Preparing this morning to go to shul for Simchas Torah in Beitar Illit, there were a few muffled explosions, but I didn’t think much of it – one often hears such noises. But then, the air raid siren went off, and I began to worry as I entered the mamad (secure room). Eventually, I decided to venture out to shul. The non-Jewish security guard said that there had been a terror incident in Beit Shemesh (information that turned out to be false). But then, in the middle of Shacharis, the siren went off again – and we all crowded into the shul bomb shelter. We ventured out, skipped hakafos, said Yizkor, and then another siren. And another. Eight sirens in all, over the next few hours. I never made it to hakafos, although things seemed to settle down towards the afternoon. Waiting to hear the news at the end of Yom Tov, my mind wandered to another Simchas Torah, 21 years ago.
It was 2002, during the terrible second Intifada. I joined Lonni and the kids in Bayit Vegan for Sukkos during the year of her fellowship at Hebrew University. There had been many bombings; many families had suffered the loss or the harming of loved ones, and the mood of most of the country was worried and pensive. However, the mitzvah of the day on Simchas Torah was to rejoice in our relationship with Hashem and His Torah, so I went for hakafos to some of the local chareidi yeshivos. I found joyful, exuberant dancing and singing; there was fun, laughter, and lots of energy, as it should be on Simchas Torah. I joined in for a bit, but I sensed something was missing. I then went to Yeshivat Har HaMor and found what I was looking for.
Yeshivat Har HaMor is one of the premier Dati Leumi (National Religious) yeshivot, and its student body contains many who have served in the IDF, or still plan to serve in some capacity. Every bachur there had family or close friends currently serving in the army; many were close to terror victims. And it showed. The hakafos were joyous; the dancing was spirited. But there was a certain indescribable mood in the room: “We are dancing despite…” And then, the final hakafah. The songs chosen were slower, and the themes included “Hashem save us from danger,” “Hashem will avenge the blood of the victims,” “Hashem gives us strength,” and so on. I saw dancing mixed with tears and hugs of compassion. I deeply sensed that I had found what I had been looking for.
The difference, it seemed to me then, was not that one group was aware of the ongoing Intifada while the other was not – everyone was well aware. But for one group, it seemed that the terrible chaos around us was not their immediate problem. They, of course, wished success to the Army and Police as they fought and suffered the difficulties, but generally, they were not personally affected. The world they inhabited was generally insulated and did not see itself as part of the State of Israel in general. For the other group, however, it was far more personal. The Intifada, and the fight against it, was a struggle that we, and the whole State of Israel, are going through, and personally experiencing the pain and difficulty as we try nevertheless to engage in simchas Yom Tov.
Fast forward to this past year, 5783. Israel is terribly divided, as agitators have led a vast and ongoing movement to topple what they term a dictatorial, undemocratic, religiously zealous, racist government. Supporters of the current government argue back, and the tone of the arguments on both sides gets more and more ugly; the opposition leaders threaten nothing less than civil war. The animosity reaches a shocking low, as secularist protesters attack Yom Kippur prayer services in Tel Aviv and other places. Sin’as chinam – vile and deep hatred based on lies and distortions – threatens to rip us apart irreparably.
These were the background of this Simchas Torah morning. In lieu of hakafos, I read the Torah reading to myself. Vay’hi biYeshurun melech, b’his’aseif roshei am, yachad shivtei Yisrael (And He was King in Yeshurun, whenever the total of the people were gathered, and the tribes of Israel were together) (D’varim 34:4). Says Rashi: “When Israel is gathered together in a unified group, and there is peace among them, G-d is their King – but not when there is strife among them.” And I wonder: “We know something bad is going on, but we do not know any details. There is terrible strife amongst us now – what will happen if G-d is not our King at this time?
By the time you read this, you will know more of the unbelievably horrible situation in which Israel is now mired, with the huge number of dead and maimed and – worst of all – the many hostages in the hands of the cruel and merciless thugs of Hamas. I leave it to others to analyze the question all Israelis are asking: “How could the military have been so taken by surprise, given their usual incredible level of intelligence?” Whatever the investigative committees will discover, one thing is clear: Hashem decided that we were not worthy of His special protection today. It does not take much to assume that it has something to do with the teaching of that Rashi, coupled with the well-known ruinous effects of awful sin’as chinam that has haunted us for millennia, which has unfortunately reached a fever pitch. Apparently, Hashem decided that the medicine we need includes taking our day of joy – as we celebrate Him and His Torah – and throwing it in our faces.
Where do we go from here? Obviously, the military and governmental leadership has an exceedingly difficult job ahead, which may take a long time to resolve. But we citizens, especially religious citizens, must take this terrible debacle as a severe wake-up call to unite again as a people. It seems to me that besides toning down the rhetoric and stopping the blaming and shouting, our efforts ought to include two parts:
First, we need to make greater efforts to love the others. We need to be more like the second group I saw on Simchas Torah years ago and concern ourselves with those outside our religious community, as well. We need to feel and demonstrate to them that we see them as brothers and sisters who may have very different views and habits, but are loved by us nonetheless. We need to understand that from their perspective, much as we might disagree with it, they are frightened about the country’s direction. Whenever possible, we must seek to reassure them that they have nothing to fear from the demographic change in which more people uphold Torah and traditional values.
Second (and this springs from the first), we need to appreciate and communicate our appreciation for the many good things they have done to build this wonderful country. We are grateful for their fighting in the Army and Police to protect us. We are thankful for the vast sums of money from the State that support our yeshivos and kollelim and support their families. We may deplore their halachic choices, but we are here for them for any way we can build a true sense of brotherhood together.
These attitudes will go very far in closing the yawning gap in Israeli society. It is not too late; the overwhelming majority of the secular public would get along fine with the religious public, and even welcome more tradition in their lives, if (a) it is done with no hint of coercion and (b) they feel a sense of mutual respect for what they have done to build the Land and its army and infrastructure and institutions.
Let us hope that this is the final war, and – if we merit it – it will herald the coming of Mashiach.
Rabbi Yehuda L. Oppenheimer is a rabbi, attorney, and writer living presently in Forest Hills, and hoping to go on aliyah. He has served as rabbi in several congregations, and helps individuals with wills, trusts, and mediation.
