Thoughts from Israel Jan-Feb 2024
From Rabbi Emeritus Jamie Gibson
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Getting to Israel is always wondrously exhilarating and exhausting. I’m not sure the human body was ever designed to be hurled through the air in little more than a cigar tube at 650 miles per hour for 12 hours at a time. But without flying, not many would ever visit Israel (or many other places more than two time zones away!).
The airport was not as packed as it usually is nor was it virtually empty like it was at the beginning of the war. There was a decent amount of foot traffic but lines were short and waits were brief. What was missing was the usual buzz of excitement by people coming and going. Walking down the pathway toward passport control, there was none of thrill of jostling for position, making small talk with strangers, seeing who else had what reasons for coming to Israel. It was calm, almost somber—very un-Israeli.
I was picked up by dear friends who moved to Israel after retirement to be with their daughter, son-in-law and grandson in Tel Aviv. When I thanked them for going out of their way to get me from the airport, they simply said, “Well, we were already out shopping at the IKEA south of here, so it wasn’t any trouble at all!” Yes, IKEA, just like at home.
After the rabbis on the trip introduced themselves and ate dinner, we sat down, 40 or so of us, with Rabbi Gilad Kariv, a Reform rabbi who happens to be a member of the K’nesset (Israel’s parliament). He gave a frank view as to why so many Israelis don’t have the bandwidth to empathize with the plight of civilians in Gaza at the same time they are still processing their own trauma.
This point was driven home when a colleague asked how this was possible. “We all watch CNN in America. I know you get it here in Israel, too. How can Israelis not see what civilians in Gazas are enduring?” The answer was quick and blunt: Israelis do not, for the most part, watch CNN. Or Fox. Or the BBC. They watch their own channels, which like ours, span the gamut of political views. Since most Israelis, even those on the left and center-left, do not watch images from these news outlets, they do not receive the full force of the impact we Americans feel when we see them.
Don’t get me wrong. I blame Hamas for every death and injury. I believe that they are willing to fight to the last innocent Palestinian to advance their objective of blaming Israel for their suffering. But even though 40% of the deaths in Gaza are estimated to be of combatants, that still leaves thousands of innocent Palestinian women and children who have died or been horribly injured.
Israel faces very tough choices, however, on a plane larger than the bitter conflict with Hamas in Gaza. As Thomas Friedman put in the New York Times last week (I’m paraphrasing): The region is shaping up to be a battle of alliances. The alliance of resistance includes Hamas, Hezbollah, the Houthis of Yemen, Russia and China (maybe Turkey, too). These countries are against the progress of liberal ideas changing the nature of their societies and will use force to prevent that from happening. Over against that are the nations of Resilience, including Israel, the US, Dubai, Saudi Arabia, Ukraine, NATO and the European Union who seek the spread of freedoms, political, economic and spiritual.
The harsh lesson Israel is learning, according to Rabbi Kariv, is that Israel can’t by itself win this battle against the powerful arc of Iranian influence that extends from Tehran to Beirut. Israel simply doesn’t have the infrastructure to be victorious on that scale.
As a result, Israel will have to work with allies and friends and give up some of its autonomy to keep the desperately needed support those nations provide relationships from disintegrating. Thinking in these larger terms rather than simply counting casualties on either side of the Israel-Hamas war is going to take a higher level of strategic thinking than Israel may be prepared for at this moment.
As I write these words there are serious international talks regarding a ceasefire that would include the mutual release of Israeli hostages and Palestinian prisoners. No one thinks that this ceasefire, should it come about, will be the last chapter of this drama. I will write more about this during the course of my visit.
Well, things got real today. Our first stop in Tel Aviv was at Kikar Chatufim, or Hostage Square. I expected a one-dimensional wall of protest, with pictures of the more than 130 remaining hostages and their names. I expected a huge banner with a slogan, such as “We Won’t Stop Until All Return Home.”
I did see that. But there was so much more. The displays supporting the hostages plaza behind the Tel Aviv Museum of Modern Art were so thoughtful, so multi-layered, so bold and yet so subtle it was impossible not to be moved. For weeks I have worn a blue ribbon on my clothes to declare my solidarity with the hostages. Today that sentiment moved dramatically from the abstract to the real, real plight of these kidnapped fellow Jews, ripped from their homes, from the youngest to the most elderly.
There is the public piano that anyone can play, with “You Are Not Alone” in three dimensional letters. There is the famous tableau of a set table with empty chairs, recently divided by color and dish style into two halves: The plates for those who have been freed, each serving dish emblazoned with the phrase, “It’s so good you came home!” The other length of table has plates filled with food just sitting there, forlorn, not to be eaten, symbolizing those still brutally held by Hamas.
