As we all know, there has certainly been an uptick in antisemitism all over the world. I’d like to share my perspective on this phenomenon. I don’t have all the answers. In fact, I am not sure I have any. All I can do is give my view from the outside looking in and from being on the actual inside of the storm.
Israel is not a place to escape
to. It is not a second choice. It is the home of the Jewish people. Escape, if
you want, to Florida or Paris – well, hold-off on Paris since they no longer
allow El Al pilots security clearance! If you are a Jew in France, the clock is
frighteningly close to midnight. I can’t comment on the situation outside of
Israel except to say, who is a wise man? He who sees the future. I am not a
historian, and if that is your interest I suggest Rabbi Katz’s podcasts and
Saturday night classes. I do think that whenever Jew hatred is released into
the public sphere, it rarely ever slips back inside the quiet margins and just
passes.
Before I continue, let me share
with you specific aspects of daily life as I experience it that you may not
have considered. I am not talking about the war that continues to disrupt life
here for those who have husbands, wives, siblings, and parents still doing
tours in Gaza and Lebanon. Just daily life.
* * *
Pesach in Israel is an experience
every one of us should have at least once. It is my sincere hope and deepest
prayer that it be Hashem’s will that, next year, all of you reading this will
also get to enjoy it. With few exceptions, everyone here knows about Pesach,
participates in Pesach, and lives a chametz-free life for seven days
during Pesach. I am not naive enough to believe the entire Jewish population in
Israel eats only matzah and passes on chametz, but what I have learned
firsthand is there are far more people living a chametz-free life during
the chag than I was led to believe when I lived in America.
It is a real thing here for the
nation. Matzah is everywhere – and I mean everywhere. You can find it in the
grocery stores, of course, but I’m talking about drug stores, convenience
stores, gas stations (!), and kiosks in malls. Imagine walking into a 7-11 and
purchasing matzah. If you are unhappy with the brand they sell there, you walk
down the block and buy it from the gas station on the corner. The entire
country makes room in their lives for this mitzvah. I imagine this is a small
glimpse of what it must have been like watching your neighbors bring their korban
Pesach to the Beis Hamikdash. Exhilarating does not suffice as a
description.
Beginning a week or so before the chag,
kashering stations manned by young men and women appear on the streets of
Jerusalem. For hours each day, people from all over the city and elsewhere bring
their items to kasher for the holiday. Every Jew, at least once in his or her
life, should have the pleasure of witnessing this for-the-sake-of-Heaven
moment. In Jerusalem, there is no mass chametz burning where you
are asked, “Please don’t burn the plastic.” Instead, there are small burnings
taking place every few blocks. Each person is asked to drop off his chametz,
knowing the city will collect everything before noon.
After all the preparation, the chag
itself is uplifting and all-encompassing. Aside from a few holdouts, the
entire country is all in, and while there is nothing better than sharing the
holiday with everyone around you, it does take some getting used to not having
two sedarim and, for that matter, purchasing the correct amount of
matzah for your one seder. Of course, I bought far too much.
* * *
Yom Hazikaron, the Israeli
Memorial Day, is not a day off from work for barbecues and doubleheader
baseball games. You truly can’t walk anywhere in Israel without meeting someone
who has not lost a son, a daughter, father, mother, sibling, neighbor, or
relative in defense of this country. You can imagine the emotional impact on
someone like me. It is indeed a day of profound sorrow and introspection,
knowing that the people we are memorializing died al kiddish Hashem in
defense of the land.
One of the things I admire most
about the people here is how quickly they can take sadness and turn it into
joy. The celebration of Israel Independence Day, which takes place 24 hours
later, is one such example. The very same country that, hours before, was
overwhelmed with grief suddenly turns on a dime and celebrates the miraculous
fact that the Jewish people once again are home in their land enjoying the
freedom to immerse themselves in a fully Jewish life. The
calendar they follow, the clothes they wear, and the foods they eat are Jewish.
Of course, there are foreign interests and considerations Israel has to
navigate and consider; it was so back in the times of the Joshua and King David
as well. And like those leaders some 3,000 years ago, we too have sovereignty
over the land and a biblical responsibility to take care of it when making
national-security decisions. You don’t have to agree with all or any of the
decisions of the current Israeli government, but, it seems to me, what you
cannot deny is the fact that the words of the prophets are alive today and
manifesting themselves through the current state of Israel on its land.
