Tag: unity

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Jewish Unity, Past and Present – Yitro 5784

The Jews are a notoriously fractious people, and the Torah makes clear that this was the case from our very inception. When did the Jews start complaining? Right after they escaped from Pharaoh’s army, having crossed the Sea of Reeds on dry land, no longer slaves but as free people, last week in Parashat Beshallaḥ. They are already grumbling about why they followed Moshe and Aharon out into the desert (Shemot / Exodus 16:3). 

וַיֹּאמְר֨וּ אֲלֵהֶ֜ם בְּנֵ֣י יִשְׂרָאֵ֗ל מִֽי־יִתֵּ֨ן מוּתֵ֤נוּ בְיַד־ה֙’ בְּאֶ֣רֶץ מִצְרַ֔יִם בְּשִׁבְתֵּ֙נוּ֙ עַל־סִ֣יר הַבָּשָׂ֔ר בְּאׇכְלֵ֥נוּ לֶ֖חֶם לָשֹׂ֑בַע כִּֽי־הוֹצֵאתֶ֤ם אֹתָ֙נוּ֙ אֶל־הַמִּדְבָּ֣ר הַזֶּ֔ה לְהָמִ֛ית אֶת־כׇּל־הַקָּהָ֥ל הַזֶּ֖ה בָּרָעָֽב׃  

“If only we had died by the hand of God in the land of Egypt, when we sat by the fleshpots, when we ate our fill of bread! For you have brought us out into this wilderness to starve this whole congregation to death.”

One might make the case that the only time that the Israelites, or the Jewish people, spoke in one voice is the moment that we read today in Parashat Yitro (Shemot 19:8): 

וַיַּעֲנ֨וּ כׇל־הָעָ֤ם יַחְדָּו֙ וַיֹּ֣אמְר֔וּ כֹּ֛ל אֲשֶׁר־דִּבֶּ֥ר ה’ נַעֲשֶׂ֑ה

All those assembled answered as one, saying, “All that God has spoken we will do!” 

The Israelites accept the Sinai covenant, even before they have heard the words of Aseret HaDibberot / the “Ten Commandments,” יַחְדָּו֙, as one, in one voice. That has never happened since. I have even made the argument in this space that our inclination to disagree with each other, particularly over the meaning of our ancient texts, is the reason that we are still here. The Romans did us a favor, nearly two millennia ago, by destroying the Beit haMiqdash / Temple in Jerusalem and forcing us to make our tradition portable and democratic, rather than centralized and hierarchical. Hence the disagreement.

Detail from the Arch of TItus, showing Romans carrying Temple implements from Jerusalem

A curious thing happened after October 7th: suddenly, it seemed that the whole Jewish world was united against Hamas. And how could we not be? The Jewish people were attacked, brutally; an area within Israel’s boundaries was occupied by terrorists. More Jewish people were killed that day than on any day since World War II. As horrific as the details and magnitude of what happened are, I fear we will not grasp the full scope of the horror for years.

For a moment or two, we spoke with one voice. The sovereign, democratic State of Israel must defend itself against terrorism. Full stop. The unity in Israel and with Diaspora Jews was unbelievable. When I was in Israel in November, the statement of this unity which I saw and heard everywhere – on billboards, as the lead-in to radio advertisements, projected onto the sides of buildings – was יחד ננצח. Together, we will win.

When Israel called up its reserve soldiers, 150% of those called showed up for duty – something which never happens. Israelis who were trekking through Thailand and Bolivia got on the first plane home. Jews all over the world, including some in Pittsburgh, rounded up needed supplies to send to Israel. Perhaps most remarkably, many Ḥaredim (I’ve heard as many as 4,000) signed up to serve in the IDF, something which they have historically not done in great numbers.

In January, I spent two days with HaZamir, the International Youth Teen Choir, in New Jersey. The HaZamir environment is one of the last places in the (non-Orthodox) Jewish world that is still unquestionably, proudly, unapologetically Zionist. And that is a particularly satisfying feeling for me, because it features Jewish teens singing Hebrew choral music, which I love.

But of course, four months into this war, we are now seeing cracks in the Jewish unity which followed October 7th. In Israel, frustration over the fact that there are still 100+ hostages is boiling over, and anger at Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, which seems to now be carrying over from the pro-democracy protests of last year, is palpable. 