There is a simulated tunnel to walk through, replete with lights and the sounds of gunfire as you walk through. It has been personalized by written messages by hundreds of Israelis, covering every surface of the length of the mock tunnel expressing love and concern for the hostages, wishes for their well-being and outrage at those who cruelly took them by force. Each individual installation can absorb you for minutes at a time, and there were at least two dozen of them.
Things got real today. We met with the organization of families of hostages, which lobbies on their behalf to the government, supports them in their needs, protests publicly (with thousands of Israeli citizens at their sides every Saturday night at the end of Shabbat) and makes sure that the media does not look away from the suffering of those they love. We listened to Lee Siegel, whose brother Keith and his wife lived in a border community and were taken hostage. He and his brother were raised in North Carolina and both made Aliyah (immigrated) to Israel in the 1970’s. Lee’s sister-in-law was finally released after 55 days, having lost 25 pounds and suffering from a thyroid condition. Keith is still a hostage and it is hoped that the current Paris negotiations for a pause in the war and release of those kidnapped will include him.
Lee was soft-spoken, but disdainful of the government’s efforts to bring his brother home to Israel. The theme we heard repeatedly was, hostages home first, then battle Hamas, which will take years. His words, his manner, his presence were all deeply moving and all of us ached for him, and we immediately donated to this organization of the hostage families.
Things got real today. For a different perspective, we met with two Israeli women from the organization Gisha, which works through the legal system to try to hold Israel accountable for the rights of non-combatant Gazans, whose lives were difficult before the war and are virtually impossible now. This, because of the threats of starvation, thirst, infection, poor hygiene and the dangers from natural causes, such as rains washing out the tents that are their temporary shelters.
Many Israelis have said they do not have the capacity to care about the plight of these hundreds of thousands of Palestinians, given the murders, rapes and kidnappings of Israelis that Hamas perpetrated on October 7. And yet, these two women, Ma’a-yan and Rebecca, both soft spoken, were absolutely determined to pursue every legal avenue to force Israel to send adequate humanitarian aid, enough fuel to run generators (especially for hospitals) and treat Gazan civilian war victims like the human beings they are.
It was a very uncomfortable meeting, given the views of most of us in the room. But we all admired their tenacity, their insistence that Israel live up to the requirements of a power that controls all but one access point to the Gaza Strip as well as air space, sea access, water supply and the now almost non-existent power grid.
As much as we wanted to lay all of this suffering at the feet of Hamas, which proudly owns all that it did on October 7 and promises to do it all again, it is impossible not to feel empathy for the thousands who are suffering from lack and who are endangered from the war itself. I know I do not wish suffering on any Palestinian child even as I want to hold Hamas leaders and fighters to account for the violence and pain they have inflicted on Israelis.
Maybe demanding Israel live up to a higher standard of behavior in war than Russia, China, Syria and Turkey is reasonable. It is a challenge however, given the current circumstances, including reading the news each day of Israelis who have died in the conflict.
Things got real today. As horrifying as the war has been, its suffering has pushed the Israeli medical establishment to new discoveries to alleviate it. Dr. Shai Efrati and Dr. Keren Duanis have been working on new modalities to ease the suffering of those with PTSD, post-traumatic stress disorder. They realized that talk therapy and even drugs might not help victims resolve the issues associated with their terrible experiences, so they are conceived of a new way to tackle the issue.
Trauma, they say, affects the actual structure of the brain. And, since the brain is a physical tissue structure, it should be treated physically, biologically, according to these doctors. The treatment they have devised is amazing. In their hospital in Rishon Lezion, they have put together the largest hyperbaric chambers in the world. These can accommodate up to 500 patients per day in these mass chambers.
Why a hyperbaric chamber? The theory is by flooding the body with oxygen via masks and then withdrawing it, the brain can actually heal itself. We were shown MRI’s of those who receive this treatment of a period of 60 consecutive days, with weekly talk therapy for support. The results in the MRI pictures are nothing short of amazing.
The only daunting aspect is the cost—$10,000 per patient over the course of the treatment. So the rabbis in our group immediate started raising funds with that goal in mind, to help heal just one person who suffers from the trauma of this war, either as a soldier or civilian.
Then things got really real today. As we were leaving Tel Aviv for Haifa, the red alert sounded on the phones of our tour leader and bus driver, indicating that a missile attack was underway. The ten missiles sent from Gaza were aimed at Tel Aviv and the surrounding cities of Holon, Bat Yam and Rishon Lezion. We parked the bus on the highway and put our heads below the level of the windows. Within three minutes the alert ended because we were at the northern edge of the city, out of range of the missiles that were fired. But it was real. The bus ride to Haifa was somber indeed.
