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Living Synesthesia

The Torah’s description of Matan Torah, the most seminal moment in human history, a moment that defined not only a nation but gave meaning and purpose to the very creation of the world, is extremely powerful and dynamic, but also perplexing.

 

וכל העם ראים את הקולת

and the entire people saw the sounds.  


What does it mean to “see” sounds? The Zohar writes, “These sounds were etched into the darkness, cloud and mist and were visible.” The Zohar understands the pasuk literally: the sounds could be seen.

 

Though our rational minds dismiss this suggestion as mere mysticism and unrealistic, there is in fact a rare neurological condition called synesthesia which causes the senses to be mixed up and to see sounds as colors. Jan MacKay, a woman with the condition, describes that she sees sneezes as turquoise. “One of my earliest memories is that I could tell the difference between Canadian and American accents because the Canadian accent is more yellow.” Neurologist Richard Cytowic explained, “You know the word anesthesia, which means no sensation, synesthesia means joined sensation, and some people are born with two or more of their senses hooked together so that my voice, for example, is not just something that they hear, but it’s also something that they might see.”

 

Though this condition only occurs in one in twenty thousand, it is possible that for the seminal moment of Matan Torah, Hashem wanted to leave an indelible and unforgettable impression and so He caused us all to experience synesthesia so that we literally saw the sounds as the Zohar suggests.

 

The Kli Yakar comments that they didn’t see the sounds as colors, but they actually visualized God’s commandments, each letter, word and sentence they were hearing was projected before them. The vocalized words were expressed not only in sound waves, but materialized as physical letters and words as if projected on a screen.

 

The Ibn Ezra interprets the expression “see the sounds” much more metaphorically. We know that in many places in Tanach the expression “to see” is used for something that is intangible or conceptual. Re’eh anochi nosein lifneichem hayom beracha ukelala, see I place before you today blessings and curses. Seeing is the sense we reference when we seek to convey the powerful impression something makes. In our own vernacular, when we want the person speaking to us to feel heard and validated we say, “I see what you are saying, I see your perspective on this issue.”

 

The Zohar, Kli Yakar and Ibn Ezra all offer fascinating interpretations, but I would like to suggest something a little different. Some speakers are talented at communicating ideas. They are well organized, articulate and effectively transmit the information, idea or concept. Yet as successful as these speakers are, their content remains intellectual, cognitive, and abstract. Much more rare and unusual are those speakers that are able to paint a picture with their words. Their message is so compelling and persuasive, the listener not only hears what they are saying, but sees their vision and pictures themselves living the life being described. This information doesn’t remain abstract and theoretical, but is absorbed by the listener such that they can envision themselves transformed and behaving differently.

 

The giving of the Torah was undoubtedly an educational, pedagogic experience. Laws and rules were communicated and transmitted to a nation that was now bound to observe them. For most people law is dry, sterile, and uninspiring. Law books and statutory codes are for reference only and are grossly unexciting and monotonous. One could easily have mistaken Matan Torah as an information session, an intellectual transmission of the new laws incumbent on the people.

 

Perhaps the Torah is telling us that this description couldn’t be further from the truth. At that fateful and faithful moment at Sinai, Hashem painted a picture for his people of a purpose-driven life, of an existence that is sacred and sanctified, of a lifestyle that is extraordinarily rewarding and spiritually satisfying. Perhaps V’chol ha’am ro’im es ha’kolos means they didn’t hear about 39 categories of forbidden creative labor on Shabbos, they saw what a Shabbos is like, they felt the serenity, tranquility and rest that Shabbos provides. They heard the laws of Shabbos but they pictured the Shabbos table filled with family and friends, they smelled the cholent and tasted the chicken soup. At Har Sinai, they didn’t just hear about the detailed laws of the prohibition against stealing, they envisioned an ethical society and pictured themselves submitting honest tax returns.

 

Indeed, Har Sinai is the defining moment of our history not for the laws that we heard but the pictures and the images that we saw and became the vision of a lifestyle that is divinely enriching and elevating. According to the Ramban, there is a biblical commandment to remember Har Sinai each and every day of our lives. Sinai cannot be something in the past, a piece of history, a part of an ancient record. Har Sinai remains relevant, compelling and real each day when we are ro’im es hakolos, when the voice of God spoken that day animates our lives such that it can be seen through us and our homes.

 

Har Sinai is alive when Judaism for us is not a burden but a beracha, not limiting but limitless in its meaning, not a prescription for hardship but for holiness. V’chol ha’am ro’im es hakolos. The entire nation seeing the voice, envisioning the message, and absorbing the sounds, is in many ways the mission of Jewish parenting.

 

What do our children see?  What are we celebrating for our children, for our family, for ourselves? Are we celebrating the things and accomplishments that we truly value? Here is why that question is critical:  Because whatever you celebrate, that’s what you’ll value and that is what you children will value and sacrifice for. 

 

Our Judaism must not be commemorative, our commitment to Torah must not be a casual connection because of a past.  It must be vibrant, dynamic, alive, passionate in the present. 

 

The Midrash tells us that when Hashem gave the Torah, כפה עליהם הר כגגית, He held it over our heads and said accept it or שם תהא קבורתכם, there you will be buried.  Many ask, shouldn’t it say פה, here, not שם, there?  If Hashem is going to threaten us, shouldn’t He get it right? 

 

I believe, and we are sadly seeing empirically all around us, that if you don’t feel the weight of Torah over your head, the responsibility of a deep, profound and passionate commitment to it personally, you may not spiritually die in that moment.  Perhaps you can go a generation or two.  But שם, down the line, a few generations in, it will catch up.  If we negotiate with our Yiddishkeit, if we pick and choose, if we are casual about it, down the road it will come crashing down on our head. 

 

Israel’s war against her enemies and the rise of antisemitism have posed formidable challenges but they also bring an opportunity.  How we react, what we are doing about it, how focused we are on the fate of our people, can and will leave an indelible and enduring impression on our children and grandchildren. 

 

If we want our families to be passionate, practicing, and proud Jews, living and learning Torah and loving Israel when they are שם, down the road, they need to רואים את הקולת, not only hear, but see our voices in action now. 

What Our Shuls and Communities can Learn from Disney

With my youngest child approaching his teenage years I thought my Disney days were over, but when my grandchildren came to me asking, “Zayda, can you come with us to Disney,” I couldn’t say no.  And so, I spent two days this week at the Magic Kingdom and Epcot.  As usual, I brought  a baseball cap so that nobody would be able to tell that I am Jewish.

 

As we pulled into the park, though, I decided not to wear it.  In a time when too many are trying to scare us, attempting to intimidate us into removing our symbols, hiding our practices or being ashamed of our identity, it is more important than ever to proudly wear our yarmulkas, show our tzitzis, or necklaces displaying Jewish stars, maps of Israel, or solidarity with hostages, and not cower from practices that are appropriate in public. 

 

A woman and her family came over to me at one of the parks to say how happy she was to see Jewish people not afraid to wear their yarmulka in public.  When I asked if she was Jewish, she told me she was and that she went to a Jewish school in Minneapolis as a child.   A man walking by stopped to say, “Shalom.”  I responded “Shalom” and asked if he was Jewish.  He told me he is a pastor from Alabama and that he and his congregation regularly pray for Israel and the Jewish people.  His wife quickly added, “and we have been praying constantly for the hostages.” 

 

We got a “boker tov” from one of the Disney employees and a few more “shaloms” and, I’m happy to report, no negativity or hostility.  The truth is, I would expect nothing more at the “Happiest Place on Earth.” It is hard to think of another place where such a large quantity of people all seem so courteous, kind, pleasant, and polite.

 

Generally speaking, one doesn’t find pushing or shoving, short tempers, a culture of criticism, or impolite and impatient people at Disney, despite having to wait on long lines, pay large fees, endure the hot sun, and spend hours on one’s feet.

 

As we observed the throngs of people with smiles on their faces and extraordinary consideration towards one another, I couldn’t help but think, wouldn’t it be amazing if our shuls were like Disney?  Wouldn’t it be wonderful if people thought of our campuses and communities as the happiest places on Earth, places that even if they had to stand for long periods, sometimes wait on lines, endure imperfect temperatures, it would not only be well worth it, they would be clamoring and counting down to coming back.

 

How does Disney do it and what could we learn regarding creating a culture of happiness? Many years ago, I participated in a behind-the-scenes tour of Disney to explore that very question. The design and layouts of the parks, the placement of vendors, and the timing of the shows are all meticulously and brilliantly strategized and arranged. But what struck me most from the tour was the culture and how the attitude of the Disney’s tens of thousands of workers impacts each and every one of their guests.