We are still seeing plenty of anti-Israel activism around the world. South Africa’s charging Israel with genocide in the UN’s highest court is a prime example. And of course there are Jewish groups (Jewish Voice for Peace, IfNotNow) who are calling for an unconditional ceasefire, something which merely hands Hamas both victory and opportunity to re-arm.

I think it is difficult to argue with the fact that Hamas has succeeded in its diabolical plot far beyond its own expectations. Not only did they excel at murder and hostage-taking, but also, knowing that Israel’s response would be devastating and deadly for the people of Gaza, in soon turning world public opinion, including that of some Jews, against Israel. 

Ḥevreh, it is absolutely abhorrent that somewhere around 26,000 Gazans have died in this war. And yes, that number is courtesy of Hamas, but there is no disputing that thousands of civilians have died in a war due to Hamas’ cynical use of their people as human shields. There is no question that we should be seeking a peaceful solution to find a way to preserve human life throughout the region. But in light of what happened at the International Court of Justice a week ago, we should remember a few important things:

  1. That figure of 26,000 includes about 10,000 Hamas fighters. I rarely see an American news outlet even mention that. Furthermore, Hamas likely overestimates the number of children who have been killed.
  2. Remember that Hamas is still firing rockets into Israel, and of course returning fire on advancing Israeli troops, and all of this fighting is taking place in one of the most densely-populated places in the world.
  3. The current tumult about UNRWA, the UN organization which provides humanitarian aid, running schools and hospitals in Gaza and elsewhere, is not surprising to anybody who has been paying attention. The fact that UNRWA employees are not only giving cover and aid to Hamas, and indeed even participated in the attack of October 7th, is deeply problematic.
  4. Netanyahu’s approval rating in Israel right now is somewhere around 26%. If elections were held tomorrow, Likud would lose dramatically. He and his far-right allies are now leaning into their base to try to drum up support for horrible ideas, like re-occupying Gaza, or worse. We should look past this inflammatory rhetoric to the day when he is no longer in power, and that day should be coming soon.

When Theodor Herzl wrote, in his 1902 book Altneuland (“Old-new land”), Im tirtzu, ein zo agadah (“If you will it, it is no dream”), he was, in fact, creating a new idea in Jewish life: that people did not have to wait for God to make the first move in establishing a home for the Jewish people. Decades before the rise of Nazism, Herzl knew that the safety and security of Jews in the Diaspora would wax and wane but never be completely stable, and that the only realistic solution for the Jewish future would be self-determination in the land from which we came.

Herzl could not have predicted the challenge of Hamas, although he was certainly aware that the Zionist idea would not be universally accepted, even by Jews, from the outset. 

However, I must say that even though I have thrown my lot with the Diaspora (at least for now), Herzl was right. America, as wonderful as it has been for the Jews, will never be entirely safe. We in Pittsburgh know this all too well. And all the more so many of the other places where Jews have lived. 

The Israeli singer Gali Atari made famous the song lyric, “Ein li eretz aḥeret.” I have no other land. And as much as we would like to think that we have succeeded here and elsewhere, I still believe in Herzl’s dream: “Lihyot am ḥofshi be-artzeinu.” To be a free people in our land.

And I must add that while I am a loyal American, grateful to this nation for the safe haven it offered my great-grandparents more than a century ago, I am feeling a lot less safe in this country than I used to. And there are plenty of Jews around the world who live in places that are far less safe and stable.

I do not imagine that we will see the unity of October 8th again any time soon. But I think it is essential for us to hold onto certain principles as we move forward:

The hostages must come home before there will be any ceasefire agreement.

Likewise, Hamas must surrender. The ongoing existence of this terror group is a demonstrable threat to the safety of Israeli citizens as well as Palestinians, and to some extent Jewish people the world over.

The people of Israel need our support. We may not achieve full and complete unity, but we must stand with the nearly 10 million people of that nation, Jews and non-Jews, in their quest to remain a safe, democratic haven in a decidedly non-democratic region.

