Almost a month into the ceasefire, it is clear that it will take time – much time – to assess the outcome of Israel’s two-year war against Hamas.
On the surface, as many have noted, the constellations of the Middle East have been profoundly altered. Gaza lies in ruins; Hezbollah is degraded; Assad of Syria is gone; and Iran’s nuclear program is set back.
Beyond the physical lies the spiritual – the emotional standing of the Jewish state itself.
To be sure, the country as a whole is suffering from deep PTSD. Almost one thousand soldiers were killed, forever altering the lives of their families and friends. Thousands of wounded face months, years, perhaps lifetimes of rehabilitation.
Residents of the South, so brutally attacked on that October 7, will need time to regain trust in the IDF. Yet there is another side to the story. Although these years have been painfully dark, they have also radiated a penetrating light.
Stepping up
From the moment of the pogrom that took 1,200 lives, young people snapped to attention. Soldiers in sadir – their primary years of service – fought valiantly.
Reservists (miluimnikim) donned their uniforms again, some returning from abroad, putting their lives and limbs on the line.
While antisemitism spiraled around the globe, Jews everywhere stood tall. Not since the Soviet Jewry movement has world Jewry been so galvanized: confronting antisemitism on campus, marching weekly for the hostages, and volunteering in and outside Israel, each doing whatever they could to make a difference.
‘Never Again’
Some say October 7 proved that Israel’s founding purpose was breached, that Jews were once again slaughtered mercilessly. I contend the reverse: the raison d’être of Israel was reaffirmed.
In the past, when attacked in pogroms and massacres, Jews lacked the means to fight back. Now we did.
Israel fought like lions and lionesses – with courage and with a moral compass unmatched in the history of war – proving to the world, and to ourselves, that Jewish blood would never again be cheap.
Nation as family
It wasn’t as if everything was perfect – far from it.
Israelis often clashed bitterly: some denouncing the government, others defending it; some demanding an immediate ceasefire to free the hostages, others insisting the war continue until Hamas was forever destroyed.
Yet despite the fractures, there remained a deep sense that we are not only a nation but a family – and families that endure find ways to love through their differences.
Every morning brings something new
Years ago, when speaking to my father in Jerusalem from my home in Riverdale, I’d begin each call: “Abba, how are things going – ma inyanim?”
Quoting the prophet, he would always reply, “Chadashim la’bkarim – every morning brings something new.” Sometimes it’s a new challenge, a new twist, a new setback, or a new victory.
Assessing the post-war chadashim la’bkarim will not come easily. It comes, after all, in the shadow of an existential war of survival. And yet, it is a new day.
Walking through the streets of Jerusalem these days, one senses a weight lifted from the nation’s shoulders. We can finally breathe again: the living hostages are home.
The nightmare seems behind us – seems – for bodies, including that of Hadar Goldin, whose remains have been held by Hamas since the 2014 war, have yet to return.
With Hamas still shooting at our soldiers, there is great concern that it will never lay down its arms. Meanwhile, Israel’s release of convicted terrorists raises another specter: that new Sinwars are already plotting in the shadows.
The oxymoron of life and death
I felt this tension at Mount Herzl, at the burial of Daniel Perez, one of the hostages whose body had just been returned.
Perhaps the most searing moment came when Matan Angrest, newly freed from Gaza’s tunnels, found the strength to eulogize Daniel, his commander in the same tank.
He spoke of feeling Daniel’s presence beside him for the rest of his life and of his readiness to return to Gaza to bring back those whose bodies have yet to come home. In that instant, one could feel the oxymoron of it all – the collision between the agony of death and the exhilaration of life.
In no small measure, we as a people are once again simulating the breaking of the glass beneath the wedding canopy – the ritual that concludes the Jewish marriage ceremony.
On one hand, we cry out “mazal tov” as hostages are reunited with parents, siblings, and children, and there is hope – hope that the war has ended and life can begin anew.
Yet alongside those mazal tovs echoes the crackling sound of shattered glass in the air, a reminder that even our moments of joy are marred with loss.
Our sacred task, as the Kabbalists teach, is to gather and fix the broken pieces. As Leonard Cohen, the great poet and singer, put it: “There is a crack in everything – that’s how the light gets in.”
The writer is founding rabbi of the Hebrew Institute of Riverdale, Bronx, NY, founder of Yeshivat Chovevei Torah and Yeshivat Maharat rabbinical schools, and a co-founder of the International Rabbinic Fellowship. His new book, Defending Holocaust Memory is scheduled for publication this winter.