While the classroom is typically the place where wisdom is disseminated, it is certainly not the only one.
In fact, when we think back, it may very well be that the more unusual – even unlikely – meeting places we encountered throughout our lives were the ones that offered us the greatest edification. Perhaps it was the person we sat next to on a bus or airplane who shared something important and memorable. It may have even been that chance meeting in a brief elevator ride or while standing interminably in line at a dreaded government office.
My friend Jay Shapiro tells the story of, pardon the image, standing at a urinal in his workplace’s washroom. A co-worker happened to mention that he would soon be taking a sabbatical, with all expenses paid by the company. Jay, flabbergasted, asked how his colleague was so lucky to get the perk and was even more wide-eyed when he was told that this was the standard policy after seven years of work for all upper-level employees.
“But no one ever told this to me!” said Jay, who had worked there for more than seven years. “Well, I’m telling you now,” said his new best friend.
To the list of unusual sources of knowledge, we can now add the safe room. The sudden siren in the night and the sleepy sauntering to our mamads (safe rooms) has created another venue for sharing, usually with loved ones.
Along with cursing the Yemeni fanatics who woke us with their missile, the subject of discussion is pretty much always the same: “Why are we here?!” That is, how did our relatively safe situation descend to such a point that we must now flee like robbers in the night, awaiting the boom and the dreadful news report that may follow?
This question is particularly troubling when it comes from a young child, dragged out of his or her bed into the blinding light and hurriedly ushered into the little reinforced cubicle. Inquisitive children – perhaps of all ages – want to understand what this is all about, where it started, and, most importantly, where it will end. I want to suggest three approaches to the conversation.
The historical imperative
We Jews have been fighting the world ever since we became a nation – and well before.
Abraham was dragged into the War of the Five Kings (see Genesis 14); the Philistines were perennial enemies of Isaac; Jacob‘s family fought the city of Shechem, while Jacob barely avoided a major conflict with his twin brother, Esau. Moses fought the Amalekites, the Midianites, and many other fiefdoms; the 12 tribes and the kings of Israel fought innumerable battles during their long reign. We would ultimately be conquered by Assyria, Babylonia, and Rome in epic encounters.
These early wars were often about land, the desire of opposing empires to expand their dominion, and their fear of us as a powerful opposing force in the region. Yet even after we lost our national identity and were dispersed to the far reaches of the planet, we still faced cruel and determined enemies who sought our destruction.
The pogroms of the Middle Ages, the Inquisition, the Chmielnicki massacres, the Soviet purges, and, of course, the Holocaust all challenged our ability to survive over the centuries in the face of our foes.
So it comes as no surprise to us that now, when we have miraculously regained our independence and place among the nations, antagonists old and new will come forward to try to destroy us. Their motives and excuses for attacking us are too varied and too long to list; the rabbis succinctly summed it up by declaring: “Esau hates Jacob; this is an immutable principle.”
The spiritual imperative
The Talmud (Shabbat 89) focuses on the words “Sinai” (the mountain) and “sina” (hate). The similar-sounding words imply that hatred of the Jewish people descended from Mount Sinai right along with the Ten Commandments.
As the primary standard-bearers of God’s law and code of morality, we represented a dire threat to the other nations. They had no use for divine mercy or justice; this only challenged their doctrines of Survival of the Fittest, and Might Makes Right. They were determined to rule by force, so they could not tolerate an alternative ideology that added God’s kindness and rules of proper conduct to the mix.
This antipathy toward Jews as representatives of the Almighty and a higher code of behavior was epitomized by Hitler and the Nazis. Hitler believed that he, not God, was the higher authority to whom all must bow; his early, stunning military victories only reinforced for him Napoleon Bonaparte’s supposed comment that “God is on the side with the best artillery.”
This is precisely why our adversaries continually seek to portray us as guilty of crimes against humanity while, in reality, it is they who are the criminals. It is not only to justify their crimes but to remove us as the godly paradigms of hessed (kindness) and love of others.
They endlessly work to place us in no-win situations, such as when they shoot at us from hospitals or between children, so that we are forced to cause unavoidable casualties while defending ourselves. They understand that it is our knowledge of right and wrong, our “purity of arms,” and our adherence to the sanctity of life that draw us under God’s wings and assure our eternal continuance.
The political imperative
While we have a strong, cosmic connection to our fate, we are also human beings, bidden by God to use our strengths and abilities to manage our own affairs. We are given the tools to forge our destiny, but we must use those tools wisely.
The well-known adage ayn somchin al ha’nes (“we must not depend on miracles”) requires us to create an army, devise defensive and offensive weapons, and go to battle. It also demands that we elect leaders who will guide us in war and, hopefully, in peace.
I wrote in these pages at the very beginning of the Israel-Hamas war that it was imprudent in the extreme for the prime minister to believe – and even more aggressive to publicly boast – that we could utterly wipe out Hamas and bring all of our hostages home.
Joshua – our greatest general, who vanquished seven nations – could not conquer Gaza, nor could King David, King Solomon, or even the mighty Samson. I referenced the repeated strategy of ancient Israel – as practiced by Gideon, Deborah, Barak, and other military leaders – to deliver a protracted, powerful blow to the enemy and then pull back, resulting in “peace for 40 years.”
Now, going on two years of bloody fighting and almost 1,000 holy soldiers killed in battle, we remain tragically far from the fulfillment of these rash governmental predictions.
At the same time, we fight an equally tragic and intensifying war among ourselves, primarily over the divisive issue of universal conscription. We can look back at history, and we can look up to the heavens, but at the end of the day we must also look squarely at ourselves.
The Why is endlessly debatable; the When is beyond our limited knowledge of the future. But the What – that remains largely in our hands. We must come together; we must all share in the war effort; we must demand – and deserve – good leaders who put the people first.
That, along with God’s blessing, is what will lead us to victory and an exit forever from the constriction and claustrophobia of our bomb shelters. ■
The writer is director of the Jewish Outreach Center of Ra’anana. rabbistewart@gmail.com