From October 7 to 17 Tammuz

Our calendar is beginning to bulge with days that have become so notorious that they are simply known by their dates. “9/11,” of course. “January 6.” And “October 7.” Days that live in infamy because of the awful events that happened on them.

Jewish tradition has long had a few of these as well—commemorations that are just known by their dates on the calendar. The 17th day of Tammuz is a minor fast day that falls this year on Tuesday, July 23. According to the Talmud (Ta’anit 26a-26b), 17 Tammuz is associated with historical tragedies for the Jewish people. Some of these calamities can be seen as “preludes” for disasters that would fall on the 9th Av, exactly three weeks later:

…חֲמִשָּׁה דְּבָרִים אֵירְעוּ אֶת אֲבוֹתֵינוּ בְּשִׁבְעָה עָשָׂר בְּתַמּוּז
,בְּשִׁבְעָה עָשָׂר בְּתַמּוּז נִשְׁתַּבְּרוּ הַלּוּחוֹת
,וּבָטַל הַתָּמִיד
,וְהוּבְקְעָה הָעִיר
,וְשָׂרַף אַפּוֹסְטְמוֹס אֶת הַתּוֹרָה
.וְהֶעֱמִיד צֶלֶם בַּהֵיכל

Five terrible things happened to our ancestors on the 17th of Tammuz…

1. The tablets were shattered (by Moses upon seeing the Golden calf; Ex. 32:19);
2. The Tamid/daily sacrifice in the Temple was cancelled (by the Roman authorities);
3. The city walls of Jerusalem were breached;
4. The Roman general Apostemos publicly burned the Torah;
5. And an idol was placed in the Sanctuary of the Temple.

It's that third item that cuts to the quick this year. It’s not difficult to imagine the carnage of the “breaching of the walls.” After all, we saw it with our own eyes on October 7, nine-and-a-half months ago, when Hamas terrorists tore through the Israeli villages and kibbutzim in the western Negev, murdering and raping their victims, setting fire to the towns, and seizing hostages, 120 of whom are still being held prisoner in Gaza.

Last week, I visited the ruins of Kibbutz Nir Oz. Of the 427 residents of that community, one in four were murdered, wounded, or taken hostage on October 7, 2023, that cursed Simchat Torah. Nine-and-a-half months later, the kibbutz is a ghost town—desolate and frightening. And like a prehistoric insect embalmed in amber, Nir Oz is frozen in time. Broken glass still carpets the ground, the walls remain ashen, children’s toys litter the floor—and the sukkah is still standing.

It was brutal to be there, and I struggle to post this here. But it’s essential that we keep sharing the images and telling the stories of what happened in Nir Oz (and Be’eri, and Kfar Aza, and all the other devastated towns, and at the site of the Nova music festival), so that the world can bear witness.

Images are more powerful than words (at least they’re more powerful than my words), so I’ll share this as a photo-essay of what I saw at Nir Oz last week. The images are devastating, but important. Please note: I’m posting this from a laptop computer, and the photos are neatly arranged on my screen—my apologies if the formatting is messed up on phones or iPads.

The entrance to the main building at Kibbutz Nir Oz today.

Some of the destroyed homes of the kibbutz:

The Hadar Ochel / communal dining hall and kitchen of the kibbutz:

The kindergarten classroom of Nir Oz:

The sukkah is still standing, in shambles, nine months after the festival (“the Season of our Joy”) ended:

And the rage and resentment against this government’s failures - in preventing the attack and in bringing the hostages home - is palpable everywhere:

This sign, posted outside one of the scorched homes, says, “Netanyahu: My family’s blood is on your hands!”, and is signed by the residents.

A few more images from the houses of the kibbutz, include the burnt house of Oded Lifshitz, an octogenarian journalist and lifelong activist for peace between Israelis and Palestinians, now one of the hostages.

