Our second (and last) night in Jerusalem was an intimate dinner with Idan Roll, an MK from the Yesh Atid party. I want to be very clear that this was not a political visit. We had no proscribed political agenda from any party in Israel. MK Roll, a former deputy foreign minister, was articulate, forthright, passionate and insightful. He stressed that the relationship between the diaspora and Israel is more important than ever and has to be recalibrated. We need “one Jewish voice.” The old Israeli concept that if American Jews don’t make aliyah they can’t have an opinion or conversation has to change. Alone among people we met, he stressed the importance for a future plan for Gaza. What happens the day after the inevitable defeat of Hamas? The world will go to the easier default, which is the Palestinian Authority, but he stressed the need to “think outside the box” or we will be back at the same ending. And finally, “Don’t make a democracy,” he warned.
The dinner was held at the beautiful Jerusalem House of Quality, a place I had never been to or even heard about. Jerusalem is full of hidden treasures. It is a 19th century former eye hospital turned cultural and arts center. Thirty-five “House of Quality” artists do their creative work in workshops throughout the building. The community of artists covers various fields of the applied arts including ceramics, copper art (chiseling and sculpting), contemporary Judaica, and glass art.
Just as we were leaving we bumped into a quiet, bearded man named Jamie Shear in the foyer. He asked us who we were and what we were doing in Israel, and we gave him our now usual shpiel. “I’m a sofer,” he said. “Would you like to see my studio?” Of course a group of rabbis and one cantor are not going to pass up this opportunity. He shares space with a glass artist, but in the back we entered a world of otiot, letters and mystical shapes. He showed us a book of Numbers he is busy working on. His lettering was beautiful, clear, spaced perfectly. Easy to read.
What caught my eye was a piece with a spiral of words emanating from the letter Bet. It was the entire parsha of Bereishit written in a series of concentric circles. It brought to the mind ancient protective bowls and amulets of our people.
The text is in red but every iteration of “Elohim” (one name of God) is in black. The unfolding story of creation spins out like a galaxy. Our mystical tradition teaches us that the world was literally created by channels of letters. And here they were, emerging in the heart of Jerusalem on a rainy war-torn night, twisting again and creating the world anew.
Tikvah. There is always hope. I saw it in the eyes of Amnon Zarkia filled with determination at Mitzpe Ramon. I saw it in the leaders of Ofakim in their belief that their wounded city could heal and thrive again. I felt it in the hugs and coffee of Cochy Abuharon. I heard it in the words of Shai Ajaj who envisioned one million new Negev residents. I foresaw hope in the machonim at the Agency, youth who would be the next great leaders of our people. I saw a mother’s hope for healing for her children scarred by traumatic attacks.
Hope is our secret weapon. And it isn’t a facile belief that, “everything will be alright.” Or that the road is easy or short. Every single Israeli we met knows this war will be long and difficult. But it must be won. And it will be won.
British author John Heyderman relates a story of how Rabbi Hugo Gryn, a survivor of Auschwitz recalled how he berated his father, Géza Gryn, for using their ration of fat to make an improvised Chanukah lamp, there in that place of one long night. His father told him, “You and I have seen that it is impossible to live up to three weeks without food. We once lived almost three days without water; but you can’t live at all without hope.”
Israel isn’t giving up. Israel isn’t frozen with fear or grief. Yes, there is anger. But there is also purpose.
Israel right now is dynamic, nimble and full of people who are stepping up to do what needs to be done with intelligence, creativity and love. In the middle of horror they are persevering, helping the most vulnerable, and operating as one despite a loss of faith in both the IDF and the government.
They have not lost faith with one another. Let us strengthen our faith with them.
Above the school at Erez there was a large banner that read, “One Flag. One Family.” From the feet of the silhouetted family, roots grew deep. We’re here. In the end, Israel is not just another country on a map. It is a light to the nations. It is a promise. It’s the God-given ancestral land of our people who have survived over 2000 years of exile and genocide and are now home, strong, and determined to win this newest existential battle against evil.
One flag. One family. Am Yisrael Chai.
