It’s hard to keep them all straight in my head. I imagine every Jew holds this somewhere in their consciousness. Some of the dates and events happened long before we were born, but we still recall them each year on Tisha B’av or Yom HaShoah.

Expulsion.
Inquisition.
Pogrom.
Farhud.
Shoah.

And then there’s today, there’s now. It’s a gruesome list.

Terrorist attacks.
Suicide bombings.
Military operations and wars.

There’s also the personal list, the things we witnessed firsthand or read about as they unfolded over the course of our own lifetimes.

Here’s mine (partial and, sadly, in formation):

  • March, 2002 – I was sitting outside with friends in the courtyard of the Inbal hotel when we heard an explosion. We would later learn that the Cafe Moment, a place I had visited many times as a graduate student, had just been blown up by a suicide bomber. Little did I know that Rabbi Sari was living directly above the cafe at that very moment.
  • July, 2006 – I was on the northern border, leading a congregational mission just a few days before war broke out in Lebanon. That’s where the song we sing, Kol Yisrael, was born. My friend, Rabbi Ken Chasen, and I wrote it about our shared responsibility, the way all Jews are connected, and our obligation to worry about, support, and care for each other.
  • March, 2011 – Two years after making aliyah, my middle daughter, Ariela, and I were out for a bike ride just a mile or so from our home in Jerusalem. We stopped at a little restaurant for a cold drink and a snack. There was a television inside that was tuned to  breaking news about a terror attack at a bus stop. She saw the images and asked what had happened. I said a person filled with hatred tried to hurt other people, but that she shouldn’t worry because it was far, far away. I had momentarily forgotten that my eight-year-old was fluent in Hebrew. She saw the scroll at the bottom of the screen and said, “But it says there Yerushalayim — that’s not very far away.”
  • June, 2014 – My family was in Israel for a visit when three teenage boys were kidnapped and murdered by Hamas terrorists, precipitating a seven-week war in Gaza.
  • October 7, 2023. I am sure we all know precisely where we were when we first became aware of the horror of what was unfolding that day.

You are most likely reading this on October 27, 2023. I remember exactly where I was five years ago today, when I learned that a synagogue in Pittsburgh was under attack. On their yahrtzeit, we mourn the eleven souls who were murdered for the simple fact that they were Jews, gathered together in prayer in their synagogue, a place that is supposed to be a sanctuary of peace.

It hurts my soul to acknowledge that the above is but a partial list of the violence that has been perpetrated against the Jewish People, in Israel alone, just in my own lifetime. I didn’t mention Buenos Aires in 1994 or Jersey City and Poway in 2019 and countless other attacks, provocations, and humiliations.

And now we are witnessing — certainly not for the first time, but arguably most insidiously and pervasively — the utter hatred for Israel and, yes, for Jews, on display on so many college campuses here in America, sometimes even violently.
But this list isn’t the only one we keep. There’s a list filled with hopeful moments, episodes that give us strength, that help us find the courage and the resilience not just to survive but to thrive.

And if there is a silver lining in a moment like this, it is the deep appreciation I feel right now for the gift of being part of a people, a family — Am Yisrael. Here’s a partial list, in formation and happily not yet complete, that inspires me, that lifts my broken heart.

  • Last week, upon hearing that I was on my way to Israel, my friend’s brother-in-law reached out and asked if I could bring some materials for reservists who lacked basic supplies (how that’s even possible is important to explore but for another time). I said that, of course I’d help — happy to bring as much as the airline would permit. Within a few hours I was on a text chain with Yonatan, a fellow Jew who had sprung into action to help source backpacks, knee pads, whatever was needed. He personally delivered four bags of supplies to me in New York as I was en route to Israel. We met outside my mother-in-law’s apartment building when he came to drop off the bags. Inside each bag was a note in Hebrew to the customs officials in Israel explaining what the supplies are for, along with a stack of beautiful cards written by Jewish day-school students here in New York.
  • Through my niece, Emma, another stranger who has become a friend reached out to see if I could bring ceramic plates for bullet proof vests for soldiers who had been called up to duty. A fifth bag of supplies.
  • Barely 24 hours after the attacks on October 7, we were able to gather almost 2,000 people in our Sanctuary; Jews and non-Jews alike came together to mourn, to cry, and to draw strength from one another. Since then, I have watched our Wise community members donate selflessly, organize lemonade stands and supply drives and challah bakes, and simply offer each other hugs and support, each and every day.

We know that it is going to be a long road ahead. It is painful to consider that these supplies I am bringing in unremarkable black duffel bags are going to strangers – who aren’t really strangers – who will  be in mortal danger. Our collective extended family is ready to risk their lives to save those who were abducted, including, God-willing, Hersh, the son of my friends Jon and Rachel. They will risk their lives to ensure that all those who perpetrated this evil, all those who planned it, executed it, and supported it, are brought to justice. They will risk their lives for the possibility – however impossible it seems right now – for the chance to live peacefully in the Land of Israel.

May they be spared injury or harm. May they be successful in their mission. May those who are in captivity come home safely and speedily. May the bereaved find comfort and the wounded, healing. May our students on college campuses here in America know compassion, support, and love instead of apathy, indifference, and hatred. May we in the days, months, and years to come, find many more reasons for hope. And may we soon know that the list of tragedies is complete – and only our list of joys will grow.

Shabbat shalom from Israel—

Rabbi Yoshi

If you wish to support Rabbi Yoshi’s efforts in Israel this week, donate through Kavod.org and note “Israel Emergency Relief.” One hundred percent of the the monies donated (minus credit card fees if you donate online) will go to these efforts as Kavod has no overhead.