We met many along our travels, but found it necessary to adjust our story out of concern for our safety, yet surprisingly the height of fear and discomfort we experienced occurred on the birthday of Man. Along the way we were often greeted with statements like, “Israel and Greece are good friends,” and, “Israel is strong; Greece shares, not only the same goals of peace and prosperity for the region, but a mutual distrust of the Turks ongoing aggression and expansionism.” On the birthday of Man, however, we attended New Year's services in a little town called… um, it was something like Chelm. The rabbi (I guess he was a rabbi), high upon an ancient pulpit, muttered his way through his sermon, speaking very loudly of inclusion, yet under his breath maligning observant Jews to the cronies at his feet. And, no prayer or even a community acknowledgment was given about the ongoing suffering of the remaining hostages, who had been taken over 700 days before by Hamas and Palestinians in Gaza.
On a break, as we all sat to enjoy a traditional seder done for Rosh Hashanah, we requested of the rabbi that he say something in solidarity with the plight of the hostages, and in recognition of the horror we suffered as a people on Oct. 7th. He sat with his cronies, all smiling but him, and mumbled an agreement, that he ought to say something and that he usually did, but forgot to this time... for some reason. We sat and began the seder to usher in the new year, using symbolic foods, or simanim (signs), eaten in a specific order with blessings to represent our hopes for the coming year. He began looking at us, but quickly diverted his eyes which settled upon his cronies. Once speaking briefly of the hostages, that they should be returned safely, he began to mumble out the inclusion of all the different religions, one by one, by name, and then, of course, to complete his blessing for the new year, the Palestinians. It was as if he hated himself so much for being Jewish that he was compelled to show his guilt to the world. His congregation of cronies all nodded in unison upon his final word, and the spirit I'd brought with me to lighten our path together dimmed even more. We left the seder feeling distanced and alone, the exact opposite of what his so-called sermon was meant to accomplish: in his own words, an open inclusion of all Jewish walks of life. If only it had been a dialogue to lead us all towards a deeper understanding of our differences, and encouraging respect amongst each other as we entered the new year together; if only...
We walked out of that old city, somewhere on the island of Crete, relieved to have left. At the beginning of the rabbi of Chelm’s meandering mumble, he had told the congregation about how Nazis had slaughtered the once thriving Jewish community living there, and that the synagogue we sat in had been destroyed and only recently rebuilt by a generous donor who had passed just a few years before. We walked through the bustling streets, full of tourists and holiday-makers, and as we looked around, we noticed the utter absence of Jewish life. The emptiness was thick in the air. Then, as we began to try and right the situation in our heads, we up and stumbled over a literal wall of hate. It wasn’t just hooligan graffiti to get attention, although that was there also. It was a campaign of hate and antisemitism spread across a 20 meter wall, designed to get the attention of passersby, filled with opinions and innuendo, blood libels, scapegoating, and calls to violence. It wasn't until much later (an entire day) that I began to realign myself with reality.
Much of the world around me, I realized had become the biggest deep-fake I had ever seen. It was no longer just internet memes and fake news; the insanity had spilled over into the real world and had begun to rot. The people we met along the way were mostly very pleasant and creative folks, even when they learned we were from Israel. But with many, just uttering the word Israel caused the conversation to shift. Our fears at the beginning of our journey proved to be unwarranted, in terms of safety, but the wall of hate had already done its job. The lies were so thick that the light had begun to have difficulty peeping through. At the wall of hate I began to tear away a poster that stated that the IDF killed babies, like it was a mission statement or something. The IDF is a people's army, with family and friends all serving in order to protect us from almost constant missile fire, horrendous terror attacks, and even rogue theocratic governments launching killer drones into our civilian populations. As I began to tear the lies away, I realized that the glue was too strong. It would only came off in tiny ribbons, one at a time, like marking the surface of mud as it rolls back in to fill the void.
Darkness in the world can only exist if it's believed and supported; and, like glue holding lies to a wall, darkness can be removed, but only with our combined effort. As I became frustrated at the strength of the glue's darkness, I began to walk away feeling I had done little to add some light back into the world. I was overwhelmed by the self-hate emanating from the congregation goers and rabbi, and my valuable resources were almost completely gone. I felt used up and ready to lay down, but when I opened my eyes I saw a couple standing a distance away, watching me as my wife and I battled the darkness alone. I looked at their faces and registered concern, but quickly looked away from a lack of personal resources. At the time I assumed they were aligned with the antisemites who posted the lies upon the wall of hate, but later thought more about the onlookers. The concern in their eyes may not have been for the poster being removed, one ribbon at a time, but could have been for me, for us, maybe even for us all. Maybe it's up to each of us to stand up and do what's right, and that light can spread from one to another. Their faces still haunt my mind, and I think I can now see how that concern was for me, but also when I walked away, having been defeated by the darkness, it was for the hope I'd temporarily lost. I'd failed to see that each ribbon I pulled from the lies on the wall let just a little bit more light into the world. I'd failed to see that the light wasn't coming from the absence of lies on the wall, but from the people rooting me on to keep tearing away the darkness.
Shana tova - may your light shine right through the cracks in the world!
