Blood-Soaked Prayer Shawls

Blood-Soaked Prayer Shawls

by Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

Nov. 19, 2014

Monday evening a group of us went to see a movie at the Framingham AMC theaters. Part of the Boston Jewish Film Festival, “Run Boy, Run” was the final entry of the festival.  The theater was nearly full; there were many who came on their own, others who came as organized groups, such as the dozen or so of us from Congregation B’nai Torah.

The film is based on a true story.  It’s about a child, about nine years old, who survives the Holocaust by quite literally running from one hiding place to another, working, foraging and stealing for food and shelter.  But the story isn’t only about his physical survival.  It’s also about the survival of his Jewish soul, his Jewish identity.

Many left the theater in tears, many others in deep thought.

The next morning, we all awoke to the terrible and tragic news from Israel.  Four rabbis were murdered while praying in a synagogue in Jerusalem.  Many others were injured.  The Druze policeman who ran to their defense was gravely injured—shot in the head—and later that day died too.

That same day, a rabbi on his way to cancer treatment in Brooklyn, New York, was ruthlessly beaten by thugs who first wanted his money, then worse.  He was insulted, cursed, called “dirty, bloody Jew” among others.

Not even 70 years have passed since the end of World War II and the Holocaust, but the world’s worst hatred continues. 

Let there be no doubt about it.  It isn’t only hatred of Israel that motivates these attacks.  It’s hatred of the Jew, wherever he might be.  It isn’t the Land of Israel that people want us to vacate; it’s the entire world.

We need not have worried about the loss of our identity.  The world will not let us forget it.

The four rabbis in Jerusalem were brutally slain while they were praying.  Quite literally, they were in the midst of Kiddush ha-Shem, meditating over God’s holiness in a holy sanctuary.  That didn’t stop the terrorists, it only incited them further.  It wasn’t Israelis they were killing.  It was Jews.

And what Jews!  Rabbis!  The best of the best!  Educated, kind, enlightened, devoted to goodness and holiness, to Tikkun Olam, making this world a better place.  Pure in thought and deed, they never preached hatred; they never sullied their language with epithets or curses.  They only sought to bring light to this world.  Wrapped in tallitot, the traditional payer shawls, and with t’fillin straps wound around arm and forehead, they were sanctifying God’s name, confirming God’s unity in the heavens as on earth.

70 years ago, the Jewish people nearly disappeared.  Instead, we multiplied and greatly increased.  Our influence in education, law, medicine, technology and entertainment has only grown and broadened.  The tragic murder of the four rabbis in Jerusalem—one of them the grandson of the founder of the Maimonides School in Brookline, a great Hassidic master whose legacy is vast and legendary—will not stop us today either.  Their light will go on shining through the generations.  Pages upon pages of Torah and Talmud will be studied in their memory.  Hatred cannot put a stop to holiness.

Our heartfelt condolences are extended to the bereaved families.  Our prayers for refuah sh’leima—a speedy and full recovery—go to those who were wounded in the terrible attacks.

And to the family of the Druze policeman who heroically sought to defend those who were praying in the synagogue and whose actions prevented further harm—our thanks and deepest condolences.  His funeral was attended by thousands—including the President of the State of Israel—who came from all over Israel to pay their last respects. 

May we all find solace in the midst of all the grief and pain that surrounds us today.  We pray that our deeds might lead to greater peace in this world; God knows there is already way too much hatred and violence.

© 2014 by Boaz D. Heilman

A Timeless Bridge: Chayei Sarah

A Timeless Bridge

D’var Torah for Parashat Chayei Sarah

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

It’s interesting that in the first 24 chapters of the Book of Genesis, almost a full half of the book and spanning 21 generations, the term ahava, love, appears only once, and that only in the very last verse of chapter 24.

The subject of love in the Bible is way too huge to deal with in a short Shabbat sermon.  Suffice it to say that though the word used in many different contexts, it always indicates a deep and binding emotion.  Love comes from deep within you but doesn’t stay there; it’s an emotion that transcends personal boundaries, linking you to something or someone far beyond yourself.  Whether for a friend, spouse, teacher or for God, love is a compelling feeling that inextricably binds soul to soul and body to body.

