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.