Before Shabbat

October 7^th, 2023, is a date that will remain a part of Jewish consciousness for the next generations, perhaps forever. The trauma following in the wake of the violent and brutal attacks in Israel at the hands of Hamas terrorists continues to haunt us. Not since the Holocaust have so many Jews been murdered in one day. In 75 years, Israelis were never stranded by the IDF. But on October 7^th, they were defenseless. The army let them down. Their leaders let them down. On October 7^th, 2023, the most dangerous place in the world for Jews was Israel.

Many of us felt untethered from reality in those first days, glued to the news, trying to understand the enormity of the Hamas act of terror. The statements of concern from many nations and organizations heartened me. I was surprised by the sincere support and empathy for Israel in the wake of such ruthless inhumanity. 

When the war began in earnest, when Israel started to bombard Gaza, I knew the goodwill would evaporate. I knew that thousands of innocent Gazans would die. I knew this because Hamas has stated quite clearly that they see the citizens of Gaza as a sacrificial offering. Hamas doesn’t pretend to protect their people. Storing weapons and ammo in a hospital, building a command center beneath hospitals and mosques, and risking the lives of patients and professionals are all part of a cynical, nihilistic plan to isolate and then destroy Israel. I’m not making this up. I’m not exaggerating. This isn’t an opinion; it’s a fact.

And yes, it’s a fact that Israel has pounded parts of Gaza to rubble. So many innocents have died or been widowed or orphaned. I don’t know how we take this truth in. There has to be a better way to fight this war. There have to be some humane options to alleviate some of the agony. This must be done for the sake of the suffering Gazans. It must also be done for the Israeli soldiers who are pulling the trigger, dropping the bombs, and firing the missiles.

But the thing that has most shocked me, that has inspired me to write to you, is the explosion of antisemitism all over the world. The latest statistic is that there’s been a 388 percent increase in antisemitism in America since October 7^th. That precipitous a rise is frightening. That so many of the antisemitic incidents are occurring on college campuses is deeply disturbing.

Some of you have directly corresponded with me. Others have spoken to their parents. We’ve had weekly conversations at the temple. Many of you are concerned. You’re wondering what to do and what you should say. Some of you have asked how we can turn back antisemitism.

Your questions break my heart because these are not issues I ever imagined we’d be discussing. I can’t quite believe it’s come to this. You should not be worrying about being insulted, harassed, or worse. You should not be made to feel unsafe by your peers or by a professor. You should be enjoying an independent and glorious life on campus.

But here we are.

1. There are no easy answers to any of these questions. No dialog is possible when confronted by irrational people yelling irrational and hateful slogans. If demonstrators in groups large or small are on a public street, the First Amendment protects their right to do so, even if you find it vile and upsetting.
2. Don’t engage in colloquy when you’re out on the street. They’re just looking to draw you into an argument, not a discussion.
3. If you are harassed on campus, you MUST MUST report it. The university is responsible for your well-being. It is inexcusable for you as a tuition-paying student not to receive protection. Talk to your faculty advisor. Talk to a provost. If you fear reprisals, call the local ADL chapter. Call ME. No one deserves to get away with this behavior – students or professors.
4. If you try to alleviate hateful antisemitic rhetoric to no avail, call your local newspaper and tell them your story.
5. You don’t have to live with this in silence. You do have allies willing to help you.
6. It is possible to stand with Israel AND speak of your desire for a peaceful resolution. You can voice your despair about innocent Gazans dying even as you rage about innocent Israeli lives taken by Hamas terrorists.

When you come home for Thanksgiving, you’ll find time to recharge. The short break may partially defuse the situation on campus.

Please remember: the Jewish people have a long history of persecution. Some folks hate us because we’ve made it despite many obstacles. Because we are the Other, the minority that doesn’t quite fit in. Because people are ignorant of Jewish history and don’t understand our struggles to achieve safety and a home of our own. Because in the words of my Wesleyan history professor, Nathanael Green, “Antisemitism is the glue that held Europe together for 2000 years.”