This war is deeply painful for millions of people across the region, and that pain has, to some extent, impacted Jewish unity. The opening line of Beshallaḥ (Shemot/Exodus 13:17) last week actually spoke to the challenge of war. Instead of sending the Israelites out of Egypt the easy way,  to return to Israel on the seaside route, which would have taken just a few weeks, the Torah reports that God sent them the long way, the 40-years-in-the-desert route, because God was concerned that when they saw war (e.g. with the Amalekites, the Philistines, the Canaanites, etc.), they would have a change of heart and return back to Egypt.

In the context of war, it is easy to say, “Let’s go back to Egypt,” Although we all know that would be much, much worse. We should rather recommit to Israel, to commit to the longer, harder journey, if not to the unity we once had.

~

Rabbi Seth Adelson

(Originally delivered at Congregation Beth Shalom, Pittsburgh, PA, Shabbat morning, 2/3/2024.)

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Be the Alef: Unity Against Hatred – Vayaqhel-Pekudei 5777

Rabbis have curious schedules. No day is the same as any other. The range and varied nature of my work is such that it’s never dull. However, the week before last was especially interesting, and particularly challenging.

I went to two training sessions. One, called “Stop the Bleed,” is part of a national effort to train law enforcement officers and people who work in schools how to prevent the unnecessary loss of life in the context of what is now called a “mass casualty incident,” that is, a shooting or stabbing of multiple people in a public place. This training session, run by the FBI, was sponsored by UPMC, the Jewish Federation of Greater Pittsburgh, and the Jewish Healthcare Foundation, and so there were not only cops there, but also an assortment of employees of Jewish institutions. We learned how to apply direct pressure, to pack wounds and to tie tourniquets, all ways to prevent the injured from dying of blood loss. (Not only did I receive a certificate from the FBI, but they also gave me my very own tourniquet! I hope I never have to use it, but it will live in my tallit bag.)

The other training was held here at Beth Shalom, run by the Federation’s new Director of Jewish Community Security, Brad Orsini, and this one was “active shooter” training. You can imagine what that’s about: 1. Run! 2. Hide! 3. Fight!

It is exceptionally tragic that we have to be prepared for these things. But it is today’s unfortunate reality. I don’t want anybody to be concerned – we of course are hoping that we will never have to face such a situation. But it is certainly better to be prepared. (You should know that we are also revamping our current security plan here at Beth Shalom.)

I must say that I was quite surprised and dismayed by the news, which broke on Thursday, that the perpetrator of at least some of the threatening calls to JCCs and day schools was a Jewish teen living in Israel, a 19-year-old with dual citizenship, some apparent emotional challenges, and a phalanx of fancy technology. While I am relieved that this activity was not committed by a hate group, I am utterly devastated that one of our own would cause so much chaos in our community.

Nonetheless, there is no question that anti-Jewish activity is on the rise. We do not know where it is coming from or why, but the increase is unmistakable. The organizations that keep track of these things (the ADL, the Southern Poverty Law Center, etc.) have reported a rise in anti-Jewish incidents in the last few years, independent of the current political climate.

About a month ago on Shabbat afternoon, one of our families was yelled at in Squirrel Hill, walking home from Beth Shalom after services. (“Hitler did nothing wrong!” was screamed from a car window.) While Brad Orsini told us that local law enforcement has not seen a significant increase in such incidents, we have to be aware that they do happen, and that it’s very upsetting and frightening to experience these things.

If something like this happens to you, please report the incident! Call Brad at Federation. Call me. Get a license plate number if you can. This information is truly valuable to law enforcement.

As I have said here before, I grew up in an America almost completely un-molested by open anti-Semitism. Almost all of my friends, growing up in small-town New England, were Christian, and none of them seemed to harbor any anti-Jewish attitudes. Yes, a high school friend once used the expression “to Jew me down” in my presence, not knowing what it meant and why it might be offensive. And, when I was in 6th grade, I started wearing a kippah on a daily basis to my public school, where there were very few other Jewish kids. I was teased for it, but in my mind that was kids making fun of difference rather than gentiles targeting a Jew. Aside from these things, the America in which I grew up has always seemed to me not only welcoming to Jews, but more or less religion-blind.

