To Whom It May Concern

Last Friday, as I was preparing for Shabbos, I heard unusual sounds outside my home. Curious about the commotion, I peered out the window and, to my surprise, witnessed a pro-Palestinian parade marching down my otherwise quiet and unremarkable street. Chanting anti-American and anti-Israel slogans, it felt as though I was observing this from a distance, like watching a movie set in a time and place far removed from my own. The images and sounds seemed eerily familiar, not because I had witnessed them outside my home before, but because they were reminiscent of moments in my people’s past. And here I was, watching it unfold in real-time.

In 1903, Rav Meir Simcha of Dvinsk (1843–1926), published his novella on the Torah, known as Meshech Chochma. In this work, Rav Meir Simcha outlines a cycle of Jewish history that repeats approximately every 100 to 200 years, characterized by a pattern of migration, settlement, assimilation, and eventual exile. Initially, Jewish refugees arrive in a new country, establishing communities, and focusing on both material and spiritual development. This successful integration leads to a sense of belonging within the host country, but eventually, this sense of security is disrupted by rising hostility, culminating in a crisis that forces the community to seek a new refuge, thus restarting the cycle.

This cyclical pattern serves a purpose; it is a means to maintain the Jewish people’s connection to Hashem and to propel them toward their ultimate destiny, highlighting the challenges of maintaining a distinct cultural and spiritual identity in the face of assimilation pressures and the ever-present potential for redemption.

Rav Meir Simcha noted the deep sense of comfort and belonging many European Jews felt in their adopted countries, with some in Berlin even likening their city to Jerusalem, suggesting they viewed it as their ultimate home. This sentiment, expressed in a time of relative peace, carries a poignant foresight, given the tragic events that unfolded in the decades following 1903. Rav Meir Simcha’s reflections serve as a somber reminder of the unpredictable tides of history, echoing through time and foreshadowing future challenges.

This week, I have the privilege to join over 120 members of the Teaneck/Bergenfield community, on a solidarity mission to Israel. Although it has not yet started, there is a profound sense of unity and anticipation. This impressive gathering, dedicated to offering support and finding inspiration, reinforces our deep connection to our heritage and the Land of Israel. It serves as a comforting reminder that we have a sanctuary that connects us to our past and invites us toward a shared future.

Standing by my window last Friday, the unexpected parade was a vivid contrast to the sense of unity and purpose we’re finding here in Israel. It’s comforting to realize that, despite the shifts we face back home, Israel stands as a place of hope, offering us all a sense of belonging and a chance for a new beginning. I hope that our mission reinforces our community’s resilience and our deep bond with our homeland, reminding us that Israel is always there, ready to welcome us back.

What makes Israelis so stubbornly resilient in the face of adversity? How do they so naturally navigate the storms of pain and hardship with a remarkable fortitude that seems to baffle us all? What is the secret force that enables them to so instinctively adapt, and even thrive, amidst ongoing conflict? 

These questions consumed much of my thoughts during my recent trip to Israel.  They gnawed at me as I interacted with numerous individuals who had been uprooted from their homes, men and women who carried fresh scars of physical and emotional wounds, and families who mourned the loss of loved ones, and yet, through it all, displayed a resilience that defied common understanding. Upon confronting this resilience, it becomes readily apparent that this is not simply a display of stoicism.  It is much deeper than that.  It is an expression of strength that seems, in the moment, to transcend all familiar human limitations.  As an outsider, it is almost surreal to witness such fortitude in the face of adversity. At particular moments, I heard myself and others remark in disbelief at the exceptional character of these individuals, as if they were ‘cut from a different cloth’.  But, are they, in fact, different from you and me? Do we not, when all is said and done, share the same biology?  Where does this strength come from? Or perhaps, more bluntly, where can I find some of that?