People are angry and upset with the unequal treatment of Palestinians from 1948 to this day. Those feelings are real. They must be acknowledged. But the feelings of Israelis must also be respected. Their fears, their experiences with terrorism for decades, must be taken seriously.

We need to keep our eyes on the shared future Palestinians and Jewish Israelis deserve. That means working toward a sustainable end to violent conflict as soon as possible. This end to violence will require stopping the bombing of Gazan civilians and civilian infrastructure, stopping the rockets aimed at Israeli civilians, the hostages being released, and Hamas being rendered incapable of repeating the attacks of October 7th. 

It’s a long, hard road ahead. We’re with you at home and on campus. Do not suffer in silence.

The air we’re breathing is thick with war. We see videos of rocket fire explosions lighting up the sky. We hear the sounds of sirens, of weeping mothers holding dead children, of desperate men clawing through rubble with their bare hands as they look for survivors. It is too much to bear. I want to look away.

Two weeks ago, while listening to NPR, I heard the beginning of an interview with a very articulate and angry Gazan. She described what was going on for her, an innocent noncombatant. My first reflex as she spoke was to turn off the radio. I didn’t want to hear what she had to say. Not because I thought it was a lie or propaganda. On the contrary, I couldn’t stand hearing her story because it was real. She was sharing her struggle to stay alive, to look out for her elderly grandparents, and to keep her young children safe in a world where there is no safe place.

I didn’t want to listen because I knew I would feel empathy. I knew allowing for her humanity would mean I had to open my heart and feel her struggle. In this current disastrous moment, the last thing I wanted to do was to complicate the narrative.

Keeping this war a binary, good guy-bad guy struggle is not difficult for me. Hamas is unequivocally the bad guy. Their charter of hate, violence, and nihilism expresses a determined desire to wipe out the Jews from the river to the sea.

And here, if I may digress… Let’s be clear. A poster or a social media post that says, Free Palestine, I can tolerate. It expresses the desire for a Palestinian state. But when it says from the Jordan River to the Mediterranean Sea, it is not implying – it is declaring that the land of Israel will be, in the words of the Nazis, Judenrein, without Jews. It is not, as Congresswoman Rashida Tlaib stated, “… an aspirational call for freedom, human rights, and peaceful coexistence, not death, destruction, or hate.” It’s a dog whistle connoting the opposite of peaceful coexistence.

Hamas is a brutal, uncompromising foe, and they must be destroyed, or at the very least, rendered impotent. The part that is not simple, not binary, is recognizing that innocent Gazans are humans. Their grief, their terrible losses, are all real. To turn away from a grieving mother, to change the station lest my heart break for a Palestinian man who has lost 12 members of his family, is terrible. It’s unforgivable not to pay attention, not to absorb the appalling pain of innocents. That is not who we are. Jews cannot look the other way.

We cannot surrender our empathy. To do so is to abandon the foundation of Judaism’s take on the world, that we are all created in God’s image. So we walk around with these multiple truths: that our people were murdered in cold blood, that our enemy must be broken, that the Occupation has been cruel, and that innocent people are dying.

The complexity of our reality is sobering. It’s morally and spiritually complicated. This is why the pro-Palestinian demonstrations happening all over the world concern me. There is no acknowledgment of the deep history of the Jewish people and our attachment to the land of Israel. To label us ‘colonizers’ or part of the white, hegemonic empire builders of the 19^th and 20^th centuries is absurd. There is no nuanced perception of what it means to have been a persecuted minority for 2000 years. The sheer lack of empathy in so many letters, demonstrations, and protests regarding Jews and our connection to Israel is staggering and dangerous.

