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January 22, 2022
Author(s): Rav Hazzan Aliza Berger,
Parshat Yitro
January 22, 2022 — 20 Shevat 5782
Courage, my friend. You do not walk alone.
I will walk with you and sing your spirit home.
by Rav Hazzan Aliza Berger
Temple Emanuel, Newton, MA
How do you process a world in which doing the right thing, the kind thing, opening your doors and offering warmth and tea to someone in need, could result in someone holding a gun to your head and taking you hostage? How do you process a world in which synagogues around the country go through security trainings about evading shooters and deescalating terrorist attacks as a matter of course? A world in which our kids are so accustomed to active shooter drills, and so inured to the possibility of sudden violence, that they take news of this trauma in stride. They are not shocked.
And how do you process a world in which someone could decide to fly across the world to find Jews to use as pawns for his hateful aim? A world in which someone is so stewed in antisemitic tropes that he believes that Jews run the world and would be able to pull some strings to make his hateful wish come true? How do you process a world in which Jews, who constitute less than 2% of the population in this country, are victim to almost 60% of religiously motivated hate crimes, according to the FBI? And how do you process the fact that our FBI, which produced the report on religiously motivated hate crimes, refused to acknowledge that the hostage situation was an act of antisemitism until Thursday, calling it instead a “terrorism-related matter”?
For us, this was not unique. But it was uniquely heartbreaking.
Because each one of us could imagine that fear, each one of us could feel the triggers of generations of trauma, oppression and hardship. We can imagine it because our tradition demands that we face this harsh reality every day. We have a liturgy that embraces the possibility of evil. In every prayer service, we encounter enemies and vitriol, we encounter solitude and strife. It is detailed. It is granular. It is real. Our High Holiday psalm warns that evildoers draw near, foes threaten, armies are arrayed against us, wars threaten. Our daily Amidah prays that God “prostrate the hopes of all those who malign us.” We even have a special Shabbat coming up, Zachor, before Purim, dedicated to marking the reality that the Jewish people have always had, and still have, enemies who seek our destruction.
How do we acknowledge this hard reality in a way that is honest, hopeful, and strong?
This week, I found myself singing a song I learned years ago.
Courage, my friend. You do not walk alone. I will walk with you and sing your spirit home.
This song was first sung in South Africa during the struggle against apartheid in the 80s. It was a bleak time for activists. So many wise and experienced leaders, including Nelson Mandela, were imprisoned on trumped up charges with unending sentences without hope of reprieve. And being imprisoned wasn’t just a static reality. It meant daily indignities, regular torture and abuse, and intense solitude.
During endless hours of lock up, activists used to sing to one another. From cell to cell, their voices would rise. They would play with the words, adding names so they knew who was around, or information about the world outside. And even though every man sat alone in his cell, even though every man faced his fate alone, this song reminded them that they were part of something larger.
This song wasn’t just something that provided comfort to detained activists, it was an aspiration and affirmation that became prophetic. Around the world, people were marching in the streets, demanding justice for equality for the people of South Africa. The United States, Britain, and 23 other countries imposed economic sanctions. When the world joined in, when people were marching with them across the oceans and when the sounds of this song reverberated around the globe—that’s when the tides turned.
Ever since, this song has been a source of strength for activists around the world. It’s sung at marches and rallies, at organizational meetings and actions. It’s a song that we sing when we’re feeling despair and a song that we sing to remind us that no matter how impossible our situation, people have been through worse, and they’ve come out the other side. It’s a prayer that we will too.
Courage my friend, you do not walk alone. I will walk with you and sing your spirit home.
It’s so easy to stop singing. It’s so easy to give into fear. But we have to remember to keep singing, through the darkness, through the terror, we have the power to sing a prayer into truth.
That’s what Rabbi Charlie did. Before the hostage situation was even remotely resolved, article after article extolled his kindness. As a college student, he chose to spend a few days living on the streets to experience what it might be like to be homeless and to activate his compassion. After graduation, he worked in Detroit at Focus: HOPE, an organization which works to empower and support underrepresented groups through job training, education, and employment services. He worked as the assistant director for the Amherst Survival Center here in Massachusetts, providing emergency food and support to those in need.
When he became a rabbi, his whole rabbinate was about reaching out to people around him and making sure that no one felt alone. He hosted the imam and members of a nearby mosque at his synagogue and built interfaith dialogue amongst all the local religious leaders. He didn’t just invite people in, he showed up. He went to celebrate Eid and Ramadan with the local Muslim community, he partnered with his Christian and Catholic clergy and built dialogue and connections. And he himself forged personal friendships with people of all ages, stages, professions, and beliefs.
Because of Rabbi Charlie’s kindness and outgoing nature, last week’s trauma was not just a reminder that the specter of Antisemitism is still very real, it was also a reminder that though we have walked alone, we are not alone now.
Outside of the synagogue, religious leaders gathered together in prayer and solidarity at a nearby Catholic church. Pastor Bob Roberts Jr., Imam Omar Suleiman, Azhar Azeez, a former president of the Islamic Society of North America, and Rabbi Andrew Marc Paley all gathered together in support of Rabbi Charlie and his community. The local police chief told news reporters that this was very personal for him. “The rabbi is a personal friend of mine, he’s a close friend of mine….I’m a Christian, I’m a believer, and I’ve activated that prayer network.” Experts flew in from across the country to help deescalate the standoff, and all the while community members showed up with food and hot drinks to support the rescuers.
In the wake this incident, we have a mission. Be like Rabbi Charlie. We must not become insular; instead, we must reach out and build bridges of love and connection and support. As Dr. King taught us, darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.
Courage, my friend. You do not walk alone. I will walk with you and sing your spirit home.