How fascinating then, that in Abraham’s story, the word never appears once.  Loyalty, justice, faith, sacrifice—these are the passions we associate with Abraham.  But not love.  Yet Abraham must have felt love for his family—not only for his wife but also for his extended family.  It must have been with a heavy heart that he left his native land, his culture and his father’s home.  It was deep compassion that led him to take Lot, his deceased brother’s son, with him on that journey.  Surely it was love for Lot that motivated Abraham to chase after the armies that captured his nephew and to rescue him from captivity.

And what deep, searing love he must have felt for Isaac when he looked down on his son, bound up on the altar, about to become a sacrifice to a terrifying and inscrutable God.

Yet the word “love” never appears in Abraham’s story. 

And Sarah?  Her deep loyalty to her husband made her follow him unquestioningly.  Her desire to give him a son meant that she was willing to share her status and place in the household with her servant, Hagar.  But her protectiveness toward Isaac, once he was born, was fierce enough to demand that Hagar and Ishmael be cast out of the house.  Surely these are signs of a great love.

Yet even in Sarah’s story, neither the word nor the emotion behind it is ever mentioned.

It’s Rebecca who brings love into the story and into Isaac’s life. 

In this week’s Torah portion, Chayei Sarah (“The Life of Sarah,” Genesis 23:1—25:18) we learn much about Rebecca.  We know from the moment we meet her, watering her flock at the village well, that she is beautiful, strong, smart, generous, courageous and faithful.

Isaac, however, knows none of this.  He has never met her.  Isaac first sees her in the distance as she arrives on camelback, part of a caravan making its way from the east.  Yet even from far away, he recognizes something special in her.  Maybe there was a certain aura about her; perhaps it’s Isaac’s own inner sense that tells him that this person was his “bashert,” his intended.  As Abraham’s servant tells Isaac how matters transpired to bring Rebecca here, Isaac is probably not even listening.  One could say that from the moment he was almost sacrificed, Isaac no longer saw or heard ordinary conversation and ordinary behavior.  Today we would say that he probably suffered from PTSD, but all the Torah tells us is that on that day, as he was wandering alone in the wilderness, he suddenly lifts up his eyes and sees the caravan that was bringing his future wife to his doorstep.  He couldn’t even see her face—in accordance with the laws of modesty, Rebecca had veiled herself.  She was a mystery to him.

Yet he loved her, וַיֶּאֱהָבֶהָ.

What was it that Isaac saw in Rebecca?  That’s the whole point of love, that it is blind.  When we love, we do it unconditionally.  It’s a spiritual bonding as much as physical.  It’s a connection that cannot be explained, that goes back generations and helps us identify elements in the other person that we had always known about ourselves yet had managed to forget.  It’s a homecoming that connects us with the past but which also leads us forward into the future.  Love is timeless.

How do we know real love?  This is a question that can only be asked by someone who has never truly loved.  Real love simply is, and you know it when it’s there.  You let it lead you without question, without hesitation, wherever it might take you.

Real love is all about equality. In real love, there is no disparity.  There’s neither the need to be self-deprecating, nor the desire to prove you’re better or stronger or wiser. 

A popular novel once made its point that “love means never having to say you’re sorry.”  But that’s not always true.  We all make mistakes, and saying “I’m sorry” is as important as “I love you.” 

Having left her family home, Rebecca comes to Isaac.  Isaac takes Rebecca to his home, to the tent he had left behind and thought that he would never see again.  In the new home that they create for themselves, they comfort one another. Isaac gives Rebecca the love that she needs; Rebecca cooks for Isaac the foods he loves, that taste and smell of the wild yet that also have a touch of home about them.  Maybe it’s the spices, or maybe it’s the date-honey.  Understanding their common roots, their common losses and their common fate, they will start a new family and create their own future.  Love is more than a chemical reaction.  For Isaac and Rebecca, love is a forceful bond that unites their hearts and lives, a bridge that reaches far into their past but also looks forward, with hope, to the future.

© 2014 by Boaz D. Heilman