 

In every employee only area, there are signs highlighting the Disney credo, including: “I project a positive image and energy. I am courteous and respectful to all guests including children. I go above and beyond.” Disney understands a fundamental psychological principle supported by extensive research – happiness and joy are contagious. Just as if one person yawns others will follow suit, so too, if a person smiles, others around him will start smiling as well. A happy disposition, a positive spirit, and a pleasant countenance are quite literally contagious.

 

Whose responsibility is it to spread the smiles? Whose job is it to maintain the happiness effect? There are roughly 77,000 employees at Disney World in Orlando. All members of the staff, from custodial and maintenance, to the ride operators and people who wear the Mickey costumes, are all referred to as “cast members.” How many of the 77,000 cast members do you think are responsible for picking up the garbage? The answer is all 77,000. How many are responsible for helping someone with directions or return a lost child to their parents? 77,000. How many are required to smile and spread the happiness? That’s right, all 77,000. At Disney, the cast members know that they each have different tasks, but they are taught that they all have the same purpose: spreading happiness.

 

Disney has a regular contest among the employees to identify and reward “great service fanatics.” These individuals are nominated by their peers and are celebrated for going above and beyond in being kind, helpful, and spreading happiness and joy.

 

How do we go from a culture of complaining and criticism to creating the happiest place on Earth? Perhaps we can create a culture in which every single Jew, every participant of the community is a member of the “cast.” We must go from consumers, from members with entitlements and privileges, to stakeholders, cast members who feel a sense of personal responsibility, duty and obligation. 

 

If we want to be a place that attracts all, that inspires non-observant and disaffected Jews, that makes teens and youth excited about their Judaism, we ALL need to be leaders in making happiness, joy and meaning contagious in our institutions and homes. 

 

When speaking with a child, Disney cast members are trained to bend down and meet them at eye level.  I saw firsthand the subtle but powerful impact of speaking to someone, even a child, at eye level instead of making them look up at you while feeling small.  We need to speak to all the members and participants in our community at their eye level.  Sometimes that will mean bending down, ensuring nobody feels small, no matter what their Jewish education or level of observance. 

 

In complimenting and blessing Yehuda, Yaakov says, “His teeth are whiter than milk.” Of all virtues, why is Yaakov highlighting Yehuda’s teeth? The Talmud (Kesubos 111b) explains that Yaakov saw a quality in Yehuda he greatly admired and benefited from. Yehuda had a habit of smiling, of flashing the white of his teeth when seeing others. Indeed, the Talmud concludes when a person shows the white of his teeth to another by smiling widely, it is more beneficial than giving a cup of milk to drink. Why the comparison to milk?

 

Rav Shlomo Wolbe explains that milk nourishes and nurtures growth. What milk does for the body, a smile does for the heart and soul. He writes that just as plants require sunshine to live, converting the rays of the sun into nutrients, people convert smiles into energy and strength, and without it they wilt and perish. Dogs and cats can’t smile. Smiling at one another is part of what differentiates us as humans.

 

Make an effort to always have a smile.  Let’s all be active members of the Jewish people’s cast and convert our shuls and communities into the happiest places on Earth.

Inauguration and Extortion, Pageantry and Pain

Photo by Angela Weiss/AFP via Getty Images


Why are we so captivated by a presidential inauguration?

 

In 1797, after John Adams was inaugurated as second president of the United States, succeeding George Washington, he wrote to his wife Abigail, “When the Ceremony was over, [Washington] came and made me a visit and cordially congratulated me and wished my Administration might be happy, successful and honourable.”  Four years later, in 1801, the transfer of power from Adams to Jefferson was significant as it was the first transfer between political opponents.  It was uncomfortable, but it was successful. 

 

With the inauguration of a new American president, we have come to expect a peaceful transfer of power, a hallmark of American democracy.  Whether you are excited or disappointed in the outcome of this election and no matter your opinion on who rose his hand to be sworn in, we should all be grateful and proud that this week we experienced a peaceful transfer of power. Perhaps what is so captivating is the celebration of the democratic process itself and the comfort we take in it.

 

As all of America inaugurated and many celebrated a new president, we may have felt like this exercise in American democracy is a given in our lives, since it is all we have ever known.  But the truth is America is relatively young.  This was only the 60th inauguration.  Just two hundred and fifty years ago, there was no democracy called the United States of America. 

 

In contrast to America’s relative youth, God promised the land of Israel to Avraham Avinu almost 4,000 years ago.  He made good on that promise when the Jewish people marched into the land with Yehoshua 3,430 years ago.  Almost 2,500 years ago, we returned to Israel with Ezra and Nechemia.  After a long and bitter loss of sovereignty in our homeland, just over seventy-five years ago, we returned to govern and defend ourselves in the modern State of Israel.

 

The Jewish connection to Israel is sixteen times longer than America has existed, and nevertheless, while America celebrated its 60th inauguration, Israel is still fighting for its very right to exist.  Over the last year and a half, our brothers and sisters in Israel have been facing enemies on seven fronts, all bent on Israel’s demise, all denying the Jewish right to the Land of Israel.  As President Trump addressed his inaugural parade, families of Israelis being held hostage for 472 unimaginable days stood behind him holding posters of their loved ones and draped in symbolic yellow scarves as the arena chanted, “BRING THEM HOME!”


While America’s leadership was attending ceremonies with pomp and circumstance and changing outfits between inaugural balls, Israel’s leaders were making impossible decisions and concessions and fighting to keep its coalition alive. 

 

The Jewish world couldn’t be more grateful or joyous to welcome Emily Damari, Romi Gonen, and Doron Steinbrecher home from captivity, but that joy is severely tempered by the cost of their release and by how many remain behind. 

 

As Alan Dershowitz neatly put it:

 

The decision by the Israeli government to make significant concessions to the Hamas kidnappers should never be called a “deal.” It was an extortion. Would you call it a deal if somebody kidnapped your child and you “agreed” to pay ransom to get her back? Of course not. The kidnapping was a crime. And the extortionate demand was an additional crime.

 

So the proper description of what occurred is that Israel, pressured by the United States, capitulated to the unlawful and extortionate demands of Hamas as the only way of saving the lives of kidnapped babies, mothers and other innocent, mostly civilian, hostages.

 

This was not the result of a negotiation between equals. If an armed robber puts a gun to your head and says, “your money or your life,” your decision to give him your money would not be described as a deal. Nor should the extorted arrangement agreed to by Israel be considered a deal. So let’s stop using that term.

 

Agreeing to be extorted may be the right decision but it is a deeply tragic one.  It is painful for the entire Jewish people and should be for decent people everywhere.  But it is also painful for God Himself.  When wickedness exists in the world, when it triumphs it is a chillul Hashem, a desecration of God and His name.

 

In Tachanun on Mondays and Thursdays, we ask, “עד מתי עוזך בשבי ותפארתך ביד צר?, Hashem, how long will You allow Your strength be held hostage?  How long will You let Your glory be in the hand of the enemy?”  Is there a greater galus, a darker exile, than God Himself seeming to be in captivity?

 

When I think about the majesty and excitement of a presidential inauguration, it makes me think about what we are really davening for when we ask Hashem to redeem us from this galus.  On the one hand, America’s continuous government for almost 250 years strikes as captivating, impressive, and in a way more remarkable than Israel’s 76-year history.  However, when you consider the miracle of two thousand years of dispersion, persecution and attempts at systematic extermination, the return of the Jewish people to our homeland and the revival of sovereignty and self-autonomy in our country, with all of the challenges and problems, it is hard to think of a greater miracle.

 

In the introduction to his siddur, Rav Yaakov Emden (1697-1776) describes that our very survival through galus, our mere existence, is the greatest miracle,  greater than the miracles we read about in the Torah and Tanach.  He wrote: “By the life of my soul! When I contemplated these wonders, they appeared greater to me than all the miracles and wonders that HaShem Yisbarach performed for our forefathers in Egypt, and the wilderness, and the Land of Israel.” 

 

The Talmud (Berachos 19b) quotes R’ Elazar bar Tzadok who said, “I and my fellow Kohanim would jump over coffins of the deceased in order to hurry towards kings of Israel to greet them.” And they did not say this only towards kings of Israel, but they said this even towards kings of the nations of the world, so that if one will be privileged to witness the redemption of Israel, he will distinguish between kings of Israel and kings of the nations of the world.

 

As we watch the 60th American inauguration, and pay homage to its pomp, circumstance and pageantry, we do so knowing that one day, the people being extorted and fighting for its very existence will welcome the King Moshiach and that day will put to shame the pomp and circumstance of today.

There Is No Other Hand

Can I deny everything I believe in?

 

On the other hand, can I deny my own child?

 

On the other hand how can I turn my back on my faith, my people? If I try to bend that far I will break.

 

On the other hand…

 

There is no other hand.

 

— Fiddler on the Roof

 

If you are familiar with my speeches, classes, and writings, you know I am a big believer and fierce advocate of the importance of nuance and using more careful language in our conversations, debates, and dialogues. Much of our divisiveness and disunity is the result of speaking in absolutes with too much confidence, too little nuance, and the inability or unwillingness to look at other perspectives.