The resilience we are witnessing (yet again) in Israel does not stem from some mysterious, unique attribute inherent to its people.  This extraordinary display of strength is not some superpower that one develops when drinking water from the Kinneret.  Rather, it is, I believe, a powerful characterization of a life that has been imbued with deep purpose. This purpose is not some vague and amorphous concept; it is a tangible, ever-present force in one’s daily life. In Israel, the commitment to build a land and sustain a nation is embraced as a personal mission that resonates in the hearts of its people. Every individual is a thread woven into the fabric of the nation’s ongoing story.  This collective mission transcends personal goals and ambitions, creating a powerful sense of unity and shared destiny.

And so when disaster strikes and suffering sets in, this sense of collective purpose fosters a resilience that is so much more than just coping or surviving.  Each individual carries a sense that they belong to something larger than themselves.  Challenges and adversities are not merely personal trials; they become chapters in the nation’s collective journey, imbued with meaning and significance.

This realization should not lead us to believe that those of us living outside Israel are any less focused or committed to our values. It is, after all, a universal human trait to prioritize personal and familial needs, and there is no shame in that. However, in the state of Israel, the entire context provides a unique lens through which the highs and lows of life are experienced. Often, personal struggles, especially when intertwined with the nation’s narrative, are not just individual experiences; they are part of a shared story, a communal journey. This shared experience creates a solidarity that is both comforting and empowering, providing a solid foundation for resilience.

For myself, this realization came into sharp focus when watching the funeral of Eytan Dishon הי”ד, who was laid to rest yesterday, after falling in battle while fighting for his People.  At his funeral, his grandfather shared the following remarks with those assembled: 

“Several weeks ago, I spoke to the boys in the yeshiva on the occasion of the celebration of 50 years since my aliyah. I made aliyah at the age of 21 by myself, under the shock of the Yom Kippur War. I said to the boys that it’s been 50 years since my aliyah and I don’t regret it. I don’t regret it even for a single minute. And, I still don’t regret it. I know that there is a heavy price to pay להיות עם חפשי בארצנו, ‘to exist as a free nation in our Land.’ Until now I have enjoyed this freedom and the depth of a meaningful Jewish life in Eretz Yisrael, and others have paid the price. Now it’s our turn. I don’t feel angry. I don’t feel disappointed. I just feel deep pride in Eytan and his family and a deep determination that our enemies will not win. Every day that we live in a Jewish state is a victory over Hamas. Eytan gave his life with the awareness and the knowledge that he could be called upon for the supreme sacrifice. He accepted it willingly. He didn’t flinch. Because of him, and men and women like him, we are living as a free people in our land. Is it worth all the pain? Different people will give different answers. My answer, at this moment, is yes, absolutely. It is absolutely worth it.”

These powerful words capture the essence of Israel’s story. They reflect the resilient soul of a nation where personal trials merge into a shared destiny of strength, unity, and an unwavering loyalty to their Land.

Yesterday’s historic gathering in Washington DC, which attracted close to 300,000 people in person and another 250,000 participating online, was an extraordinary display of unity and solidarity for Israel. Amidst this impressive turnout, an intriguing halachic discussion started to emerge in the days leading up to this event. Would we have the unique opportunity to recite the bracha, ברוך אתה ה’ אלקנו מלך העולם חכם הרזים? Although the crowd size did not reach the 600,000 threshold necessary to recite this bracha, the essence of these words was undeniably present in the spirit of the event.

The bracha “Baruch…Chacham Harazim” (Blessed is the One who knows all secrets) reflects a deep acknowledgment of the profound and awesome divine wisdom in creating each person uniquely. The rabbis in the Talmud (Brachos 58a) emphasized this blessing to express their awe at the miracle of human diversity: billions of people, each with distinct facial features and unique personalities, a core Jewish value highlighting the sanctity and uniqueness of each individual. At yesterday’s gathering, the essence of this bracha was palpable. The diverse assembly of individuals, each with their own views, beliefs, and backgrounds, came together as a unified community, exemplifying the message of the blessing – while each person is unique, there is a shared commonality that binds us.