There is no finer example than Lag
b’Omer – not only because of bonfires all over the country. No, I am thinking
of what happens in my own neighborhood. Behind our home is a long field, which
is being transformed into an extension of the Jerusalem light rail. Last Lag b’Omer,
there were no fewer than 30-plus bonfires in that field, within a five minute
walk, 16 of which were happening essentially in our backyard – and all of them
being run by the youth. Ranging from roughly ages seven to 16, they were the
conductors, the builders, the leaders, the fire marshals, and the choirs. At
first, it seems very off-putting and out of place, until you realize that
within just a few short years, these children will likely find themselves in
harm’s way, tasked with defending Hashem’s land against our enemies.
* * *
I don’t have the space here to go
through the whole Jewish year, but I simply must tell you about my personal
experiences in the recent Iran War. You see, I am now a part of Jewish history.
Following the completion of shiva for my father, my wife and I arrived
home in Israel from Baltimore late Wednesday afternoon, June 11. Before leaving
America, I had debated if we should make a “pleasure” trip out of it and spend
some time visiting friends and our children around the country, whom we had not
seen in a year. We didn’t. Though it bothered me the entire flight, I decided we
did the right thing in returning home immediately. Sometimes doing the right
thing can be extremely painful as it was in this case, but I came for shiva,
not a personal visit; I came for a mitzvah. While some will disagree, I felt that
shloshim was not the time to visit with friends or family.
Two days after we arrived at 3:00
a.m. Friday morning, June 13, the entire country was woken by an alarm letting
us know that war with Iran had begun; no one was to leave their homes until
further notice. As it turned out, the skies over Israel would be closed for
almost two weeks as flights from all over the globe were cancelled. It goes
without saying that we felt very lucky to have made the decision to return home
for the reasons we did.
The war with Iran had a Covid-like
feel. That 3:00 a.m. siren sent everyone to their safe rooms, soon to be
followed by a message that there was no active threat; we could go back to bed.
Yet, Friday morning, things were very different. From that day forward we were
sequestered in our homes. The repercussions from the decision were immediate.
Based on regulations announced by Home Front Command and the Rabbanut
Harashit, the Chief Rabbinate, it was forbidden to hold any minyanim
on Shabbat. It was my first Shabbos back from shiva, and saying kaddish
added an extra complication for me. What was I supposed to do? With minyan
being cancelled, I reached out to both my brothers to make sure kaddish
was covered for the foreseeable future.
From the time we arrived in Israel,
we were instructed to leave our phones on during Shabbos as well as a computer
screen set to the Channel 14 information channel as they don’t broadcast live
on Shabbos. That Shabbos was the first time we left the iPad on and left it in
the safe room. Later that day, not too long after we made Hamotzi, we
were interrupted by a siren. Luckily for us, we have a safe room in our
apartment. We entered it and waited for the all-clear, which came around 20
minutes later. We sat back down for soup and were interrupted again, though
this time I took the soup with me – man’s gotta eat! Once the all-clear signal
came, we finished our meal and, of course, were interrupted by another siren
right after bentching. Once the fourth siren came, about an hour later, just
after we retired for the evening, we decided to spend the rest of the night
sleeping in the mamad.
On Wednesday, June 18th,
we were told restrictions would be eased the following day. It just so happened
I was making a siyum on Bavli Mesechtas Shavuos on Thursday. Each time I
make a siyum, I take my wife out to dinner in appreciation for her allowing
me to learn. My limud Torah is also hers. We ended up going to a
restaurant near our home, where the waitress informed us they had not been open
since the previous Thursday due to the war. The eatery was empty, and she told
us we were their first customers; the only reason they were allowed to open was
because they had a mamad (safe room) on the premises.
Our ability to leave the house
lasted for less than 24 hours. The Iranians greeted the Shabbos queen with
plenty of barrages across the country. Once again, minyan was cancelled in our
neighborhood, however restrictions were now adjusted to host up to 30 people if
there was a safe room available. Across the walkway behind our home, residents
of the building put a minyan together in the underground parking garage. I was
able to say kaddish for the first time in a week. While we were
restricted in our movements, the garage under their building served as a sort
of safe room for anyone who could not make it back to their home in case a
siren went off. We ended up davening in the garage for the duration of the war,
which lasted through Tuesday, though businesses without safe rooms opened a day
or two later. By Wednesday afternoon, Mincha/Ma’ariv began again in shul.
* * *
In 12 days of war, Iran launched
between some 550 ballistic missiles and around 1,000 drones at Israel,
according to the IDF, including what was left of their large ballistic missiles.