 

And yet, there are certain issues, events, and people that are clear as day, and the introduction of nuance or the use of a tolerant approach isn’t noble or righteous, it is cruel and irresponsible. As Tevye memorably puts it, there is no other hand.

 

Most of the time we should strive to live in the gray, to respect that there are opinions and approaches we may vociferously disagree with but are still legitimate, within bounds, and espoused by those who genuinely believe in the safety, security, unity and eternity of our people.  One can disagree determinedly with the Satmar philosophy and its approach to the State of Israel, but you can’t argue that they work against the future or fate of our people.  The Satmar community has said Tehillim daily since the start of the war and I personally witnessed the Rebbe gave a member of our community a beracha that his son serving in the IDF be safe, secure and successful in defending our people.

 

But there are also rare times that call for a black-and-white view, to recognize that being open, thoughtful, respectful of other opinions and approaches doesn’t mean tolerating or accepting the opinions and activism of those who are working against our people, who don’t share in our fate, who aren’t consumed by our safety and well-being, even if they are Jewish. 

 

While Israel is fighting a war on seven fronts, seeking to defend millions of innocent civilians against evil enemies who seek the destruction of Israel and the death of all Jews, Senator Bernie Sanders, who is Jewish, sponsored and led a campaign in support of a resolution aiming to block $20 billion in sales of U.S. arms to the Jewish state.  While he stopped short of declaring Israel of perpetrating a genocide (though he had no problem calling Israel’s actions “atrocities”), he asserted that military aid to Israel violates U.S. law prohibiting weapons sales to “countries that violate internationally recognized human rights.” 

 

Despite the Biden administration rejecting the claim and actively lobbying against the resolution, nearly half the Senate majority caucus voted in favor, smearing Israel’s war of self-defense and casting Israel as a villain on the world stage. This group included two Jewish senators: Sanders and Jon Ossoff.

 

I have spoken and written about not using my pulpit or platform to campaign for or against political officials. Again, there are times that call for a different approach. Remember these senators’ names, work to ensure they are not re-elected, and hold them accountable for slandering the Jewish state and compromising the safety and security of our people around the world:

 

Sens. Dick Durbin (D-Ill), Martin Heinrich (D-NM), Mazie Hirono (D-Hawaii), Tim Kaine (D-Va.), Ben Ray Lujan (D-NM), Ed Markey (D-Mass.), Jeff Merkley (D-Ore.), Chris Murphy (D-Conn.), Jon Ossoff (D-Ga.), Brian Schatz (D-Hawaii), Jeanne Shaheen (D-NH), Tina Smith (D-Minn.) Chris Van Hollen (D-Md.), Raphael Warnock (D-Ga.), Elizabeth Warren (D-Mass.), Peter Welch (D-Vt.), George Helmy (D-NJ) as well as Angus King (I-Maine) and Sanders each voted in favor of at least one of the three bills, while Sen. Tammy Baldwin (D-Wis.) voted “present.”

 

Is it a coincidence that soon after the vote got the support of more than one third of the democrats in the Senate, the illegitimate International Criminal Court (ICC) issued arrest warrants for Benjamin Netanyahu, Israel’s prime minister, and Yoav Gallant, Israel’s former defense minister, for war crimes committed in Gaza?  Is it random that a few days after a prominent Jew holding high political office led an effort to demonize the Jewish state a Chabad Rabbi in the UAE, Rabbi Zvi Kogan Hy”d was kidnapped and brutally murdered by emboldened agents of Iran?  Is it a stretch to draw a line connecting the dots between prominent Jews not only failing to support but working against Israel, and enemies of Israel acting in outrageous and despicable ways?

 

There must be no nuance in recognizing that Bernie Sanders, Jewish or not, is dangerous and his views are entirely illegitimate. In fact, one can make a reasonable argument that his Jewishness actually provides cover for non-Jewish antisemites and other bad actors, who can (and often do) point to Sanders and say, “he’s Jewish and he agrees with me.” Failure to call things as they are would be putting ourselves in danger. 

 

This danger is not limited to secular Jews. Neturei Karta, Aramaic for “guardians of the city,” are anything but protectors of our people.  Despite their external religious garb and presentation as observant Jews, they are dangerous extremists whose behavior—meeting with and hugging world leaders who seek Jewish blood, rallying in the streets to support perpetrators of evil, to name a few lovely examples—has excluded them from our people and ensured they have no portion in the World to Come.  They, too, use their Jewishness in dangerous ways and provide useful cover for antisemitism. There is no nuance in rejecting, disassociating and marginalizing them.

 

There is no other hand when it comes to the extreme progressive groups like Jewish Voice for Peace and Rabbis for Ceasefire. These groups don’t claim to be Orthodox and certainly don’t look it but they are no less dangerous and illegitmate than Neturei Karta. They use their Jewishness as a convenient tool to advance their goals of supporting Hamas and their enablers. Like Neturei Karta, they provide terrific cover, as evidenced by Rashida Tlaib and other members of the Squad being all-too-happy to rally with them, meet with them, and attend their disingenuous prayer services.

 

J-Street, a self-described “pro-Israel, pro-peace” organization, has advocated for the Biden administration to withhold weapons from the Jewish state, arguing that the United States needs to hold Israel accountable for alleged human rights “violations” before President-Elect Donald Trump takes office in January.  Instead of educating the world about how Israel has gone to unprecedented lengths to avoid civilian casualties, this “pro-Israel” organization, led by “proud Jews,” has been among the loudest voices of disinformation, miseducation, and distortions about Israel in the world.

 

Peter Beinart, a prominent writer and observant Jew who keeps kosher and learns Daf Yomi, has written shocking and shameful anti-Israel articles and columns for years, most recently taking to the New York Times to slander and attack Israel, describing the war as, “Israel’s slaughter and starvation of Palestinians — funded by U.S. taxpayers and live-streamed on social media.”  He went so far as to blame the election results on Israel and by extension the Jews. 


To be clear, I am not interested in name-calling. There has been endless debate since October 7 (and of course before then, too) about who is a “self-hating Jew,” whether certain politicians are “kapos,” and the like. To engage in those debates is to miss the forest for the trees. Coming up with the right term or label, and arguing whether or not Bernie Sanders is a self-hating Jew, an antisemite, or neither, is time not well spent. The focus should be in recognizing the behavior, calling it out, and working hard to counter any influence or voice these people have.

 

Since there have been Jews, there have been traitors to the Jewish people, including famous converts who led disputations and defectors who collaborating with enemies.  In her article, The Jews Who Fought for Nazi Germany, Ellen Feldman writes: “What was the safest place for a Jew in Hitler’s Germany? A cellar or an attic? A forest? At home with a well-connected Aryan spouse? The answer was in Hitler’s military—in the Wehrmacht, the Kriegsmarine, or the Luftwaffe—at least until the tide of war turned and all three began to suffer staggering losses.”  She documents Jews who fought alongside the Nazis against the Jews for diverse motivations and for different reasons. 

 

While their behavior is inexcusable, Jews who conspired with or aided the Nazis could at least argue they were trying to save their lives.  What could Bernie Sanders, Jon Ossoff, Neturei Karta, J-Street, Rabbis for Peace, or Peter Beinart say compels them to vilify of the Jewish state and justifies their efforts to hamper its ability to defend its people?  It is disingenuous and dangerous for these people and groups to blame Israel for the suffering—including the suffering inflicted on the Palestinian civilians whom they claim to care about—that is caused by Hamas, who started this war with a heinous, bloodthirsty pogrom, and can end it immediately by returning hostages and laying down their guns. 

 

We read every Friday night, “ohavei Hashem sin’u rah,” those who truly love Hashem hate and reject evil and wrongdoing. Dovid HaMelech does not encourage us to hate the individual, but rather his choices. However, there are times when we can’t and shouldn’t separate the person from the choices they make and if we truly love Hashem, justice, and the Jewish people then we cannot and must not tolerate or accept the perpetration of that wrongdoing.  There are times for nuance and balance and time for moral clarity and clear lines. 

 

In the days of Rabban Gamliel, Jewish traitors posed a threat to the nation.  Shmuel HaKatan was recruited to author a prayer, a 19th blessing to be added to the Amidah that their nefarious and slanderous plans be unsuccessful.  Shmuel was called “HaKatan” because he maintained his childlike innocence, purity and love.  He was chosen to write this blessing because he had no ulterior motive or agenda in doing so.  It didn’t serve him politically, financially, or socially.  Indeed, he is the one quoted in Pirkei Avos who most embodied the dictum in Mishlei (24:17), “Do not take joy in the downfall of your enemies.” He was chosen because his intent was pure and unblemished. 

