I did it. I went to Seven Mile this year three days before Pesach. I had to buy four items – my wife would never ever ever trust me with an entire list of groceries. I avoided eye contact with the people I knew – I was on a mission (I’m sorry). I learned that the sun-dried tomatoes were not in the vegetable section. For some reason, I am pretty sure Seven Mile chooses the narrowest aisles to make into Pesach aisles. Right? You could barely squeeze two shopping carts in the aisle AND the Seven Mile worker decides that this would be a perfect time to start stocking the spices with a huge box and ladder.
By the time I was done, I was filled with gratitude to Hindy for doing this every other day of the year. To all of you grocery shoppers, especially for Pesach, you all deserve a round of applause.
Then, I tried to pull out of that parking lot. Wow. That parking lot was not made for fifteen-seater vans and hundreds of transplants from New York.
As I pulled out, I peeked at my receipt. And then I thought it might actually be a good idea to get my car hit by one those crazy drivers so I could have the money to pay for my shopping bill.
In short, it was stressful.
Later that day, I read a Facebook post from Shira Sheps, a woman who lives in Beit Shemesh. She too was shopping Erev Pesach. She was in line, ready to pay, when the sirens went off. Instead of pushing her way through a narrow Pesach aisle, she filed into a tiny room with 75 other people. Instead of navigating a parking lot with blaring horns, she stood, shoulder to shoulder, in a room filled with babies who were somehow not screaming. Though she didn’t mention it, the prices of her food were exponentially more expensive than mine, as grocery costs have sky-rocketed in Israel due to the war.
I’m embarrassed to say that in all my busy-ness in the lead-up to Pesach, I didn’t really think about what was going on in Israel. Yes, I woke up every morning to check the news. But I was reading about the bombs, about Iran, about the IDF. I wasn’t thinking about Shira and the millions like her. I wasn’t thinking about the thousands who have loved ones who could not be with them for Seder because they are on Miluim. I wasn’t thinking about the Seders that were interrupted constantly. Or the Seders in Israel that would be terribly lonely because a loved one’s seat will remain empty forever.
***
It’s Yizkor today, a time dedicated to remembering our loved ones. But sometimes I wonder, and I apologize if what I am about to say is insensitive – do we really need a day to remember a parent, a spouse, a child? Those who have experienced loss live with that loss daily. There is nothing that does not evoke a memory of a mother or father, of a spouse, a child or a sibling who is no longer with us. But there are others who we too easily forget.
Maybe it’s someone who sits in our row in shul but hasn’t been there in a few weeks. Maybe it’s a friend who is going through a hard time who would probably appreciate a call. And maybe it’s our family and friends in Israel, who are wondering if perhaps we have forgotten them.
***
One of the most haunting scenes in Eli Wiesel’s memoir, Night, takes place on a cattle car. He and his fellow inmates were on the death march, they were broken and starving. A soldier threw them a few scraps of bread, which were immediately pounced upon. Two people grabbed the same piece of bread and started fighting over it. One of them was a little stronger than the other – a tiny bit more flesh on his skeleton, and he started beating the other man viciously. When the other prisoners finally pulled them apart, they realized that it was a son beating his father.
Starvation saps the humanity out of us. Even those of us who are not starving, in times of distress, we easily forget about those around us.
***
Two weeks ago, I received a message from a friend in Israel:
“Hi,
I hope you’re doing well… Some of us here in Israel are sensing a certain amount of “Israel fatigue” compared to after October 7th. [We’re not hearing] from friends abroad or [seeing any] social media posts. I’m wondering if you have any thoughts?”
The only thought I had was, wow, how embarrassing.
Fatigue was a very generous assumption. If I’m being honest, in the hustle and bustle of pre-Pesach life, I simply forgot.
That man who texted me is not alone in feeling abandoned by American Jews; I have heard this sentiment numerous times from Israelis. “While you are making your Pesach plans around Kosher for Pesach food, we are making our Pesach plans around bomb shelters.” Or “We are living in two different worlds.” Or “You cannot possibly understand what we’re going through.” Israeli Jews have started describing Diaspora Judaism as a different form of Judaism.
That’s wrong, we are one people, and we always will be. But there is also some justice to their critique.
Maybe I cannot donate anymore to Israeli causes, that’s fair. But have I really spent time thinking about how difficult it must have been these past four weeks, preparing for Pesach with houses full of children, as missiles rained down? Have I spent any time this past month thinking about ways I can help?
***
We’ve been learning about the life and works of Rabbi Yissachar Shlomo Teichtal over Pesach. As I read about his life, I thought of the Elie Wiesel story. In the final section of his book, Eim Habanim Semeicha, a book that is ostensibly about building up the land of Israel, he shifts gears and starts talking about unity. He argues that the main reason building Israel is so important is because it’s a project that can bring all Jews together, and togetherness, unity, true care for a fellow Jew, is the most important value of all.
That is the final message of his book, and also the final message of his life. He too was on a train in occupied Europe, this one on the way to the Mathausen concentration camp. The German soldiers also played their sick games with him and the other Jews crammed into a cattle car. They threw some crusts into the car; one was grabbed by an old Jew. There was a Ukrainian prisoner in the same car, and he snatched the crust from the Jew. Rabbi Teichtal witnessed this and calmly walked over to the Ukrainian and demanded that he return the crust. The Ukrainian laughed at him. The Jews in the car who knew Rabbi Teichtal begged him to leave it alone. But he replied: “How can I stand by when the man’s life depends on this food?” He tried again to retrieve the crust, but this time the Ukrainian started beating Rabbi Teichtal. A Nazi officer stepped in and helped the Ukrainian. Rav Teichtal died with Echad on his lips, the oneness of the Jewish People.
***
We are all on a train together and we all face the same choice. Which of those two stories is ours?
Will we get swept up in our own stressors? Will we ignore the cries of our brothers and sisters in Israel? Will we go on our exotic vacations, sleep undisturbed through the night, and allow the bond between us to wither away?
Or will we feel their pain? Will we stand up for them? Will we do whatever we can to support them?
There is so much more to do, and I hope you can help me come up with ideas of how we can best give them strength. But at the very least, let’s let them know we care.
This Yizkor, let’s not only remember those who passed, let’s remember the living who need our attention. Let’s remember Elliot Heller, a young man who grew up in our shul who spent Pesach in Gaza eating out of cans. Let’s remember the tens of families who made Aliyah from our shul who spent Seder night running to and from their bomb shelters. Let’s remember Hodaya Harush and her kids whose husband’s picture we walk by every Shabbos in shul – I am sure she, who sat with no one at the head of her seder table, would appreciate being remembered. Let’s not just remember them; let’s send them messages after Yom Tov, wishing them a good Shabbos, thanking them for being in Israel on our behalf, letting them know we care.
I have spent the past week talking about Israel and making Aliyah. It is a beautiful Mitzvah to live in Israel, but it’s also not for everyone. But unity, true care and connection with one another, that is something we are all obligated in. As Rav Teichtal observes, when faced with the decision of staying in Israel or reuniting his family in Egypt, Yaakov Avinu was told that unity is more important; keep the family together.
At 120, we will not be asked why we did not reach out to say hello to a Charedi we never met or a secular Jew in Tel Aviv we never crossed paths with. But we will be asked why we did not remember those we know, those whose phone numbers are in our phones. Those people are in our train, and right now, they need us.
We cannot allow the divide of the ocean or differing life circumstances divide us any further. Let’s remind them and remind ourselves that we are one. And in that merit, may G-d bring us all to Israel speedily in our days.