We Are Stronger Than You Think!

What follows is my sermon about the strength and inspiration I gained from traveling on a solidarity mission to Israel.

As you know I returned this morning from a brief, but intense rabbinic solidarity mission to Israel. When there we volunteered and picked vegetables that were later distributed to hotels overwhelmed by the 100,000 Israelis displaced from their homes in the South and North and to army bases also overwhelmed but in this instance by the unprecedented call up of reserves. We walked the pathways of the once thriving kibbutz Kfar Azza that was attacked on October 7th and where 68 people were murdered because they are Jews, and a number were taken hostage by Hamas terrorists and where we also heard promises that the kibbutz will be rebuilt. We traveled to the army base that cares for soldiers killed in battle but that was forced to care for thousands after the October 7th massacre and where one of the rabbis told us he can never again drink chocolate milk because hundreds of victims arrived in a refrigerator truck emblazoned with the Shoko milk graphics and logo. And that was only part of one day.

I have seen things that no one should ever see. And I have seen things that everyone needs to see, and I would add, hear.

Before I left on this trip, people asked if I was afraid for my safety, and some were even nervous about my going. (Shout out to my mom and dad!) I was not. And I am still not afraid. Here is why. Even during war, I feel safe in Israel. It is home. And even during the worst of times one feels comfortable at home. I was afraid however that what I might see would be unsettling—and some of what I did see and hear was so disturbing that I had trouble sleeping most nights.

I was especially nervous that the situation is worse than I thought. In some ways it is. The end game is unclear. Israel’s political leadership is vacuous. In other ways, it is not. The people of Israel are resolute and strong and inspiring. Despite the extensive trauma and ongoing war, I came away even more inspired by Israel and the Jewish people.

First let me briefly talk about the unsettling. Every Israeli I spoke with believes in the need to eliminate Hamas’ military capabilities and in particular its ability to terrorize Israel and its citizens. Despite the American press describing Israel’s military actions as retaliatory they are not. They are an exercise of Israel’s sacred obligation to defend its citizens. Everyone agrees about the importance and need to return the hostages to their families. People might wonder how this will end, or even think some of Israel’s military actions are too severe, but everyone is supportive of the army and its soldiers.

Still, I was surprised by the level of anger and disillusionment with the current government. It seemed to cut across political lines. Most believe that Netanyahu’s day of reckoning will come. Let me be clear. The failures of Israel’s leadership and the many mistakes made allowing so many Hamas terrorists to massacre so many people on October 7th and the funds that were knowingly allowed to go to Hamas does not excuse Hamas for its crimes. The government’s continued insistence that Palestinian statehood is not in Israel’s moral and strategic interest does not explain Hamas’ murderous ideology and antisemitism. We must not confuse how this happened with why. Some of the how’s can be leveled at Netanyahu and his cronies and even at IDF leaders, although the latter have already taken responsibility for their failures. The why’s, however, remain Hamas’ ideology of murder and hate.

Israelis’ anger at their political leadership is palpable. I think this is because it stands in stark contrast with the extraordinary leadership of Israel’s ordinary citizens. The level of volunteerism that has taken root is breathtaking. Organizations shifted their focus overnight. New charities emerged. Strangers showed up to wash soldier’s uniforms when they returned to their bases. Award winning chefs cooked meals for them. Where the government failed to step in, the people rushed into the void.

Take but three examples.

In Jerusalem, we met with Adir Schwartz, a community leader. In a few days he and others built what is now a command center for volunteers that has taken over the film school complex. What was on October 8th was only one floor, now occupies almost the entire building. 6000 volunteers help get personal gear to soldiers, tend to the needs of the 25,000 evacuees housed in 63 Jerusalem hotels and help local Jerusalemites. There was no such organization two months ago. Now it is vast network of people helping others, supplying 40,000 meals every day to those in need. They set up the clothing donations as a clothing store with a coffee shop. He spoke to us about the guiding principle of their efforts: kavod haadam—respect for the human being. Every act of generosity is guided by this idea. That is why it is a clothing store rather than piles of handouts. He said, “The worst feeling during the war is to feel alone.” Then he added, “We have not felt alone since day one. We are one people with one heart.” Adir concluded, “It could have happened to any of us.”

We watched as people ran in and out, running volunteer errands, lifting boxes for deliveries or shopping for dresses. There was no obvious distinction between who was a giver and who a recipient. Perhaps, I wondered, in some not so mysterious way, even the givers are recipients. We are one people. He thanked us for coming and then told us that he sees our difficulties and struggles. He knows about the rising antisemitism in America. He feels our pain. Imagine such a sentiment. In the midst of this difficult war and challenging time in his own life, he is thinking beyond and about others—even those thousands of miles away. We are one people with one heart.

