Passing it on: Reflections from Adult Birthright
And in the naked light, I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more
People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never share
And no one dared
Disturb the sound of silence
– Paul Simon & reinterpreted musically by Disturbed
“I’ll do what I can to pass it on,” I said to Nova Music Festival survivor Sean Burns as I hugged him after he spent thirty gut-wrenching minutes recounting his morning of October 7th, 2023. Standing at the very site where it happened, Sean described how his three angels saved him and his girlfriend: the left turn he made when others ran right, the policeman who suggested he turn his car around, the sound of a helicopter firing overhead as he hid in a bush for hours with his girlfriend and an injured man he had saved; and, finally, leaving that hiding place at precisely the right moment, only to look back and see a terrorist peering into the very bush where they had been hiding.
Sean’s words moved me in a way that no speech ever had. So absorbed in his words, I didn’t notice the soldiers suddenly gathered beside me, M16s slung across their backs, as I hung on his every word. I spent the next thirty minutes walking through the memorial site where 378 innocent live music fans were tortured, raped, and murdered. For those who know me, you know live music fans are my people. The silenced faces and biographies of the victims, displayed throughout what was once the Nova dance floor, now stand as gravestones to their lives cut short. These people, my people, must never be forgotten or silenced. The unimaginable terror that happened here can’t be told by the victims themselves. It’s up to the rest of us to listen, reflect, learn, teach and, as I promised Sean, pass it on.
This visit to the Nova site was one of the most impactful experiences on my recent adult Taglit Birthright volunteer trip to Israel, which I had the privilege of taking with 28 others organized by my Rabbi, Joel Levenson, from Midway Jewish Center. Since returning, I’ve been asked two questions repeatedly: “How was it?” and “Did you feel safe?” As I’ve shared stories of our experiences, I’ve struggled to find a simple answer. The trip was simultaneously haunting and deeply moving, heartbreaking yet uplifting. That duality followed us at nearly every stop and ultimately made the experience so special.
Rebuilding
In the spirit of rebuilding, we harvested and packed lettuce on a farm and planted, cleared, and helped sustain a community park. On Kibbutz Erez, just overlooking Gaza’s northern checkpoint, we dug an irrigation line alongside soldiers and learned the heartbreaking fateful story of Amir Naim, who lost his life defending this community, sparing it from destruction and saving lives. He was survived by his wife and their son, Raphael, born after his death. Amir was one of several heroes whose stories we encountered during our trip.
As we gazed down at the road where Amir and other members of the security team first spotted pickup trucks carrying terrorists toward the kibbutz, we learned of the betrayal that preceded the attack: workers employed by the community had provided the enemy with detailed information about its infrastructure and layout. We also learned of the devastating economic and personal toll of losing the very employees who once sustained the community. We were there to not only help replant and repair, but also to help restore a way of life forever changed.
Spirit
Along the northern Lebanese border, we heard helicopters overhead as we prepared a barbeque for IDF soldiers and shared the meal with them. Another day, alongside approximately 300 volunteers from around the world, we made 2,000 chicken schnitzel sandwiches. I met Hannah from the UK, a dentist who was considering moving to Israel. The sandwiches were wrapped and immediately dispatched to soldiers in Syria, Lebanon, and Gaza.
Among those gathered were parents speaking of their fallen loved ones as we encircled them. Their sorrow was evident, but so was their gratitude for people who had traveled from around the globe to stand with them. Ruach (spirit) filled this tent, at one point erupting into dancing and singing. People from different countries, backgrounds, and walks of life came together in joy, united by the simple act of preparing sandwiches for those defending Israel.
We also organized boxes of donated shoes, boots, and tactical gear in a warehouse. Lunch followed at a mall, and as I rushed back to our bus, my normally keen eye missed the VIP surrounded by security shaking hands. My rabbi later informed me it was Naftali Bennett campaigning – after all, the election was just two weeks away!
Remembering
That lighthearted moment was followed by one of the most difficult stops of our trip – and my life: Kiryat Shaul cemetery.