Things got real today. In Haifa, despite lingering jet lag, we were enraptured by the words of Anna Kislanski, head of the Israel Movement for Progressive Judaism, who shared the doings of the Reform community during this war. For the first time ever, a Reform rabbi from Modi’in, David Azoulay, was given permission to conduct military funerals for those who have died in his community. Why? Because the members of his synagogue, called Yozma, demanded it of the government and simply wouldn’t accept a state functionary Orthodox rabbi in the time of their harshest grief. The young people associated with the Reform movement from all over the country have volunteered at an astonishing rate to work as teachers, aides and other roles.
Please know that I am not concerned for my personal safety. I am in good hands, and I know how to get to safety if another missile alert goes off. I am resolved to be here with my fellow Jews, brave women, men and even children, who live here every day with these threats. How can I not want to be with them, even for just a week? These are my brother, my sisters, my family. And they are real.
Some people asked me, what are you going to do in Israel? Are you going to harvest crops? Are you going to visit the destroyed communities bordering Gaza? Are you going to lobby the government concerning the conduct of the war? Are you visiting army bases to offer support from abroad? What is the purpose of your visit?
To be clear, those tasks are not on our agenda. We have no illusions we can influence government policy in this time of war. We are not the kind of volunteers wanted to harvest crops, which right now are under inches of rainwater anyway. Army bases have barred groups like ours from visiting as we impede daily military functions.
We are not joining the virtually endless stream of delegations who are visiting the kibbutzim and villages that were attacked. Those visits themselves have begun to garner negative attention among Israelis who refused to be pitied or pandered to. The daily newspaper Ha-aretz labeled these visits “Atrocity Tourism.”
No. We are 37 rabbis and their partners who, by our presence in the streets of Tel Aviv, Haifa, Jerusalem and other places, are here to support our Reform colleagues and their communities as well as anyone else we meet in our travels.
For example, the hotels we stay in are not only for tourists. They are housing thousands of displaced people from the North who live too close to the Lebanese border to be safe from Hezbollah rocket attacks. We see them in the lobby, children playing endless games of tag, older women crocheting woolen caps for soldiers, men sitting around discussing affairs, knowing their words are pointless.
We spent today with Reform colleagues in three different settings. First we went to Beit Gefen, the organization dedicated to Arab-Jewish dialogue. We met with two extraordinary rabbis, Na’ama Daphna Kelen and Gaby Dagan, who, along with program director Assaf Ron, bring together Arabs and Jewish Israelis to talk about their identities, their notions of just what home is, their concerns and even their biases. This is done through wonderful exercises, from demonstrating one’s real self through felafel preferences, to evaluating rowdy fan behavior at soccer games.
There is an art installation on site that seems to portray area rugs you’d find in homes around here. There are geometric patterns and formations in what looks like any carpet in an apartment. Some look fresh, others appear to be worn from use. Only when you look closely, and often not even then, do you come to understand the rugs aren’t carpet at all, just patterns made to look like carpet from intricately arranged colored spices! It represents art and skill and craft and a vision of home that could be shared. It was deeply moving.
We met then the wonderful Reform rabbis, Ofek Meir and Oshrat Morag where they work at the Leo Baeck school, one of the top K-12 schools in all of Israel. Its student population is around 10% non-Jewish, which means that there are Christian, Muslim and Druze kids who come. Our conversation centered on how to maintain trust between communities during wartime. Despite the present crisis, children have not been pulled from the school because of fear of the other.
And even more impressive, adults have worked together on a community garden that has erased most barriers between their different groups. Volunteer after volunteer spoke about what working in that garden means to them. They positively overflowed with enthusiasm about how they feel working side by side with someone not from their group. I think of the enthusiasm I hear about those who work the Temple Sinai garden and marvel at how putting hands in soil can ease tension in human beings.
We then entered into discussion with two remarkable colleagues, Rabbi Miriam Klimova and Rabbi Benni Minnich, who spoke about the challenges of being immigrants from Ukraine, of being Reform rabbis in small communities with hardly any financial resources, and most of all, handling the tension in their synagogues between immigrant Ukrainians and Russians, given the ongoing war in their home countries.
They spoke of men in their congregations who, 117 days into the war, confess to being broken and unable to put up a brave front for their partners and children. They shared the pain of their congregants who fled one war zone only to find themselves in the thick of another one. I could not help but praise them and cheer them on in their work as well as finding ways to support them financially.
