Rabbi's Blog

Tracie and I are in Greece and Italy on a special trip. It feels strange to be away from home during such a fraught time for our Jewish community—and away from Israel at this critical and heart‑wrenching moment. I had already been weighing whether or not to display my kippah in public, but now there is no choice. We have also been careful to curb our habit of speaking Hebrew like a secret language when talking about something in a store.

At the same time, we recognize how privileged and sheltered we are while Israelis—in Israel and around the world—have nothing they can or want to hide.

Two incidents involving Israelis here made a lasting impression, occasioning these brief thoughts. First, on our ship, where I have worn my kippah more often, an older couple approached us during dinner and asked, in an unmistakable accent, if we were from Israel. When we replied in Hebrew that we were from the United States but thinking constantly about the unfathomable experiences of Israelis, she took Tracie’s hand and held it for minutes as we spoke about her children, community, and the isolation she felt after boarding this cruise on the very day Israelis were warned to expect massive retaliation for the strike against Iran’s nuclear and military facilities. She felt powerless to support her family and could not get into a mindset of making the most of a trip she was already on.

Meeting them was a touchpoint with the reality that lies just behind—or is not even covered by—the veil of everyday routine.

The second incident was quite different. While on the island of Mykonos we saw a group gathering for a photo and, as one does, offered to take the picture so everyone could be in it. One of them began waving over what turned out to be nearly twenty people. “Yalla, yalla. OK. B’seder. Rega, aifo Boaz?” As they handed Tracie the camera and asked if she could wait one more moment, she said “betach” (“sure”), and we all spoke together in Hebrew after that. This group of Israelis was part of a team of four hundred employees from an Israeli cable company who had been on a company trip to Greece and were now stuck in a hotel, waiting to get back home. They were constantly in touch with friends, family, and neighbors, but—like many Israelis—were refusing to surrender living life, even in the face of those who want them dead. I imagine some in their group have already, or will soon, make plans to return to Israel by sea or some other route that avoids Israeli airspace. In the meantime, they are oseh chayim—idiomatically “having a good time,” but literally “making life.”

Holding a hand or finding joy when it is possible may seem small compared with facing missiles or traveling through multiple countries to circumvent Israeli airspace. Still, for no other reason than being Jewish, the couple we met is our family, and the people we met on the island share a common prayer.

Tzeitchem l’shalom, u’voachem l’shalom.
Ufros aleinu sukkat sh’lomekha.

May G‑d protect our people wherever we are and extend a shelter of peace and well‑being over all the vulnerable.

Shabbat Shalom!

Rabbi Michael