Reflecting on the events of the past month, there is, what appears to me, a noticeable trend within the Jewish nation: a narrowing of the spectrum. Known for our diverse range of opinions, views, and beliefs, the global Jewish community has shown signs of moving towards the center from both extremes of the political and ideological spectrum. (There are several profound examples of this that come to mind but, in the interest of unity :-), I am choosing to not identify any in particular.) This fascinating shift suggests a trend of moderation, where more individuals may be willing to engage with and understand different perspectives, hopefully leading to more constructive dialogues and less polarization.

The convergence towards the middle doesn’t erase the unique views and beliefs of individuals. Instead, it highlights a different model of unity. It reflects our People’s ability to hold onto one’s beliefs while finding common ground with others. This trend should be seen as a source of optimism, suggesting a maturing community capable of balancing diverse views. Personally, it is a trend that leaves me feeling more hopeful than I have felt in quite some time.

The Talmud (Ta’anis 31a) foresees a day in the future in which Hashem will be “revealed,” with His presence being perceived at the center of a circle. While we have yet to experience something quite that remarkable, yesterday’s momentous gathering in Washington and the observed trends within the community are exciting phenomena to behold. Let us hope and pray that they only continue and that we continue to see a narrowing of the spectrum, a departure from extremes, and a continued focused trend towards the Center – who created us and loves us all.

As the warmth of Shabbos sets in each week, countless candles illuminate Israel, each a silent prayer for peace and blessing. Yet, for one young woman, a barista at Aroma, the act has taken on new significance — a pledge made to Rabbi Doron Perez, to light Shabbat candles in her home for the first time as a merit for his son, Daniel (דניאל שמעון בן שרון), held in captivity since October 7.

In our meeting this morning, Rabbi Perez, the Executive Chairman of World Mizrachi, recounted the heartrending story of Daniel’s bravery, a story that resonates with heroic sacrifice, as his actions saved others’ lives. This same courage was mirrored in the family’s ability to forge moments of joy in the darkest of times, celebrating the wedding of Rabbi Perez’s other son, Yonatan, who was injured on the same day yet managed to stand under the chuppah two weeks later.

Rabbi Perez, like so many others I have encountered this week, spoke with an inspiring composure, his faith unwavering in the face of such trials. His steadfast positivity, love for his homeland, and enduring belief in the divine mission of his people deeply moved us. The story came full circle as he concluded with the barista’s vow, a gesture symbolizing not just personal support for Daniel but also the collective spirit of a nation moved to acts of faith and solidarity.

The story of this stranger lighting candles for Daniel is not a unique one in Israel today. It’s part of a larger, quiet movement where people across the country are finding their own ways to deepen their spiritual connections. In these challenging times, it’s striking to see how many are turning to faith and tradition, seeking comfort and hope. These personal commitments to spirituality, taken up in kitchens and living rooms from city to city, reflect the extraordinary resilience of a nation. They show a collective response that, even in the midst of darkness and pain, there’s a powerful drive to reach for something greater, something that unites and uplifts.

As Shabbos returns, bringing in a moment of rest and reflection, the candles lit throughout Israel gain profound significance. These lights are more than just symbols of an ancient tradition; they become pillars of collective fortitude, illuminating a path of unity through challenging times. Each new flame broadcasts a message of solidarity, a prayer for those in captivity, like Daniel, whose stories are etched into the nation’s heart. As these candles cast their gentle light, they defy the darkness and serve as a quiet testament to the enduring spirit of hope—an echo of the Shabbos itself, which assures us that even in the midst of darkness, together we can kindle the enduring light of hope.

Stepping onto the war-torn soil of Israel, we continually confront the profound sorrow and palpable loss. Every stop tells a story of devastation, as countless individuals bear the scars of conflict, nursing their injuries and mourning the irreplaceable loss of relatives, friends, and homes. Our mission is clear – amidst the rubble and the tears, we endeavor to be a source of comfort and support, a testament to the resilience of the human spirit.

