March 7, 2026
Author(s): Rabbi Wes Gardenswartz,
Parashat Ki Tisa
An Old Story Renewed
March 7, 2026 – 18 Adar, 5786
Temple Emanuel, Newton, MA
If you have ever been married, or if you have ever walked an adult child down the aisle, think back to the energy, the electricity, the excitement of the wedding day. All that love in one sacred place. Pure magic.
There was a young, bright, beautiful Israeli couple looking forward to their wedding day. The bride and the groom were getting married in the backyard of the bride’s parents. Joyful and magical. Except for two small details.
The date of their wedding was Thursday, June 12, 2025. The couple was getting married that night. Israel’s war with Iran, what would become known as the 12-day war, would begin at dawn on Friday, June 13.
And the groom is a fighter pilot for the IDF. He flies F16s.
The groom knew the war was coming imminently. He knew that he would be flying an F16 into Iran. He was scheduled to be the first pilot of the first F16 into Iran. Which would have required him to be at the base at the time he was to be under the chuppah. So he asked the IDF if he could be the second pilot into Iran. The IDF said yes. That allowed him to stand under the chuppah with his bride. Before the chuppah, he had borrowed his grandmother’s car. It was an hour’s drive from where he would spend his wedding night to his army base. The car was packed and ready to go. The bride and groom got married. On their wedding night, a loud and scary siren reverberated throughout Israel that was the nation’s signal that war with Iran was at hand; and that was the groom’s signal that his wedding was over, it was time to take his grandmother’s car to the base, to get into an F16, and to fly into Iran. Within mere hours of smashing the glass under their chuppah and kissing his bride, the newly minted husband was in the F16 flying into Iran. During the 12-day war, he would fly an F16 into Iran, and back to Israel, day after day.
Roll the film forward. The couple, now newlyweds, moved to Cambridge. She is now a first-year business school student at Sloane, MIT’s business school. And liking it. He is working for an Israeli start-up. And liking it. They are together, happy, happy.
And then January, and the build up to the war with Iran, again. To be an Israeli fighter pilot, one needs to fly their F16 at least once a week. He was no longer certified to be a pilot, because it had been several months since he had last flown. He could have stayed in Cambridge. He could have stayed with his still newlywed wife. But he knew that if he did not fly the F16 into Iran, someone else would have to do it. He felt a duty to his country. He felt a duty to his people. He felt a duty to his fellow fighter pilots. So, again, he leaves his new bride, in mid-January he goes back to Israel, he gets back in his F16s, he gets recredentialed as a seasoned and qualified fighter pilot, and he has been flying mission after mission into Iran this past week. Meanwhile, she is living by herself, again, in Cambridge.
Interrupted wedding night. Interrupted newlywed year. It just is.
Why am I telling you all this? When the war broke out, I had thought that American Jews, certainly the ones I know and love at Temple Emanuel, would be uniformly and unambivalently in support of this war. Of course war is hell. Of course we prefer peace. Of course we pray for peace. Of course war unleashes unpredictable and uncontrollable outcomes, so many of which are destructive. And yet, the Islamic Republic of Iran is, and has always been since its very inception, openly and unapologetically genocidal. Its motto “Death to America” is genocidal. Its motto “Death to Israel” is genocidal. What it did in Argentina in the 90s, killing innocent Jews twice, is genocidal. What it did through its proxy Hamas on October 7 is genocidal. The clock in Tehran promising the end of Israel by the year 2040 is genocidal. Given all this, I had expected uncomplicated support of American Jews for this war. Boy, was I wrong.
On Tuesday morning, I teach a zoom class to our Sisterhood. We were processing the war. There are about 30 learners on the screen, and they are lifetime ardent supporters of Israel and lifetime ardent Zionists. And yet, as one of the learners put it, she was “not a happy camper” about this war. Most of the reaction to the war was critical. Let me share what they said:
They expressed concerns about lack of democratic process, about one person leading our nation into war without consulting Congress. They did not address how the crucial element of surprise could have been maintained if such consultation had happened, but I am just reporting what they said.
