The joy and the pain

(Originally published in The Times of Israel)

As I scanned possible T-shirts to grab yesterday morning, Yom HaAtzamut (Israel Independence Day), I spotted my very worn blue Israel Association of Baseball shirt with Israel in big clear letters emblazoned on it along with a fairly contemporary, artsy drawing of a couple of baseball bats.

A thought ran quickly through my mind:  How many places in the U.S. would someone feel uncomfortable or unsafe wearing that shirt?  Or perhaps it would be simpler to ask: how many places would you feel safe and comfortable wearing it?

Questions I would never have thought to ask a mere 20 years ago seem very prudent and reasonable given the reports of demonization, harassment, and violence.  Tree of Life in Pittsburgh. Temple Israel in West Bloomington.  Boulder, Colorado. The 2nd Avenue Deli just a week or so ago. Synagogues and other Jewish institutions throughout America vandalized, graffitied, shot at.

Friends and relatives hiding their Stars of David, moving their Mezuahs inside the door.  Gatherings taken indoors, addresses of events not publicized.  My father and grandfathers–outspoken, proud, loud Jews–are spinning in their graves.

I wrote a while back about the dangers of American Jews receding from public life, ceding the public square, restricting their identites as Jews to private spaces.  I am afraid it is happening.  

How different it is here in Israel. We wear our Jewish identity–T-shirts, tallises, jewelry, kippas, you name it–without a thought, unabashed.  We discuss and argue Jewishly in public, loudly.  We live by the Jewish clock and the Jewish calendar.  The destinations on the bus are in the same language Jews prayed in a thousand years ago (as well as Arabic and English). Israeli/Jewish identity is baked into every aspect of life.

It is a liberating, joyful experience.  It is also often a heavy burden.  Israelis, often rated among the happiest people on earth, also pay a terribly high price for living as unself-conscious Jews/Israelis in control of their destiny.  Running to shelters. Burying young soldiers. Feeling alone. Worrying. And worrying some more.

Monday night through sundown Tuesday was Yom Hazikaron, Rememberance Day.  It is not like Memorial Day in the U.S. with sales, boats, and picnics.  It is solemn.  We went to a ceremony at the Jerusalem Theater, a three minute walk from our apartment.  It was one of the hundreds if not thousands of ceremonies held throughout the country, in every neighborhood of every community.  It focused on “lone soldiers,” young people who come from abroad to serve, who fell in battle.

Dear friends and family in The Golden Medina

(Originally published in The Times of Israel)

A seder enveloped by sirens and a heart rendering funeral motivated me to write to friends and family in the United States, some of whom have been in touch as well as the many who have not.

Family and friends:

This Passover, and last night’s seder in particular, is especially poignant and, in some ways, quite strange.  We know that many in the U.S. are opposed to the war or, if not that, are conflicted about it.  We know that includes many American Jews, including those that care about Israel.

We understand that position from an American perspective: the economy, being seen (wrongly, in our view) as the aggressor, the cost, the price of a gallon of gas, dislike of President Trump, lack of clear messaging, apparent lack of a well thought-out strategy, etc.

(We are also cognizant of the shock and the feelings of vulnerability and isolation that many American Jews feel due to the startling increase in Jew-hatred in America and around the world.)

Most Israelis, including us, see it from a different perspective. We see an axis that bombarded our north and south with missiles for over two decades, that viciously attacked us on Oct. 7, 2023, that continues to bombard us to this day, that repeatedly declares its intention to destroy us, that dedicates itself to developing the weapons to do so, and that appeared to becoming very close to being in a position to do so.

Regardless of possible differences in perspective, we REALLY APPECIATE the messages of concern and support we have received.  At a time when we are running for cover, when our lives and movement are restricted and fraught with danger, when we are sustaining injuries and deaths, when our young people are making the ultimate sacrifice, when our neighbors with young children are under incredible strain, when we are feeling very isolated and alone, your messages have been a lifeline, a reminder that people care, that we are not alone.

We’re hanging in there.  It does take its toll.  Everyone is weary. It seems that in Jerusalem the frequency of attacks has decreased a bit the last 48 hours. But we’ve had periods like that before.  The north is getting hit hard by Hezbollah.  And they get no warning—they have to get to a shelter in 15 seconds.

The center of the country and Tel Aviv are still getting hit hard by Iran.  Our daughter in Tel Aviv  had them at 9 and 9:30 Monday night and then, starting about 7:45 yesterday morning, had about four in the course of two hours.  Many were wondering how they would cook for the seder while running to shelters.