What kind of religious Jew am I? The Rachel and Jon kind

“Wait, what type of religious person are you exactly?” the producer asked me when she saw my kippa at the Tel Aviv television studio last week. Confused and a little annoyed by the worn-out question, and without giving it too much thought, I answered: “You’ve heard of Hersh’s parents, Rachel and Jon, from Jerusalem? So I’m religious like them.” And from the look on her face, I immediately felt that she understood.

It felt inappropriate to use their names in this way, but terror and misfortune have transformed Jon Polin and Rachel Goldberg-Polin from two quiet Jerusalemite parents into public figures on a global scale. Yet they turned harsh fate into Jewish inspiration: with their exceptional middot (character), spirituality, and dignity, they have become beacons to millions. With their words of Torah, their prayers, the rich English of their speeches, and the Hebrew verses that spring from their lips, they have rekindled a flame of Jewish religiosity that so rarely gets the spotlight in the Israeli public sphere: An authentic, committed and generous “Yiddishkeit,” or Judaism, that we – members of Jon and Rachel’s extended community – have almost forgotten that we aspire to.

What kind of Yiddishkeit have they rekindled? A Yiddishkeit that has a covenant with people of sincere faith from all religions, a Yiddishkeit that insists on walking in this world with emunah, faith – faith in God and faith in human beings. A Yiddishkeit rooted in the weekly Torah portion and the Jewish calendar at every moment, finding in them universal messages without pandering. A Yiddishkeit of community, people who build community wherever they go, custodians of intimacy and caring, and whose communities have been so present for them in this tragic and astounding cycle of reciprocity and caring in crises: the Baka synagogue community of Hakhel, the community of Hapoel Jerusalem Football and Basketball Clubs, and with the wider community of south Jerusalem beside them.

It’s a Yiddiskeit whose moral compass starts with Genesis, ethically bound to the infinitely valuable image of God imbued in all humans. A moral compass whose north star is the key lesson of Deuteronomy: the moral responsibility laid upon Am Yisrael when they entered the land, to always do “that which is good and righteous.” A Yiddishkeit of people at home in the world without giving up an ounce of religious commitment, a Yiddishkeit of humility and peace, starkly different from the arrogant religiosity so often portrayed and stereotyped by media and politicians. Theirs is a Yiddishkeit that has existed for years in Israel’s byways and neighborhoods and yet has always failed to translate itself to Tel Aviv TV studios or the Israel political eye.

And suddenly two parents, our quiet neighbors, became its face and voice, and from the depths of their tribulations invited us all to take part in the blessing they bestowed upon their son and daughters each Shabbat. My words to describe their way do not come close to the richness of the words and actions of Rachel and Jon themselves. Their strength lies in the fact that their Yiddishkeit is halacha in the root sense of the Hebrew: to walk. It’s a path they walk on naturally, a path that has become an inspiration for so many of us to follow.

This morning, the last one of Hersh’s shiva, as Jon was concluding leading the prayers, a shofar blast was sounded, as is done in synagogues across the Jewish world during the month of Elul. Raising my eyes I saw that sounding the shofar was the father of Aner Shapira z”l, Hersh’s best friend, who lost his life heroically protecting Hersh and many others outside the Nova party. I couldn’t imagine a more fitting end for this tragic shiva, and a more important spiritual and religious call of action for this month of repentance and revolution.

So what kind of a religious person are you? This month of Elul as we enter into the High Holidays, I painfully and proudly proclaim that I seek to be a religious Jew from the community of Hersh’s parents. Or as his father put it: May his memory be a revolution.