Yom Hashoah 5771

 Today, Yom Hashoah - Holocaust Remembrance Day, I sat in a class at HUC on the difficult theologies that the Holocaust raises. What was God's role in the Shoah - a perpetrator or a bystander? Does the Shoah require a theological response?

How do I think about this today, on this particular Yom Hashoah? Last night on TV, I watched the state ceremony at Yad Vashem commemorating the day, remembering the 6 million deaths at the hands of the Nazis. I read an article about whether or not we should draw the Shoah’s lessons out to universal values of eliminating all intolerance. And this morning, I woke up to the news that the U.S. military had killed Osama bin Laden, that Americans were rejoicing in the streets, singing and chanting USA, USA. My first thought: the midrash from Masechet Megillah, that tells us that the angels wanted to sing as the Egyptians drowned in the Sea of Reeds. "In that hour, the ministering angels wished to utter songs of praise before the Holy One, Blessed be God, but God rebuked them, saying: My handiwork, the Egyptians, is drowning in the sea, and you rejoice?!" We are all בני אלוהים bnei Elohim, children of God, we are all בצלם אלוהים btzelem Elohim, in the image of God, both good and evil. Hitler. Bin Laden. How can we rejoice at more death? Yes, maybe it is good, maybe it is necessary. Perhaps just as the destruction of Pharaoh’s army at ים סוף Yam Suf, the Sea of Reeds, was. But celebration and rejoicing? A verse from Proverbs: בנפל אויבך אל תשמח, ובכשלו אל יגל לבך Do not rejoice when your enemy falls, and do not let your heart be glad when he stumbles (Proverbs 24:17). My friend Evelyn  posted on Facebook that she had seen the same images in the days and weeks after 9-11: images of celebration coming out of the Middle East, and America railed in outrage that this was the response of the Arab world.

Yet we also pray, I pray, every day in the Amidah for the eradication of evil in the world:

וכל אויבי עמך מהרה יכרתו והזדים מהרה תעקר ותשבר ותמגר ותכניע במהרה בימינו. ברוך אתה יי שובר אויבים ומכניע זדים. 

"...May all Your people's enemies swiftly be cut down. May You swiftly uproot, crush, cast down and humble the arrogant swiftly in our days. Blessed are You, Lord, who destroys enemies and humbles the arrogant. (translation from the Koren Siddur)

Progressive liturgies have adapted the traditional text of this blessing of the Amidah, to reflect the desire to eliminate evilness and badness, rather than evil people.

ולרשעה אל תהי תקווה והתועים אליך ישובו, ומלכות זדון מהרה תשבר. ברוך אתה יי, שובר רשע מן הארץ

"And for wickedness, let there be no hope, and may all the errant return to You, and may the realm of wickedness be shattered. Blessed are You, Adonai, whose will it is that the wicked vanish from the earth." (text and translation from Mishkan T'filah)

Either way – we should rejoice and be grateful when our prayers are fulfilled, no?

As I rapidly clicked through the pictures on the front page of the New York Times this morning, pictures of the crowds in New York and Washington, pictures of President Obama giving his speech, older pictures of bin Laden, and then, unexpectedly…a photo from 10 years ago, of the smoke pouring out of the Twin Towers. And I remembered the fear, and the sadness of that day, and the atmosphere of that Rosh Hashanah.

Today the HUC community stood in silence with the rest of Israel at 10:00am, and remembered the 6 million. Yet there are still questions of how we observe, how we remember – do we focus on the 6 million killed? Do we seek revenge and vengeance against the perpetrators? Do we find רמזים remezim, hints, of those oppressors from 70 years ago in the world around us, as Prime Minister Netanyahu and President Shimon Peres did last night in their speeches at Yad Vashem? Several years ago, in a Hebrew class at Brandeis, we watched a music video in the days leading up to Yom Hashoah. Miri ben Ari and Subliminal angrily sing the words, at the end of the song:

אם יש חיים אחרי המוות, אנחנו נחכה להם שמה

“Im yesh hayyim acharei ha’mavet, n’chakeh lahem shamah.” If there is life after death, we will be waiting for them there.

So how do we respond in the face of tragedy, the tragedies that are inflicted by humanity on ourselves? Do we call for vengeance? How do we find justice amidst this? How do we react when there is justice, yet not peace? President Obama’s speech last night, with its focus on those who were lost on 9-11, and those who have served in the ten long years since then, instead of focusing on triumphalism, reminds me of what today, in the cycle of Jewish time, is truly about. זכרונם לברכה Zichronam livracha – may the memories of all those who have died because of the evil present in our still-broken world be for a blessing.

For lo, the winter has passed...

As I write this, sitting on my mirpeset and overlooking the courtyard behind my apartment building, I can see my neighbors in the next building over, who have moved their Pesach cleaning outside - there seems to be an entire stove out there, being cleaned. Stores and restaurants all around Jerusalem have signs announcing whether or not they will be open during Pesach and I saw a poster last night informing me when I could take my kitchen utensils and pots to be immersed in boiling water to kasher them for Pesach - right in my neighborhood! In addition to the holiday preparations that are everywhere in Jerusalem this week, the trees are blooming, flowers are budding, and the entire city smells like a flower shop (also known as hell for those of us with seasonal allergies).