It has not stopped raining, except for 15 minutes at a time since we arrived. There has been thunder so loud I feared it might be the sound of something more dangerous. It all looks gloomy and could be depressing beyond words. And yet this group of rabbis, instead of being weighed down by the rain and all the difficulties we are seeing, is buoyed with hope; hope that the resilience we are witnessing each day will signal the determination needed to rebuild so much in this country when this war ends.
We learned today from the wisdom of Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, z’l, who was Chief Rabbi of Great Britain and famous for his learning and wisdom. He wrote the following:
“One of the most important distinctions I have learned in the course of reflection on Jewish history is the difference between optimism and hope. Optimism is the belief that things will get better. Hope is the belief that, together we can make things better. Optimism is a passive virtue, hope an active one. It takes no courage to be an optimist but it takes a great deal of courage to have hope. Knowing what Jews do of our past, no Jew can be an optimist. But have never—despite a history of sometimes awesome suffering—given up hope.”
It has been our duty to witness suffering and our sacred honor to see hope in action here in Israel. Tomorrow our group will prepare meals at Kibbutz Mishmar Ha-Emek (Kibbutz of the Valley) for displaced families before heading to Jerusalem. I would add to Rabbi Sacks’ wisdom that optimism has no aroma. Hope does. It smells like the food we feed each other in times like this.
Today’s gatherings were overwhelming. We headed out in the unceasing rain out of Haifa to a kibbutz in the northern Israel Jezreel Valley called Mishmar Ha-Emek. It is probably the most economically and socially successful kibbutz in the country. They still hold to the original kibbutz principle of “work according to your ability, take according to your need.” They are so successful they joke that they are wealthy enough as a kibbutz to live up to their socialist principles (I’ll let you laugh at that one).
What makes Mishmar Ha-Emek an even more extraordinary kibbutz in my eyes is what they did after the October 7 attack on the communities and kibbutzim near Gaza. They simply welcomed all of the families of kibbutz Nachal Oz, one of the first and worst hit, to take up residence with them. They have been there for almost four months now.
We gathered at Mishmar Ha-Emek to listen to the stories of Yael, Naomi and Danny, all of whom escaped with their families alive, but just barely. Nachal Oz lost 15 members out of 400 that day.
I will share just one of their stories, Naomi Eldar shared her journey from growing up in Minneapolis, Minnesota to moving to their beloved kibbutz Nachal Oz on the Gaza border. She spoke of how most kibbutzim are tight, caring communities, but Nachal Oz seems to epitomize the value of togetherness. She said her kibbutz simply opens its heart and envelopes everyone who come to live there, caring for every child, woman and man as a cherished individual.
The night before the attack, their family, along with everyone else, had rehearsed with other members of the kibbutz for their annual Simchat Torah production of songs and dance and celebration. Naomi says that the rehearsal, to everyone’s surprise, went off without a hitch. People went home, tired and smiling and anticipating a wonderful end of the Jewish holiday season.
But at 6:30 the next morning there was a loud noise. Naomi said it was the loudest boom she’d ever heard times 1,000. She bounced out of bed like it was a trampoline and hustled her three kids into their safe room with no provisions, no clothes, no water, no diapers for her baby. They tried to stay in communication with others on the kibbutz but the power was cut and remained off for 12 hours. Their phones were used mostly as flashlights.
She peeked through a window to see men dressed in Israeli Army uniforms with video cams on their heads bang on the front door of their house. They were Hamas terrorists in disguise hoping to trick them into opening their home. The door was locked and they shot the lock to get in. Fortunately, the bullet did the opposite—it jammed the lock so that the door wouldn’t open at all.
The attack went on for hours. They could hear messages on their phones, which still had some power. WhatsApp message came in from their next door neighbor, saying “They’re here. Send help! Why isn’t there anyone here to help us?” After a time Naomi turned the sound off. It was too much to be scared to death for herself and her family much less hear a cry for help that was never going to be answered. She found out later that her neighbor and her husband had been shot in cold blood, their bodies left on the ground.
They didn’t dare leave the safe room. They had no toilet, no water, no food. The place began to stink. They fell asleep due to oxygen deprivation. They hung on for 19 hours. Finally the power came back on and Naomi spoke to her mother, who lived away from the attack, but she couldn’t deal with her mother’s fears and panic. It was all she could do to get her kids out of the shelter, grab a few essentials and be evacuated. When a soldier finally said to her, “You’re safe,” Naomi finally broke down and sobbed.
It’s been 117 days and when people ask her when she is returning to Nahal Oz, Naomi says with wearily that she doesn’t know if she can ever go back. But she is thankful beyond words to the kibbutzniks of Mishmar Ha-Emek for taking them in, feeding them, giving them diapers and wipes and clothes, getting her kids back to some kind of school program and letting her process her trauma for as long as it may take. She does not want to leave Israel. Strangely, she feels safer there than back in the United States or Europe.
