A Year of Solidarity, And An Important Year Ahead
American Judaism has changed.
To be Jewish in America post October 7th, 2023 means finding ways to express your solidarity with Israel. This shift in focus has been remarkable, one that has spanned denominations, observance levels, political parties, and hashkafa.
As we reflect on the past year, it’s clear that people have found diverse ways to express their support: rallies, marches, donations, trips to Israel, political and social media advocacy, and volunteer work. Some Americans even left their steady jobs to focus on Israel, while others made the decision to move to Israel amidst the war. This outpouring of support has been a testament to the community’s strength and resilience.
As I walk through the streets of Manhattan, I’m struck by the subtle yet profound changes in our community’s dynamics. You used to be able to walk down the streets anonymously, not giving second thought to who was a fellow Jew. Now we look for signs, a magen david, a dog tag, a yellow ribbon. And we think to ourselves, do they know I feel their pain? Do they know I am proud of them for displaying their solidarity? I don’t know how long this will last, this feeling of achdut, of unity.
But as we move forward, I’m concerned that our unity may be fraying. My concern is that we haven’t learned when to turn off the combative, but necessary, posture we’ve assumed when defending Israel. I’ve seen it start to creep into other areas of dialogue. You disagree with me on this other issue, we think, well then you must not really care, you must be one of them.
This trend is troubling, and it’s essential that we recognize the value of differing perspectives within our community. We’ve become dismissive of people within our camp who disagree with the exact approach we’ve taken. Perhaps, we have lost sight of the idea that people can love Israel in different ways.
As we approach the elections, I’m reminded that there is no candidate for the US Presidency that fully represents Jewish values or whose central issue is the welfare of the Jewish people. This realization should prompt us to reevaluate our priorities and focus on building connections within our community.
In fact, I believe that our understanding of Jewish values has become secondary to our understanding of political parties. Today, if you say a Jew is conservative, you are more likely describing their political party than their denomination. Their outlook on politics is more central to their identity than their view of Jewish ritual law or theology. So, where do we go from here? I’d like to reframe how we think about the way we have mobilized in the last year, shifting our focus away from political discourse and towards a renewed sense of Jewish connection.
This reframing is inspired by the wisdom of Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, who in reflecting on the march from Selma to Montgomery with Martin Luther King Jr. said:
“…yet our legs uttered songs. Even without words, our march was worship. I felt my legs were praying.”
Isn’t that what we have felt over the last year? Haven’t our rallies, marches, donations, trips to Israel, political and social media advocacy, and volunteer work felt like some sort of prayer?
Just as we respect the different ways in which others pray, we should respect the different ways in which we show our love for Israel. For instance, I cherish the times I spend praying in synagogues with Jews of Syrian, Moroccan, and Persian descent. The tunes are different, the order is different, the words are sometimes even different. But I respect them more because of it, not less. I appreciate their heritage and the thousands of years of experiences that made them different from my family’s Ashkenaz experience.
This appreciation for different perspectives is essential as we move forward. If we view our varying expressions of solidarity with Israel as forms of prayer, of ways in which we connect with our values and the divine, then surely, we have an opportunity to foster stronger connections within our broader community. Perhaps it will give us the strength to say, you pray differently than I do, but I know you are working towards the same goal.
As we approach Rosh Hashana, I am reminded of the 3 key sections of the mussaf prayer: Kingship, Remembrance, Shofar.
We start off by declaring the Kingship, majesty, and grandeur of the Almighty, placing Him above all other kings (and politicians) for God has been there since the beginning and He will endure (unlike other rulers).
We then declare how God Remembers the deeds of people:
Who is not considered on this day?
For the remembrance of all that is formed
comes before You:
the dealings of man,
and the decree of his fate,
and the misdeeds of man’s actions,
the thoughts of man and his schemes,
and the motives for the deeds of man.
It is the motives that God cares about here. That is what He remembers. Man’s thoughts and motives. There are no specifics here, because how can there be? We save that for our own reflection on misdeeds done when we ask for forgiveness — never blaming others or pointing fingers at those who did it wrong.
Finally, we end with Shofar. The crowd is silenced, there is one central and wordless voice that at once speaks for everyone and no one. The shofar forces you to pause, reflect, glance at your neighbor. Your way of doing things doesn’t matter in that moment. The rhythm of the shofar persists. Its peaks and valleys. Its starts and stops. They all go on without your voice, without your way of seeing the world, without your politics, your post, your memes, and snide remarks. Sound, silence, sound, silence.
As we reflect on the past year and look towards the future, I urge us to reframe our approach to Jewish identity and community. Let us shift our focus away from the divisive rhetoric of politics and towards the unifying language of prayer and values. Let us recognize that our diverse perspectives and approaches are not weaknesses, but strengths, and that our shared commitment to Israel and Jewish values is what truly unites us. By embracing this approach, we can build a more inclusive, compassionate, and resilient Jewish community, one that is worthy of our highest aspirations and our deepest values.