Familiar names and faces greeted us, heartbreakingly. For two years, Captain Omer Neutra’s picture hung in my window. Omer was taken hostage on October 7th from the tank he commanded along the Gaza border. For over a year, his family endured the unimaginable anguish of not knowing his whereabouts, whether he was alive or being tortured. They appealed to Anderson Cooper, Presidents Biden and Trump, and leaders around the world to bring him home. Our community rallied around them, gathering weekly for Run for Their Lives to raise awareness for Omer and all the hostages. For two Passovers, our family kept an empty seat at the table, holding on to the hope that we would soon see him home and finally fulfill the words, “Let my people go.”
Although I didn’t personally know Omer, his family belongs to our synagogue and lives in our town. He was in our prayers daily, and his story became our personal connection to this war. I heard about his love of the Knicks and his upbeat and giving personality through stories shared by his parents and brother. Now, I stood at his grave, listening to his grandparents share similar stories, as a Knicks flag waved in the wind beside his headstone.
The rawness of the war and freshness of Omer’s loss was overwhelming. Our tour guide, Itamar Buk, who was typically filled with humor and wisdom, suddenly burst into tears as he realized that the grave directly in front of Omer’s belonged to his close friend, Ofer Yung. It felt as though we unexpectedly found ourselves at two funerals unfolding side by side.
As we walked Omer’s grandparents to their car, the only sounds were birds, occasional sniffles, and, most hauntingly, the sound of another grave being dug just behind Omer’s.
Strength and Joy
And yet, amid all the heartbreak, we also had plenty of fun! Perhaps that was one of the trip’s important lessons: life in Israel may be scarred, but it continues to thrive. The joy, energy, humor, diversity, and vibrancy of its people are as much a part of the story as the tragedy.
I dined at the celebrated Jerusalem restaurant Machneyuda and at Old Man and the Sea, a Muslim restaurant where I found myself craving a beer before being reminded that alcohol isn’t permitted. I watched surfers tackle five-foot waves along Tel Aviv beach at sunset, placed my family’s wishes in the Western Wall, and witnessed tears roll down the face of a woman in our group as she approached the Wall on Friday night, overcome by its spirituality. I bought spices, tea, and treats in crowded marketplaces, and devoured some of the freshest falafel and shawarma sandwiches on the planet.
I saw the Dead Sea scrolls at the Israel Museum and visited the desert caves at Qumron where they were discovered. I hiked up Masada, floated in the Dead Sea while slathering myself in exfoliating mud, sipped cocktails in speakeasies in both Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, and stocked up on Ahava skin lotion and bottles of Judean Hills and Golan wine.
Passing It On
So much has stayed with me since returning: my promise to Sean to pass it on; Amir’s courage and sacrifice; my assurance to Omer’s grandparents that I would never forget what their family and our community endured; the bravery of our soldiers, our people, and our country; and, the extraordinary people we met along the way, from Kentucky to Korea, who came together to volunteer and help however they could.
One encounter at the Nova site particularly struck me. As we were leaving, a Black Christian man, a stranger wearing a tallis, hugged me and several from our group. His message: “You are not alone.” Earlier, one of the parents who spoke to us during the chicken schnitzel project talked about embodying Jewish values and spirit. I think that is ultimately what this experience was about. We are not alone. Our values and spirit are beautiful, reflected in those who show up, lend a hand, donate shekels, share a meal, offer a hug, tell difficult stories, and simply refuse to turn a blind eye or a deaf ear.
Israel is not defined by October 7th or the war that followed. It’s imperfect but spectacular – a safe high-tech and agriculturally driven democracy where Christians, Muslims, and Jews coexist with rich history, adventure, and extraordinary scenery. Her people continue to build, create, pray, and live.
Sean, I’m passing it on. So, go! Go to learn, educate yourself and others. Go to lend your hands and open your wallet. Go to stand up and speak out. Go to surf the Mediterranean, float in the Dead Sea, explore the markets, drink the wine, and savor the fresh food. Go experience Israel’s resilience, spirit and humanity. Go to have fun, and go to be proud.
Disturb the Sound of Silence. Make sure their voices are heard.
Am Yisrael Chai!
