They reminded me of cute little monkeys, four little brothers, gamboling on the bima after services, sugared up after having their Adon Olam lollipops. It reminded me of my beloved father, of blessed memory. A Kohein, he was his Springfield shul’s candyman, a position my brother later assumed before he made aliyah. Dad’s response to those who complained about children making noise in shul was that the voices of children in shul was music to the ears of Holocaust survivors.
One-and-a-half million children were murdered in the Shoah. That irrevocable loss is even more painful to contemplate when we think of all the descendants they would have had if they had lived. Jews are the only people in the world who still have not reached their pre-World War II population.
While masked congregants were greeting one another briefly before saying our goodbyes, in what has become our form of table fellowship—a poor but welcome substitute for the pre-COVID weekly sit-down kiddush—the eldest boys, a 6-year-old and a 3-year old, played, while at the same time keeping their twin brothers from crawling off the bima. We were not aware that the real danger was far away. In Texas, a synagogue was under siege, a rabbi and congregants hostages to a radicalized, weaponized Muslim from Manchester: a madman who should never have been allowed entry to the United States. He was making demands and spouting antisemitic tropes about powerful Jews being responsible for a Muslim woman who is serving an 86-year term for terrorism. She is related to the mastermind behind the 9/11 attacks.
Fortunately, when the rabbi saw an opportunity to act, he threw a chair at the terrorist. He and the two remaining hostages escaped, one having been released at 5 p.m. The would-be murderer was shot by an FBI SWAT team on the scene, along with local militia. Initially, the FBI declared that the 11-hour siege was the act of a mentally ill person rather than an antisemitic terrorist. Director Christopher Wray would soon be forced to retract that shamelessly inane statement, saying they are investigating it as a terrorist act.
Deborah Lipstadt, the Modern Jewish History and Holocaust Studies professor at Emory University, has a well-earned reputation for fighting Holocaust denial (a form of antisemitism). She has been, since May 2021, considered the Biden’s administration’s foremost candidate to become the United States Special Envoy for Monitoring and Combating Antisemitism. Nominated for the post in July, she still awaits confirmation. While the politicians dally, attacks on American Jews and their institutions continue to multiply.
I’m reminded of FDR’s State Department. His friend, supporter and Assistant Secretary of State Breckenridge Long willfully obstructed Jewish immigration. The antisemite’s admonition to bureaucrats was “Delay, delay, delay.” The delays in granting sanctuary to those desperate to flee Nazi Europe resulted in thousands of dead Jews.
Thankfully, the Colleyville, Texas 11-hour siege did not leave the Jews physically harmed. They were undoubtedly traumatized by the event, and no one really knows the lasting effects of the seemingly endless day they endured. Nor do we know the effect it, following on the heels of the attacks in Pittsburgh and Poway, will have on other Jewish communities.
It is said that more than Jews keep the Sabbath, the Sabbath keeps the Jews. It was no accident that the Nazis burned down 1,000 synagogues in Germany and Austria on Kristallnacht. Their desire was not merely to destroy Jewish houses of worship, but Jewish community and cultural life. That antisemites are targeting synagogues should come as no surprise, given the recent rise in antisemitism.
Right after the close catastrophe in Colleyville, Lipstadt put out a call for Jews to go to synagogue on Shabbat. How many American Jews heeded Lipstadt’s call? I was glad to see more children in synagogue last Shabbat than had been there the previous week, and even more this week.
Jews are not strangers to upheaval. We have known it from our very beginnings. Despite all attempts to eradicate us, we remain a robust people because we have learned and internalized lessons of courage in the face of fear, from Torah teachings. The past two weeks, we read and discussed narratives of Moses (and Aaron) standing up to Pharoah; Moses putting down the rebellious slaves he was leading to freedom; Nachshon, Aaron’s brother in law, wading bravely into the sea while the Israelites cowered; Miriam leading a song of praise and thanksgiving that we still sing; Tzipporah circumcising the sons she bore Moses; and Moses, heeding Jethro, his father-in-law and a Midianite priest, who advised him to share power and responsibility with others in the community.
The takeaways: We must stand against evil. We must never allow fear to guide us. We must maintain faith in God, and in ourselves. And we must reach out and work with others, including people of different faiths, to help create a more peaceable world for all.
Decades ago, when I was pregnant with my youngest child, my husband and I were in Florence, Italy. We wanted to see its famed synagogue and went to Shabbat morning services, only to be met at the entrance by machine-gun armed carabinieri. One was leading mine-sniffing dogs around the perimeter of the courtyard’s garden. We noted the irony that the dogs were German shepherds and the weapons were Israeli-made Uzis. Florence and other Italian cities were papered with PLO posters accusing Israel of terrorism.
Although we were appropriately dressed, not carrying backpacks or even a camera, the policemen tried to dissuade us from entering the synagogue. They suggested we return Sunday. Surprised and somewhat shaken, we insisted we were there to pray. They relented only after one examined the contents of my little shoulder purse and found only tissues, mints and sunglasses. It was the first time I was questioned and searched. Searches, even body scans, would become a ubiquitous part of travel and tourism, as well as a prelude to entering many buildings, museums and even schools in the United States.
As Elie Wiesel said, and Germans experienced when their cities were bombed, “What begins with Jews doesn’t end with Jews.”
A few years after the Florence experience, our community in New Jersey received a bomb threat on the eve of Yom Kippur. The parking lot of our synagogue, Congregation Beth El of the Oranges and Maplewood, was filled with congregants and clergy trying to decide whether or not to enter the sanctuary. Quite a few took their children and left. At least one synagogue in the area canceled their Kol Nidre service
While the rabbi and the board members were debating the wisdom of entering the synagogue in the face of a bomb threat, it was our young cantor, Elliot Vogel, who led congregants into the sanctuary. He may have been inspired by Nachshon or a rabbinical teaching of Rabbi Eliezer (Pirkei Avot 2:10) which has been interpreted as advising to live each day fully, ethically and courageously as if it were your last. Excellent advice even in the best—and under the worst—circumstances.
Barbara Wind is a writer, speaker and Holocaust-related independent scholar, curator and consultant.
