Rav Avi’s Reflections of Areivut from Sydney – #4
Tuesday, December 23rd
Tuesday morning: Visiting members of the community who were injured and are recuperating at Royal Prince Alfred Hospital, we met Yehuda Leibel Lazaroff, a twenty-year-old already engaged in Chabad shlichut – emissary work – in Australia. He had played a central role in preparing the event two Sundays earlier, when the terrorist attack took place. Sitting near his bed were his parents: his father, a Chabad shaliach at Texas A&M, and his mother. Yehuda speaks with maturity beyond his years, and exhibits a depth of faith, emunah, and unwavering commitment to continue doing all he can for Am Yisrael.
Next we saw Eva Gela, age 89, who was seriously injured. We met her daughter at her bedside and spoke with her husband by phone; her son lives in Givat Shaul. Eva’s daughter told us that until this attack, her mother – nearly 90 – was spry and independent, able to get around on her own. Now, there are real questions about whether she will ever walk again. As we offered tefillot, Eva joined in. I wondered what she was thinking in her heart – so innocent, enjoying the sunset years of her life, only to be struck by such a devastating blow.
From there we visited David who, together with his wife, immigrated from the former Soviet Union in 1980. I shared that after the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan in 1979, emigration largely shut down. David’s wife explained that they had received permission just before the invasion, which made it possible for them to be among the very few able to leave in 1980. It was miraculous to see the fruits of the long struggle to free Soviet Jews – and heartbreaking to confront the pain of a family forced to flee antisemitism, to come to Australia at the far end of the world, only to be struck down by terrorists decades later.
Tuesday Afternoon: We traveled to the Surf Club for the celebration of life of Marika Pogany. Marika was a close friend of Adji, the mother-in-law of Rabbi Judith Levitan. Adji, nearly 80 herself, is remarkably spry and was one of the two speakers. Though Marika was murdered solely because she was Jewish, her funeral was not held in a Jewish setting. Still, the grief – the pain, the suffering – was overwhelming, as she joins the far too many murdered al kiddush Hashem.
From there, we went on to yet another hospital to visit Ryan Zimen, the young security volunteer who was unconscious for days and still suffers from a serious wound in his arm. Thank God, he appears well on the road to recovery. Entering his room, seeing his mother, girlfriend, and friends, it seems surreal, so similar to visiting wounded Israeli soldiers during the war at Soroka Hospital in Be’er Sheva and Sheba Hospital in Tel Aviv. Ryan in his own way, paralleled the heroism of an IDF solider – prepared to give his life so Jews could live. I turned to Ryan and said, katonti – I am humbled. In protecting those present, he was also protecting all of us.
We then travelled to the Kleytman shiva and met Larisa, the wife of Alex Kleytman – yet another Soviet Jew among the murdered. Larisa sat in profound grief, surrounded by her children: Sabina and Tzvi. Sabina, a psychology PhD who shared that she has studied and written about resilience, arguing that short of being killed, every person has the capacity to reach higher and higher. Even in death, I shared, even in the killing of her father, he, too, was reaching higher and higher, leaving behind a legacy of sanctifying God’s name and inspiring future generations to identify more deeply with what he died for.
Tzvi now lives in Kfar Chabad with his nine children. He spoke knowledgeably about the Soviet Jewry movement and mentioned Natan Sharansky. As we were leaving, I called Natan. In his generous way, he spoke at length with Tzvi, soon joined by Sabina and Larisa, offering words of comfort for many minutes.
Earlier, I had been in touch with our congressman, the extraordinary Ritchie Torres, and asked him to write a letter to Ahmed al-Ahmed, the Muslim hero who confronted one of the shooters and was himself injured. With the letter in hand, we traveled to St. George’s Hospital, where Ahmed is recovering. The hour was late, and we were unable to gain entry. God willing, we will try again tomorrow. We feel compelled to say just two simple words: Thank you. As Ahmed himself has said – even to those in his own community who criticized him – “When I saw what was happening, I didn’t feel Muslim. I felt like a human being, with other human beings.”
Tuesday Evening: We ended the day with a gathering of song and Torah at the home of Jonathan and Daniela, organized by Rabbanit Adina Roth. As we entered their home, Jonathan took me up to the rooftop. I looked out over the Pacific Ocean, and he pointed to the distance – just across the way lay Bondi. What a contrast: Bondi, where the massacre took place, nestled within the breathtaking beauty of the Pacific waters, as the sun peeked through the clouds, setting for the night. The skyline of Sydney on one side, gentle hills in the distance on the other – together speaking of the partnership between human beings and God in building a world of beauty and nobility.
We began a kumzitz, singing Shomer Yisrael – Guardian of Israel, protect Israel, protect all of humankind. May peace and goodness prevail. The conversation that followed was deep and searching. I spoke of what I have learned from my son Dov: that one has the right to be angry – even with God – and that expressing that anger is not disrespect, but love. Love means being able to say what one truly feels, even disappointment. It is okay to say to God: I love You – but please, You’ve got to do better.
Yet when we cry out Eicha – how could this be? – we must also be open to hearing God’s response, who voices those same letters a bit differently: Ayekah – where are you? And together, with God’s help, in true partnership, we will respond to hate with love. As the rabbis teach: while hatred may defy reason, there is an even stronger force – love.
Love will overwhelm and conquer hate. Each of us doing our small part to make this already beautiful world more beautiful still – a caring world, a loving world, a godly world.
With arms around one another, we sang Shlomo’s Va-hareinu: “May we, Hashem our God, see the comfort of Jerusalem, the comfort of Sydney, the comfort of all victims of terror – and may the light come soon, one day soon, when peace, real peace, and real love will fill the world.”