Our community has rallied. To its everlasting credit, the American Jewish community has awoken from its slumber and jumped into action. The generosity and love have been overwhelming.
But we must do more than act, pray and cry.
In the Orthodox Jewish community, there are some important unwritten rules. Rabbis will avoid statements, however true, that might anger their congregants. Jewish organizations will carefully and blandly issue neutral statements about the critical issues of our time that nobody reads. And uncomfortable topics will be avoided at all costs.
The pogrom of October 7 has changed our world. For many of us, this slaughter was the most horrific event of our lifetimes. We, the Jewish people, will never – must never – be the same. Whether we realize it or not, the nightmare of Shemini Atzeret 5784 has exploded accepted truths and fundamental tenets of our community’s world view.
It is exceptionally difficult to question and change strongly held beliefs. Our opinions are a critical part of our identity, and shifting long held beliefs can throw our entire sense of self into doubt. Frankly, I doubt this article will convince many people to change their minds. Nevertheless, I feel compelled to write, for we are Jews, Yehudim, meaning “to admit.” Like the original Yehudah, who admitted his sin with Tamar, we all possess the moral DNA to admit painful truths.
What I share here may be grounds for dismissal from polite Orthodox society. I’m not likely to be hired as a scholar in residence at shuls in America anytime soon. That’s fine – I hate wearing ties.
An Epidemic of Fear
A few days after the slaughter of October 7, I flew to America to speak to Jewish and Christian communities in Orlando and Dallas. With local volunteers, I helped organize a rally in support of Israel in Dallas. But upon arriving, I learned that Hamas activists had pressured the public school hosting our rally into canceling our event and that we would need to find a new location for the rally – quickly. We immediately called several Jewish institutions to ask them to host the rally on their properties. But every single one of them refused to help. Why? Because they were afraid of drawing attention to themselves.
Since the war began a few weeks ago, a significant percentage of American teens studying at yeshivot and seminaries in Israel have already gone “home,” escaping the “war zone” of Israel to return to America. It is understandable that people are nervous, and it’s nobody’s place to judge any particular student. Some psychologists are even encouraging young people with severe anxiety or past trauma to return to their families. Still, we should reflect, as a community, on the extreme fearfulness of our children. Their 18-year old Israeli peers are bravely standing at the Gaza border, awaiting orders to invade. How did we raise such a frightened generation?
I grew up hearing stories from my parents about how they fought with antisemites at the University of Buffalo, catching them as they vandalized the Chabad house and teaching them a lesson before turning them over to the police. Nowadays? Jewish students at American universities cower in fear. Why don’t Jewish students band together and stand up to the Hamas supporters on campus? Why don’t they scream back? Because we taught them to run, to avoid conflict – in short, to be afraid.
The pro-Hamas Arabs of Patterson, New Jersey, regularly rally in Teaneck to intimidate the Jews. Why don’t we rally in Patterson, and show them we’re not afraid? Why do we always play defense?
To be sure, this is a generalization. There are incredibly brave American lone soldiers serving in Israel as we speak, and their parents, like all parents of soldiers, are also heroes. I personally know several US activists who aren’t afraid to stand up to antisemites. But they are exceptions.
“I will bring fear in their hearts in the lands of their enemies, and the sound of a rustling leaf will pursue them; they will flee as one flees the sword, and they will fall, but there will be no pursuer. Each man will stumble over his brother, [fleeing] as if from the sword, but without a pursuer. You will not be able to stand up against your enemies” (Vayikra 26:36-37).
Fear is the curse of exile. The simplest solution, of course, is to leave the exile and return to our natural habitat, where Jews are no longer afraid of rustling leaves. Short of that, we must honestly acknowledge the problem and reflect on how we can change it.
This is no theoretical issue. We are at war, and the war is not limited to Israel. Every Jew, everywhere, must be ready to stand up and fight the enemy.
Careful Leaders
In war, some rise to the moment and spring into action, while others do not. There are those who act, and those who merely talk about acting. At moments like these, we see who the true leaders of our community are – and it has little to do with fancy titles like “rabbi,” “executive director” or “principal.” On my recent trip to America, I met dentists and administrative assistants who leapt into action in a way many “official” leaders of the community did not.
To be clear: many of our rabbis and organizational heads have responded admirably. But I also heard from activists about salaried Federation leaders who show up at rallies organized by volunteers, there to smile for the cameras and take credit for other people’s work. I personally met several official Jewish leaders who either adamantly refused to help with pressing issues or were unable to react quickly. Why? Didn’t they become leaders for moments like this?
“Official” leaders, leaders of institutions, are careful. In the back of their minds, they are constantly thinking: “If I say something, how will people react? Will I lose the support of my congregants or parent body? How can I keep all of my constituents happy?” This is why few rabbis and organizational leaders spoke out about President Biden’s 6-billion-dollar gift to Iran, money Iran would surely use to murder more Jews through its proxies, or his reinstatement of funding to the Palestinians. Condemning this publicly, they thought, would make little impact (a defeatist approach), and would surely divide their congregations along partisan lines. The careful decision, the wise decision, was to say nothing.
There are times for careful leadership – but now is not the time. When facing an evil of Amalekite proportions like Hamas, careful leadership is a recipe for disaster.
King Saul was a careful leader. When God commanded him to utterly wipe out the Amalekites, Saul, the “official” leader of his generation, worried about what the people might say. And so God tore the kingdom of Israel away from him and gave it to a man who was anything but careful. The next king, overlooked by everyone, was the shepherd boy who refused to be afraid.
God chose David, the young man who threw caution to the wind and said without fear to the giant Goliath: “You come to me with sword, spear and javelin, and I come to you with the Name of the Lord of Hosts… This day, the Lord will deliver you into my hand, and I shall slay you, and take off your head, and I shall give the carcasses of the camp of the Philistines this day, to the fowl of the air and to the beasts of the earth” (Shmuel I, 17:45-46).
I turn to you, the Jews in the pews, to lead us. Your time in the shadows is over. Please – stand up and show us the way. Don’t be shy or overly humble. For you are the leaders we will follow to the end.
To be continued.
Elie Mischel is the Director of Education at Israel365