I am standing for Israel proudly and without reservation. And as a Jew standing for Israel, I am raising up my empathy for innocent people dying in Gaza. I refuse to turn away as much as I may want to do so. I will not shrug my shoulders and say, “c’est la guerre”. This makes the road ahead dark and opaque. But I will not surrender my empathy for others. And I challenge those demonstrators who turn away from my narrative to put down the poster for a moment to accept the challenge to empathize. There is too much at stake.

With all the madness in the world, Halloween was a welcome diversion. Looking at the cute costumes is always fun. Marveling at the increasingly elaborate, macabre yard decorations is hysterical. Some are pretty scary, including the spooky tombstones and skeletons rising from the dead. Add the multicolored lights and some occasional screams and groans from hidden speakers (“Alexa. Play scary sounds!”), and you’ve got lots of ghostly amusement.

My street, just off Washington St in Newton Corner and a block away from an eastbound Mass Pike entrance ramp, has become, over the years, a true Halloween magnet. Hundreds of kids – and I mean, HUNDREDS, parade up and down the avenue. I estimate that I saw about 500 kids, which is down a bit from last year, very likely because of the chilly weather.

As I poured my candy into a large soup kettle, I anticipated the particular joy I experience passing out the sweets. I particularly love the nervous and slightly overwhelmed little ones, their parents coaching them on what to say. Then there’s the roving packs, usually slightly older kids, trick or treating without their parents. They can be wise guys, insolent, and sarcastic. I sass them back, and they love it. I was ready for the evening rush.

I looked at our walkway. Our “We Stand With Israel” placard was boldly planted right there. I paused for a moment and began to wonder. What does this sign mean to me? Why did I put it in our yard? The answer is apparent to me: now, more than ever, I need to publicly proclaim my love of Israel and the people who live there. I need to publicly reaffirm my connection to Israel, a connection that has been ineluctably tied to my soul since I was twelve.

I realized that the kids and their parents would all walk right past my sign on their way to my front door. This made me pause for a moment. A catalog of “what ifs” began to form in my mind. What if kids pull it down? What if some anti-Israel people rip it down and get nasty? What if one of those wiseguy gangs starts to dare each other to do or say something offensive? I mean, it could happen… So… should I move it just for Halloween night?

I stopped in mid-thought. And I got angry – with myself. There is no way in the world I will move that sign. I will not be afraid. I will not hide. I will not knuckle under to anyone who wants to scare me or my people. I refuse to give antisemites what they want: my pride, my faith, my history, my autonomy. My father escaped the Holocaust – just barely. The rest of his family died – in Berlin or at Auschwitz. Our continued existence in the world is something Jews NEVER take for granted. We are thankful for our freedom and our continued survival. And we won’t give it away. Hamas reminded us that right now, there are people bent on destroying us who will commit the most heinous, despicable acts of violence against us. And if that weren’t enough, some people have rallied in the streets of America to show support for Hamas. So hell no, I did not move the sign. I won’t hide.

I know some college kids are scared right now. Some Jewish kids are asking university registrars to change their names on class lists lest they are outed as Jews. They don’t want to be singled out by twisted professors or ignorant fellow students. I get it. I get their fear. Shame on the college administrations that have allowed Jewish children whose parents are paying a lot of money for their education to feel so marginalized, so threatened, that these students deny their Jewishness. This is what they call in Yiddish a Shanda, a dreadful, shameful act. I hope these Jewish students soon realize they are not alone and do not have to put their heads down and deny a legacy of wisdom and joy. Yes, the Israel-Hamas war begs a lot of questions, but it doesn’t change the fundamental truth of our tradition – it can’t.

Nothing happened on Halloween: no wise guy antisemitism, no epithets or insults. One of the kids in a middle school gang walked up to the porch and said, “Happy Halloween!” and then “Happy Birthday!” because, well, because he was a wise guy. Then he turned, saw the sign, and said, “Whoa. My mom will love this.” He took out his phone and took a picture. Then this kid, with an axe planted in the side of his head, turned to me and said, “Thank you.”

No trick. Just a treat.