We then met with evacuees at the Orient Hotel. The Orient is among Jerusalem’s fanciest hotels. Its owner decided to prioritize the housing of evacuees even though the government does not pay enough to cover the true costs. Almost all the residents of Kibbutz Or HaNer are living there. Imagine walking to a conference room only to discover that it has been converted to a nursery school room and the lobby made into a makeshift playground. A girl roller bladed outside our meeting room. One kibbutz leader said, “It’s a nice hotel but we miss our kitchen and our garden. Our teenagers don’t like the city schools and even penned a protest letter demanding that we return to the kibbutz.”

Through tears they described what happened to them on October 7th. Their kibbutz was not directly attacked. Still, they hid in safe rooms. The security team members grabbed their weapons and kissed their partners goodbye. Many raced to their cars and hastily threw their children in the backseat, only stopping to buckle their seatbelts when they were miles and miles away. They are traumatized by that day. They are traumatized by the sporadic rocket attacks that has continued throughout the years. They are traumatized by living in a hotel and wonder if they will be able to stay in the Orient until the day they can return home. They are traumatized when it will be safe to go back to their beloved Or HaNer. And they are traumatized that they may forever be afraid to go back home. The Israel Trauma Coalition is working overtime. And yet, these kibbutzniks are faring better than most. “Always remember,” they said, “Our strength is our community.” They have each other to rely on. Even though they are not home they are together.

We then traveled to Tel Aviv and to what is now called Hostage Square and there we met with the Hostages and Missing Families Forum. 160 families are represented by this forum.

Its goal is to make sure that the plight of the hostages is never forgotten. The danger is the human heart will grow accustomed to the fact 130 hostages remain in captivity. They wish to pressure the Red Cross to act and to visit the hostages as the organization is supposed to do. There are art displays filling the square and a giant table set with place settings and empty chairs for each of the hostages. We entered a large tent and sat in a small circle and listened intently to one story.

We heard from Dani Miran. He is the father of Omri who was taken hostage by Hamas from his home on Kibbutz Nir Oz. Dani lives in the Galilee and is a farmer. His wife died thirty years ago. On October 7th he messaged his son, “I see that there are rocket attacks near you.” Omri responded, “Yes. Don’t worry.” Then Dani turned on the news and saw that Hamas terrorists had infiltrated into Israel. He messaged Omri again who responded, “Yes, they are all over the kibbutz.” After several minutes, Dani messaged his son, “It’s your father. I’m worried. Answer me.” That was the last message he sent. There were no more responses from Omri. Later that day his daughter in law’s parents called to tell him that his son was abducted but his daughter in law Lishay and granddaughters were ok. The girls are two years old and six months old. He said to us, “I was happy that my granddaughters were alive, but I felt as if a knife went through my heart. My son is a hostage.” He continued, “It was only on Monday when I had the courage to ask my daughter in law what happened after my last message.”

She told me that the Hamas terrorists threatened to kill a neighbor if they did not come out of the safe room and so the Omri’s family exited. Then the terrorists threatened to kill all of them if Omri did not go with them. He felt he had no choice. Lishay said to her husband, “I love you. I’ll protect our girls. We’re waiting for you. Don’t be a hero.”

By this time a large crowd had started to form around us. People leaned in to hear Dani’s story. He then said to the group of rabbis, “You all look so sad.” Most of us had been crying since he told us of his last words to his son. “You should not be sad. We are a strong people. You are here so that we can give each other hugs. Never forget, we are one people.” He continued, “Let me tell you the story about the flag that was raised over the Western Wall in 1967. I was in the paratrooper’s brigade that fought in that battle.” Dani said, “Most people don’t know how we got that flag. Before we marched to the Wall we were sitting in a bunker, and we were talking about how we should have a flag. A family was also in the bunker and overheard our conversation. One family member said, “I have a flag. Come with me.” “So, we went up to his apartment. First, he insisted that we make kiddush and have some wine. We said the blessing and drank the wine and then he gave us the flag.” The man said, “I have been saving this flag since 1948 when we lost Jerusalem, hoping and praying for this day.

Don’t be sad. We are a strong people.

And with that, we jumped up, formed a circle and started singing and dancing Rebbe Nachman’s familiar words. We shouted, “Kol haolom kulo gesher tzar maod, v’haikar lo lefachad klal. The whole world is a narrow bridge, but the essence is not to be afraid.” We sang and we danced. The crowd took videos and pictures. We hugged Dani and we hugged each other.

The Jewish people are inspiring. The Jewish people are resilient.

Draw strength from these stories. Draw strength from our resilience.

The Psalmist declares, “Adonai oz l’amo yitain, Adonai y’varech et amo b’shalom. Adonai will grant strength to the people. Adonai will bless the people with peace.” Even though we may pray for peace, shalom comes not before but after strength. (I thank Rabbi Shani Ben Or for this teaching.) And we have an extraordinary amount of strength. We will emerge even stronger. And then I continue to pray, we will find peace.

First and for now, let’s focus on the strength. Adonai oz l’amo yitain! God grant us strength.