The Strength Within Us
Sermon for Rosh HaShanah 5785
October 3, 2024
By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman
Flying into Israel has always been an exciting and emotional event. In the last half hour or so of the flight, conversation among the passengers slowly ceases. Everyone is immersed in their own thoughts and feelings. Once you get closer, at night, the shoreline is easy to detect, outlined with bright yellow lights from north to south; in the day, fog or low clouds sometimes obscure the view until you are almost on top of it. From above, ironically, Tel Aviv seems so orderly and organized—the epitome of what Theodore Herzl thought of when he wrote about the rebirth of a Jewish state in our ancestral homeland. Sometimes the plane descends directly into Ben Gurion airport. Other times it flies further east, over the Judea Mountains, and circles back for the landing. By now the silence in the plane is complete. Then, as the plane touches down, applause breaks out spontaneously throughout the cabin.
The applause discloses relief at the safe landing after a long flight. But it also comes from somewhere deeper, inside one’s heart and soul. It’s a surge of joy combined with tears, the indescribable feeling one gets when hope and ancient prayers are fulfilled. Elie Wiesel wrote, “One doesn’t go to Jerusalem, one returns to it.” Whether it’s one’s first trip to Israel or one hundredth, it’s always a homecoming.
For me, of course, flying to Israel has always been a homecoming. Israel always was, and always will be, my home. I was born there, I lived there, I served in the IDF, and even after many years in the US, returning to Israel meant seeing my family.
But things were different when I was there in May. My mother, z”l, wasn’t waiting for me at the airport. My trip this time would be short—ten days instead of the usual month or so. There was a special purpose to this particular trip: my grand-nephew’s bar mitzvah. Ours is a small family. The Shoah left only a small fraction of what had once been—and now was no more. And so we, the remnants, have been there for each other at almost every event—joyous or sad. This time the trip held mixed emotions for me.
This time there was no applause as the plane landed. I’m sure we all felt the usual relief, but mixed in with all our other emotions was the sad—and frightening—knowledge that Israel was at war. The heaviness was palpable.
By that time the war had lasted already seven months. Of course, we couldn’t know that, as of today, almost exactly one year since the war began, it would still be going on.
Nothing could have prepared us for the shock and brutality with which this war started, the October 7 attack from Gaza; or the pain and tragedies of the hostages and their families; or the suffering among the innocent Gaza civilians whom Hamas uses as human shields. Only those living day after day, week after week, month after month, through these horrors can understand the tragedy and scale of this terrible war.
What none of us, anywhere in the world, could foresee, was not the almost-immediate worldwide condemnation of Israel defending itself—that we’re pretty much used to by now—but rather the extent and virulence of the antisemitism that erupted shortly after the war began.
Only a few days ago the FBI released a report registering a 21% rise in anti-Jewish hate crimes over last year. Since October 7, 67% of all reported religiously motivated hate crimes were directed against Jews—a people that in the US numbers less than 2.4% of the general population.
Directly or indirectly, consciously or not, we are all affected by the poisonous character of this hatred that we witness on college campuses, in the news, over the internet, and at political rallies and demonstrations. Even in K-12 schools, Jewish students—our children, grandchildren, our future! —have been harassed and attacked.
Since October 7, we have seen synagogues torched; businesses trashed and vandalized; Jews wearing kippot or Jewish stars, or speaking Hebrew, physically assaulted. While some of the perpetrators claimed to be moved by pro-Palestinian or pro-Gaza sentiments, many blatantly expressed antisemitic tropes, modern-day variants of the blood libel.
Jews have long been wary of right-wing antisemitism. The evidence there is abounding. But what—for me at least—has been the most shocking revelation of all is the surge of this most ancient hatred among liberals, the “woke” and the so-called “progressives.”
Historically, Jews have been among the most active supporters of liberal causes. All of a sudden, we find ourselves ostracized and even locked out by groups that in the past we’ve lived—and died—for: Black Lives Matter; LGBTQ; climate activists, and feminist movements that remained notoriously silent for the longest time, even in the face of hard evidence, of the horrifying, gender-based violence perpetrated against Jewish women and men by the Hamas terrorists on October 7.
