October 3, 2024
Author(s): Rabbi Wes Gardenswartz,
Rosh Hashanah, Day One
Rock of Israel
October 3, 2024 — 1 Tishrei 5785
Temple Emanuel, Newton, MA
One fine August night, after I got home from evening minyan, I picked up the phone and called my sister Beth, who lives in Los Angeles, just to check in. Beth shared that one of her summer projects was to feng shui their house that she and her family had lived in for 50 years. Just that afternoon she was working on the closet in her bedroom, one bag for goodwill, one bag for garbage, when she came upon a box in the bottom of her closet that she had not seen in years. She did not even remember that it existed. She opened the box, and it contained old birthday cards. Determined to clear her home of clutter once and for all, she was preparing herself to throw out even these sentimental relics when she noticed that one of the birthday cards was in our father’s unmistakable handwriting.
Our father died in 1981. This card was very old. When she opened it up, it said simply: Dearest Beth, you are my rock. Happy Birthday, Love Dad.
So much for the feng shui. Beth took out her black marker and wrote on the whole box: family treasures! Never throw away!
You are my rock.
Those are words of love that have been offered throughout Jewish history. In the Torah Moses calls God hatzur, the rock.
When the founders of the State of Israel got together in Tel Aviv to sign Israel’s Declaration of Independence, they could not agree on whether God belonged in the Declaration of Independence. Religious Jews argued: how can we not include God? After 2,000 years the rebirth of the Jewish state is a miracle. Secular Jews argued: how could we include God? The founding of the State was a secular impulse. In the end both sides agreed to put in Israel’s Declaration of Independence Tzur Yisrael, Rock of Israel. It would be a deliberate ambiguity. To the religious, the Rock of Israel meant God. To the secular, the Rock of Israel meant the Jewish people and Jewish history.
What would it look like for us to be a rock for the people in our lives? What would it look like for us, as we approach the one-year anniversary of October 7, to be a rock for Israel?
In life, bad stuff happens, that we did not cause, do not deserve, cannot control, and cannot stop. In our personal lives, somebody we love gets sick. In the case of Israel, October 7 and the ensuing wars and all the suffering that has afflicted Israelis and Palestinians.
With both our personal lives, and Israel post October 7, we did not cause the pain. We cannot solve the pain. But in the face of that pain all of us have a choice. Do we say what can I do? Meaning the problem is so much bigger than me, I cannot solve it, so I am not going to do anything. Or do we say: what can I do? Meaning I can do something to make it better.
To be a rock is to say what can I do to make it better.
Let me tell you about two rocks that I met in Israel this summer.
An Israeli woman named Lior Krengel had it going on. She was a high-tech innovator and investor. She nurtured several Israeli start-ups to successful IPOs. She was a face of Israel as Start-Up Nation. But when October 7 happened, it changed her life because one aspect of the tragedy particularly broke her heart: The phenomenon of Israeli children who were orphaned on October 7.
Lior Krengel quit her day job. She left the for-profit world. She devoted herself full time to supporting orphaned Israeli children. She started an organization called Israeli Children’s Fund, Atufim Be’ahava, wrapped in love. Since October 7 she has worked 7 days a week to raise resources, financial, medical, emotional, to help children who lost parents on October 7. She did not cause the problem; nor could she solve the problem. But she did not say what can I do? Rather, she said: what can I do to make it better? In Deuteronomy God is said to love orphans. Lior gives her whole being to loving orphans in Israel today.
Here is the second story. A young man in his early 30s, Daniel, a Jewish Israeli, introduced himself as a DJ. With his piercings and tattoos he looks the part. He plays music at gatherings of young Israelis.
He also introduced himself as the grandson of a grandfather who was a survivor of the Shoah. While he loved his grandfather, he confessed he never really understood him. Being a survivor was all-important to his grandfather. It was the defining experience of his life. His grandfather would go 50 times a year to different Israeli schools, once a week throughout Israel, telling his story of the Shoah and how he survived it to generation after generation of Israeli school children. His grandson Daniel could never understand this.
Until October 7. He was the DJ at the Nova music festival. He was playing music for young Israelis when the unspeakable began. Many of his friends were murdered that day. Somehow he survived. And he, and other survivors, formed an organization called Tribe of Nova devoted to helping all those who were affected by Nova, survivors and families of the murdered and the kidnapped, get the emotional, psychological, medical help and communal support they need to affirm life again despite it all.
Daniel now understands his grandfather. Being a survivor, and helping other survivors and their families, is now the defining mission of his life.
Daniel is a rock. Lior is a rock. Countless ordinary Israelis, including in particular the heroic soldiers of the IDF who have done 1, 2, 3, 4 tours of duty in Gaza and now in Lebanon, are rocks of Israel. What about us?
As this tragedy and crisis continue into its second year, it is powerfully tempting to say what can I do? I live here, not there. I don’t vote in Israeli elections. My family does not serve in the IDF. Plus, we do have plenty to keep us busy in this country. Israel is so hard, so sad, so complicated. I am going to make my Jewish meaning here in America, where I live. All that is understandable, but it comes with a significant cost: drift, distance and disconnection during Israel’s most desperate hour.
If we want to show up for Israel in its greatest hour of need, there is so much each of us can do.
What can I do? Go to Israel. Hug Israelis both literally and metaphorically. Talk to anybody in America who went to Israel this past year. They will tell you how Israelis said thank you for coming. We feel so alone. We feel less alone because you are here with us now.
What can I do? Support Israel financially, whether through Israel Bonds, or CJP’s Israel at War fund, or any particular cause near and dear to your heart.
What can I do? Keep praying for Israel. To pray every day as we do twice a day here is to say every day my heart is always with Israel and Israelis.
What can I do? Engage in political advocacy for Israel consistent with your conscience and convictions. Obviously we don’t all agree on what political advocacy is called for now. Fine. Have a point of view. And act in accordance with it.
What can I do? Support the organizations whose mission is to ensure that Israel remains Jewish and democratic, that despite the many internal tensions in Israeli society, we work to support and strengthen the form of Jewish and democratic Israel that is in its Declaration of Independence.
On this Rosh Hashanah, days before the one-year anniversary of October 7, each of us has a choice. We can say: What can I do? The problems are just so vast. Meaning I do nothing. Or we can say: What can I do to make it better?
The story is told of the Hasidic master who, on the eve of Rosh Hashanah, learned that his shofar blower had taken ill. He needed to find a new shofar blower, and quickly. So he let the congregation know there would be an audition, and three candidates applied. He explained to them that what is most important is the kavanah, the intention, at the moment of blowing the shofar. He asks the first person, what do you think about while you are blowing the shofar? He answers: I am thinking about the paradox of how God could have created the universe out of nothing. He asks the second person, what are you thinking about? He answers: I am thinking about Maimonides’ laws of repentance. He asks the third person, what are you thinking about? He answers: My wife is my life. I love her more than anything in the world. She is the light of my days. I love life with her. And I cannot imagine life without her. But she is sick. And I am worried. While I blow the shofar, I am praying to Hashem: Hashem, please heal my wife.
Of course the Hasidic master chooses the worried husband. Why? Because when we care a lot, but we control a little, life is about saying what can I do to make it better. Life is about being a rock.
For 76 years Israel has been our rock. What can we do to be a rock for Israel now? Shana tova.