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בראשית תשפ''ד
Israel Solidarity Shabbat 5784
October 14, 2023
Rabbi Philip S. Scheim
I take you back 120 years, to April 1903, to the city of Kishinev, the capital of Bessarabia, home then to over 50,000 Jews. Kishinev boasted an active Jewish life, an abundance of organizations and schools. It was a thriving center of Yiddishkeit, all that changing 120 years ago, when, as the result of a blood libel, fifty Jews were brutally murdered, more than 500 severely injured and Jewish businesses and institutions decimated. The Jewish world was devastated by the horror of the massacres, traumatized by the terrible descriptions of the pogrom. Even though by current standards these casualty figures seem light indeed, the trauma of the Kishinev pogrom, its extreme cruelty, resounded in the Jewish world.
In the summer of 1903, a thirty-year old poet and writer was sent from Odessa by the Jewish Historical Commission to Kishinev to interview survivors of the pogrom and to prepare a report on what had happened. What Hayyim Nahman Bialik saw and heard that summer impacted greatly upon him, and through his writings that would result, upon the Jewish future as well. Upon his return home, he wrote his poem על השחיטה, On the Slaughter – a poem so powerful, so devastating, that literally, it impacted upon the course of modern Jewish history.
שָׁמַיִם, בַּקְּשׁוּ רַחֲמִים עָלָי
אִם-יֵשׁ בָּכֶם אֵל וְלָאֵל בָּכֶם נָתִיב –
וַ אֲ נִ י לֹא מְצָאתִיו –
הִתְפַּלְּלוּ אַתֶּם עָלָי
אֲ נִ י – לִבִּי מֵת וְאֵין עוֹד תְּפִלָּה בִּשְׂפָתָי
וּכְבָר אָזְלַת יָד אַף-אֵין תִּקְוָה עוֹד –
עַד-מָתַי, עַד-אָנָה, עַד-מָתָי
Heavens, beg mercy for me! If there is a God in you,
a pathway through you to this God
– which I have not discovered – then pray for me!
For my heart is dead, no longer is there prayer on my lips;
all strength is gone, and hope is no more.
Until when, how much longer, until when?
וְאִם יֶשׁ-צֶדֶק – יוֹפַע מִיָּד
And if there is justice - let it show itself at once!
וְאָרוּר הָאוֹמֵר: נְקֹם
נְקָמָה כָזֹאת, נִקְמַת דַּם יֶלֶד קָטָן
עוֹד לֹא-בָרָא הַשָּׂטָן –
And cursed be one who says: “Avenge!” No such revenge – revenge for the blood of a little child – has yet been devised by Satan.
One hundred and twenty years later, we sense and can relate to the anger reflected in Bialik’s words. His poem resonated deeply in the Jewish world. One year after the poem was written, Theodor Herzl, would die at the age of 44, bringing to a tragically untimely end, a career, that had lit the spark of modern Zionism, culminating of course in the establishment of the State of Israel in 1948. But Hayyim Nahman Bialik’s angry poem of 1903 played a role in the unfolding of those events. His anger reflected a people’s unwillingness to remain in a state of powerlessness, when their only recourse against relentless anti-Semitism, and the slaughter of the innocents only because of their Jewishness, was to pray, to blot out the name of Haman during Purim Megillah readings, which of course would prove ineffectual in the greater scheme of world events.
Bialik and Herzl, of course, never lived to witness the Holocaust, and unlikely never imagined the scope of the massacres to come, the destruction of most of European Jewry, in the cruelest of fashion. Bialik, in his poem, had said “ארור האומר נקום – cursed be one who says ‘Avenge.’”
I believe the operative word in his poem to have been אומר – “says.” Because words would not be enough. Vengeance would have to come in the form of national revival, with Jewish fighting forces, who would defeat those who seek our destruction, and prevent further massacres from taking place.
So, in a sense, 1903 was a demarcation point in Jewish history, when, influenced by revulsion at a pogrom and by the developing Zionist revolution, we would actively pursue necessary steps to secure a promising Jewish future.
