Terror’s Echo

The man named after Elijah, the fiery Jewish prophet, opened fire in Washington, DC. According to police reports, Elias Rodriguez, murdered two young people, a couple about to become engaged. Yaron murdered, and Sarah, wounded, tried to crawl away. But Elias reloaded his pistol, walked over and emptied round after round from his fresh magazine into her until she too was dead.

A video of Elias’ arrest featured him chanting, “Free, free Palestine!” as he is being led away. He twice repeats, in the too-familiar cadence popularized on US campuses and streets, his call: “Free,” a beat, “free Palestine!” This is not merely a statement; it is a piece of the public theater feature in American anti-Israel protest. It is a call and response, where the individual caller is answered in kind by the gathered crowd. It is a means of amplification; it is an echo chamber.

And that is the point. While the young men and women inside of the Jewish museum, Jews and Gentiles both, were discussing actual ways to provide aid to Palestinians, Elias’ only interest was in shutting down any such conversation. For the protesters have no interest in listening. They howl their slogans at each other, and for the cameras, transmitting no new information, but instead fomenting a one-chord chorus of incitement. Their mob is no collection of the like-minded, but rather of the close-minded: those who will allow nothing but their own reverberated voices to be heard or spoken. The psychology of the mob depends on such noise to silence any individuality, to remove any singular thoughts from the heads of its own, the better for that emptied space to become mere hollowed-out echo chamber full of sound and fury alone.

The tragedy played out on the DC pavement was born just of that disquiet roar. No thought, only slogans: River, sea, freedom. Weaponized words aimed at making innocents into targets. Staged cries exploiting open, liberal spaces to ultimately close them off and shut them down.

This awful terrorist, whose murderous shots rang out in the night air was no prophet. Elijah, alone in the desert heard the impressive thunder, yet learned that it was mere wind. The still, small voice—that needs focused thought to even notice, that whispers of love and life and future contains more than all the shouted slogans any mob can scream.

The terrorists cannot hear. They won’t listen. And they try to silence those devoted to more than just noise. Like Sarah and Yaron. May God avenge their blood and may their memories be a blessing.