As MLK Day and Tu B’Shevat come to a close, I want to share with you all my thoughts since Shabbat. The following is an expanded and reconfigured version of an Instagram post (@lettersaligned) I shared on Sunday, January 16.
On Saturday, January 15, during and following the hostage crisis at Congregation Beth Israel in Colleyville, Texas, I talked to a fair amount of Jews about how we were feeling and what we were thinking. Jews I’ve known my entire life. Jews with whom I messaged for the first time on social media.
So many sentiments came forward. Besides the obvious fear and stress for the victims, many people expressed deep frustration about non-Jews seeming to frankly, not give a damn. Some were furious that the FBI didn’t want to make this about Jews at all (they have since said otherwise). Others worried that if they didn’t simultaneously (or even primarily) condemn Islamophobia (which should go without saying) that they couldn’t even say anything about the attack.
We were fighting with each other about the need for armed guards. We were feeling different degrees of resignation to the fact that this may be what happens every year or so.
Pittsburg, PA – 2018
Poway, CA – 2019
Monsey, NY – 2019
Jersey City, NJ – 2019
Colleyville, TX – 2022
It is horrifying what happened at Congregation Beth Israel. So much so, it feels like there isn’t anything else to say. But of course there is.
I’ve been working inside of synagogues and Jewish institutions since college, and I remember what it felt like coming to work after the Tree of Life massacre in Pittsburg – 11 people were murdered. It felt scary. We felt vulnerable.
But this time, I don’t feel scared. I don’t feel scared because I believe so deeply in actualizing Jewish life. I don’t feel scared because I have the strength of my ancestors who had to endure terror I can’t imagine. I don’t feel scared because I don’t want to feel scared – because I don’t want to give any power to those who wish us harm.
But maybe first and foremost, I don’t feel scared because all of the emotional space inside of me is saturated with anger instead. And I’m angry because I feel myself hardening.
I want to believe that people can see a situation for what it is – Jews, in the United States in 2022, held hostage by a man with a gun, on Shabbat, for 11 hours, only to get out safe because the rabbi took an incredibly scary risk – he threw a chair at the gunman and ran for the door. They weren’t even rescued in the end – they escaped. This is utterly terrifying.
But somehow, the world seemed to go on. Now, I’d love to be proven wrong. I’d love to learn that everyone was as shaken as I was. What I can tell you for sure it that on Saturday, January 15, my world stood still. For many of us Jews, life faded behind us like that hazy Zoom filter as we waited, refreshing our computers.
For the first time, I felt something I’ve been trying to stave off – not a sense that people didn’t really care, I’ve felt that before. For the first time, I wasn’t sure if I should even try to make them care, or if I should just retreat into my own community where I knew people would understand.
If you know me, you know I hate this. Bringing people in is such an essential part of what it means to me to be Jewish. Many of you reading this newsletter are non-Jewish friends with whom I have celebrated Shabbat or Pesach or Chanukah.
So what now? How do I stay soft and open-hearted? To me, this is what it means to be strong – to remain willing and hopeful. Of course then, I turn to Torah.
After completing a book of Torah we read the words:
Chazak, chazak v’nitchazek.
חֲזַק חֲזַק וְנִתְּחַזֵּק
Be strong, be strong and let us strengthen each other.
May we be strong in heart. May we be strong in hope and not cower in fearful separatism. May we stand up for ourselves with courage. As Hillel would approve – may we be for ourselves but not only so. And may others be the same.
And you?
How are you feeling? What are you thinking? I’m here to listen if you’d like to share.
As usual you speak from your heart directly to mine... chazak v'brucha