And of course, the Shoah was a transition point as well, when, after the Holocaust, it was clear that the Jewish world was forever changed, that previous models would no longer suffice, that there would have to be a place in the world where doors would never slam shut in the faces of Jews desperate to escape lands of oppression and persecution.
And then came last Shabbat. Shemini Azeret here, Shemini Azeret and Simhat Torah combined, in Israel. The twenty-second of Tishrei, this year falling on the 7th of October, will go down as a transition point in Jewish history as well, after which Jewish life, and the State of Israel will not be the same as it was eight days ago. Of course, it is far too soon to know the exact parameters of the changes, in Israel and throughout the world, but we know that life will be different.
Many, including in Israel, have referred to October 7th, as Israel’s 9/11. Certainly true, when comparing life post-September 11, 2001 to what came before. For Israel, for the Jewish world, and many others, similar to the ISIS terrorist attacks twenty-two years ago, the post-October 7th world we have just entered seems diametrically different from what came before. Think back ten days ago, when many of us were caught up in the Toronto Blue Jays unsuccessful playoff run. Could anything seem less important, or more trivial now? How our priorities, our focus, our interests, have shifted so dramatically overnight.
But there is a difference. 9/11, as horrific as it was, cost 2,977 American lives. As of yesterday, with the number constantly rising, over 1,300 Israelis have been killed in the Hamas terrorist invasion. That would be the equivalent of 44,600 Americans, or fifteen 9/11’s. It would be the equivalent of 5400 Canadians being killed. Think of that as politicians, media and church groups call upon Israel to show restraint.
Last Shabbat was the worst day in Jewish history since the Holocaust. We haven’t even begun to integrate the new reality into our consciousness. We haven’t yet fully grasped the enormity of the tragedy. We have voraciously followed the media accounts of the bestial brutality of the Hamas invasion, cruelty which measures up, or perhaps even exceeds the Nazi outrages eight decades earlier.
We have also seen the accounts of incredible bravery, tenacity and resilience displayed by victims of last week’s massacre. How some survived due to their own resourcefulness, courage, how others, such as retired General Noam Tibon (many of us were on a zoom call with him) drove with his wife across country to rescue his family at Nahal Oz, while his very young granddaughters remained silent, without food or drink for ten hours when instructed to do so, as terrorists were outside, listening for any sound of life, in pursuit of their next victims. We’ve heard and read many similar accounts, and of course, even more stories with far less happy endings, where innocent lives were lost, where rescue was impossible.
Like Hayyim Nahman Bialik 120 years ago, we too, are angry. The cruelty of the multiplicity of acts of terror inflicted upon Israelis of all ages, from infants to elderly Holocaust survivors, the brutality of the killings, too gruesome to even imagine, the number of fatalities, equivalent to 25 Kishinev pogroms, the accompanying hostage-taking, remove any hope of being able to achieve peace with those so filled with hatred, so fundamentally cruel, so devoid of even a scintilla of humanity.
The scope of the horrors inflicted upon Israel, and by extension, upon our entire nation are best described in a remarkable speech delivered on Tuesday by President Joe Biden. Commentary Magazine editor John Podhoretz, a conservative Republican and usually a staunch critic of Joe Biden, described the speech as “what might be the most powerful statement in support of Israel ever delivered by any president.” [1]
I quote briefly from President Biden’s speech:
You know, there are moments in this life — and I mean this literally — when pure, unadulterated evil is unleashed on this world. The people of Israel lived through one such moment this weekend. The bloody hands of the terrorist organization Hamas — a group whose stated purpose for being is to kill Jews. This was an act of sheer evil.
More than 1,000 civilians slaughtered [now over 1300] — not just killed, slaughtered — in Israel. Parents butchered using their bodies to try to protect their children. Stomach-turning reports of babies being killed. Entire families slain. Young people massacred while attending a musical festival to celebrate peace — to celebrate peace. Women raped, assaulted, paraded as trophies. Families hid their fear for hours and hours, desperately trying to keep their children quiet to avoid drawing attention. And thousands of wounded, alive but carrying with them the bullet holes and the shrapnel wounds and the memory of what they endured.
