January 21, 2025

Jewish tradition teaches that hope is an indispensable part of life. Unlike optimism, which one writer defines as a matter of personality or disposition, Hope is a matter of faith. Hope is rooted in unalloyed reality… recognizing and confronting the obstacles and pitfalls along the path to a better tomorrow…. And it demands that we grab hold of it with conviction and courage.

I so agree with the above sentiment. As so many of you know; and as my son never stops chiding me (“Dad, what’s the point of me coming to hear you give a sermon. You just say the same thing every year…..Hope, hope, hope!)… I hope I learn to speak with new and different ideas, but if that’s the only message heard, I’ll take it. And yet, I worry because I don’t want anyone to ever think that my message is Pollyanna. The hope I speak of comes with a full dose of the unbelievably challenging obstacles we face personally and communally.

That’s why I and we come here so much. Somehow seeing and hopefully facing the seemingly insolvable challenges of our time, in turn, brings a sense that there can be a better tomorrow. Yesterday, drudging through what is still a fog of war was unbearable. And that’s unfair to say because we were merely observers; not survivors. We weren’t fighting in a war or being held hostage; or watching our loved ones die. But, I have to say that confronting it head on counterintuitively brings a breath; a pause; some hope.

And so the missing piece from yesterday was our visit to Kibbutz Erez. This Kibbutz is in the Gaza Envelope as well and is one of our sibling communities from Greater Metro West. The magnificent Michal Tzur is not only a resident of Erez, but the director of Metro West here in Israel. She and some of her fellow residents walked us around the Kibbutz that look completely the opposite from Nir Oz. There was not one house burnt, nor any signs of a war. That came with some luck and also a heavy dose of the bravery from members of the Kibbutz that day. Literally, middle-aged residents took whatever weapons they had and somehow fought off 20 terrorists. It was something like 20 terrorists on five Israelis. The terrorists came from the most elite trained Hammas fighters. And somehow, with ingenuity, bravery, steadfast conviction; and thank God nothing like the hundreds of terrorists who showed up at so many of the other Kibbutzim, they were able to hold the gate of the Kibbutz and allowed the residents to live. The Kibbutz looked like nothing happened but the trauma of the soul was deep and searing. They returned in July and have literally been living meters away from a hot war until this past Saturday night. The children of the Kibbutz can name the difference between types of helicopters, drones, and rocket fire. They are able to tell the difference between incoming and outgoing. Very difficult conditions. They so much want to be together and so 80% of them have returned. And yet, every day they worry for their lives: As we toured the border, I couldn’t help but notice the IDF soldiers that were posted there and followed us from the front and from behind to ensure our safety.

And the paradox of it all. We woke up to an unbelievably beautiful sunny day in Tel Aviv. The rays beamed from the Mediterranean and we awoke to a typical enormous Israeli breakfast. We are unwinding by doing what is best for the soul. We are concurrently volunteering, preparing fresh meals for returning soldiers, while the other half of our group goes on a food tour in the Market. Soon, we will sit in a circle just to try to process what happened yesterday and see if we can start to make some sense for us and for you.

And our day ended with family. With Yaniv and Racheli Rosenfeld who over dinner described their year with Yaniv in uniform for 75% of the year, including service fighting Hamas in Gaza. They were vulnerable and forthright…. Describing not just what it meant for him to serve for so long and the dangers that came along with it, but what it did to their marriage and to their kids; and how what they experienced was a microcosm of what hundreds of thousands of families experienced this past year. Direct trauma; adjacent trauma; generational trauma.

And I write the following with some reticence. We are absolutely fine. But in the middle of Yaniv describing something very deep, we started to hear quite a bit of commotion. It sounded like tables turning over; glass breaking; some yelling. Then I heard a series of pops. I felt fairly confident that it was gunfire. It sounded like the sounds I heard last year the times I was next to Gaza. Not everyone in the group realized yet. To confirm, I looked at Yaniv and very calmly, he nodded in affirmation of what he knew I was asking. And then there were sirens coming from every direction. I got confirmation through a text and calmly we got up and told everyone what was happening. Not more than a half a block a way, a terrorist attack was underway. Four people were stabbed and then an off duty officer killed the terrorist. It was a scene that will be indelibly marked. We obviously stayed put because of our proximity. Wanting to do something, we organically started to clear the tables with the waiters because we could see the fear on their faces. We kept on checking on one another. Everyone in the group, every single one acted with such poise in the midst of it all. We decided it was time to get to the bus. We walked into a movie scene. Police, ambulances; running, cordoning off; directing. We could see that what happened was no more than 1,500 feet from us. Israelis looked shaken, which shook us. Everyone was on their phones calling loved ones to let them know that they were okay. We started to get calls asking if we were okay. It was like living in a movie, but it was real; surreal. We worked our way back to the bus, navigated the expected traffic because of the obvious. We knew we needed to process what had just happened. The hotel wouldn’t allow us to be outside on the deck facing the beach. They didn’t feel it was safe. And so we went to a conference room; ordered a round of drinks and talked. We talked about trauma and solidarity; about getting a small glimpse of the reality of what life has been like here. We talked about other times we were close to danger in our lives. We talked about bearing witness in a way we never have….a way we worried about, but now manifested in reality for us. Matt Turk led us in comforting music; and we then prayed a prayer called Gomel…. The prayer one says when we come to the brush of danger that might inflict deadly harm but didn’t. Matt finished by playing, Here Comes the Sun. We all sang and knew that in the end, thank God we would wake to the sun again. And we have. And we are steadfast in our devotion and solidarity. Frankly, I and think we are shaken, but not in our mission.

Hope!

Thank for you continuing to read this space. It really feels from your comments that you are with us. I will add pictures later of our day.