The names that are on everyone’s lips in Israel are those of the Bibas family of Nir Oz. Their family of four - parents Shiri (age 32) and Yarden (age 34), and their children Ariel (age 4) and Kfir (age 9 months) - were kidnapped and remain hostage in Gaza today. Shiri’s parents Yossi and Margit Silberman were murdered on Oct. 7. Kfir Bibas has now lived more than half of his life as a hostage to the Hamas terrorists. The scene at the Bibas home is devastating:

The Bibas family mailbox, with four labels that read “hostage.”

THIS is why we’re fighting this just war. THIS is what is at stake when we say “BRING THEM HOME.” It pains me to post these pictures here, but the world must know about what happened here and elsewhere on October 7.

The view through the fence at the border of the Kibbutz, with Gaza just beyond.

The flag flying half-mast at the entrance to the kibbutz.

Bein Ha-Sh’mashot: Between Memory and Independence

Sunday evening, May 12, is Yom HaZikaron / Israel’s Memorial Day.
Monday evening, May 13, is Yom HaAtzma’ut / Israel’s 76th Independence Day.

תָּנוּ רַבָּנַן: בֵּין הַשְּׁמָשׁוֹת סָפֵק מִן הַיּוֹם וּמִן הַלַּיְלָה
.סָפֵק כּוּלּוֹ מִן הַיּוֹם, סָפֵק כּוּלּוֹ מִן הַלַּיְלָה

Our Sages taught:
Bein Ha-Sh’mashot, twilight, is a place of uncertainty. Day or night?
It is uncertain if it belongs to the day or if it belongs to the night.  
(Talmud Bavli, Shabbat 34b)

The Israeli national calendar does something rather extraordinary: it juxtaposes Memorial Day and Independence Day, so the former segues directly into the latter.

“We find ourselves in a twilight place between memory and freedom.”

I’ve often wondered, as an American, how each of those days in our calendar would be more profound and meaningful if our national holidays were similarly positioned. As it is, the American Memorial Day, the last Monday in May, mostly becomes a three-day weekend of barbecues and the informal beginning of summer—unless, of course, you happen to be in a military family.  And the 4th of July becomes a day of fireworks and beachgoing. Physically separated by five-and-a-half weeks in the calendar, these days are distinct and isolated from one another. Imagine how the meaning of each day would be deepened if they weren’t so far apart.

By contrast, in the Israeli model, the two days are inextricably connected, and each throws light upon the other. In other words, Israel’s fallen soldiers (and victims of terror) are remembered in the context of paying the ultimate price for everyone else’s gifts of freedom.

The flow from Yom HaZikaron into Yom HaAtzma’ut is organic, meaningful, and solemn.

This year, that seam between the two days seems to be the profoundest metaphor of the condition of Zionism. We truly find ourselves בֵּין הַשְּׁמָשׁוֹת /  bein ha-sh’mashot, in a twilight place between memory and freedom.

Please, please this year take a moment on Yom HaZikaron to remember. Remember not only the victims of Israel’s wars and the terrorist onslaughts she has faced throught the decades. Remember, too, the Hamas butchery of innocents on October 7: 1,139 people who were murdered, including the 364 who were killed at the Nova Music Festival in the desert, and the others from the kibbutzim and towns where the terrorists ruthlessly went door-to-door, executing children, elders, women, and men.

Remember that 250 people (in some situations, several generations of a single family; toddlers and grandparents) were kidnapped and held hostage in the dungeons beneath Gaza.

Remember that many of these women were raped and assaulted by the terrorists, and then their humiliations were sadistically posted to terrorist social media (with beheadings, torture, and more).

Remember that 128 people remain hostages today. May they be returned home before the holidays conclude on Tuesday.

And yes, we have room in our hearts to remember ALL the victims of war and terror, including the innocent Palestinian victims in Gaza. We have not forgotten, and we weep for all the victims. By mourning all the innocents, we assert that we are of a different moral caliber than our enemies.

But we also remember that there are such things as just wars, and we did not seek out or choose this war. The massacre of innocents and the hostages who are still behind enemy lines, without any Red Cross lifelines:  we remember them, and we will not forget, until every one is brought home.

