  יוֹמָם, הַשֶּׁמֶשׁ לֹא-יַכֶּכָּה;    וְיָרֵחַ בַּלָּיְלָה.

ז  ה׳, יִשְׁמָרְךָ מִכָּל-רָע:    יִשְׁמֹר, אֶת-נַפְשֶׁךָ.

ח  ה׳, יִשְׁמָר-צֵאתְךָ וּבוֹאֶךָ--    מֵעַתָּה, וְעַד-עוֹלָם

A song for ascents.

I turn my eyes to the mountains; 

from where will my help come?

My help comes from the Lord,

Maker of heaven and earth.

God will not let your foot give way;

Your guardian will not slumber;

See, the Guardian of Israel 

Neither slumbers nor sleeps!

The Lord is your guardian, 

The Lord is your protection at your right hand.

By day the sun will not strike you, 

Nor the moon by night.

The Lord will guard you from all harm; 

Adonai will guard your life.

The Lord will guard your going and 

Coming now and forever.

תהילים קמ״ב

א  מַשְׂכִּיל לְדָוִד;

בִּהְיוֹתוֹ בַמְּעָרָה    תְפִלָּה.

ב  קוֹלִי, אֶל-ה׳ אֶזְעָק;    קוֹלִי, אֶל-ה׳ אֶתְחַנָּן.

ג  אֶשְׁפֹּךְ לְפָנָיו שִׂיחִי;    צָרָתִי, לְפָנָיו אַגִּיד.

ד  בְּהִתְעַטֵּף עָלַי, רוּחִי--    וְאַתָּה, יָדַעְתָּ נְתִיבָתִי:

בְּאֹרַח-זוּ אֲהַלֵּךְ--    טָמְנוּ פַח לִי.

ה  הַבֵּיט יָמִין, וּרְאֵה--    וְאֵין-לִי מַכִּיר:

אָבַד מָנוֹס מִמֶּנִּי;    אֵין דּוֹרֵשׁ לְנַפְשִׁי.

ו  זָעַקְתִּי אֵלֶיךָ,    ה׳:

אָמַרְתִּי, אַתָּה מַחְסִי;    חֶלְקִי, בְּאֶרֶץ הַחַיִּים.

ז  הַקְשִׁיבָה, אֶל-רִנָּתִי--    כִּי-דַלּוֹתִי-מְאֹד:

הַצִּילֵנִי מֵרֹדְפַי--    כִּי אָמְצוּ מִמֶּנִּי.

ח  הוֹצִיאָה מִמַּסְגֵּר, נַפְשִׁי--    לְהוֹדוֹת אֶת-שְׁמֶךָ:

בִּי, יַכְתִּרוּ צַדִּיקִים--    כִּי תִגְמֹל עָלָי.

A Maskil of David, while he was in the cave. 

A prayer:

I pray aloud to the Lord; 

I appeal to the Lord loudly for mercy.

I pour out my complaint before God;

I lay my trouble before Adonai 

When my spirit fails me.

You know my course;

They have laid a trap in the path I walk.

Look at my right and see-I have no friend;

There is nowhere I can flee, 

No one cares about me.

So I cry to You, O Lord; I say,

”You are my refuge and 

All I have in the land of the living.”

Listen to my cry

For I have been brought very low;

Save me from my pursuers, 

for they are too strong for me.

Free me from prison, 

that I may praise Your name.

The righteous shall glory in me for
Your gracious dealings with me.

When will comfort come? A Reflection on The Ninth of Av

אבל מקדש שני, שהיו עוסקין בתורה ובמצות וגמילות חסדים מפני מה חרב? מפני שהיתה בו שנאת חנם

יומא ט ע”ב

But why was the second Temple destroyed when people were busy with Torah study, Mitzvot and Acts of Lovingkindness? Because there was needless hatred.        

Babylonian Talmud Yoma 9b

“Nazi Atah!” – “You are a Nazi!” screamed the little boy.