 

We must remain committed to nuance in our discussions, conversations, debates, and dialogues with one another. Indeed, Shlomo HaMelech taught (Mishlei 18:21), “Maves v’chaim b’yad lashon, Death and life and in the power of the tongue.”  Our language matters and it can be the difference between life and death. 

 

But in these times when the future and wellbeing of our people is at stake, we must also have moral clarity, to hate evil, call it out, work against it, even when it is from within our people. To recognize when there is no other hand.

 

When you say V’lamalshinim, mean it. 

 

 

Hypocrisy or Healthy? Meeting with the Vilified

After a vicious campaign season with billions of dollars spent vilifying one another, name-calling, and competing who could label the other the bigger threat to democracy, the election has finally been decided and whatever outcome you were hoping for, we should all be relieved it’s over.

 

Given the rhetoric leading up to the election, one would have expected to see the vitriol kicked up a few notches higher after it, if that is even possible.  But instead of escalation and increased warnings and predictions, refreshingly, there are reasons to be hopeful and optimistic that we can learn to get along even through disagreement.

 

If you didn’t know the history and just saw the smiles, enthusiasm, and spirit of cooperation when President Biden welcomed President-elect Trump to the Oval Office last week, you might have thought it was a reunion of two old friends rather than two bitter enemies observing protocol.  The two men seated in front of a roaring fire smiled, shook hands, and pledged a smooth and cooperative transition.  They then met for two hours for a discussion that the press secretary described as “very gracious and substantive.”

 

Two men who had spent months—if not the last few years—calling each other names and railing about the disasters the other is responsible for, found a way to shake hands, smile, and make us believe it was more than just for the cameras. 

 

While the presidents were following protocol, an even more surprising meeting took place this week that didn’t need to happen.  Two of Trump’s fiercest critics, MSNBC anchors Joe Scarborough and Mika Brzezinski, opened their show by reporting that they had visited Mar-a-Lago to essentially extend an olive branch to the president- elect.  

 

The meeting was the first time they had seen or spoken to Trump in seven years.  Scarborough shared that while they don’t see “eye to eye on a lot of issues, and we told him so,” they discussed such topics as abortion, mass deportation, and threats of retribution against political opponents and media outlets.

 

Clearly braced for strong criticism, they shared: “For those asking why we would go speak to the president-elect during such fraught times, especially between us, I guess I would ask back – why wouldn’t we? Five years of political warfare has deeply divided Washington and the country. We have been as clear as we know how in expressing our deep concerns about President Trump’s actions and words in the coarsening of public debate.  But for nearly 80 million Americans, election denialism, public trials, January 6, were not as important as the issues that moved them to send Donald Trump back to the White House with their vote. [We] realize it’s time to do something different, and that starts with not only talking about Donald Trump, but also talking with him.”

 

President Trump was also positive about the meeting and their commitment to restart communication. He said, “I received a call from Joe Scarborough requesting a meeting for him and Mika, and I agreed that it would be a good thing if such a meeting took place.  Many things were discussed, and I very much appreciated the fact that they wanted to have open communication … In many ways, it’s too bad that it wasn’t done long ago…The meeting ended in a very positive manner, and we agreed to speak in the future.”

 

While many applauded the effort to heal our country and its discourse, some cynically suggested that the meeting was driven by fears of retribution and governmental and legal harassment from incoming administration.  Others were outright critical of the hosts, labeling it “disgusting” and calling for a boycott of their show, asking,  How can you call a man a fascist, imply he is a Nazi and then go meet with him and make nice?  One person wrote on X, “Bend the knee to the King in order to save their careers.” Another tweeted, “Total capitulation after years of railing about his lack of fitness. Not even an interview to show their ‘journalistic integrity.’ Just a pure kiss-the-ring session. Disappointed and done with them and their show.”

 

While many of their fans felt that the hosts were hypocritical, I actually came to the opposite conclusion.  The approach should not be to avoid meeting with someone you have called names, labeled the enemy and described as the greatest threat to democracy.  The approach should be to avoid the name-calling and labeling in the first place.

 

One lesson of this election cycle and the meetings of the last few weeks is to think before calling someone a name, assigning them a label, or framing them in an overly negative light. Consider what would happen if the opportunity presented itself to meet with that person. Would you be a hypocrite, based on your prior comments?  Disagree, argue, advocate, debate. Do so vociferously and determinedly.  But do so civilly.  Do so by arguing about policies and positions, reject behaviors and choices.  Don’t call names and make comparisons you can’t walk back.  Express concerns; don’t offer prophecies.

 

There are powerful debates taking place now in America and Israel.  From abortion to combatting antisemitism, judicial reform to IDF service, emotions are high and feelings are strong.  Dialogue and debate are healthy and helpful but drawing firm lines in the sand, setting up paradigms of people being either with us or against us, getting to a point that we cannot find any commonality, is destructive and dangerous. 

 

The Torah tells us that Yosef’s brothers hated him to the point that v’lo yachlu dabro l’shalom.”  The Ibn Ezra explains, “v’lo yachlu dabro l’shalom – afilu l’shalom.”  It isn’t that they just couldn’t talk about the issues they disagreed about.  It isn’t just that they didn’t want to be close, loving brothers.  It isn’t just that they couldn’t debate respectfully.  “Afilu l’shalom” – they couldn’t even give each other a shalom aleichem.  The hatred and intolerance had grown so deep that they couldn’t stand to even extend greetings to one another or to be in a room together.

 

Rav Yehonasan Eibshitz in his Tiferes Yonasan has an additional insight.  When we disagree with people, we withdraw from them and stop speaking to them.  We see them as “the other,” different from us and apart from us.  As our communication breaks down, the dividers rise up stronger and stronger and we can’t find a way to break through them.

 

If there is a person who you more than simply disagree with, but their opinion or practice repulses you, and that person were in a position to help you when you needed them, would you not reach out them? Would you not go meet with them?  If they lost a family member in a terror attack or tragedy, would you not cry for them or feel their pain? 

 

Yeshaya HaNavi said: ועמך כלם צדיקים לעולם יירשו ארץ, “And your people, all of them righteous, shall possess the land for all time.”  Commentators interpret: when we are “kulam tzadikim,” all righteous and worthy of the land? V’Ameich.  When we are part of one nation, united, unified and getting along. 

 

By the time you read this, the reset on civility and communication may have been short-lived and ended.  But the lesson for us should endure.  Disagree, debate, reject opinions or practices but don’t vilify or call names that would make you a hypocrite or cause you to not be able to meet with them or be in a room.

She is the Only Reason I am Here

After spreading a call to “hunt Jews” in a premeditated attack, vile Arab gangs chased, beat, and indeed hunted Jews in the streets of Amsterdam.  Some were rammed with cars, others kicked and spit on, still others forced to jump into freezing rivers to escape. 

 

The pogrom in Amsterdam, which took place two days before the anniversary of Kristallnacht, was a harsh and painful reminder that the more things change, the more they say the same. 

 

Eighty-six years after the night of broken glass, Jews in Europe were once again abandoned and unprotected, forcing some to again try protect themselves by crying out, “I’m not Jewish.”  The same country in which Anne Frank was forced to hide and that failed to protect or hold perpetrators accountable then, once again had Jews hiding and left unprotected.  Nearly nine decades after Anne Frank, the media continues to downplay Jew hatred with the New York Times, Reuters, and the Associated Press describing the incident as “violence tied to a soccer game.”  Now, as then, Jews are made to feel alone, isolated, needing the courage to take care of ourselves.

 

While Kristallnacht is probably the most famous day of rage against the Jews of Europe in the 1930’s, it wasn’t the first and was far from an isolated event.  My grandfather operated a stand selling women’s garments in the outdoor Spandau market in Berlin, Germany. One day (not on Kristallnacht), Nazis attacked the market, destroying his merchandise and beating him.  My grandparents were living in Germany but my grandfather was a Polish national.  The Nazis passed a cruel law expelling all those living in Germany who were not German nationals.  He and his father-in-law had Polish passports, but Poland wasn’t letting anyone in, leaving them deported to “no man’s land,” along the border between Poland and Germany.  He had family who had immigrated to America who agreed to sponsor him and his family, but my grandfather was still waiting for the papers to arrive that would allow them to emigrate to America.

 

In the meantime, my grandmother moved in with her mother in Berlin, helping them run the family clothing business.  On November 9, 1938, Herschel Grynszpan, a 17-year-old German-born Polish Jew living in Paris, assassinated a German diplomat, Enst vom Rath.  This set off one of the worst pogroms in our history, a “night of broken glass,” with rioters destroying 267 shuls throughout Germany, Austria, and the Sudetenland. Seven thousand Jewish businesses were damaged or destroyed and 30,000 Jewish men were arrested and sent to concentration camps. 

 

My grandmother’s maiden name was Grynszpan and she was therefore immediately arrested along with her baby and mother.  They were interrogated until it could be ascertained that she was not related to the perpetrator.  They were released but shaken from the experience.