Our Day of Memory will segue into our Day of Independence. And it may be hard to celebrate this year. But even acknowledging our diminished joy, I believe it is incumbent upon us to observe Yom HaAtzma’ut this year; to say in awe: “My G-d! We live in a generation that knows a State of Israel. What would our great-great-grandparents have said to us, to remind us that we live in one of the most extraordinary moments in all of Jewish history?”

Included in that sense of wonder is this: The reminder that Israel represents our refusal to be victims ever again. We have known pogroms and hostage-taking before in Jewish history. But the difference in our generation is the agency to fight for our freedom, to stand for justice and decency and independence and not to wait desperately for “deliverance from another place” (as Esther 4:14 would have it).

With that agency, of course, comes grave responsibility. A just war must be fought with just means. And the internal debates and wrestling that are going on within the Jewish community are (mostly) fair and, in the very fact that they are happening, a fruit of Independence.

As the world seethes—as antisemites aggressively spew their hate on college campuses and hypocrites dominate the opinion pages, as Jews are threatened once again from every quarter and every political angle—it occurs to me: I will observe Yom HaAtzma’ut with a renewed sense of vigor this year.

Observing Yom HaAtzma’ut with gratitude, commitment, and no small amount of wonder, will demand a certain amount of intention:

It will be an act of commitment to truth, which is in ever-diminishing supply.

It will be an act of pride in all the marvels that make up modern Israel.

It will be an act of solidarity with Jews everywhere, who continue to look towards Zion in hope.

It will be an act of rededication to working towards building the democratic and free society that is described in its Declaration of Independence:

The State of Israel will be open for Jewish immigration and for the Ingathering of the Exiles; it will foster the development of the country for the benefit of all its inhabitants; it will be based on freedom, justice and peace as envisaged by the prophets of Israel; it will ensure complete equality of social and political rights to all its inhabitants irrespective of religion, race or sex; it will guarantee freedom of religion, conscience, language, education and culture; it will safeguard the Holy Places of all religions; and it will be faithful to the principles of the Charter of the United Nations.

In other words, celebrating Israeli Independence this year will be an act of countercultural DEFIANCE that is at the heart of the Torah and Jewish tradition.

It may be hard to tell if this moment between memory and freedom belongs primarily to day or night, as the Talmud (above) would have it. But Israel and its extraordinarily resilient people continue to shine the light of courage, and I for one will raise a glass this year with my community to celebrate that unextinguished hope.

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Reflections on the Rally for Israel in DC

Aerial photo of the Rally for Israel in Washington DC, with an estimated crowd of 290,000 people. Image: Washington Post

A few days ago, I wrote about how this week’s Rally for Israel in Washington, DC, was arousing old and important memories for me. Namely, I’ve been thinking of Freedom Sunday, the national march for Soviet Jewry in this very same spot back in 1987—and what a pivotal moment that was in my life, the awakening of my own political consciousness.

So how profound that this afternoon, as my son Avi and I entered the National Mall, I turned and bumped into—Natan Sharansky.

Natan Sharansky speaking at the rally, November 15, 2023

Sharansky, of course, was the “face” of the Soviet refusenik movement. When I was a kid, his face peered down from posters in the Temple Shalom Hebrew school, with the slogan PRISONER OF ZION or LET MY PEOPLE GO! (He was called Anatoly back then; only when he was freed and reached Israel did he start going by his Hebrew name, Natan.) Of course, he became a prominent public figure in Israel—but he was also there that day on the Mall back when I was in high school, a searing voice of conscience from the stage.

This time, Sharansky was the first invited guest to speak, and he reminded everyone of the rally for Jewish freedom thirty-six years ago. His presence this week made clear: this, too, is a moment for Jewish people to stand in support of one another in the face of another tyrannical, violent regime.

Looking around, the numbers were astounding. We’ll see what the news reports say in the days ahead; the Times of Israel is putting attendance at 290,000. (That seems right – I’ve been in football stadiums with 80-90,000 people before, and this felt much bigger.)

