A Report from Israel
What follows is my sermon from this past Friday evening’s Shabbat services when I offered a report from my recent rabbinic mission to Israel.
As you know I traveled to Israel a few weeks ago on a rabbinic mission. This visit focused on taking in what happened and what is happening in the North. Once again, our visit and our presence were greatly appreciated. Many Israelis living on the border with Lebanon are only now beginning to return to their homes. Many communities suffered severe damage. People living there feel forgotten. The government’s focus remains on the South. World Jewry talks more about the devastation and deaths that touched the communities living on the border with Gaza. Our visits sought to counter those feelings. We held Israelis close. And we held on to each other as we took in Israel’s ongoing struggle.
Once again, I discovered great disaffection with Israel’s political leadership. Many people spoke with bitterness against Prime Minister Netanyahu and in particular his unwillingness to take responsibility for October 7th’s military and intelligence failures. That being said, the military campaign against Hezbollah has been much more decisive than that against Hamas. Fifty-nine hostages still remain in Hamas’ hands. Twenty-four are still believed to be alive. The majority of Israelis oppose the renewal of the present military campaign and are advocating for a new cease fire deal to bring the remaining hostages home. Expect larger protests tomorrow evening. (News reports estimated 100,000 Israelis protested against the renewed military offensive and the firing of Shin Bet chief Ronen Bar.)
When we were there, the country came to a standstill for the Bibas funeral—that beautiful family with those red-haired children. The trauma of October 7th re-emerged. Everyone mourned. Everyone cried. Ben Gurion airport’s control tower was illuminated in orange. The pain was palpable, and it colored our days. It is as if the country is now saying, “We cannot experience that once again. We cannot attend any more funerals.” The fate of the hostages is the central concern for the majority of Israelis. They want to bring them home.
Israelis are struggling to figure out how to remember the pain of October 7th while moving forward.
Take but one example. When in Tel Aviv we met with a woman named Reut. She grew up on Kibbutz Reim on Gaza’s border. She and her husband, Dvir, settled in the kibbutz and raised three children there. Dvir was a chocolatier who trained in Belgium, a country known as the home of expert chocolate makers. Dvir made everything by hand and his recipes were kept only in his head. During Covid Reut urged Dvir to write down all of his recipes. A few years ago, Reut and Dvir divorced. On October 7th she was at a friend’s home some distance from the border. Her children were with Dvir and his new partner. That morning, her oldest daughter texted Reut, “We are in the safe room. The terrorists are here.” Moments later the terrorists murdered Dvir and his partner in front of the children. They then found some lipstick and scrawled on the wall, “Hamas doesn’t kill children.” Reut then said, “This time it was true.” Nine hours later the army finally arrived and rescued her children.
And so, after much time wandering from place to place, Reut has settled in Tel Aviv with her children and is now running a coffee shop called Kafe Otef—the café of the (Gaza) envelope. She only employs other evacuees from the south. In addition to serving coffee, cheeses and even honey from those kibbutzim, she offers Dvir’s chocolates. She gave his recipes to another chocolatier who is following them to the letter. Dvir’s memory survives, she explained. Her family, and her fellow evacuees, have found renewed purpose.
We discovered a similar sentiment at Kibbutz Rosh Hanikra on the northern border. There we met a woman who made aliya to Israel from Australia. She described herself as an ardent Zionist who moved to Israel in her youth. She is now living in Netanya, far from the stresses and difficulties of the border. She said, “My husband and I built our life on this kibbutz. We raised our children here, but I don’t know if I can return. It’s been too hard. The threat is too near. I am not sure I can come back.” We took in her words as we stood at the border fence, looking up at Lebanon’s hills. The villages that Hezbollah once controlled sit above the kibbutz looking down on its homes and fields. Hezbollah has been pushed back to the Litani River. Its considerable strength in fighters and missiles has been greatly diminished. In those villages that are a short walk up the hill, IDF forces found detailed plans in the Hezbollah bunkers for a similar, and what would have been an even more decimating, October 7th like massacre. But thankfully Hezbollah and Hamas did not work together or coordinate their plans.
The kibbutz security chief then said, “It’s never been better here.” And then I realized this is what the situation looks like when Israel is prepared, when it reads the intelligence correctly and when it plans a war for nearly twenty years. In fact, as soon as the last war was over, the IDF and intelligence services have been planning for this war against Hezbollah. There is plenty of destruction on Israel’s side of the border and even more on Lebanon’s, but military achievements are messy and brutal and lethal. And then I asked the security chief, “You said it’s never been better here, so how long do you think this current truce will last?” And he said, “Maybe one year.” Even a decisive victory is tenuous. Hezbollah has not been destroyed. It’s simply that its threat has been minimized. Israel and Israelis have gained breathing room. We tried to take this in as we savored the orchard’s fruits arrayed before us on the table. I kicked the dirt on the road adjacent to the fence and thought, “Breathing room is what we yearn for.”
Israelis are resilient. They may have by and large lost faith with their political leadership, but they are strong. They will not let go of each other. And so, one final, concluding story.
Rachel Azaria is the epitome of strength. After October 7th she soon realized that the present situation is unlike anything else Israelis have experienced. Reservists used to be called up for weeks. Now they are called up for months at a time and then again for more months. Parents left at home must now manage their own jobs and often their young children. And so, Rachel founded HaOgen, the anchor. She and her team help out with the mundane things like providing meals and offering babysitting. HaOgen has organized 20,000 volunteers and helped out 20,000 reservist families. The government does not offer babysitting and cook meals—perhaps it cannot or even should not—but everyday Israelis see it as their obligation and duty to help each other out.
The sense of devotion to the people of Israel is palpable.
Every time I visit Israel I come away with a renewed sense of hope. When I sit here reading the newspaper or watching the news, it is easy to despair of the situation. There, in Israel, people are understandably nervous about the future and even afraid what might happen next, but the devotion to neighbor, the sense of family is extraordinary. Its why strangers regularly attend funerals of soldiers and hostages. In Israel mourning is not a private affair. It is the obligation of the community. People everywhere feel the loss. They scream and yell at each other on other days. They criticize the government and its leaders, but when there is loss or need, they rally together, and they rally as one.
It’s a painful and unnerving time to be a Jew and a lover of Israel, but the strategy is clear. Hold on to each other. Look to Israelis for strength. Hold Israel in your thoughts and prayers. May we be blessed with breathing room to live our lives. We will persevere. We always have. We always will. The secret is to hold on to each other.