 

Finally, the papers from the family in America arrived but my grandfather was still in No Man’s Land.  Only the Gestapo could give the approval for him to return so they could emigrate as a family.  Against all odds or reason, my grandmother was determined to save her family.  She identified the office she needed to visit and the Gestapo officer who could stamp the required papers.  She ran around the block several times until she was out of breath and she pinched her own checks until they were bright red.  She rushed past the guard at Gestapo Headquarters saying she was late for an important meeting and ran up the stairs to his office, pretending to have an appointment.  She pushed her way into his office and with all 4 foot 10 inches of her being, pled with the officer to stamp the paper, bring her husband home and allow them to emigrate with their baby to America.  Not surprisingly, he refused.  She walked over to the window and pointed out towards a bridge over a river.  She said, “if you don’t stamp the papers, you will have to look out this window and watch me  jump off the bridge with my baby, killing ourselves, as there is no point to living if my husband doesn’t come home.” 

 

That moment could have gone several ways and could have easily cost her her life, but the otherwise cruel officer was caught off guard by the courage, brazenness and “chutzpa” of this tiny woman and he agreed.  He stamped the papers which enabled them to sail on the SS Manhattan in April 1939.  The parents and siblings (other than one brother who had already moved to Palestine) they left behind were all murdered in the Holocaust; I carry the names of two of my grandfather’s brothers, Efraim and Chaim.  Grateful to have escaped with their child but traumatized by what they had been through, my grandparents didn’t intend on having any more children.  But after settling in Jersey City, one night my grandmother heard her daughter looking out the window davening to Hashem for a sibling.  Together with my grandparents, He answered her prayer and my father was born.

 

Of course, countless victims of the Holocaust didn’t have the opportunity to advocate for themselves and their family and countless others were brutally murdered for trying.  But after seeing the images out of Amsterdam this week, I was thinking about my grandmother, Rose Goldberg a”h, her bravery, conviction, tenacity and boldness. She was determined and stubborn.  She was courageous and daring.  She didn’t relinquish her fate or future to others, she was resolute in protecting and securing  herself and her family.  She is the reason I am here. 

 

Fast forward to today. I am the only one of her grandchildren who doesn’t yet live in Israel.  Her great-grandchildren, armed with her courage, conviction and resolve, have been among those heroically serving in the IDF, fighting in Gaza and defending our people.

 

Much of what happened in Amsterdam parallels our past but there is a fundamental and glaring difference.  This time, the Jews abandoned by the Dutch government were not alone.  IDF International Spokesperson Lieutenant Colonel Nadav Shoshani announced: “The targeted attacks against Jews and Israelis in Amsterdam tonight are horrific and barbaric. The images of the violence toward Jewish people in Europe are a painful reminder of our history. The IDF has an historic duty of protecting our people, wherever they are. We are preparing to deploy a mission to rescue Israelis from Amsterdam.”

 

Indeed, two rescue planes, funded by El Al, went to Amsterdam to bring home to Israel those who were targeted, attacked, and forced into hiding.  Jews around the world are not alone, never abandoned, or on our own.  We are living in miraculous times in which Hashem has granted us a country, one of the strongest and smartest militaries in the world, and an indomitable will to ensure “Never Again” truly means never again.

 

Our people’s existence is due to strong-willed, courageous people who didn’t surrender to circumstance or cower to enemies.  Avraham went to war against powerful kings to liberate his nephew. Moshe took on the Egyptian empire with demanding that its leader Pharoah let his people go. What if the Macabbees had considered the odds and facts on the ground and never revolted against the Greek oppressors?  What if Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai simply observed the power of Vespasian and never asked for Yavneh and its sages?  What if in 1948 and 1967 the brave men and women of Israel had truly accepted the impossible chances of overcoming the many nations, people, and resources that sought to obliterate them?

 

The past 13 months have taught us that the world respects us and fears us when we show strength, might and Jewish pride, not when we cower, apologize, or take orders from others. 

 

Perhaps, instead of instructing Jews to avoid Paris or “dangerous” European cities, hiding Israeli real estate events in America or moving them to Zoom, or taking off yarmulkas in public places, we should be demanding that police in every city protect us. Maybe it is time to coordinate with law enforcement to protect ourselves. 

 

Don’t post and share images of Jews being beaten up, kicked, and spit on.  Make images of IDF soldiers eliminating evil terrorists viral.  Tell the story of the pager attack on Hezbollah over and over to anyone who will listen. Remind others of the targeted assasination of Deif, Nassrallah and others whom America couldn’t find or take out. Make sure everyone knows that Israel flew into Iran and took out their missile defense throughout the country with seeming ease. Let the picture of Israel’s rescue planes landing in Amsterdam be seared in the mind of any country that won’t protect us. 

 

Don’t hide your Jewishness. Don’t cower or live in fear. Be responsible but be a proud and practicing Jew. 

 

Let antisemites pay a price and face legal consequences for attacking a Jew. Instead of our fearing them, let them fear us.

 

A House of Celebration and Houses of Mourning

When my cousin’s daughter asked me to officiate her wedding in Israel the week after Sukkos, how could I say no?  Her mother, my beloved first cousin, passed away at a young age from cancer.  She loved Israel and at several points in her too-short life wanted to live there but never had the chance to realize that dream.  Her daughter, passionate about Torah, the Jewish people, and Eretz Yisroel, moved to Israel shortly after getting up from shiva.  She enlisted, rose to be an officer in the IDF, and proudly wore her olive green IDF skirt throughout.  She met her husband, an amazing young man who, like her and like Avraham Avinu before them, got up, left his family to answer the call of Lech Lecha, and went to settle in Hashem’s land.  After learning in Yeshiva he too served in the IDF.  These two beautiful souls finding each other and committing to building the Jewish people in the Jewish homeland was truly a special occasion not to be missed.

 

And now, at a magnificent chuppa with the hills of Yerushalayim as the backdrop, I had the tremendous honor and privilege to marry them. But there was something I needed to do first.

 

In Koheles (7:2), Shlomo HaMelech, the wisest of all men, taught, טוֹב לָלֶכֶת אֶל בֵּית אֵבֶל מִלֶּכֶת אֶל בֵּית מִשְׁתֶּה בַּאֲשֶׁר הוּא סוֹף כָּל הָאָדָם וְהַחַי יִתֵּן אֶל לִבּוֹ, “It is better to go to a house of mourning than to a house of celebration; for that is the end of every man, and a living one should take it to heart.”

 

As Israel’s longest war in its history continues to rage on across multiple fronts, we tragically, regularly continue to see and hear the most dreaded words: “Released for publication.”  Heroic, seemingly ordinary but truly extraordinary soldiers continue to make the ultimate sacrifice, their families paying the ultimate price to protect, defend and fight for the Jewish people.  Indeed, as our rabbis taught two thousand years ago (Berachos 5a), Eretz Yisroel nikneis b’yesurin, the land of Israel is acquired and held with sacrifice and struggle.

 

I paid a shiva call to the family of Rav Avi Goldberg Hy”d.  A tent was set up to accommodate the countless visitors who came from all over: friends, family, political leaders, and “strangers” like me who came to comfort, share in the pain and pay tribute to this incredibly special man.  It was heartbreaking to see his children clutch framed pictures of him.  It was moving to hear his wife Rachel talk about him and offer a heartfelt plea for all segments of Am Yisroel to share in the burden of this war.  R’ Avi loved and excelled at music, using it to arouse the souls of many, and so the family requested music be part of the shiva.  Accompanied by a guitar and a violin, the many packed in the tent joined in a slow, stirring niggun.  At that moment, eyes closed and swaying in unison, all those gathered were singing the song of the Jewish people, the song of pain and of joy, a song of eternity.

 

That day, I was scheduled to meet with R’ Avi’s brother Eliezer about another matter.  We indeed met, but instead of at a coffee shop or in an office, it was with him sitting in a low chair and my desperately trying to find words that would be meaningful.  He shared about his brother’s special character and impact and I communicated that I represented not only myself, my family and our community, but I was there on behalf of all Am Yisrael around the world sharing in their pain and expressing our boundless gratitude. 

 

I shared the same message at the second shiva call, to the family of Sammy Harari Hy”d.  Sammy came to yeshiva for his gap year and decided to stay and serve in the IDF and build his life in Israel. His dedication to our people and to our country was unwavering.  He was 35 years old and lived in Tzefat with his wife, Anna, and their three children.

 

“It is better to go to a house of mourning than to a house of celebration.” Commentators explain that Shlomo HaMelech encouraged going to a shiva home over a simcha because a simcha is prospective.  We share our hope, dreams and ambitions for the future of this new couple, this Bar Mitzvah boy or Bat Mitzvah girl, this new baby.  A shiva home is retrospective, reflective of the legacy, influence and impact the person made.  Each of these precious soldiers, our kedoshim who are now sitting next to the Kisei HaKavod, directly adjacent to Hashem’s throne, leave the highest legacy of having been moseir nefesh for the Jewish people. 