Our interactions with the wounded and grieving paint a vivid picture of the impact of our presence. Grieving parents, with eyes filled with an indescribable blend of pain and gratitude, express how our company strengthens their spirits. Wounded soldiers, carrying the physical and emotional scars of battle, find in our visits a momentary reprieve, a connection to a world outside their pain. The recurring message is clear: our presence matters.

Yet, in quiet moments of reflection, doubt inevitably creeps in. The scale of suffering is overwhelming, with tens of thousands bearing the brunt of the Hamas’ fury. Can our individual acts of kindness truly make a dent in this vast expanse of grief? Is our effort akin to a drop in an ocean, too insignificant to be felt? It is here that the timeless story of the starfish seems particularly poignant.

There was once an old man who used to go to the ocean to do his writing. He had a habit of walking on the beach every morning before he began his work. Early one morning, he was walking along the shore after a big storm had passed and found the vast beach littered with starfish as far as the eye could see, stretching in both directions.

Off in the distance, the old man noticed a small boy approaching. As the boy walked, he paused every so often and as he grew closer, the man could see that he was occasionally bending down to pick up an object and throw it into the sea. The boy came closer still and the man called out, ‘Good morning! May I ask what it is that you are doing?’

The young boy paused, looked up, and replied ‘Throwing starfish into the ocean. The tide has washed them up onto the beach and they can’t return to the sea by themselves,’ the youth replied. ‘When the sun gets high, they will die, unless I throw them back into the water.’

The old man replied, ‘But there must be tens of thousands of starfish on this beach. I’m afraid you won’t really be able to make much of a difference.’

The boy bent down, picked up yet another starfish and threw it as far as he could into the ocean. Then he turned, smiled and said, “It made a difference to that one!”

This timeless narrative serves as a powerful reminder that the magnitude of our impact should not be measured in the vastness of the challenge, but in the connection we forge and the meaning we bring to individual lives. We may not be able to change the reality of the entirety of the people of Israel, but to each grieving parent and wounded soldier we encounter, we are a testament to the power of human connection and compassion. In the midst of overwhelming sorrow, our efforts affirm that they are not alone, and indeed, it made a difference to that one.

Is it possible for a grieving mother to welcome strangers into her home, greet them warmly and patiently, only to then offer them words of comfort and inspiration?

Is it possible for a 19-year-old soldier, freshly recovered from injuries, to insist on returning to the battlefield, forgoing additional time to recover?

Is it possible for a mother of seven children, managing a bustling and lively household, to maintain a joyful spirit while her husband has been away at war for over three weeks?

Is it possible for countless families, displaced from their homes, to display joy and an acceptance while confined to small hotel rooms, with an uncertain future ahead?

Is it possible for individuals, fully engaged in the grueling task of identifying the mutilated remains of hundreds of men, women and children, to maintain grace, composure, warmth, love, optimism, and hope?

Is it possible for hundreds of soldiers, bearing the weight of war-related stress, to spontaneously burst into song, expressing praise and gratitude to Hashem?

Is it possible for parents whose children are being held in captivity to focus their spoken thoughts on their love for the land and the people of Israel?

Is it possible for injured civilians and soldiers to receive hundreds of cards, visits, gifts and calls from people they’ve never met?

Is it possible for a Holocaust survivor, who endured the unspeakable atrocities of the concentration camps, to maintain hope and optimism while having to relive unspeakable traumatic memories?

Is it possible for a community, struck by a catastrophic raid of terror, to come together, support each other, and vow to rebuild with resilience and strength?

Yes, it is possible. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.

ה’ עז לעמו יתן ה’ יברך את עמו בשלום

The sun had barely set, casting a soft golden hue over the city, as a somber silence filled the air. A young visitor, with a heavy heart and words stuck in his throat, walked hesitantly towards a mourning family. They had just lost a brave son, a relentless fighter against the terrors of Hamas. In this moment of unspeakable grief, the young visitor searched deep within for the right words of consolation, the words that could bring even a sliver of comfort to the shattered hearts before him.

