We live in Jerusalem, with three out of five of our adult children living within a 30 to 40-minute walk away. The other two live in the United States. This year most of us decided to meet in Toronto for Sukkot as my elderly mother is in a nursing home there and we knew it would be special for her to see everyone. Our son’s wife in Jerusalem is expecting soon, so they did not join us.
At the beginning of Sukkot I was asked to speak at The Village Shul, an outreach synagogue my husband and I founded about 33 years ago, beginning with five families. No one was shomer Shabbat, one guy wasn’t even Jewish, and we were young and idealistic and said, “Let’s start a shul!” Now it’s a gorgeous, 24,000 square-foot center that has transformed the neighborhood, Toronto’s Forest Hill. Where there used to be only traif Chinese food restaurants, now you see several kosher establishments. There was a big turnout for the talk, standing room only, and I shared the following story:
A few weeks ago, I was at Bait Hanasi, The President’s House in Jerusalem, receiving the Unity Prize on behalf of Momentum, for the work that we do globally to promote Achdut v’lo Achiydut, Unity Without Uniformity. Together with Israel’s Ministry of Diaspora Affairs, We partner with over 400 Jewish organizations in 36 countries to engage the Jewish mother who is disconnected from her Jewish identity and Israel. Historically, these organizations rarely worked together, unfortunately falling into the Jewish organizational syndrome where one looks at the other and only sees “competition.” They are not your competition, they are your partner, they just don’t know it yet. Under the umbrella of the Jewish mother, and focusing on Jewish values that unite us, we were recognized for our efforts.
The prize was established in 2014 by the three families whose sons were kidnapped and killed. The search for those boys and the collective grief that followed united a country. The prize is awarded annually to promote unity that does not happen through terror but through positive efforts both locally and globally.
It was an exciting ceremony, but it was happening at a time when Israel was far from united, as it had never been so divided. Demonstrations, physical altercations on Yom Kippur, and Jew against Jew on every level, political or religious.
The Beit Hamikdash, our Holy Temple, was not destroyed because we did not keep kosher or Shabbat; it was destroyed because of sinat chinam, senseless hatred. Where do Jews hate one another? In Hashem’s home, in Israel. Jews outside of Israel don’t like one another, they will slander one another and even try to put each other out of business, but they don’t hate. They can’t afford to hate; they are the minority.
But in Israel, when an Israeli says of other Jews, “I hate them,” it is not an expression. They really hate one another. Yes, in Hashem’s home, His children hate.
We have five children and they are very different in every way – religiously, politically, geographically and in their personalities. Yet they love each other, and they have each other’s backs. When one is in need in any way, they rally. They are there for each other, despite their differences, because they are a family. And when they are like that, my husband and I want to give them the world.
But we all know families where this is not the case. They fight over money, or politics. They won’t come to each other’s simchas, and the only time they will stomach being in the same room is at their parent’s funeral. They even hold separate shivas in the same city. Imagine how the parents felt in their lifetime, seeing their children so divided.
Since the incredible and shocking horror of the invasion, slaughter and terror from Hamas, and the declaration of war, two constant themes are ringing in Sensurround: Jews far away are coming closer, and Jews who were so close that they hated one another suddenly are able to put their differences aside and unite to fight a just war against evil.
My husband’s nephew who is intermarried and very far away from Jewish observance reached out to him when the war broke out to see if he was okay, and to ask about what was happening in Israel. This was a rare personal interchange. If we opened up a map of the world, there’s a good chance his nephew wouldn’t be able to point out Israel. I promise you he doesn’t know the difference between Bibi, Bougie and Bennett. The Kotel issue? Judicial reform? Israel-Diaspora divide? He doesn’t know and doesn’t care. And he is 85 percent of the Jews of America. And yet at every ABC Jewish conference (fill in the letters of your favorite organization), this is all they talk and argue about. And it’s often the same people, talking about the same things, and nothing changes, it only gets worse.
It’s like the parents are fighting and didn’t notice that three out of four of their kids have left home.
And now there is war – the worst war in the history of the State of Israel. Hundreds murdered, men, women and children captured – no one knows what is going to be. And suddenly Jews who were far away are feeling very Jewish indeed, and there is unity in purpose, people are putting their political and religious differences aside as they together fight for their very survival.
Our son who stayed behind in Israel messaged me and asked if we were coming back, after all, there is war. My unequivocal answer: “Yes.”
My flight back to Israel was canceled like so many others. Many of our friends who went to Israel just for Sukkot are caught there. They want to get out, and I just want to get back in. Thankfully, with the help of a friend who understands how I feel, I was able to get the last seat on an El Al flight out of JFK. It will be a very early morning flight out of Toronto to get there. I am sure the plane in New York will be filled with not just people, but a lot of emotion, and infinite stories.
Fly back into a war zone, when I could stay in Toronto? Yes.
My brother and sister-in-law made aliyah at the height of the first intifada. My mother was beside herself with worry. I told her that G-d already knows when it’s Randy’s “time,” He could be hit by a bus in Toronto, or die because he is a Jew in Israel. One death is meaningless; the other has infinite meaning.
Years ago, we were being recruited to work for the Jewish community of South Africa. We went on a speaking tour there and it was fantastic – hundreds came out to every talk, the community is so special, and they told me we’d have maids, and I would never do laundry again. We weighed the pros and cons, and when we listed the danger, I told them, “I’m not afraid of death, but I don’t want it to be because someone wanted my car.”
I hope I live till 120 in good health — mind, body and spirit. And I also hope and pray that my life, and my death, have infinite meaning.
I can’t sleep, cry for what I am reading and seeing, sick over the tragedy unfolding before us. Proud of the bravery that I see. Praying for Israel, the safety of Jews everywhere, and for victory over the evil that is so plain for all to see, yet still many nations either turn away or are blinded by their prejudices and hate.
Someone said something to me a few months ago that was so simple, yet so true, but I never realized it. They said the longest relationship of your life is with your siblings. You have everyone else for a certain number of years, but your brothers and sisters, they are it.
The rockets are falling, the children are captured, and Jewish blood runs in the street. These are our brothers and sisters, and G-d willing, we will be victorious, for in unity we merit G-d’s Divine protection.
What I fear is what will happen after victory. Will we come close and focus on the opposite of senseless hatred, ahava b’kavana, love with a purpose? To see what it is to love one another, even with our differences – or is this, G-d forbid, the funeral that brings us together.
May G-d protect us all. Am Yisrael chai.