 

On this short trip, I also visited Hadassah Hospital to spend time with injured soldiers.  Unlike previous trips in which the injured were young soldiers in the middle of their mandatory service, each of those I visited this time was a reservist, these were people who had left their family multiple times to fight, often on different fronts. 

 

In one room were three men who had been injured less than a week before in Lebanon.  Hezbollah fighters saw them coming and released gas in the house they were entering.  In many countries, gas companies add a chemical with a distinctive smell to alert people to a gas leak but natural gas has no odor and so these soldiers had no idea they were entering a home filled with gas.  Protocol calls for opening fire when entering an area with terrorists.  When these soldiers entered the home and the first one opened fire, it ignited the gas, causing an explosion.  The terrorists were positioned nearby and opened fire after the explosion.  One of the soldier’s legs was literally on fire while he continued to shoot back and fight the terrorists. 

 

Hanging next to his hospital bed are the remnants of the uniform, a testament to the miracle of his being alive.  These soldiers had bandages on their legs, fingers and one had burns on his face.  One of them has four children, the youngest two months old, born during his service.  Another got married in between serving his reserve duties.  They all spoke with faith, determination, gratitude, positivity and a message to Jews everywhere that it is time to come home and be part of this destiny. 

 

In another room was a soldier who was injured on Yom Kippur night in Lebanon.  His father shared that he was so badly compromised, losing so much blood, that at one point they felt he wouldn’t survive and no more resources or time should be spent on him.  Nevertheless, they continued and there he was recovering and improving, eager to return home to his wife and children.  The soldier mentioned that in his life he had donated a lot of blood, never knowing that he was actually making a deposit for one day needing to take a withdrawal to save his life. As hashgacha had it, his uncle is a friend of mine, someone I went to Yeshiva with. 

 

In a third room was a soldier injured on the border with Syria.  He was the quietist, and seemed to be struggling the most physically and emotionally, but after spending a few minutes, showering him with love, as we were leaving his room, he perked up to call to us and say, “Am Yisrael Chai.”

 

On this trip, I spent time with my heroic friend who fought in Gaza, saw and experienced horrific things, and has been suffering with diagnosed PTSD.  Despite support, medication, and therapy, he continues to have panic attacks, and it isn’t unusual for him to wake up in the middle of the night from a nightmare, drenched in sweat and with a racing heart. 

 

He shared with me that he had recently been in the park with his children when they saw a young boy on the playground crying.  He approached the boy asking what is wrong, is he hurt.  The boy responded, no I am angry and there is nothing you can do about it. He asked the boy what happened and the young boy explained that his father is back in milu’im, reserve duty, and his uncle picked him up from school instead of his father and he is very upset about it.  My friend said, are you hungry, let’s go buy a treat and the boy said, no I am not eating.  He asked, why not and the boy said, I don’t want to eat until my father comes home and we can eat together.  After spending some time showing some love and support, the boy calmed down and went home to get something to eat. There are literally thousands of children in Israel like this young boy, some expressing their feelings, many not, and we cannot lose sight of how many families continue to feel the impact of this war on a daily basis.

 

This past year I have been fortunate to have gone to Israel for numerous missions, visiting army bases, hospitals, hostage families, displaced families, and doing all kinds of volunteering. As Yom Tov here ended and I prepared for this trip, I thought, perhaps naively, that I was going for a wedding and to see my family.  I thought that the chamals, cheder milchamah, the wartime volunteer command centers were closed, the volunteer opportunities had grinded to a halt, but I was terribly wrong.  There is still so much to do, so much love to show and share, so much support, financial, emotional to provide, so many people to spend time with.

 

The director of Hadassah hospital told me that visits have slowed down but there are still so many soldiers recovering and in rehab who cherish the chance to tell their story, to receive some love and to connect with Jews, particularly from outside of Israel.

 

It has now been more than a year. Fatigue may have set in for many, but it can’t for our soldiers.  They are still fighting on multiple fronts, their families continue to have to experience and navigate their absence while they serve.  For the new orphans and widows there is nothing old about this war. 

 

They are doing their part.  We must continue to do ours.  A member of our community visited an army rest area outside Gaza over Sukkos. One of the tables still holds a letter a child wrote that we delivered back in March. 

 

Continue to write letters to soldiers.  Continue to learn and daven for those serving and all those injured physically and emotionally. When planning winter vacation or your next trip, consider going to Israel to visit hospitals, those still displaced from the north, or army bases. 

 

We daven and long for the day that we go to Israel only to attend simchas and happy occasions. 

 

 

 

Simchas Torah One Year Later: A Day of Death, an Opportunity for Rebirth

Simchas Torah, October 7, will forever be etched in our hearts and minds as the day of the greatest massacre of our people since the Holocaust.  The brutal, cold-blooded murder of innocent men, women and children, young and old, entire families, over 1,200 people, rocked our worlds, broke our hearts, and shattered our collective illusion of safety.  The events of that day launched a war in which our people have sustained even more casualties, more parents bereft of children, children orphaned from parents.  For over a year, we have been a nation in a perpetual state of grief, mourning, and sorrow.

 

Any look back at a year ago, and all the days since then, begins with honoring the memory of the fallen, learning each of their unique and individual stories, gaining an appreciation for who and what was taken from us. Simchas Torah, heretofore one of the happiest and most joyful days on our calendar, is now forever complicated by the competing feelings of sadness and loss.

 

Additionally, beyond the unimaginable loss of life, on Simchas Torah a year ago, many of our ideas and assumptions died as well.  We lost more than 1,200 irreplaceable lives, but we also lost our innocence, in some cases our confidence, our optimistic view of the Jewish condition in America and the world, and for some, communities of association or identification.  A year ago, so much died.

 

But a year later, as we reflect, we can look back and see that on Simchas Torah, October 7 of last year, so much was also born.  On the brink of a civil war over judicial reform and religious differences, overnight a sense of unity, togetherness, and shared destiny was reborn. 

 

From the resolve of the devastated communities on the Gaza border, driven by displaced families from the north and the south, powered by a record response to the IDF call up, the Am HaNetzach, the determined, tenacious nation of eternity was reborn.  From the ashes of the Gaza communities, an unprecedented chesed effort to provide for chayalim, support families of reservists, comfort mourners, visit displaced families and provide provisions was born, with leadership and participation from diverse communities literally around the world. 

 

A spiritual awakening, a Jewish pride burst forth in people who had never experienced their Jewish soul before or in whom it had been dormant for a long time.  Throughout this year, I have regularly been “bageled,” approached by Jews simply signaling their Jewishness to a fellow Jew (and signaling their desire to signal that Jewishness) in airports and on airplanes, in supermarkets and at stores, at a baseball game and even in a bathroom. Jews are returning to study, practice, proudly display their identity  The Jewish people are alive, reborn, proud, practicing, growing and united.

 

To be sure, things are far from perfect. There are important differences and disagreements and there are forces seeking to divide us again.  The war continues to rage, our heroic soldiers are still fighting on multiple fronts, and our precious hostages are still not home. 

 

But with all the problems and challenges, with all the lives that were prematurely and tragically snuffed out, so much has come alive.  Moshe Naaman, a soldier in the IDF, wrote the following inspiring story (Translated from Hebrew):

 

Two weeks ago, we were called up by Order 8 to the northern border. Today, we had the privilege of holding Yom Kippur prayers at Kibbutz Beit Zera. For 93 years, the kibbutz existed without agreeing to have a Yom Kippur minyan. But we, as soldiers, set one up in the company area at the kibbutz.

 

There were 12 religious soldiers among us. We sent a casual WhatsApp invitation to the kibbutz members. When the holiday started, we were shocked—dozens of members came for Kol Nidrei and Maariv. In the morning, elderly members came for Yizkor. The climax came with many dozens of people, including children, women, and toddlers, arriving for Neilah and shofar. People were moved to tears.

 

What can I say? I never imagined this would happen. The verse “Master of Wars, Sower of Righteousness” took on a new meaning for me today. Two weeks ago, I never imagined I wouldn’t be in the beit midrash for the High Holidays. I found myself as the shofar blower, gabbai, cantor, and speaker… The members kept thanking us after Yom Kippur and tearfully asked us to return next year…

 

Last year, I had tears of pain and sorrow at the end of Yom Kippur, but this year, those tears turned into excitement and joy.

 

“And seal all Your people for a good life.”

Moshe Naaman  –   גדוד הבוקע 5035

 

To mark the year since October 7, Danny Wise of Ami Magazine conducted 38 interviews focusing on the rebuilding efforts of the Israeli communities in the Gaza envelope.  Among his interviews, he met with a woman named Dafnah from Kibbuz Re’im. She had been the cultural director of the kibbutz and was one of the organizers of the Nova Festival. 