I spent last week on a Pardes tiyul to the Golan Heights, in the north of Israel. I'd been to the Golan before, but mostly for tourism and learning about the history of the area, rather than hiking. It was breathtakingly beautiful. Wildflowers were blooming, everything was GREEN (rare for this region of the world), and it was so fully and entirely spring. On the first two days of the tiyul, we hiked to waterfalls with deep pools - and I was even brave enough to jump into the freezing cold water on day 2. Hiking in Israel reminds me that no matter what, despite all the challenges of living in this country, all of the heavy, complicated stuff that I write about and think about, I love this land. I am so happy to be living here this year, to have the opportunity to stay for another year.

At Shabbat services on Friday night, at Nava Tehila, a Renewal community in Jerusalem, we sang parts of Song of Songs, traditionally read/sung around this time of year, usually at the Shabbat during Pesach:

כי הנה הסתיו עבר הגשם חלף הלך לו. הניצנים נראו בארץ עת הזמיר הגיע
For lo, the winter has passed, the rain is over and gone. The flowers appear on earth, the time of singing has come. (Song of Songs 2:11-12)

Singing these verses at Kabbalat Shabbat felt like such an apt description of the past week. I love that in Israel, the liturgical cycle reflects the natural rhythm of the world, rather than feeling totally incongruous.





Yesterday, I went to the doctor to get my medical forms for HUC filled out. Only in Israel would the doctor be more confused as to why I needed a physical to go to rabbinical school than with the entire concept of rabbinical school in the first place. On his shelf, next to the usual medical books, were books like "Medical Ethics and Halacha." Another one of those "only in Israel" moments...

"Let the peoples tremble...let the earth quake"

(Psalm 99:1)

This blog post was originally supposed to be about the drought here in Israel. The Sephardi Chief Rabbi of Israel declared yesterday, Thursday, a fast day. Rav Amar said, "Because of our sins the water situation is in a serious state. Our duty in this situation is to scrutinize and examine our actions and bring ourselves close to God with all our hearts. We must be repentant with broken hearts and anyone who is able should fast, if not a whole day, at least a half day." This is a tradition, that when winter hasn't been wet enough, the chief rabbi will call for the entire country to fast (which doesn't happen) in hopes of bringing the rain. I was going to write about communal responsibility taking care of our world, both spiritually and practically.

But then a 7.0 earthquake hit Haiti. If I were in the States this weekend, any synagogue that I might find myself in for Shabbat would be acknowledging the crisis and suffering, praying for the people of Haiti. In comparison with the tens of thousands dying under rubble, praying for rain, for this one teeny country, seems selfish and insignificant. No one is dying, today, because of the drought in Israel. Yet the drought is systemic, and absolutely affects people's lives and physical well-being. When I pray the words of the Gevurot, משיב הרוח ומוריד הגשם - Who causes the wind to blow and the rain to fall, my intention is not only towards Israel, but towards this whole, dry region. In the West Wing episode, "College Kids," President Bartlet shares his daughter Ellie's teacher's opinion on why there's always been conflict in the Middle East: "It's because it's incredibly hot and there's no water."

The tradition of declaring a communal fast day in times of drought in Eretz Yisrael is rooted in the assumption that the drought is because of our human failings, as individuals and as a community. The liturgy is not in ecological terms, although many interpret it as such, but in the language of sin and forgiveness. When this language is contrasted with Pat Robertson's words about how Haiti deserved this as punishment for a pact with the devil, I'm challenged by the theology inherent in these fast days, that droughts are a punishment to Israel because of sin, whether the sin of not keeping Shabbat, of sinat hinam (senseless hatred), or the treatment of the Other. But I do believe that how we act communally impacts the world. It's easy to think of examples for the drought, especially since it requires all of us to collectively reduce water usage through lifestyle changes. My friend Josh G-S saw a greater distinction between the fast day and Robertson's words than I did. He pointed out that the fast day comes from within the Jewish community, rather than from an external individual accusing an entire country of sin. We call on ourselves to take stock of our actions, through prayer and fasting.

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks writes in his commentary to the prayer ברכת השנים (blessing the years, in the Amidah) in the Koren siddur, that, "Israel is a place that teaches its inhabitants the need for prayer." So is the world. Both of these natural events cause people of all faiths to cry out in prayer. In my siddur class this past semester, we talked about the power of prayer, and whether or not it has tangible impacts on the world. We talked about how our prayers can change us, by reminding us of our ideal selves and the world as we believe it should be, and through that, change the world.

Yesterday at Pardes we said tehillim, psalms, for both those suffering in Haiti and for ending the drought in Israel. Isaiah asks, "Is this the fast I desire?" Hopefully, the fast day, the psalms, the prayers for Haiti will lead to not only prayer and introspection, but real, world-changing action.

Blessed is God, Ruler of the Universe, whose power and might fill the world.

Bradley Burston's prayer for the people of Haiti

JRF's adaptation of Burston's prayer