There were some inspiring speakers from the podium. I was particularly moved by the passion of Ambassador Deborah Lipstadt, House Minority Leader Hakeem Jeffries, and—most especially—by the families of Israelis who are currently being held hostage in Gaza. The politicians were from the left and right, and most everyone stayed on-message: Israel is fighting a just war; bring the hostages home now; and we are all united in the fight against the antisemitism that has emerged aboveground in the past 37 days.

But speakers were besides the point. The point was presence, showing up in the face of all that’s happened in such a short time: the massacred Jews and towns and kibbutzim that have been decimated; the 240 hostages held in Gaza’s dungeons; the insane apologetics for terrorism against Jews; the silence of so many who, ahem, see “very fine people on both sides.”

Lest we forget precisely what this fight is all about.

This wasn’t a warmongering crowd. (Sure, in any crowd of nearly 300,000, there will be some who are off-message.) This was a gathering in support of a people ravaged by terrorism, who are responding with justice. As I’ve written before, anyone who doesn’t grieve for all innocent victims of war has lost their moral bearings. But yes, we believe that the sadism of Hamas must be uprooted—for the well-being of Israelis and Palestinians alike; and, for that matter, for the good of America, Europe, and the Arab world that fears the rise of Iranian-backed terror groups.

Did we accomplish anything? I hope so.

First, it was invigorating to hear the Congressional leadership declare that standing by Israel is a bipartisan American ideal. Here’s an idea: let’s hold one another to that as the presidential campaign unfolds!

Second, there was a feeling of klal yisrael / Jewish unity in the air: while it is sad that such a tragic crisis has brought a fragmented Jewish community together, the truth is it has brought us together. 

And third, I hope that our Israeli friends and family see such a massive demonstration and find some sense of comfort and strength in this testimony that they are not forgotten. Indeed, they are in our thoughts perpetually.

I do know this: attending the rally was personally important to me. Living as a Jew in the Diaspora is difficult when Israel is under siege; there is a heartsickness that comes with being far away. (And Moses’s words in Numbers 32 continue to haunt me:  הַאַֽחֵיכֶ֗ם יָבֹ֙אוּ֙ לַמִּלְחָמָ֔ה וְאַתֶּ֖ם תֵּ֥שְׁבוּ פֹֽה / “Are your brothers and sisters going to go to war—while you stay here?”) There is a desire to be there, to want to do something more. (Surely that’s why I can’t stop clicking on each of those Tzedakah opportunities—to support the families of the hostages, to send necessary supplies to the reservists, to care for the victims and the communities that have been devastated…)

More than anything, this rally restored in me—and perhaps in you—a much-needed sense of hope. I admit that, even at the beginning of this week, I was feeling very low on hope. The brutality of Hamas is clear. Even worse, their knee-jerk, juvenile supporters in the streets and on campus were making me feel terribly disheartened and alone. Surveying the scene on university after university, never before I have been so acutely aware that there is no correlation whatsoever between being educated and being moral. And that was making me terribly sad.

And then… this. Hundreds of thousands of us, insisting by our very presence that the abandonment of the Jews is not moral and it won’t happen on our watch. This war against Hamas will be won—but today I’m a bit more hopeful about what comes afterward as well.

And on a very personal note, I must say: It was also wonderful to be there alongside my son Avi, who works at the Israeli Embassy in DC. I hope it’s not maudlin to observe: in 1987 I stood for Jewish peoplehood on this historic patch of land with my father. On Tuesday, I stood here with one of my sons.

Am Yisrael Chai! 

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A Letter to a Liberal Minister Friend

Dear Reverend L.,

Thank you for your note. I, too, am saddened that the Jewish-Muslim program in which I was invited to participate was cancelled for Sunday. I am very committed to these sort of programs and agree that they are more important than ever.

And I very much appreciate the spirit in which your note was written.

I probably should stop writing here. But I cannot.

