October to October: A Year of Two Mournings
As I write these words, it’s the second day of Rosh Hashana, and I’m sitting outside on a beautiful fall morning. The sun is shining, it’s warm (not hot), and a gentle breeze blows. Since rush-hour traffic has passed, it’s pleasantly quiet, and though I’m in a genuinely meditative mood for the new year holiday, I feel very little sense of internal peace. I haven’t for the past year. And I know I’m not alone.
They say there are seven stages of grief, beginning with shock, concluding with acceptance. When my father died last October, it was certainly sad and hard, but it wasn’t tragic – after all, he was 95 years old. He had lived a remarkable life; indeed, he was more responsible than anyone else for teaching me about and connecting me with Israel – which he worked tirelessly to support. So, in my Dad’s case, acceptance was relatively easy.
With the horror of what transpired on October 7, however, my grieving process has been very different. In that case, I’m nowhere near the end. I’m stuck in the middle, toggling between anger and depression. The atrocities perpetrated by Hamas are obviously what precipitated my pain, but it’s much of the world’s reaction since then that has perpetuated it – as the Jewish State continues to be judged by different standards than any other country. I’ve previously written about this awful, on-going war, but my purpose here is more personal, less political. First, however, let me acknowledge the obvious: My experience does not compare to so many others whom I know & love.
For example, two summers ago, I was introduced to Jon Polin – an American entrepreneur who had made aliyah (moved to Israel). Jon and I were discussing an impact investing idea called “New Herzl,” which would help Israeli start-up companies that are improving people’s lives in areas such as agri-tech and bio-tech. Tragically, the world doesn’t know Jon from this venture; instead, it knows him as the father of Hersch Goldberg-Polin, the young, peace-loving, concert-goer who was kidnapped and later murdered by Hamas. I cannot fathom Jon and his wife Rachel’s ongoing anguish.
Sadly, there are countless other examples I could share – many of us could – from friends and families directly affected, through permanent injuries, lives forever lost, and every-day life turned upside down by non-ending violence. Remarkably, the strength of the Israeli people endures, and often reveals itself through dark humor. Last week, for example, my brother Leon was texting us about baseball when the latest Iranian attack occurred. He forwarded the government warning he had just received instructing Israelis to immediately find shelter, and he asked us where he should go because he was in a grocery store shopping. “Hide near the okra,” my older brother suggested jokingly. “Good idea,” Leon responded, “nobody likes okra!” He then proceeded to send selfies as he huddled with strangers, and videotaped hundreds of ballistic missiles flying over his head in Jerusalem, heading towards his neighbors in Tel Aviv.
Prior to last fall, I used to tell my Zionism students that Israel’s recent battles have been vital, but not necessarily existential. That’s no longer the case. When tens of thousands of a country’s citizens are displaced for a year because of daily rocket fire, or when civilians fear being murdered or kidnapped by enemies across a nearby border – because those enemies explicitly announce such intentions – that’s an existential threat. And what has been beyond disheartening is much of the world’s ignorant, naïve, or intentionally one-sided characterization of the current conflict.
To be sure, people can understandably lament the loss of all innocent lives, including Palestinian and Lebanese, and fair-minded people can lodge legitimate criticisms of the current Israeli Prime Minister and his governing coalition – indeed, many Jews who love Israel (including many who live there) have done so – but the following truth is unimpeachable, and yet routinely ignored: The Iranian-backed, Islamic fundamentalist terror groups who surround Israel and have literally been waging war from seven fronts (!) since long before October 7 are not doing so because they have a land dispute with her. They are doing so because they are religiously motivated to deny the right of the Jewish State to exist, and they are committed to destroying her. They state this explicitly and repeatedly. In fact, in downtown Tehran, there is actually a public monument known as the “Countdown to Israel’s Annihilation Clock” that displays the days remaining until Israel’s predicted destruction based on a declaration by Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei that Israel would not survive another 25 years when “the Divine promise to eliminate the Zionist entity will be fulfilled and we will see the day when Palestine will rise from the river to the sea.” Incredibly, Khamenei’s language is the same as that used by thousands of protesters on American college campuses – which brings me to my final observation.
We’ve always known that fringe groups subscribe to fringe ideas – and we accepted that antisemitism was among them. But it seems that fringe has become increasingly mainstream. Hate for Jews and the Jewish State is no longer relegated to the hidden corners of the far extremes – it’s conspicuously prevalent and growing more widespread.
The assumption that early Zionist leaders Theodore Herzl and Vladamir Jabotinsky both relied on – that education and liberal civilization would be lights that “dissipate the shadows of prejudice” – continues to fail us. At least when it comes to the Jewish People.
The world is tragically broken now, dangerously so, and yet our response cannot be to hide or wait impassively. Long before the modern State of Israel, Judaism taught courage. A Rabbinic midrash explains that while Noah walked “with” God, Abraham walked “before” Him – which is why the latter was chosen as our founder. Like Nachshon, who stepped into the waters of the Red Sea before it was split, God wants us to act – not recklessly, and not without regard to others, but with a steadfast commitment to Jewish survival. The work we do as educators, seeking to instill knowledge of and pride in Jewish and Zionist identity, along with a deep abiding moral compass, is part of this ancient endeavor.
In his final days, my father lay in his bed literally all day – frail, no longer eating, and barely able to move, he insisted on following the news about Israel. One of my last memories of him was watching as he joined a community vigil by Zoom, held my Mother’s hand, and whispered the words of the Israeli national anthem, Hatikvah, which means “hope.”
“Hope,” a non-Jewish neighbor recently shared with me, “is a discipline.” I love the turn-of-phrase. Like optimism, it is a muscle that must be exercised regularly or it can atrophy. So during these Aseret Yemei T’shuvah, the Ten Days of Repentance in between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur, as we do the internal work of self-reflection to grow as individuals, we continue to pray, believe, strive for, and desperately hope that the dire external circumstances we face will get better so that one day soon, our People – and all of the world – can finally live in peace.