 

Touring the kibbutz, she showed him her charred house and the room in which her mother and children, Shira and Meir, were found murdered together.  She is the lone survivor of her family.  Wise writes that throughout the conversation he thought of Kristallnacht and the destroyed shuls.  He asked her if the terrorists destroyed any shuls in the communities along the Gaza envelope.

 

Dafnah responded, “Of course not. Not a single beit knesset was damaged in all 21 Gaza kibbutzim.”  Wise didn’t understand, how could no shul have been attacked, no Sefer Torah burned?  She explained, “It wasn’t a miracle. How could they damage something that doesn’t exist?” Most of the communities didn’t have designated or active shuls.  Dafnah, went on to explain, “If you want to understand the day after, you have to understand the day before.”

 

Wise writes:

 

Rabbi Shlomo Raanan runs an organization called Ayelet Hashachar which seeks to bring outreach to irreligious kibbutzim. He came up with the idea of a basketball game between yeshivah bachuram and the kibbutzniks of Reim. The game was set to take place on Chol Hamoed, October 2, just days before the massacre. Dafnah had led the charge to cancel the game. To her, the match wasn’t just a friendly contest; it was a Trojan horse, a way for religious influence to creep into the kibbutz. “I was furious,” she told me. “This was outrageous. We didn’t need outsiders telling us who a good Jew is,” she said, pulling out her phone and scrolling through old messages. She showed me the texts she had sent to Rabbi Raanan, warning him not to bring his religious mission to her doorstep. “Cancel this game immediately,” she wrote. “If you don’t, we’ll all block the entrance with our bodies.” In the spirit of peace, Rabbi Raanan canceled the game.

 

But five days later, the massacre came. Just over the border, in the tunnels of Gaza, Dafna found herself held hostage, face to face with the forces that had torn her world apart. “I said to an older guard in Arabic, why do you torture me? For 20 years, I’ve made programs for Arab and Jewish. The Jews are your cousins.” As she pleaded in the darkness for some recognition of their shared humanity, she was met not with empathy but with a cold dismissal.

 

“You are not a descendent of Ibrahim! You are not a Jew!” he spat. “You are a European colonialist who stole our land! It was in that moment, Dafnah said, that something broke. Or perhaps, something began to be repaired. The accusation hit hard. Like many in the kibbutz movement, Dafnah had spent her life defining herself more as an Israeli than a Jew, and more dedicated to reconciling Arabs and Israelis than healing the divides between different groups of Jews.

 

Religion had always been secondary to her identity. But now, in the depths of that tunnel, being denied her Jewishness by a Hamas fighter, she experienced a crisis of self. “I started screaming, Ana Yahudiun, Ana Yahudiun, I am a Jew I am a Jew!” The guards restrained her, taping her mouth. But for Dafnah, the internal shift had already occurred. “For the first time in my life I saw my soul; I saw that I am a Jew. “All my life,” Dafnah reflected, “I’ve been part of this community. We didn’t see ourselves as Jews, in the traditional sense. When I traveled overseas and someone asked if I was Jewish, I’d correct them. “No, I’m Israeli”; I’d say.

 

But when he called me a colonialist, it hit me. He didn’t see me as a Jew because I didn’t see myself as a Jew.

 

Dafnah paused for a moment, her eyes wandering over the ruined landscape. “Every Arab village has a mosque. Christian settlements build churches. And here, we have nothing. Nothing to say that we are Jews. And in that moment, realized that if we were going to rebuild, we needed to reclaim our identity.”  “I will tell you,” Dafnah said, “I took upon myself the new beit knesset project. When we rebuild, our beit knesset will be the most beautiful structure on the kibbutz.”

 

On Simchas Torah, Dafnah lost her family, but she found herself.  They died, but her Jewish identity was born. 

 

The holiday and festivities of Simchas Torah are unusual in their origins. They are not mentioned in the Torah or in the Talmud. It was never enacted as a full rabbinic holiday like Purim or Chanukah.  Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks z”l writes:

 

On Simchas Torah, without being commanded by any verse in the Torah or any decree of the Rabbis, Jews throughout the world sang and danced and recited poems in honor of the Torah, exactly as if they were dancing in the courtyard of the Temple at the Simchas Beis HaSho’evah, or as if they were King Dovid bringing the Ark to Jerusalem. They were determined to show God, and the world, that they could still be ach same’ach, as the Torah said about Succos: wholly, totally, given over to joy. It would be hard to find a parallel in the entire history of the human spirit of a people capable of such joy at a time when they were being massacred in the name of the God of love and compassion.

 

A people that can walk through the valley of the shadow of death and still rejoice is a people that cannot be defeated by any force or any fear…Simchas Torah was born when Jews had lost everything else, but they never lost their capacity to rejoice. Nechemiah was right when he said to the people weeping as they listened to the Torah, realizing how far they had drifted from it: “Do not grieve, for the joy of the Lord is your strength” (Nechemiah 8:10). A people whose capacity for joy cannot be destroyed is itself indestructible.

 

The year since Simchas Torah has been a fulfillment of the saying, “They Tried to Bury Us; They Did Not Know We Were Seeds.”   Simchas Torah was born against a backdrop of hate and tragedy.  A year ago, we lost so many, we buried heroes of our people.  But over this year, we birthed a new era, a new chapter for our people.  It is still being written and we determine what it will say next. 

 

The world has changed enormously since Simchas Torah of last year, have you?  How can we honor all those who died?  On a day marked by so much death, the only proper response is to birth a better version of ourselves and our people. 

Do You Know What to Answer?

This week, a Jew hater with 1.6 million Twitter followers posted an image consisting of a collection of supposed passages from the Talmud that paint Jews as disparaging towards and discriminating against non-Jews, seeing them as inferior, and treating them with a bias and double standard.  The image isn’t new but this was likely the biggest audience it had ever been published to. Some of the quotes don’t exist altogether, others are taken out of context, and others are intentionally misrepresented or misquoted.  No matter, the post was viewed more than 5.9 million times, liked more than 33,000 times and shared 8,300 times. 

 

I posted the following in response:

 

Since the Talmud was written it has been misquoted, twisted and used to fuel and justify antisemitism. Those who hosted “disputations” disappeared into oblivion while the Talmud is alive, well and studied more than ever around the world. @DanBilzerian and  @RealCandaceO – you don’t scare us. You will long be gone and the Talmud will continue to light up the world.

 

Putting Judaism on trial goes back to our very beginning.  Avraham holds a religious debate with Nimrod. The Talmud records stories of disputations between Jews and Roman tormentors. In the Middle Ages, Jews were forced to defend the Talmud against Christians authorities who accused it of containing blasphemy and anti-Christian sentiments.  Some famous incidents include Nicholas Donin, a Jewish apostate, disputing R’ Yechiel of Paris in 1240 that resulted in the burning of 24 wagonloads of hand-written volumes of Talmud (which was memorialized in a Kinnah we recited last week).  In 1263, King James I of Spain ordered the Ramban to debate with apostate Pablo Christiani at a disputation in Barcelona. In the 15th century, R’ Yosef Albo participated in the disputation of Tortosa.  In 1757 in Kamenets, Polish Jewry was tasked with defending Judaism and the Talmud against Jacob Frank that included the spurious blood libel charge, the false accusation that Jews baked their matzahs with the blood of murdered Christian babies.   The list could—and sadly does—go on and on.

 

The more things change, the more they stay the same.  Who would believe that in 2024, public personalities with large platforms could continue to shamelessly promote blood libels and unfounded accusations about the Talmud to an audience eager to hear it. 

 

The response to my post was predictable, but it was nonetheless jarring.  A torrent of antisemitism, including hundreds of hateful comments, were unleashed in my direction. A small sample of some of the ones I can print here:

 

·      “The only lighting up the Talmud should do is when it’s drenched in gasoline and set fire to.” 

·      “Nicholas Donin was a hero” 

·      “The Talmud is satanic garbage”

 

An educator named Rabbi Yisrael M. Eliashiv wrote a detailed thread addressing each of the alleged Talmudic statements, finding and posting original sources, and debunking the lies in the offensive image. He introduced it by saying, “Preface: None of this is new; most of these fake quotes originate from a couple of antisemitic German books that are over a hundred years old and they’ve been debunked over and over in many places. Sadly, most of them are not so accessible so I’ll go over them myself.”

 

Impressively, the response has been viewed 2.1 million times. While it does set the record straight for those who are willing to read it and be open to the truth, sadly, that number is less than half of the number who read the original, hateful post. 

