Today marks thirty days since Hamas’s gruesome Simchat Torah terror attack on Israel.
In our Jewish tradition, at the end of the first thirty days of mourning – a period known as sh’loshim – we take a moment to pause and reflect on how we’re feeling. With this in mind, I wanted to write and share some of the feelings that I’ve observed among our congregation over the course of the past month.
Many of us have been feeling sadness and anger – sadness at the loss of life, and anger at the brutality of Hamas’s attack. Many of us have relatives and friends – or, at the very least, are only a few steps removed from people – who have been directly impacted by the terror attack, whether they were injured, killed, abducted, or have been called up for military duty.
Many of us are feeling heartache – already grieving for the innocent Israelis who were killed by Hamas, and now also pained by the deaths of innocent Palestinian civilians in Gaza. Many of us are concerned about the worsening humanitarian crisis there, knowing that there is a difference between the people of Gaza and their terrorist leaders.
Many of us are feeling hopeless – sensing that Israel might be in an impossible bind right now. Many of us believe that Israel has the obligation to redeem the hostages, and also to destroy Hamas’s ability to ever again carry out an attack like this one. And yet, we worry about whether those obligations are achievable: that it might not be possible to find and rescue the hostages, and that even if the IDF is able to destroy Hamas, another terror organization could easily arise in their place.
Many of us are feeling worried about the possibility of a widening conflict – watching with trepidation to see whether Hezbollah in Lebanon will more forcefully enter the fray, perhaps setting off an avalanche towards a wider regional conflict.
Many of us are feeling afraid for our own safety – as antisemitism around the globe and here in the US once again rears its ugly head. Many congregants have said that they considered whether to take down their mezuzah on Halloween, and whether to hide their Star of David necklace while in public.
Many of us are feeling isolated from our friends, neighbors, and peers – some of whom seemingly do not understand, on a gut level, the deep-seated trauma that Hamas’s terror attack has stirred up in us. For those among us who identify as politically and socially liberal or progressive, the feeling of isolation has been particularly intense – feeling like the leaders and causes we’ve supported do not fully understand us.
Many of us are feeling lost – struggling as we try to identify the differences between critiques of Israel’s policies, anti-Zionism, and antisemitism. Many of us are feeling unsure of what to do when we hear loaded terminology like “colonialism,” “genocide,” and “apartheid.” Many of us feel that we are suddenly expected to be experts in the Arab-Israeli conflict – and that even if we are well-read, we are not confident enough to engage in conversation.
These uncomfortable feelings, and so much more, hang over our synagogue community. And yet, as Israel’s national anthem, Hatikvah, affirms, there nevertheless are reasons for hope.
I have been inspired, during these past thirty days of sh’loshim, to see that our synagogue community has been able to engage in difficult conversations without devolving into argument. We have held five small-group discussions for adults. In each one, congregants came not looking to score political points, but rather, approached the conversation with humility – recognizing that no single person has all the right answers.
I have been inspired to see that our synagogue community is seeking – and is in fact able to hold – multiple truths at the same time. I have seen that our congregants are not interested in bombast, but rather, in moral clarity and in nuance.
I have been inspired by our youths. We offered a three-week, optional course for 4-6th graders called “Israel 101,” on Israel’s history, politics, and current events. We hoped that ten students might sign up for it. Instead, 25 students enrolled.
A fourth grader in the congregation had the idea to organize a bake sale for Magen David Adom (Israel’s emergency responders) during Religious School. He thought he and a few friends would bake cookies and raise a few bucks. Instead, 22 families volunteered to bake, and we raised more than $1600.
On multiple occasions, we have asked our 7th graders and our teens how they would respond to some of the dilemmas of our current moment. In each of these conversations, our young people showed a sophistication and a moral seriousness that far exceeds their years.
And perhaps most of all, I have been inspired by the power of community. In all of our gatherings (with our Religious School students, with our teens, with our college students, with adults, and when the wider congregation came together for a vigil of solace), we have seen the comfort that comes from recognizing that none of us is alone – that no matter how we might be feeling right now, there likely are other people in this community who are feeling similarly.
Today, the period of sh’loshim comes to an end. But the tumult of feelings – both those that are uncomfortable, and those that give us reason to hope – will decidedly continue to be with us. Throughout it, our Temple Beth Shalom community will be here for us – to provide us with a space to feel all of our feelings, and hopefully, to help us feel less alone.
The Hebrew word tikvah means “hope” – but it also means “thread”: as if to suggest that hope starts out as something thin, but when woven together, can eventually become strong.
Over the coming months, we will continue to weave ourselves together as a part of this synagogue community.
B’tikvah – with a thread of hope,
Daniel
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