No older than eight or nine, the boy yelled with the hostility of one who lived a full life of persecution.  His eyes burned hot with anger, his face flush with hatred.  Long black curls, payot, trembled with animosity as he continued shouting at the man on the other side of the gate.  This was not a scene from the shtetl in Europe during World War II.  He was not yelling at a German Soldier.  This was last week at the Western Wall, the Kotel, and this child was yelling at another Jew.  What provoked the little boy to yell “Nazi” at another Jew? Here is the story…

I got to the Kotel late for services on Rosh Hodesh Menachem Av, the arrival of the new month of Av.  As is regularly the case, Women of the Wall (WoW) gathered for services.  This time, thousands of young yeshiva girls came out to fill the Kotel Plaza, as they were instructed to do by their rebbeim,  so the group was forced to meet far from the Kotel, behind police barricades.

Arriving at the bottom of the steps leading to the plaza, I stood next to a group of Haredi teenagers to put on my tallit and tefillin.  I was minding my own business when a guy came from out of the “corrall,” got in the face of the Haredim, yelled something unintelligible, and pushed one of the black hat and black-suit clad youths.  A melee ensued around me with ten Haredim pounding on this guy and young kids screaming at him.  To their credit, the police rushed in and broke up the fight, taking away the WoW participant and the Haredi who hit him the most.

As they were led away, I noticed that the guy from WoW dropped his tallis bag.  I picked it up and followed the group to the police holding area.  I approached the gate and asked if the tallis bag belonged to him.  All around me, Haredi teens and children were screaming in Hebrew and Yiddish:

“Reformi – You’re not Jewish!”

“You are a blasphemer!”

“You are a Nazi!”

The last slur drew my attention away from the WoW participant behind the fence and toward the gang behind me.  There, I saw the angry, raging little boy gesticulating wildly at the WoW guy and screaming “Nazi! Nazi Atah!”  All around me, shouts of “Reformi,” “Lo Yehudi” and “Nazi” rose to a crescendo.

I looked at the little kid with the flying black curls and calmly, in my Hebrew Jewish educator voice, asked:

“Who taught you to say such horrible things?”

He stopped shouting and just stared at me, a mixture of curiosity and surprise.

“Really, who taught you to call another Jew something so horrible?”

“Hu lo Yehudi!” – He is not Jewish!” The boy retorted.

“And how do you know that?  Did you check? I said.

“If he prays like that, he is Reformi, not Jewish!” He screamed.

Devastated, I wondered what kind of “religious” parent, educator, rebbe would teach a child to label another Jew a Nazi.  What kind of fear led people to inculcate their children with such hatred, labeling another Jew a “Jew-Killer?”  There is no circumstance that could ever justify the gross negligence of parents, of rabbis, of educators who teach children that any Jew who disagrees with them is equal to those who tried to destroy our people. I was even more devastated by the fact that we were celebrating the arrival of the Hebrew month of Av.

We call this month “Menachem Av,”  menachem meaning comfort.  According to tradition, The Temple in Jerusalem was destroyed twice  on the 9th of Av(first in 586 b.c.e. and again in 70 c.e.).  During the month,  we pray for a future when the pain of the destruction, the pain of exile, the pain of wandering will be comforted, will be healed.  And why was The Temple destroyed?  The Talmud teaches that destruction came because of “Sinat Hinam,” senseless hatred. Now, at the base of our holiest site, the foot of The Temple Mount, The Place, where the Jewish People and God interacted in the most direct way, here I see for the first time what real Sinat Hinam, real senseless hatred looks like:  A little boy, screaming in full fury, “Jew Killer” at another Jew.

“When will the redemption come?” I ask myself.

Not when every Jew observes a few Shabbatot.  

Not when we all check our Mezuzot or our Tefillin to be sure that the parchments are “kasher.”

Not when we all behave according to one opinion.

Redemption will come when Jewish educators, parents and rabbis teach their children to live a life of Ahavat Hinam, of generous love toward the entirety of the Jewish People.

Salvation will come when the Jewish tradition of Makhloket, of arguing positions, is done for the Sake of Heaven, with Love and respect and generosity.

Comfort will come when one group of Jews watches another group of Jews pray and sees in that different way one of the seventy faces of Torah.

Deliverance will come when every Jew, child and adult, invests more energy in Ahavat Yisrael, in loving all of the Jewish People, than they invest in being “right.”

Achieving redemption is a big, hairy, audacious goal.

For now, maybe we should begin with the most modest of goals: teaching kids not to scream “Nazi” at those who are different from them.  

With unending hope that we see Redemption, Salvation, Comfort, and Deliverance soon and in our day, I wish us all a meaningful fast, a day of reflection and self-assessment, and a day for renewing commitment to achieving complete repair of our world.