Yael and Danny told similarly harrowing stories. I’ll save them for another time. Suffice it to say they feel gratified for having survived by luck, guilt for having survived at all and shaken to the core as to whether the government can protect them or they can ever feel safe again.
We then listened to our colleague, Rabbi Yael Vurgan, who is the regional rabbi of that area, called Sha’ar Ha-Negev, or Gateway to the Negev Desert. She presently serves 13 communities in the Gaza envelope. She shared with us the burden and sacred honor of listening to survivors, ferrying them back and forth to Nachal Oz, organizing supplies and most of all, leading funerals.
In a picture below you can see the handwritten schedule of funerals that were held in the days after the attack, 12–15 per day, sometimes three at a time. She also shared a very useful map indicating just how far the Hamas terrorists entered into Israel (again, see picture below). Having traveled several times throughout that area, it was terrifying to think of all those communities being vulnerable and under attack to the death.
Rabbi Vulgan, Yael, Naomi and Danny all expressed to us their appreciation that we would come to visit Israel at all in wartime, much less take the time to hear their stories. When one hears these accounts there is nothing to say in response. There are only tears to shed and hugs to give.
A personal note: I don’t need to go South to see the devastated houses. I don’t need to poke through the ruins to bear witness. I don’t need to watch the absolutely horrifying video produced by the Army as evidence against those who actually deny that the attack, the murders, the kidnappings and the sexual violence took place. I believe it all happened without having to gaze at lurid pictures.
No, it is the listening, the witnessing of the faces of those traumatized, the gentle touch of hand in hand, that is what I feel compelled to do while I am here.
From Mishmar Ha-Emek, we traveled to a bedroom community called Shoham (meaning “onyx) between Tel Aviv and Jerusalem. There we jumped into a project that has been taken up nationwide—preparing food for the soldiers in the South in Gaza and on the Northern border with Lebanon.
We were greeted by a remarkable Rabbi, Rinat Tzefania, whose boundless enthusiasm helped lift us from our sadness of the morning (see pic below). We cut up vegetables and prepared 10 overflowing trays to be sent out. We also made vanilla cakes with chocolate chips on top from scratch. No one at my table was comfortable with following baking instructions in Hebrew, so I just jumped in, translating ingredients and steps and making the batter of eggs, oil, flour and sugar. Rabbis are not known for their baking.
After pouring the batter into pans and delivering them to be baked, I realized, to
my horror, that I had forgotten to put in the packet of baking soda that was called for (sorry, Barbara). I’m told the cakes will end up flatter but tasty, which is the entire point, I guess.
Finally we headed up to Jerusalem. I know the road well, having traveled it countless times. As we entered the city, I saw on a tall apartment building a huge banner (see pic below). It is bordered with pictures of the hostages and it reads, “DO YOU KNOW WHE
RE YOUR KIDS ARE SLEEPING TONIGHT? SOS”
Throughout the country there are signs, banners, flags and entire walls giving the same message: Return the hostages now! The war with Hamas may go on, but the hostages are living on borrowed time due to deprivation of food, water and medicine – and fear that they will simply be taken out and shot by Hamas.
Return the hostages now! It is a message consuming the nation. It is a message we in the United States must never forget for a moment. Return the hostages now!
I think “Groundhog Day” is one of the most religious movies ever made. I know, it’s a comedy featuring Bill Murray being funny and obnoxious and finally a little bit likeable. But that’s not why I think the film is so precious and even spiritual.
It is religious precisely because it deals with our propensity to make the same mistakes over and over again throughout our lives. It is religious because the protagonist must act on every evil impulse, again and again, before realizing that this wretch of a man is not who he could become. Only after a thousand times of waking up to Sonny and Cher’s “I Got You, Babe” does he find the strength and wisdom to find meaning and purpose and even joy in helping others instead of trying to take advantage of them.
There is a bit of “Groundhog Day” in the ongoing conflict between Israel and the Palestinians. At least it seems that way to me. It has been going on for so long and the violence occurs again and again and again. I was 13 when the Six Day War broke out, 18 when 11 Israeli athletes were murdered at the Munich Olympics by PLO terrorists, 19 when the Yom Kippur War occurred.
I was 28 when the 1st Lebanon War broke out, 33 when the 1st Intifada started and 46 when the 2nd one did. I was 52 when the 2nd Lebanon war started. I was 54 when the first armed conflict with Gaza blew up in 2008 and 60 when the 2014 operation called Protective Edge was waged. In all of the conflicts with the Palestinians since the 2nd Intifada there has been terrible suffering and death among Israelis and even larger destruction to Palestinian lives and property.