Most of the missiles and drones were intercepted by Israeli and American air
defenses at an interception rate of around 90 percent, similar to the rate in
Iran’s April and October 2024 attacks on Israel. But by sending multiple
launches at a time, some made it through. The random attacks were designed to
kill as many Jews as possible. In the end, according to the Times of
Israel website, the attacks claimed the lives of 28 people – all but one
of them civilians – and wounded over 3,000. Astonishingly, if you were in a
safe room, you were protected for the most part. I am almost certain that all
but one or two of the tragic deaths were due to not being in a protected space.
While all the deaths were tragic, and the entire country grieved, there
was a very real feeling of gratitude for what could have been.
It was when I arrived back at work
in Tel Aviv that next Sunday that I really understood how true this was.
The director of athletics I work for lives with her partner in Ramat Gan. I
think some would call her a secular Israeli. I call her a Jew and very much a
part of our people. She asked me how I was doing and then said she believed the
entire country should pray birchat gomel. Let that sink in a moment, and
then ask yourself if this is the Israel they told you about. How many people in
America would have thought of that? Thing about it is, she was right. Through
all the chaos, the people here still have an unshakeable faith in Hashem, which
is why there is something special going on in this country. It is a
country of purpose and hope, happiness and joy, even through all the sorrow and
grief of the last 22 months. The sounds of fighter jets above at any time of
day are constant, some louder than others. But Jewish history is being written
here in Israel, and I feel blessed to be a part of it.
* * *
I realize that watching Fox news
from your living room or computer has a chilling effect, but do not be fooled.
What we have witnessed here in Israel are open miracles and wonders. Despite being
sent to our safe rooms numerous times per day, we have an overriding feeling of
security, which, if you are not living here, you would not understand. And I
can honestly say I felt safer in Jerusalem than in Baltimore. Do you feel safe
walking in the streets of Baltimore at ten in the evening? (Don’t answer that
question!)
But let me tell you about
Jerusalem. Due to my job – basketball games don’t begin in our league until
8:30 p.m. at the earliest, meaning I don’t usually get home until well after
midnight – I ride the train from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem then take a bus to our
home and walk the last five plus minutes at close to 1:00 a.m. I did this more
than 20 times during the season, and not once did I look over my shoulder,
hurry my pace, or become concerned for my safety. If you can say the same in
Baltimore, New York, or Los Angeles consider yourself lucky. Most of your
fellow citizens don’t share your optimism. Yes, I know we have ballistic
missiles being shot at us (not to mention thousands of rockets), yet there is a
feeling of security here that I have never experienced in my life. Sitting on
our porch late on any random evening, we see women of every age walking alone
without a care. My wife can attest to that.
* * *
I continue to hear discourse
questioning whether we are destined to stay here in Eretz Yisrael until our
redemption – may it come speedily in our days – or whether we will, chas
v’shalom, be evicted from our land once again. To be sure, lest you think
it is only a Diaspora thing, I have heard this from people I am close to here
in Israel. A few weeks ago, while talking with someone from my neighborhood, I
mentioned this idea, and he said simply, “What does it matter? It’s a mitzvah.”
I had never actually thought about it like that in response to this question,
and he is correct. If, in fact, you believe it is a mitzvah to live here or
that you must be here to partake in all of the other mitzvos associated with
living in the land, why does it matter? I know there is a Rambam-Ramban argument
about yishuv ha’aretz, and though the Rambam’s opinion is greatly
misunderstood, I will leave that for you to decide.
Lastly, as of a couple of hours
ago, Israel approved 60,000 reservists who will once again have to report by
September 2, 2025 to finish the Gaza war and do what the army feels is
necessary to bring our hostages home. For some of these courageous soldiers, it
will be the sixth or seventh time they are going back in. Those who are in now
just found out they will be away from their families, schools, and businesses
for another 30 to 40 days. Most will do so happily because they believe the
land is worth fighting for, the Jewish people are worth fighting for, and it is
their civic responsibility as part of a people facing extinction. There is no
question that the war today is a milchemes mitzvah, regardless of
whether we have a king or not. The Jewish people are under attack both here and
abroad. History or, better yet, Divine Providence has taught us that all
we have is each other. If anyone thinks the lack of manpower in the army is
just a rumor or a trick of some kind, they have no clue what they are talking about.
Two days ago, the IDF began to reach out to Jews in the Diaspora to help with
the shortage. In my opinion, it is embarrassing for us to have to do that. Kol
Yisrael areivim zeh b’zeh. I remember the days when we all used to believe
that.
May Hashem continue to watch over His
people and His land and bring our Mashiach speedily in our days.