You all know these traumas never go away. There are so many families desperately waiting to hear the fate of their loved ones, not knowing if they’re alive or dead or hostages. Infants in their mothers’ arms, grandparents in wheelchairs, Holocaust survivors abducted and held hostage — hostages whom Hamas has threatened to execute in violation of every code of human morality.
It’s abhorrent…. But sadly, for the Jewish people, it’s not new. This attack has brought to the surface painful memories and the scars left by millennia of antisemitism and genocide of the Jewish people. So, in this moment, we must be crystal clear: We stand with Israel. We stand with Israel. And we will make sure Israel has what it needs to take care of its citizens, defend itself, and respond to this attack. [2]
True, some of our leaders, among them Prime Minister Trudeau, Opposition Leader Poilievre, Premier Ford, have also spoken forcefully in support of Israel, and against the murderous agenda of Hamas. And some news networks, including CNN, have been surprisingly sympathetic to Israel, thus far avoiding the both-sides-ism that inevitably Israel confronts when responding with appropriately harsh, devastating retaliation to the terror inflicted upon her citizens.
But then, for example, is the leaked email from the CBC Director of Journalistic Standards, a certain George Achi, issued just after the horrific terrorist attacks last Shabbat, in which he warned the entire CBC news staff “not to refer to militants… as terrorists. Even when quoting … a source referring to fighters as ‘terrorists,’ we should add context to ensure that the audience understands this is opinion, not fact.” Evidently, the CBC and similar news outlets fundamentally hostile to Israel, are concerned about offending those who butcher babies, who rape, who kidnap, who terrorize the innocent.
And sadly, marginalized groups to whom we have reach out in the past and to whom we continue to reach out in support, in their times of challenge – at this hour, in our most severe days of anguish, have, virtually without exception, remained deafeningly silent.
One week ago, our world, especially our Jewish world, entered a new reality that perhaps, in time, we will begin to understand. Israel will need to assess the mistakes that were made, leading to so tragic a surprise invasion, ironically fifty years to the day that a similar surprise invasion caught Israel’s leaders and armed forces off guard. Like that war, which ended in a tremendous Israeli military victory, so too, the current war, will inevitably be won, but at too great a human cost on our side. And the large number of casualties in Gaza that will result from the necessary destruction of Hamas, we know, will turn much of the world against us. That turn-around has already begun. I truly believe that President Biden and the American government will stick with us to the end, but am less confident that we can say the same about other now-friendly governments, including our own, and media outlets that are so-far seemingly on our side.
This war is already being called the Simhat Torah War. Understandable, of course, because it was Simhat Torah in Israel when the invasion occurred. But deeply troubling as well. Think of it. The staggering losses of these past days, the losses yet to occur, will forever be attached to Simhat Torah, the day of celebrating the Torah, a day by definition Simhah, joy, culminating a festival on which the Torah commands us “ושמחת בחגך- You shall rejoice in your festival.”[3]
Will we ever be able to rejoice on this Festival again? Will we, next Simhat Torah, be able to dance enthusiastically with Sifrei Torah, celebrating our tradition, when memories of this year’s brutal massacres will come to mind? Most especially, how, in Israel, will future celebration on Simhat Torah be possible, or even imaginable?
The answer to this question may come directly from Israel. This past April I was privileged to be in Israel for Yom Ha’Atzmaut, which, as always, was preceded by Yom HaZikaron, Israel’s day of remembering her fallen soldiers and those who have fallen victim to terror. As Yom HaZikaron drew to a close, flags that had been lowered to half-staff were raised, and Yom HaZikaron transitioned into Yom HaAtzmaut, fulfilling the verse that we recited earlier this morning: “הָפַ֣כְתָּ מִסְפְּדִי֘ לְמָח֢וֹל לִ֥֫י פִּתַּ֣חְתָּ שַׂקִּ֑י וַתְּאַזְּרֵ֥נִי שִׂמְחָֽה: – You have turned my dirge to a dance for me, undone my sackcloth and bound me with joy.”[4]
Throughout Israel the Psalmist’s verse was enacted literally. Solemn ceremonies had already occurred in military cemeteries throughout the country, mournful gatherings have taken place, family and friends have visited the graves of their children, their husbands, their fathers, their mothers, their siblings, their friends – soldiers – שנלחמו בכל מערכות ישראל ומסרו נפשם על קדושת השם, העם והארץ – those who have fallen on today’s frontlines of Jewish history in defense of Israel, and those who have fallen victim to acts of terror. And as Yom HaAtzmaut arrived, throughout Israel, the transition from הספד to מחול, from dirge to dance, was complete, with Yom HaAtzmaut dances and celebrations throughout the country and throughout the Jewish world.