Please understand that I know Hamas has it written in its charter that there be no peace with Israel and no Jews between the River and the Sea. They are not viable peace partners. The Palestinian Authority based in Ramallah, barely 15 miles from where I write these words, is seen by most Palestinians as hopelessly corrupt and its leader power hungry. Its President, Mahmood Abbas, is presently in the 18th year of his four-year term.
It looks hopeless to try to find a path to peace, even though many Palestinians yearn for something resembling a normal life without “martyrdom” for their cause.
It’s now 2024 we’ve seen this movie too many times and we are weary of it. It seems the world agrees. According to reports coming out of the White House as reported by Tom Friedman of the New York Times, big ideas are being floated to solve this Gordian knot, if not forever, at least for a generation or two.
It involves removing Hamas from power in Gaza and working toward the creation of a demilitarized Palestinian state that would only gain recognition if it followed precise guidelines of disarmament and proper civil authority. It would be supported by Saudi Arabia and other moderate Arab states, serving as a bulwark against the threat of Iran and its proxies, Hezbollah, the Houthis and Hamas. The goal? To sideline Iran and its minions, to thwart Russian mischief in the region, to achieve real security for Israel against armed attack and terrorism and to realize Palestinian hopes for a nation to call their own.
Idealistic? Certainly. Possible? Maybe, just maybe, yes.
Though this seems like an op-ed, it is an introduction to the places our group visited today.
We trod on historic ground in Jerusalem, the campus of the institutions that made the country of Israel possible: The Jewish Agency, Keren Kayemet l’Yisrael (the forerunner of Jewish National Fund in Israel), Keren Ha-Yesod (the Foundation Fund) and the Histadrut (the national Labor federation).
Israel was able to declare itself a state on May 14, 1948 because these institutions were already up and running. They are still viable today and our Reform movement is supported by dollars from these institutions (not the Histadrut) when the right-wing government seems only interested in funding Orthodoxy. It was a sharp reminder that these monies are allocated through the World Zionist Congress, whose elections are vital to funding our movement.
Reform Judaism has grown exponentially in the last decade, from 28 to 54 congregations since 2010. It serves over 250,000 Israeli Jews annually who rely on our rabbis to lead bar and bat mitzvahs and weddings. Fully 13% of Israelis identify with either the Reform or Conservative movements (8% Reform/5% Conservative) or 910,000 Jews out of 7 million in Israel.
What this means is that with our support from abroad, Reform and Conservative Judaism are becoming forces in the life of Israel, even though they do not get a lot of media attention. We, liberal Jews, are large enough in numbers to become part of the story of this nation.
Which leads to our second visit today, the brand new Israel National Library. Frankly, I was tired this afternoon and briefly considered skipping it. But this project is astonishing. Similar to our Library of Congress, the Israel National Library has at least 2 copies of every printed piece published in the country and presently holds 4 million items.
The building itself is astonishing. The architecture and meanings woven into every part of the building and grounds make you feel like you are not only standing on Jewish history, you are part of it. Below is a picture of the central library stack holdings.
This three-level structure is called the “Well of Knowledge.” The books are cared for with utmost attention to detail. There are no sprinklers in the building because both fire and water destroy books. Instead, the oxygen level in the reading area is kept at 14%, below the level needed for paper to burn. Readers can only spend an hour in the Well for the sake of their health.
The entire Jewish story is being collected in this massive project. This is not a university library where some official tolerates your presence. No, everything is open and free and available to the public. If there were not enough, the exhibition displays of Jewish books, music, art and the world of culture can keep you enraptured for hours!
They have started a new project — collecting from all over the Jewish world the responses to the Hamas attack on 10/7/24. Eyewitness accounts, magazine articles, artifacts from the destruction are being collected right now. And even more, all displays in support of the hostages or against the Hamas atrocities, no matter where in the world they are displayed, are being sought after as well. This would include the light display at the entrance of Temple Sinai and frankly, the columns I’ve been writing all week long.
Although we seem doomed to repeat the past, it is not true. We have an incredible story that has unfolded over thousands of years on every continent. This rough patch is an important chapter in that story. But it is only a chapter. I had to be reminded of that by visiting the magnificent, new Israel National Library. It gives me hope, if not for today or tomorrow, then for next year or the year after. Our story will endure. We will endure. Despite pain and violence and death and destruction, our story will go on. We will endure.