While we are seeing some corrective measures in some city governments and on some colleges (definitely not all), there’s still a long way to go before we return to a more “normal” situation. However, until then, we cannot remain silent. There’s much we need to do to counter this dangerous trend.
First of all, we need to discover the strength that lies within us. Physically, emotionally and spiritually, we need to be there, as strong and resilient as possible, both for ourselves and for our families.
For our own sake and for our children’s benefit, we need to study the facts, to learn about the history of Zionism and how the State of Israel came to be. We need to know what to say when confronted by haters, and be able to answer the false, and evil, accusations of Israeli apartheid and genocide.
And we also need to be there for—and with—the rest of our community. Since our earliest days as a people we’ve recognized our uniqueness among the nations: “A people dwelling alone, not reckoning itself among the nations” (Num. 23:9, NKJV). History has shown this to be true. We go by many names that identify us as members of any other nations and traditions. We call ourselves American Jews, French Jews, Iraqi Jews, and so many more. Here we are “JewishColorado.” Throughout our history, our rights may have been taken away, trampled, constrained, or restored again. The one marker we never lost however, is our identity as Jews—embedded in our souls, stamped into our passports, clothes and even our skin. At a time like today, we must turn to one another for support. We may have our political and cultural differences. We may call ourselves religionists, atheists or agnostic. We even argue about the right way of cooking traditional foods. Yet one thing is indisputable: We are Jews, members of an ancient people going back more than 3600 years. One of the chief goals of antisemitism is the erasure of Jewish identity and history. For us, cancel culture is as dangerous as any ghetto or edict of intolerance. We must never again allow that to happen. Our congregations and synagogues must be more than only houses of worship. In Hebrew, they are call batei k’nesset, essentially community centers, where we can not only pray, but also study and celebrate our rich heritage, where we can safely gather and discuss our concerns and fears, and learn how best to handle them.
We must never again allow ourselves to hide or cower in fear. Today, thankfully, we have law-enforcement agencies that can help us stand up to the dangers and threats. The FBI and CIA work closely with Jewish organizations such as the ADL, the AJC—American Jewish Committee—and the Secure Community Network, the official security and safety institution of the Jewish community in North America. Sharp-as-a-tack organizations such as StandWithUs help fight antisemitism on a more local and even personal level, in schools and the workplace. Hillel and Faculty Against Antisemitism are among several groups that address antisemitism and anti-Zionism on college campuses. Additionally, various media-watch groups scrutinize the Internet and other news outlets, calling for corrections whenever and wherever misleading and erroneous information is found.
Of course we can also counter the lies and misinformation ourselves, by becoming active in local government and by serving on school boards, where decisions are made about which textbooks to use and whose “narrative” to teach.
Today the Jewish community in the United States and elsewhere around the world is at an important historical juncture. Every one of us needs to make difficult decisions as we weigh our traditional social and political alliances against the need to remain proud, visible and valued members of society. While holding on to our ideals, it’s crucial that we support groups and individuals that support us, and call out those that oppose us.
Israel has been at war for an entire year now. As Jews we’ve been defining and defending our Jewish identity for almost 4000 years. We will overcome the current outbreak of Jew-hatred too. The question is, where will our help come from. The truth is, it will come from many sources. Traditionally, our strength has always come from God and our faith. Thankfully, we also have many friends and allies around the globe and across the political spectrum. But for the first time in almost 2000 years, we—you and I—are privileged to have a say in it too. Our strength comes from inside each of us: In our determination to defend our heritage and identity, and in our resolve to stand up to those who wish to destroy us and and our historic national homeland.
Thousands of years ago, the prophet Jeremiah proclaimed, "Do not fear, O My servant Jacob… nor be dismayed, O Israel; for behold, I [Adonai] will save you from afar, and your seed from the land of their captivity" (Jer. 30:10, NKJV). Today, more than three and a half thousand years after these words were written, we know this to be a truth.
So, chazak chazak v’nit’chazek—be strong, be of good courage, and together we shall be strengthened. Am Yisrael Chai—the People of Israel yet lives!
L’shana tova, may 5785 be a year of growth, health, love and peace, and may God bless us all.
© 2024 by Boaz D. Heilman
No comments:
Post a Comment