This year I was able to join in the celebration as night fell and the Yom HaAtzmaut celebration began. It was apparent to me, though, that the transition מיגון לשמחה, from sadness to celebration, was easier said than done. It was evident that all the tears have not yet dried up before the dancing began. For many carrying the burden of loss, dancing with tears conveys their delicate balancing act between the joy of celebrating Israel and recognition of the enormous human cost that has undergirded the achievements of these past seventy-five years. And אל אחת כמה וכמה, all the more so, when next Yom HaZikaron, when next Remembrance Day incorporates the thousands of new losses from these terrible days, the transition will be far more challenging, indeed, likely bordering on impossibly difficult.
Without a doubt, the celebration of Simhat Torah next year and in years to come will be deeply affected by this year’s events. But perhaps remembering the beautiful, young people who attended the Tribe of Nova Music Festival at Kibbutz Reim on the Gaza border, 260 of whom were brutally murdered, others kidnapped, others raped, perhaps remembering the fact that the last night of their lives was an entire night of dancing, of celebrating the concept of peace – perhaps their example, their exuberance, their courage, will motivate us, in their honor, in their memory, to dance in celebration of our faith, our resilence, the tenacity of the Jewish people, the vibrancy, preciousness, beauty of the land of Israel, the State of Israel, no matter what our enemies may do to us in their endeavor to deprive us of celebration, of future, of hope.
In memory of the multitude of victims of the terrorist outrage, knowing that many more undoubtedly will fall in the necessary war now in progress, in their memory, and in recognition of the many held hostage to the evil Hamas enemy, and the thousands of Israelis wounded in last week’s outrage – for all these reasons, we commit to a future of ושמחת בחגך, of rejoicing in our heritage, even if sometimes, that means dancing through tears.
I began with a poem, the angry words of Hayyim Nahman Bialik that were influential in Israel’s establishment. I end with another poem, describing the inevitable balancing of joy and sorrow captured by Naomi Shemer, Al Kol Eleh:
על הדבש ועל העוקץ
על המר והמתוק
על בתנו התינוקת
שמור אלי הטוב.
For the honey and the bee-sting
For the bitter and the sweet
For our baby girl
God, protect us.
Keep, O Lord, the fire burning
Through the night and through the day
For the one who is returning from so far away.
על כל אלה, על כל אלה
שמור נא לי אלי הטוב
על הדבש ועל העוקץ
על המר והמתוק.
For the sake of all these things, Lord
Let your mercy be complete.
For the honey and the bee-sting
Bless the bitter and bless the sweet.
אל נא תעקור נטוע
אל תשכח את התקווה
השיביני ואשובה
אל הארץ הטובה.
Please don’t uproot what’s been planted
Don’t forget the hope
Lead me home and I will return
To the good land.
Protect the little I have
The light and the infants
The fruit not yet ripened and the ones that were picked.
A tree rustles in the wind,
In the distance a star falls,
The wishes of my heart, in the darkness
Are being written now.
אנא שמור לי על כל אלה
ועל אהובי נפשי
על השקט, על הבכי
ועל זה השיר....
Please guard all these things for me
And for my beloved ones.
The quiet. The tears, and this song.
[1] John Podhoretz, Commentary Daily Email, 12 October 2023.
[2] Pres. Joe Biden, White House Address, 10 October 2023.
[3] Deut. 16:14
[4] Psalm 30:12