They expressed concerns about what would happen next; that regime change never goes well; that taking down a regime is the easier part; creating a sustainable decent new regime has always proved elusive.
They expressed concerns about the ever-expanding costs of the war, in blood and treasure.
They expressed concerns about the narrative that this is Israel’s war; that this is the Jewish people’s war; that America got bamboozled into fighting a war that is not its war; and that this war is going to pour gasoline onto the fire of antisemitism.
They expressed concerns about not trusting the leaders of both nations.
Now is not the time or place to engage these concerns. Suffice it to say that these concerns, offered by long-time members of Temple Emanuel and lifetime lovers of Israel, were deeply felt. What do we do?
The heroism of this bride and groom, who get married only to be separated by war, and countless soldiers and countless families left on the home front, is real. The threats posed by a genocidal regime are real. The death and destruction playing out in Israel right now are real. The sleepless nights of Israelis in their saferooms are real. And these concerns about the war expressed by our members are also real. The suffering of innocent Iranians, more than 80% of whom oppose their own regime, 30,000 of whom were brutally put down by their own regime, are real. The unpredictable and uncontrollable arc of war is real. So much complexity. So many layers. So many emotions. All so hot. All so urgent. All playing out as the first story in every news feed. What now?
In the last week of February, our friend and teacher Elana Stein Hain, who is a senior faculty member of the Shalom Hartman Institute, offered a teaching that would prove more relevant than any of us could have ever imagined. Her very granular topic was this: The Jewish people has long had a tradition of vibrant Jewish communities in different places at the same time. There were the Jews of Jerusalem and the Jews of Alexandria, Egypt. There were the Jews of Jerusalem, and the Jews of Persia. There are the Jews of Israel and the Jews of North America. Whenever there were two vibrant centers of Jewish life, there were real differences between them. They did not always see eye to eye. They could not always understand one another. Each lived in its own reality. Each’s worldview was shaped by that reality. It just is.
Elana grew up and lived her whole life in New Jersey and New York. She and her husband and two young children have lived in Israel now for a year and a half. I asked her what she had learned about Israel after living there that she did not know before. She shared the following story.
She has a son who is 14 years old. He is in the eighth grade at an Israeli school in Jerusalem. His school focuses a lot on the ability of 14-year olds to run a mile. He ran a mile. They wanted him to run a faster mile. He ran a faster mile, they wanted him to run even faster. Keep working on your personal best. What is this? Who cares how fast I run a mile? At first he did not get it.
Then one day a lightbulb went off in his head. Oh, I get it. These 14-year-olds will be serving in the IDF in 4 years. In 4 years we may be at war. In 4 years we may be fighting. In 4 years some of us may die. 14-year olds in Israel are thinking and talking about that.
Our 14-year olds are not worrying about war in 4 years. But that is the world of Israel and Israelis.
Israeli Jews live on a geopolitical fault line — a narrow strip of land literally shaken by enemies sworn to destroy them, a place where the ground itself trembles with each siren, each missile, each night of broken sleep. Their ordinary rhythms — work, school, morning coffee, bedtime stories — can be shattered in an instant.
And we? We live in suburbia, with safety, stability, and predictability. Yes, antisemitism is real. It is rising. It demands our vigilance. But our daily lives are not punctured by missile fire. Our realities are different. And so, our perspectives on this war are different. But Israelis are our people. Israelis are our family. They are us. If our grandparents or great‑grandparents had boarded a different ship, had chosen Haifa instead of Ellis Island, Tel Aviv instead of New York, we would be the ones sleeping in safe rooms tonight.
And so, especially now — when their world is shaking and their nights are sleepless— let us love Israel and Israelis even more deeply. Let us hold them even more closely. May Israel know a better future, safety and peace. May Iran know a better future, safety and peace. May American Jews and Israeli Jews, know and deeply feel, for all our differences, that we are one people. Shabbat shalom.