It was in this delicate moment of shared sorrow and solidarity that he found the strength to whisper, “המקום ינחם אתכם – May Hashem (lit. “The Place”) comfort you.” These ancient words, passed down through generations, carry with them a profound and unique consolation. Referring to God as “The Place” is an uncommon choice, yet it holds special resonance. “המקום” signifies stability, an unchanging sanctuary, and a source of eternal comfort. It is a reminder that even in the darkest times, there is a refuge, a constant presence that embraces the grieving and offers solace. This choice of words conveys the deep-seated belief that Hashem is not distant or detached, but an ever-present sanctuary, providing unwavering support in times of sorrow.

In the land of Israel, this connection takes on even greater meaning. The land itself is seen as a source of comfort and strength, embodying the resilience and fortitude of its people. Those who dedicate their lives to this land, fighting against the threats and terrors that seek to undermine its peace, do so with a purpose greater than themselves. They find solace in their deep connection to the place, becoming part of its story, its struggle, and its enduring spirit.

The land of Israel, steadfast and unyielding, provides an unwavering foundation in a world fraught with uncertainty. It’s more than a mere geographical entity; it’s a living testament to the power of perseverance and strength. The land has absorbed the scars of time and adversity, and yet, it remains resolute and sturdy. The people of Israel derive strength from The Place, finding solace in the land’s relentless spirit and its capacity to weather the harshest storms.

המקום ינחם אתכם

As the visitor steps away, having shared words of consolation, he leaves behind a flicker of comfort, revealing the resilience inherent in the land and its people. The land of Israel, “The Place,” reveals itself as a profound anchor in this moment of grief. It extends its ancient arms of stability, enveloping the mourning family in a sanctuary of comfort. Here, in their time of deepest sorrow, they are gently reminded that they are not alone; they are held by a land rich in history and strength, a place that stands unwavering, offering them a steadfast foundation and a connection to something greater.

המקום ינחם אתכם בתוך שאר אבלי ציון וירושלים

Walking through the nearly deserted streets of Sderot today, I found myself surrounded by a haunting yet powerful sight: sukkot…everywhere.  Still standing long after the holiday of Sukkot has come to an end, these sukkot, typically dismantled after Simchas Torah, have become frozen in time, serving as a timestamp of the catastrophic attack that took place a little over three weeks ago. 

As we know, sukkot are meant to be temporary shelters, reminding us of the protection provided to our people for 40 years in the desert. Sukkot is a time of immense joy, a period for reflection on the hashgacha pratis (divine protection) that has shielded us since the start of our nationhood. Yet, in Sderot, the joyous celebrations of this holiday were cut tragically short and the sukkot remain, standing in silence, bearing witness to the turmoil that ensued.

Yet, I believe that the lingering presence of these sukkot, now empty and almost ghost-like, tells a story of resilience and strength. They stand defiantly, bearing the weight of recent history, serving as a metaphor for the enduring spirit of the people. Despite their fragility and temporary nature, these sukkot have withstood the test of time, much like the community they represent.

The way I see it, the sight of these structures, still standing in the face of adversity, powerfully reinforces the concept of hashgacha pratis.  The sukkah represents Hashem’s sheltering presence, “a sukkah of peace enveloping and protecting His people.” The sukkot of Sderot, remaining upright and steadfast, stand as a powerful reminder of this divine protection, highlighting the unwavering strength and resilience that faith and community can provide.  These sukkot stubbornly serve as a testament to the strength of the human spirit and the power of community. 

As I returned to the hotel late this evening, I encountered many evacuees from Sderot, who have taken temporary shelter far from where their sukkot still stand.  Yet the people of Sderot, much like their sukkot, remain resilient, their spirit undampened by adversity. Sderot, with its standing sukkot, becomes a symbol not of defeat, but of indomitable strength and unwavering hope, proving once again that out of darkness can come the most profound light.