 
You write, “I am someone who believes in both Israel’s right to be a nation as well as the rights of the Palestinian people to have their own state.” I do too.

“I appreciate that you believe in “Israel’s right to be a nation,” but please consider what a paltry statement that is. ”

But: Is that what you think this war is about? Seeking a two-state solution to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict?

Two weeks ago, at least 1,400 Jews were massacred; more Jews in a single day than at any other time since the Shoah (“the Holocaust”). Perhaps you saw the videos of the teenagers who were slaughtered at a desert music festival in Israel. Or the images of towns where most of the populations were murdered by terrorists who went house to house, executing everyone within. (I recommend Anderson Cooper’s “The Whole Story” on the festival massacre, which was released on HBO-MAX today.)

Perhaps you have seen how the terrorists have posted videos to social media of beheadings, burnings alive, desecrated bodies, and humiliated hostages, with the same sort of twisted satanic joy that we saw on the faces of the perpetrators of the lynchings years ago in the American south.

There are currently at least 230 Jewish people who have been kidnapped and held hostage by Hamas, secreted away in subterranean tunnels that were constructed for the purpose of terror. Some of them are octogenarian grandmothers and grandfathers. Some of them are children.

Today, a friend of mine—an Israeli rabbi, a lifelong advocate of peace and interfaith bridge-building—officiated at the funeral of a family of four; two parents and two of their children. One son, the lone survivor of his family, spoke, somehow, at the ceremony. They were members of Kibbutz Be’eri, a communal town that in 2021 had a population of 1,047. At least 10% of Be’eri is dead.

Do you think this massacre of Jews is about the failure of the two-state solution? It is not.

“Hamas” is not equivalent to “the Palestinian people.” Speaking as someone who knows Palestinians, who has spent time in their homes and knows well their frustrations and true grievances and injustices they have suffered, I know that those of good faith are likewise held back by the Hamas—a fascist and repressive terrorist organization. What Israel is experiencing is the proportional equivalent of twenty 9/11’s. The elimination of Hamas is not only just—it is rational and necessary for both Israelis and Palestinians in order to have any sort of livable future.

What about Iran? Every indication is that this terrorist assault was planned meticulously for months—and that it has the fingerprints and probably a greenlight from Tehran on it. Do you think Hamas and Iran are working for a two-state solution? They are working for the goal that is articulated in the Hamas charter: the annihilation of the Jewish state.

I appreciate that you believe in “Israel’s right to be a nation,” but please consider what a paltry statement that is. “We agree you have a right to exist.” That’s really not a very high or generous standard, is it? (Although there are plenty of monstrous people in the world who will not even grant that.)

“Hamas is the “good people on both sides” moment of 2023.”

Reverend, I want you to know about the conversation that is happening in every Jewish community in America right now:

First, we are grieving. Jewishness is first and foremost about being part of the Jewish people. Our history and our traditions emphasize that Jews are one interconnected family, a subset of our larger human family. So there is pain—an open, bleeding wound—in every Jewish community in the world right now.

We are praying collectively for the hundreds who are being held hostage in terror cells. We are praying for those families that have been ripped apart. We are praying for the dead.

Second, we grieve for the suffering of innocents everywhere. Most every Jewish community grieves for the suffering of innocent Palestinians, and those who will inevitably suffer in this war.  Anyone who cannot feel compassion for all innocents who suffer has surely lost any figment of a moral compass. I know that my community prays for all the victims of war and terror everywhere, and we pray for peace.

But we also know that the Palestinian people suffer from Hamas’s fascism and cruelty. We are not warmongers—but we also are not pacifists; we recognize that there are moments when evil must be counteracted with the force of justice. We learned that lesson in World War 2 and many other times in the history of the past century.

Third, Jewish communities are asking today who our allies are. Every day, I’m hearing shock and dismay—and worse—from Jews who are experiencing the ugliest sort of old-school antisemitic hate, especially on social media. We see the pro-Hamas rallies in the streets of some cities, where the protestors seem positively euphoric about the deaths of Israeli Jews. We see demonstrations on college campuses from “progressive” faculty and students who point their fingers at us to say: It’s your fault. While we’re attending funerals, these people tell us that we are responsible for the rapes, beheadings, and abductions.  

