Welcome to the House of Fun

Some weeks are more than others. There are weeks when we think things might be settling down and maybe we can start to imagine normal returning. Then something happens. We re-enter the carnival of nightmares, like whiplash, we are snapped back to October 7. The emotional roller coaster pulling us this way and that, so that our interior landscapes resemble the reflections of distorted funhouse mirrors. Stretching and twisting and contorting us to our collective limits. That is what it has been like for me this past week, and what it has been like for Jews worldwide.

The joy that swept our tribe when we found out about the rescue of Farhan al-Qadi was only fleeting. As news broke about the execution of 6 hostages, Eden, Almog, Hersh, Carmel, Alexander and Ori, our souls crumbled, our faces became ashen, our tears overflowing. While the pain endured by the families of the slain is immeasurable, we all became mourners of Zion. In Israel, the nation rallied around the families, tens of thousands attended funeral after funeral, and tens of thousands visited shiva homes. This is what it is to have a Jewish homeland; in all its complexity and brokenness, certain rituals, behaviours and interactions need no explanation, no external power granting permission to allow for expressions of Jewishness. To live a wholly Jewish life autonomously. This is self-determination, Zionism, made manifest. As our brethren gathered in the shiva homes we too gathered in diasporic spaces, to listen, and pray, and wail and hug and cry together. A small comfort which softens the edges of the whiplash and gives us some solace from the goulish visions of the emotional funhouse mirrors.

We are one people, kol Yisrael arevim ze ba ze. For those of us scattered across the world, our hearts beat to the rhythm of life, and death, in Israel. And so, our hearts pounded with grief, but also rage. Many of us in the diaspora couldn’t even catch our breath before supposed “balanced” media in Australia or America reported on the hostages that “died”, reported on our trauma-stricken brothers and sisters screaming at Bibi and his government in the streets of Tel-Aviv to make a deal, but framing them as somehow being in alliance with the vacuous calls for a ceasefire on our streets in Melbourne or Brooklyn, or London. This distortion adding fuel to the flames of our rage.

But of course, that was mild compared to supposed feminists and social justice warriors who mocked and vilified our grief as some sort of evidence of our own Jewish supremacy. How dare we grieve for our people taken from music festivals or bedrooms, held hostage for nearly a year, then executed in cold blood while the executioners posted videos of the victims days before they were murdered. How dare we, have we no shame?! These people who claim to be beacons of morality do not see the psychological torture Hamas is inflicting on the Jews both in Israel and around the world, and they sure as hell do not see their own complicity in the torture.

One of the vilest antisemites, a renowned feminist, author and social media personality with hundreds of thousands of followers shamelessly posted her hot take; that the IDF certainly killed the hostages themselves. That is what she said, taking great pride in her righteousness, gleefully participating in the psychological torment of people she shares this city with, Jewish people. But she calls us “Zionists” as if that absolves her from her anti-Jewish hate. It does not. Not for her, and not for any of the anti-Zionist so-called progressives who seem to take sadistic pleasure in abusing Jews that do not conform to their perception of acceptable Jewishness.

They do not get to define what is and what is not a legitimate expression of Jewishness. They do not get to define what is and what is not antisemitism. We do.

And whether they like it or not, most of us understand we are an indigenous people with a deep, spiritual, emotional sense of belonging to the land of Israel, wherever we are in the world. We don’t not need the blessings of the self-appointed priests of progressivism to express our authentic selves as Jews.

This is the thing that our abusers just cannot grasp. They think it shames us to call us Zionists. They think it shames us when they perpetuate age-old antisemitic accusations of being child-killers. It does not shame us. But it does shame them as they reveal themselves to be as ignorant, bigoted and deranged as any of our historical nemeses. You cannot shame a people for an aspect of their identity that you do not understand. And yet, they keep on trying. “Step right up!” these hate-mongers cry “see how these Zionists freaks live amongst us!”

A very recent effort came from the noble people of the Free Palestine Printing (FPP) group. Days after the execution of the 6 hostages by Hamas, the FFP decided to use its platform to condemn the Jewish people for having the chutzpah to teach our children about Israel and Zionism in our own Jewish day-schools. Our little community here in Melbourne is lucky to have a range of wonderful Jewish schools. They capture the spectrum of Jewish religiosity and attract Jewish children and families that are as diverse and beautiful as the Jewish people globally. Many of our schools are unapologetically Zionist. The reason for this I will repeat over and over again –  Zionism is a legitimate and central expression of Jewishness for the vast majority of Jewish people. We are an indigenous people of the land of Israel. Therefore, it stands to reason that a school with such a cohort would teach their young about connection to country, would want to inculcate a love for that land through teaching our indigenous tongue, teaching our ancient and modern stories interwoven with the land, celebrating religious, agricultural and national festivals that centre the land. All indigenous peoples do this in one way or another. So, when the FFP try to vilify one such school and some of their graduates who felt the pull to make aliya and defend the Jewish homeland with their own bodies, the FFP only revealed their distorted misunderstanding of Jewish peoplehood. Their enthusiastic posts doxxing past students who chose to join the IDF only contributes to the nightmarish carnival where everything is upside down and inside out, more contorted reflections from the funhouse mirrors.

But sometimes the whiplash works in our favour. Days after the vilification and doxxing of students from a Jewish day-school in Melbourne, hundreds of our senior students from across 4 Jewish schools gathered at the very place the FFP tried to smear. I was at this gathering, to hear the inspiring words of Ma’ayan, an Israeli helicopter pilot and hero who is only a few years older than our students, as well as a glorious pep-talk by the one and only Elon Levy. But for me, the highlight happened before and after the main event, when our kids found their friends in other schools, and hugged and laughed and generally embodied joy. The joy of community. It was so beautiful I wanted to cry from happiness. When they were in the auditorium together, hundreds of our gorgeous kids sitting shoulder to shoulder, you could hear a pin drop as the prayers for Israel, the IDF and the hostages were recited. And their collective voices made the walls tremble as they sung the words “od lo avda tokvatinu” – we have not yet lost hope, echoing the mantra of Rachel Goldberg-Polin “Hope is mandatory”. In this moment, the distorted fun house mirrors transformed into a glittering carousel in all its loveliness.

Two weeks ago my husband, daughter and I visited a local tattoo parlour. We all got the same tattoo, the words that harken from an ancient story about king Solomon; Gam Ze Ya’avor. This too shall pass. A wise and prophetic saying that contains an eternal truth about impermanence. When we think we cannot grieve any harder, that the pain is too much to endure, we gather, and in the shared grief we find solace and love and even a smile through the tears. When we feel such fury that we think we might just explode, we gather and hug and laugh and love each other even more fiercely. This is the perpetual cycle of Jewish existence, the funhouse mirrors of our nightmares turn into sparkling carousel rides of our dreams.