There is no feeling of triumph in the war here, only a sense of resignation. Israel has to confront Hamas, an existential threat. Israel has to try to get its hostages back from Gaza, now kidnapped for 119 days. Israel has to fight Hamas, holed up in tunnels under apartment buildings, schools, mosque and hospitals, so Palestinian children die.
Israel has to take care of its returning wounded and bury its dead, which add up daily here. Israel has to take care of more than 80,000 citizens driven from their homes by Hamas in the South and Hezbollah in the North and will do so until God knows when, no end in sight.
This resignation has been captured in a poem by Tal Shavit, translated by my beloved teacher, Rachel Korazim. Read it out loud. It needs no explanation, no commentary. It is titled, “A Good Day.”
I want to manage all the war rooms,
mobilize all the supply chains,
I want to take care of all the children,
of all the single mothers
and those who are gone.
I want to turn myself into protective vests
for all the fighters,
become iron domes over the heads
of all the girls,
each and every one.
To sustain all the families,
The evacuated
The broken
The crushed.
Bring back all that is gone,
Return those who were taken,
I want to collect all the donations,
And take them where they belong.
To pass all the messages
To make all the sandwiches
To oversee all the efforts.
But on a good day
I manage
sometimes
to breathe
sometimes
to drink
sometimes
to call loved ones.
On a good day
I manage
sometimes
to cry.
As one Israeli we spoke to put it, the only people here who are ok are the ones who admit that they are not ok. Having tasted that bitter brew all week, having only the merest glimpse of the crushing weight of all that, I prepare for Shabbat and to return home late, late tomorrow night.
Please don’t be shocked if when you see me and ask about all of this, I, too, manage to cry and call that a good day.
I had intended for my previous post to be my last. I wanted it to remain at six dispatches sent. Unlike in other cultures, where even numbers represent wholeness, in Jewish world 6 is profoundly incomplete. It needs just one more to reach 7, the most perfect number in our faith—Shabbat is the 7th day, the single most important day in Jewish life.
But then Shabbat came and I experienced such moments of depth and joy and tears I felt it necessary to add this post.
Early that Friday afternoon we rode to Modi’in, a town about 20 minutes west of Jerusalem. I remember it when it was only 30,000 or so. Now it tops 100,000. It is home to one of the most dynamic Reform congregations in the country, called Yozma.
Its rabbi is David Azoulay, a native of Israel who grew up in a large Orthodox family. Like so many of our rabbis in Israel, he left that traditional lifestyle because it clashed with his modern sensibilities. Likes so many of our rabbis in Israel, he is in his middle 30’s and was ordained only a few years ago.
He shared his personal story, but more riveting was his retelling his battle to lead a military funeral after the October 7 attack as a Reform rabbi. The IDF (Israel Defense Forces) have always given the families of fallen soldiers a choice—a non-religious funeral or a religious one, which meant it would be led by an Orthodox rabbi and cantor who may not even have known the family.
When Yanai Kaminka died on October 7 near the army base at Zikim, he was protecting the lives of innocent civilians who were simply there to enjoy the beach. He protected a small group of them with his own weapon and dressed the wound of a young woman who had been hit in the head by enemy fire. He protected them all and dragged the young woman to safety.
When it was clear that he could not hold them off any longer from his protected position, he charged at them, killing at least one Hamas fighter before falling from his wounds. Here is a picture of Yanai:
The Kaminka family belongs to the Reform congregation in Tzur Hadassah, on the other side of Jerusalem but they are close to the members of Yozma. They requested that Rabbi Azoulay lead the funeral service for their son, but the IDF didn’t know how to process the request. There is an orthodoxy to the Orthodox religious regulations in the army.
But a new legal principle has arisen since the October 7 attack, which is, “What the family requests to honor a fallen soldier is holy.” With that in mind, Rabbi Azoulay led the service, spoke of hi
s deep connection with the Kaminka family and offered them comfort they would not have received from a standard Orthodox, impersonal funeral.
Here is the handwritten copy of the order of the service as it was adapted by Rabbi Azoulay and the Kaminka family:
Rabbi Azoulay led two other services for fallen soldiers at the request of their families, Ido Kesalsi and Yam Glass. Here are their pictures:
After hearing these stories, we went to the military cemetery in Modi’in and paid our respects at their graves. Their stones are already in place, each telling a brief story about them as individuals. Each grave was covered with stones from visitors, family and friends who had paid their respects as well. The picture below is of Yam’s headstone:
And then…we went to celebrate Shabbat. Sigh. Our group was divided in two and I was lucky enough to go to Tzur Hadassah for Kabbalat Shabbat. But first we had an experience that brought the entire week into sharp focus. We rabbis had private time with Eyal and Elana Kaminka, the parents of the fallen hero, Yanai:
They wanted to share with us the story of Yanai’s life, not dwell on the details of his death. We heard of a young man who grew up fiercely independent, proud of being Jewish and Israeli, who chafed under rules of school but flourished in the army.