But that was not true for my parents’ generation. I think that, prior to the middle of the 20th century, Jewish life was marked by fear and mistrust of the non-Jew, and with good reason. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, former chief rabbi of the British Empire, once remarked, “We used to think of ourselves as beloved by God. Now we think of ourselves as hated by the gentiles.” The bread-and-butter elements of rabbis’ sermons, deep into the 20th century, were the Holocaust and Israel, resonating with a palpable fear and its perceived antidote.

So it is all the more shocking that anti-Semitism is on the rise again. How do we respond to these disturbing trends? What can we do as individuals and as a community to ensure not only our physical well-being, but also our spiritual wholeness?

The essential response is one of qehillah, which you might translate as “community.”

It’s an interesting word, qehillah. (You all know by now how much I love words!) It’s the term that is currently in fashion at United Synagogue for how to refer to a synagogue community. Perhaps a better translation of qehillah would be “gathering” or “assembly.” A choir is a “maqhelah;” the book that we call Ecclesiastes in English (well, Latin) is Qohelet, the one who gathers people to distribute his wisdom.

And, of course, the first word (and title) of our parashah this morning was “Vayaqhel,” meaning, Moshe “gathered” the the whole Israelite community to tell them about a range of important laws, among them explicit instructions regarding the building of the mishkan (the portable sanctuary that the Israelites used in the desert to make sacrifices).

One suggestion that we might read from this is that the mishkan is a tool of assembly. It is a focal point that brings people together for a holy purpose.

We have no mishkan today, or anything like it. Buildings are not holy; it what takes place within them that creates qedushah, holiness. And what we do to create that virtual mishkan today is to gather as a community, to come together for holy purposes. One such purpose is what we are engaged in right now: tefillah / prayer and talmud torah / learning, and of course there’s the eating and schmoozing after.

Another such gathering of Jews as a community for a sacred task was the communal vigil that was held last motza’ei Shabbat (Saturday night) on behalf of immigrants and refugees. As a qehillah / community, we have the potential to stand up in defense of the gerim, the resident aliens among us, whom the Torah exhorts us to treat with dignity 36 times.

Another such gathering of Jews for a holy purpose was the communal Purimshpil at the JCC two weeks ago. The story of one righteous woman who triumphed over the forces of Amaleq was told in song and dance and theatrical frivolity, as is appropriate for Purim.

And we will gather as a community in a few weeks for a communal seder, at which we will tell the story of liberation from slavery and dine as free people who understand that our obligation is to free all the slaves in this world.

And just a few weeks after that, we will gather to celebrate Yom Ha’Atzma’ut, and remember that the State of Israel, its people, its culture, and yes, even its political balagan (mess) are an essential part of who we are, even seven time zones away.

Our strength is in our togetherness. When we stand together, we show the world and ourselves what we can do as a qehillah, as a people gathered for a holy purpose.

When we at Beth Shalom stood together a few weeks back to receive the Aseret HaDibberot, the Decalogue (aka the “Ten Commandments”) in Parashat Yitro, just as our ancestors did at Mt. Sinai, we rose together to hear God’s introductory line: I am the one who brought you out of Egypt. Anokhi, says God. “I”.

The early Hasidic sage, Rabbi Menahem Mendel of Rymanov (1745-1815), said that all that the Israelites heard at Sinai, gathered at the foot of the mountain, was the alef, the first letter of anokhi. This is, of course, paradoxical; the alef itself makes no sound. It is a simple glottal stop, the absence of consonant or vowel. But contained within that silent alef was all of the content of Jewish life, a unity of revelation in apparent nothingness.

That unity is the numerical value of alef; one. And, perhaps not coincidentally, the alef is also the first word of the Hebrew word for unity: ahdut (from ehad, one).

What the Israelites heard, assembled together as a qehillah at Sinai, was unity. Oneness. Togetherness. And when we stand together today, we are one in a way that has kept us as a distinct people 2,000 years after the Romans destroyed the Second Temple, 900 years after the Crusades, 500 years after the Expulsion from Spain, and 72 years after the end of the Nazi reign of terror.

That alef has enabled us to stand up to fear and hatred in our midst. All kinds of fear and hatred.

What can we do to combat hatred? We can stand together. We can be a qehillah. We are the alef.

Shabbat shalom.

 

~

(Originally delivered at Congregation Beth Shalom, Shabbat morning, 3/25/2017.)