What is it that has kept the Jewish people through the ages? The Hebrew writer Ahad Ha’am famously said, “More than the Jewish people kept Shabbat, Shabbat kept the Jewish people.”
I once heard a more cynical remark suggesting that it’s not Shabbat, but rather antisemitism that has kept Jews Jewish.
Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, zt”l, offered this perspective: “The Jewish people kept hope alive, and hope kept the Jewish people alive.”
The Haggadah suggests yet another answer with the phrase: V’hi she’amda la’avoteinu – “That which stood for our ancestors.” But what exactly is that “hi“? The Shechina? G-d’s promise? Our faith?
Reflecting on the past year, several themes have stood out to me, all of which seem to echo these enduring questions.
One: Jewish Pride
Since October 7th, the global Jewish community has undergone a profound transformation. For many who had grown apathetic toward their Judaism, the option of indifference simply ceased to exist.
Some began putting on tefillin or encouraging others to do so. Secular Israeli soldiers requested tzitzit, and volunteers rushed to tie them. People who had never publicly acknowledged their Jewish identity started wearing Magen David necklaces or hostage dogtags.
Others sprang into action, organizing and shipping duffle bags filled with essentials. There were letter-writing campaigns and fundraisers to provide warmth and comfort for soldiers braving the cold, rainy season.
Social media became a battleground, and a community, where Jewish voices rose up – partly to make the case for Israel, but even more importantly, to support one another.
Is this newfound pride a response to the resurgence of antisemitism? Or is it something deeper – an affirmation of our heritage, our traditions, and our enduring contributions to the world?
Two: Emotional Whiplash
Throughout the war, Israelis have adhered to the guidance of Pikud HaOref – the Homefront Command. But “oref” means more than “homefront;” it also means “neck.”
Rabbi Sacks once noted that after the Golden Calf, Moshe pleaded for G-d’s forgiveness, using the peculiar reasoning that the Israelites were an “Am k’shei oref – a stiff-necked people.” What seems like a flaw – stubbornness – might be the very trait that has sustained us through the ages.
The war has swung between unbearable tragedy and extraordinary miracles. Checking one’s phone after Shabbat has felt like a form of Russian roulette.
Take, for example, a recent weekend: On Friday night, two car bombings were thwarted. On Sunday, the day Israeli children returned to school from summer break, the remains of six assassinated hostages were discovered. And on Monday, yet another car bombing was prevented.
This emotional penduluming is exhausting. Without millennia of stiff-necked practice, we would be utterly debilitated.
When this is all over, I think we need a national chiropractor.
Three: Family
The IDF has made incredible accomplishments in fighting against Hamas in complex urban warfare. Hezbollah is reeling, having lost almost all of its leadership. Iran fired hundreds of rockets with almost no impact. We have witnessed overt miracles.
But it all feels tainted.
The hostages are not home; our brothers and sisters are still held captive. Countless families are grieving loved ones or struggling with life-altering injuries.
We are all broken by the situation, and there are complicated internal disagreements about what we should do. Is there a moral imperative to negotiate with Hamas? Does negotiation even have a chance of success? Will negotiating just mean another round of this horror in a few years? Should we be applying more military pressure? Is the pressure endangering the hostages further?
Two years ago, in 5783, we went through one of the darkest periods of internal discord in Israeli history. The Judicial Reform magnified every disagreement, and the internal anger and hatred culminated with ugly moments on Yom Kippur 5784.
Just two weeks later, October 7 reminded us of a fundamental truth: We are all family.
Families argue, disagree, and debate. And that’s okay. But we must remember to respect one another and love one another, despite, or maybe even because of, our differences.
The soldiers are fighting terrorists on the battlefield, and it’s up to the rest of us to fight to protect our core unity. We must never return to the Yom Kippur of last year.
I think we need a national therapist.
Four: Seeds of Hope
“Ha’zor’im b’dim’ah, b’rina yiktzoru – Those who plant in tears, will reap in joy” (Psalm 126).
I’ve found myself returning to this verse repeatedly throughout the war. I believe it encapsulates the essential character trait that enabled Jewry, throughout history, to pick up from each generation’s tragedy, and build anew.
It’s hope, but it’s more than hope. It’s an undying belief that tomorrow can be better, paired with the relentless drive to do something about it. Even in the darkest times, we plant seeds of kindness, convinced that they will bear fruit.
Over the past year, this trait has manifested in countless awe-inspiring acts. We’ve seen injured soldiers, forever changed by their wounds, smiling and singing HaChayim Shelanu Tutim (Our Life is Strawberries by Hanan ben Ari). We’ve witnessed grieving families, who should be receiving comfort, offer strength to those around them. We’ve seen army bases, walls utterly plastered in children’s notes. Everyone has tried to plant their seed.
Five: Faith
Chanukah, the first holiday after October 7th, was emotionally challenging. How could we celebrate while so many of our brothers and sisters were still being held hostage?
In our home, we decided to channel that emotion into action. My children and I created 3D-printed dreidels to raise money for those displaced from their homes.
We made two versions:
- Nun, Gimmel, Yud, Pei – “Nes Gadol Yihye Po” (a great miracle will happen here).
- Nun, Gimmel, Kuf, Pei – “Nes Gadol Koreh Po” (a great miracle is happening here).
But no one wanted the first option. Everyone was certain: the miracle is happening now.
This faith isn’t just faith in Hashem; it’s also faith in people.
Despite all the hardship the last year has brought, I have never been more optimistic about the future of the Jewish people.
The nation of Israel is filled with good people. People who are willing to sacrifice for others and to care for one another. People with values, morals, drive, and determination.
The future is very bright.
Six: Gratitude
A final theme I have focused on for the last year is gratitude.
It has been a very hard year for everyone. On a personal level, I’ve been dealing with some health challenges which have greatly affected my mobility. Last Rosh Hashana, things were so bad I couldn’t even hold a coffee cup.
Things have since improved a fair amount, baruch Hashem, and now, every time I pick up a cup, I am filled with gratitude.
In years like the one we’ve just experienced, it’s essential to recognize our blessings. Every breath, every smile, every tear is a gift.
As we approach Simchat Torah again, the specter of last year rises. Can we celebrate this holiday after all that has happened? The emotions are overwhelming, but our collective spirit gives us no choice. We must gather together, lift our heads up high, proudly stick out our collective tongue at evil, and declare: “We Will Dance Again!”
We danced round and round in circles as if the world had done no wrong
From evening until morning, filling up the shul with song.
Though we had no sifrei Torah to gather in our arms,
In their place we held those children, the Jewish people would live on.
Am Yisrael Chai.
The Jewish people would live on.
– The Man from Vilna, Journeys, by Abie Rotenberg