Jewish students on college campuses are shocked by the amorality of their professors, administrators, and others in authority, in their “both-sidesism”. Every synagogue and Jewish community center in America has amped up its security for protection in ways that we never imagined we would have to do in the 21st century. We are waiting to see who our allies are.

Last year, we all flew Ukrainian flags in support of the victims of unchecked terror and aggression. We suspect that, no matter how many Jews are murdered, our neighbors will not be flying Israeli flags anytime soon. The title of Dara Horn’s recent book on antisemitism is People Love Dead Jews, and she has a point: Dead Jews can be martyrs, but Jews who defend themselves from those who would murder them are somehow less sympathetic.

After Charlottesville—when white supremacists chanted “Jews will not replace us”—the President of the United States claimed he saw “good people on both sides.” He was appropriately excoriated for it.  Hamas is the “good people on both sides” moment of 2023, especially for progressives. Anyone who cannot unequivocally say, “We stand with Israel in its fight against terrorism,” will fail the test.

So, L., please know that I understand where you’re coming from; you thought you were being compassionate with your note. I appreciate that. Please know that I wouldn’t have taken the time to write if I didn’t hold you in high esteem as a man of peace. But Jews need to know who our friends are right now, and who will stand on the sidelines, in that Swiss sort of amoral neutrality.

Sincerely,

Neal

Seeking Inspiration Before Shabbat Noach

Like you, I can’t think of anything else.

I can’t sleep; I wake up thinking about Israel and go to sleep at night saturated with the war. I can’t stop thinking of the victims, the bereaved families… and the 200 people seized by terrorists and being held hostage in the subterranean web of tunnels beneath Gaza City.

And I suspect, like you as well, my thoughts occasionally drift to Hamas’s apologists nearby: the sycophants so consumed with satanic bloodlust that they would gaslight the Jews, suggesting that the victims of rape and murder justifiably brought this on themselves.

I’m not afraid to use that word, “satanic”; I wish I could find in my vocabulary an even stronger word. I think of the kibbutzim where a significant portion of their residents were slaughtered, like Nahal Oz and Be’eri (400 people massacred on Be’eri alone). Children and their grandparents – a merism for others in-between, too – kidnapped, raped, beheaded; paraded through the streets of Gaza and displayed to the world on social media by human monsters with the same looks on their faces that we see in the old photos of southern lynchings from a generation ago.

Tonight, The Atlantic is reporting on a seized Hamas handbook that describes in detail how to kidnap children and adults (yes, kidnapping children was part of their plan from the beginning) – and how to execute any hostages that prove to be difficult.

As I think of those at Harvard, Yale, Berkeley, Columbia, and so many other campuses who think that their facile commitment to “social justice” justifies their blood libel, I keep returning to this poem by Natan Alterman:

אז אמר השטן: הנצור הזה
איך אוכל לו
אתוֹ האמץ וכשרון המעשה
.וכלי מלחמה ותושיה עצה לו

 ואמר: לא אטל כחו
ולא רסן אשים ומתג
ולא מרך אביא בתוכו
ולא ידיו ארפה כמקדם,
רק זאת אעשה: אכהה מחו
.ושכח שאתו הצדק

 כך דיבר השטן וכמו
חוורו שמים מאימה
בראותם אותו בקומו
.לבצע המזימה

So Satan said: This besieged one,
how can I defeat him?
He has bravery and talent,
Weaponry and cleverness and knowhow.

 And he said: I will not take his strength
And I will not harness him with a bridle and rein
And I will not make him succumb to fear
Nor will I weaken his arms like in the past.
No, this is what I will do: I’ll blur his thinking
And he will forget that his cause is just.

Thus spoke the devil,
And the heavens grew pale
Watching him step up
To fulfill the scheme.