 

The Jewish people are under attack. We are the target of false accusations and distortions of our Torah, of our country, and of our people.  Ignorance is not bliss, it is irresponsible.  How can we expect others to defend us if we are unaware and unfamiliar with the facts and truths ourselves?  We may well encounter a hateful antisemite, or even someone well-intentioned who came across a post that made them question what we believe, who saw something that makes them ask us about our sacred texts. When the moment arises at the watercooler at work, on the checkout line of the supermarket, or with our seatmate on the plane, will we be ready, armed and informed with the facts?  Are our children sufficiently literate on the basics of our people, our history, our Torah, and Israel to stand up and defend if they are ever under attack?

 

Our rabbis teach (Pirkei Avos 2:14):

 

רַבִּי אֶלְעָזָר אוֹמֵר, הֱוֵי שָׁקוּד לִלְמֹד תּוֹרָה, וְדַע מַה שֶּׁתָּשִׁיב לְאֶפִּיקוֹרוֹס.

Rebbe Elazar said: Be diligent in the study of the Torah and know how to answer an apikores, a heretic.

 

Commentators wonder, why doesn’t Rebbe Elazar command us tashiv, answer the apikores, the disputer, why is the instruction dah, know what to answer?  They answer that the greatest response to our enemies and attackers is not necessarily to engage and debate but to be knowledgeable, literate, informed, passionate and practicing.  That is why the Mishna begins by telling us to be diligent in studying Torah. How much? Until you are armed with the knowledge, confidence, and clarity to not be threatened or challenged by the apikores and instead to live a passionate, rich Jewish life. 

 

Just like the antagonists and disputants who came before, Dan Bilzerian, Candace Owens and the raging antisemites of our time will not be effective and will not be remembered, but our sacred Torah and our timeless Talmud will continue to be learned around the world. 

 

If they are looking into the Talmud to discredit it, we must be inspired to look more often and more deeply into our Talmud to be informed, inspired and guided by it.

 

We must continue to confront and stop antisemites, but the most important response we can offer is to not only never apologize, be ashamed or defensive of our Talmud or tradition, but to channel their hate into a greater love and commitment for our wisdom and our way of life.

 

They want us to stop learning and living Torah? The response must be to learn it and live it more.  They want us to abandon our values? Lean into them, hold on to them stronger, tighter.  They want you to hide your yarmulka, tuck in your tzizis? Get a bigger yarmulka, longer tzitzis. 

 

Someone asked me, if I had $100 million to fight antisemitism what would I do? I said I wouldn’t buy ads on television or hire lobbyists in Congress.  I would put every penny into reaching out to our Jewish brothers and sisters to stand taller, prouder, to live more Jewishly.  I would send a mezuzah for every Jew and every Jewish student on a college campus to hang on their door. I would send candles for every Jew to light Friday night or for Chanukah. 

 

We cannot win if we don’t know what we are fighting for.  Become a better, bigger, and more practicing and learned Jew. 

Don’t Let Them Suffer in Silence: PTSD and the IDF

Visits to Israel used to be highlighted by sitting at the Kotel, going on tiyulim up north, shopping in the shuk, and eating shwarma throughout the country.  For my past five visits since Simchas Torah, however, they have included something I had never done before: spending time at Tel HaShomer hospital visiting injured soldiers.  Each time, we came to give chizuk, the bring good and positive energy, gifts, love, support, and boundless gratitude. Each time we left having in fact received the chizuk, in awe of young men missing limbs, battling wounds, forming what will be everlasting scars. 

 

On my trip to Israel this week I visited Tel HaShomer again, but this time to a unit I hadn’t been to previously and to visit soldiers with injuries that while certainly severe, are altogether different from what I had previously seen.  Indeed, they are not visible at all. 

 

In addition to IDF soldiers in my family and our community, I have developed a relationship with several heroic soldiers over our visits the last nine months.  A reservist who was full of life, energy, love, tenacity and faith when I met him, someone I have sung and danced with on his base, called me to say he is suffering and struggling.  For the last couple of months, he has been crying and sobbing uncontrollably, having panic attacks, and feels filled with uncharacteristic anger and rage.  He hasn’t slept or eaten properly.  He is struggling at work and in his personal life.  At the bris of his son, as he held the baby, he was suddenly transported back to his duties at the very beginning of the war and was shaken by the feeling that he was holding a dead body rather than his living newborn son.

 

I visited him at Tel HaShomer where he had been admitted to the psychiatric ward with a diagnosis of PTSD.  Once known as Shell Shock, Soldier’s Heart or Battle Fatigue, the condition we now know as Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) affects countless veterans of war. When I saw him, he was a shell of himself, a shadow of the person I first met.  He was in pain from his condition, but he was also suffering from deep shame and embarrassment.  He hadn’t shared with others, including those with whom he is very close, where he was or why.  The unit he is in is filled with soldiers suffering with PTSD, most of whom battle it with shame and embarrassment.  Many have turned to alcohol or drugs to numb them from the pain and emptiness.  PTSD impacts not only the one diagnosed with it but their spouse, children, and entire family. 

 

I asked him, if you God forbid had an injury to a limb or organ, if in this war you were shot, or physically wounded, would you keep it to yourself?  Would there be any shame or disgrace associated with your hospitalization or recovery?  You would be a gibor, a hero of our people, deserving of endless support and boundless gratitude. 

 

Why should it be any different just because your wounds are invisible to the naked eye?  They are no more your fault, no more a source of shame, no less deserving of love, support, care, and recognition.  Don’t feel obligated to share or tell others, I told him, but if you would benefit from love and support and the only reason you are keeping it to yourself is fear of stigma, I beg you to reconsider.  He told me that unfortunately, it is simply not the way others see it for now and so he feels has no choice but to do it this way.

 

I called his wife, whom we have come to know as well.  She is home caring for their young children by herself.  I begged, let me arrange with your community to provide meals, to help with childcare, to be a source of support during his recovery from an injury sustained while fighting in the Jewish people’s war.  Isn’t that exactly what we would do if a heroic soldier was physically injured, recuperating in the hospital and the family needed help?  She appreciated the concern but said that sadly, that isn’t the way others see it and so she has no choice but to deal with this privately. 

 

My heart broke not only from what they are going through in dealing with his trauma, injury, and wounds but how their pain and agony is compounded by the loneliness with which they are experiencing it. 

 

My young friends are far from alone.  In the two months following October 7, an alarming 8,000 soldiers reported experiencing trauma. Recently, researchers from the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Columbia University, Shalvata Mental Health Center in Hod Hasharon, and the Effective Altruism organization, published a study that predicts that 520,000 — or 5.3 percent of the Israeli population — could develop PTSD as a result of October 7 and Israel’s ongoing war.

 

Prof. Yair Bar-Haim, head of the National Center for Traumatic Stress and Resilience at Tel Aviv University, believes a more realistic number is 30,000 new cases of PTSD among Israelis as a result of the October 7 terror attacks and the war.

 

Historically, Israeli soldiers have much lower rates of PTSD than other countries.  According to the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs, 30 percent of Vietnam veterans have had PTSD at some point in their lifetime. As much as 20 percent of veterans who served in Operations Iraqi Freedom or Enduring Freedom have PTSD. A variety of reasons have been suggested such as Israel having a civilian army, the whole country being exposed to terror, the visibility of soldiers in society regularly, and more. 

 

Whatever the true number of PTSD cases in Israel as a result of October 7 and the war, it is startling and is going to need tremendous treatment and support.  The Jewish community responded swiftly and generously to help our heroic soldiers with equipment and supplies when the war began.  But what will be needed next can’t get packed in a duffle bag and doesn’t get served at a barbecue. 

 

In Israel and abroad we must recognize that invisible injuries are just as real as physical ones.  We must work to eliminate the stigma of mental and emotional illness and to create a culture and condition in which there is no shame or embarrassment and in which the community responds with love and support. 

 

My friend in Tel HaShomer shared with me: “A person like me suffering from PTSD doesn’t want people to look at them and treat them with pity and doesn’t want them asking all the time how I am and why I look upset or why I am not smiling.  Just understand that they are going through a hard time and be there if they need.”

 

Paid leave must be granted from work for those recovering from PTSD or mental illness, just as they would for those physically injured.  Meals, childcare, financial help must be given for those with invisible wounds, just like they would for the family of a physically wounded soldier.  Massive contributions must be collected to provide treatment and support for those recovering from PTSD. The names of soldiers and civilians struggling with PTSD or mental illness should without shame or stigma be included on Tehillim lists and added to MiShebeirachs. And people must be sensitive to this very real condition, and not minimize it by using the term to describe what it feels like when they were stuck in traffic or when Starbucks messed up their order.

 

As Israel is still fighting the longest war in its history, the risk of fatigue setting in is real and concerning.  When it comes to the mental health and wellness of our soldiers and brothers and sisters, we may just be at the beginning.  May my dear friend whom I truly love, together with all those needing physical, mental and emotional refuah shleimas, have a speedy, painless and complete recovery.

Rabbi Efrem Goldberg

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