He was quickly promoted to a leadership position, where he made a name for himself as an officer who did more than give orders to his men. He cared about them intensely and wanted to know about their lives and their hopes and problems. Yanai was known to stay up all night and visit guards at their posts and talk about their lives with them. On days off he would drive to stores and buy appliances for his soldiers who were not well enough to afford them on their own. He had a unique view of what it meant to take on the responsibility of leading soldiers:
Love for my soldiers (and making them feel loved)— I believe that from the moment they receive soldiers, commanders should make a conscious effort to love every one of the soldiers under their command, without exception…I also believe that soldiers need to feel that the commanders care about them, and feeling that way makes them become better soldiers.
No soldiers should ever feel their commanders don’t care about them or worry that a commander doesn’t like them. Even if you’re mad at a soldier or disappointed, or need to punish them, the soldier should always feel that you, their commander, cares for them…
Yanai was only 20 when he died.
We were all in tears by now. But then, Elana spoke about her long-term relationships with the three Palestinian villages in the West Bank that border Tzur Hadassah. She had been in their homes and they in hers. When the attack came on October 7, the villages were put into lockdown by the authorities. The residents there, by various means, got word to Elana and her neighbors that they were horrified by the attack. Despite the lockdown, one Palestinian neighbor managed to pass a tray of dates through the fence dividing them to give to the Kaminka family as they observed their shiva. Dates are a way of comforting mourners in their tradition.
Elana was moved to write a message to her Palestinian neighbors. In it, she wrote:
These are terrible days for us all. I am sitting shiva for my beloved eldest son, 20-year-old Yanai Kaminka—a boy with kind eyes who saw every human being—and my heart is shattered into pieces.
Within this terrible grief and bereavement, I want to say to you that I see you. I know that these are terrible days for you, too, days of fear and dread.
I’m writing to tell you that I want only good for you, and that I’m worried about you like I’m worried about us all. I wish you could be here with me, during the mourning week, to cry with me for Yanai, just as I wanted to come and cry with the parents and entire village when Ahmad was killed. Ahmad, like my son Yanai, was young and beautiful with kind eyes and I felt the pain of his parents and his entire village when he was taken…
Dear neighbors, I am in pain now, deep pain, but I want to tell you that within this pain my heart is open to you. I don’t blame you for the deeds of Hamas, and I hope this cursed situation will somehow bring our two nations to at last learn how to live together, with mutual respect, so there may be no more parents, Israeli or Palestinian, that must grieve for their sons and daughters.
There is no other way.
There were not enough tissues in the world at that point.
These kind of outstanding individuals believe in the Zionist dream, of a homeland for Jews and a democratic state for ALL of its inhabitants. These are our Jewish brothers and sisters and family. The Kaminka family makes me proud to be a Zionist, no matter how much scorn is put on that word by people with no understanding of our faith, our people or our history.
After a lovely Kabbalat Shabbat service, I and colleagues were treated to home hospitality by a local family. I should have known that there would be at least on “Jewish Geography” moment on this trip, and here it was. Our host was Gail Diamond, who is the sister of Rabbi Daniel Simcha Burstyn, who himself is the brother-in-law of Jonathan Mayo, dear friends to so many of us in Pittsburgh. An emotional beginning to Shabbat was filled with laughter, joy and sharing of stories with her wife, Alen Kacal and their daughter, Gaby.
I am gratified to have visited Israel at this fraught moment. The experience was made that much more intense and meaningful by traveling with colleagues, meeting with colleagues, being led by an extraordinary guide, Uri Feinberg and being encouraged by the leader of the Central Conference of American Rabbis (CCAR), Rabbi Hara Person.
Those of you who know me know that Israel is my 2nd home. I will be back. When I return, I hope and pray, beyond all hope and prayer, that the violence of this moment will have ended, that all the living hostages will be home with their families and loved ones, that the government finally listen to the majority of its citizens instead of those on the right wing fringe.
I end with the words of the incomparable poet, Yehuda Amichai, who wrote in his poem, “Wild Peace,”
Peace
Without the commotion of turning swords into plowshares, without
words, without
the sound of heavy seal; let it be light
on top like lazy white foam.
Rest for the wounds, not even healing
(And the scream of the orphan is passed on from one generation
to another, as in a relay race; the baton won’t fall.)
Let it be
like wild flowers,
suddenly, an imperative of the field;
wild peace.
Wild peace. I’ll take that peace any day. On any day. Any day now.
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