I’ve been thinking about this poem all week. I’m ambivalent, because of my difficulty with Alterman. He’s one of the great voices of the first generation of the State. But his politics were quirky: early on he was the conscience of the new nation, associated with the left wing Mapai party; but after 1967, he shifted to the far-right. In a sense, he’s claimed by every Israeli—and he’s a bit of heretic to everyone, too.

But those words—“he will forget his cause is just”—are emblazoned on my mind as I hear about intelligent people who are devoid of decency or morality.

Yet Shabbat is coming. I’m searching for words of… not hope, and not comfort; offering those things would be shallow and fake.  But there is inspiration to be found:

I find inspiration in the staggering stories of bravery of individuals like Noam and Gali Tibon, who drove into the combat zone and rescued their children and grandchildren and other survivors of the music festival massacre on October 7. And there are more stories like this: of responders whose impulse is to go towards the chaos to save lives, not to run.

I find inspiration in the student leaders who are putting themselves at significant risk by standing up for truth in the face of dissembling professors and the forces of antisemitic hate on their campuses.

I’m inspired by those who do the work of Tzedakah and Tikkun Olam. My inbox—like yours—is full of invitations to support the work of those who are providing healing and strength; this is the Jewish reflex. The Kavod Tzedakah Fund gave away over $8,000 this week to support Israelis who are hurting.

And, frankly, I’m inspired by some of our leaders—G-d bless President Biden for his moral clarity!

I’m even grateful for certain elements of the news media. It is very easy (and appropriate) to criticize the tendency for moral equivalency in the media, and I realize that I may be naïve and this may change next week. But I have to say:  I’ve had CNN on constantly these past few days, and I’ve seen reporting that is overwhelmingly sympathetic to the victims of terror and will provide no outlet for the dissembling of Hamas or its sycophants. Shoutouts to Jake Tapper! Kaitlin Collins! Wolf Blitzer! Anderson Cooper!

And I find inspiration in the Torah. This week, we read anew the story of the Noah and the Flood, recalling a time when the whole world seemed full of nothing but brutality, cruelty, lawlessness, and hate. But that’s my translation. In the Hebrew Bible, there is a single word for “brutality, cruelty, lawlessness, and hate” that describes the state of the world before the Flood. That word is חָמָֽס / hamas.

Of course, in the Torah hamas subsumes the world, and Creation is destroyed.

But after the Flood, G-d makes a promise to Noah and to all subsequent humankind:

וְזָכַרְתִּ֣י אֶת־בְּרִיתִ֗י אֲשֶׁ֤ר בֵּינִי֙ וּבֵ֣ינֵיכֶ֔ם וּבֵ֛ין כּל־נֶ֥פֶשׁ חַיָּ֖ה בְּכל־בָּשָׂ֑ר
וְלֹֽא־יִֽהְיֶ֨ה ע֤וֹד הַמַּ֙יִם֙ לְמַבּ֔וּל לְשַׁחֵ֖ת כּל־בָּשָֽׂר׃

I will remember My covenant between Me and you and every
living creature among all flesh, so that the waters shall never again
become a flood to destroy all flesh. (Genesis 9:15)

The point is: G-d tells humankind that there are no more “do-overs.” When the fires of hate and murderousness rise, it will take human beings to put out the flames. And, as Alterman said, don’t be distracted by those forces that will make you doubt the justice of your existence.

One more thing: I’ve heard many Jewish friends remarking, “Where are our interfaith neighbors? Why are they so silent at this time?” Perhaps you’ve felt this way too. I was starting to think that way on Tuesday, and my mind was drifting to some very dark places…

And then my doorbell rang. It was my next-door neighbor, an older woman who moved in over the summer; we’ve just begun getting to know her and her husband. In her arms—a large peace lily, whose white flowers were just beginning to bloom. She said:  “You and your family have been constantly in our thoughts. You must be in so much pain. We wanted to bring you this gift, with our affection and blessings.”

And then I was inspired anew, because all these cases remind me that light and love and decency have not been completely extinguished from this world.