By Doron Krakow
PITTSBURGH, Pennsylvania — It has been a week of shock and sorrow since last Saturday’s shooting at the Tree of Life synagogue. I arrived in Pittsburgh last night so that I could spend some time at the JCC this morning, talking to colleagues and sharing the thoughts, prayers and good wishes of countless others throughout the field and the wider community. I also came to attend the funeral of Rose Mallinger, which will take place this afternoon. At 97, Rose was the oldest of the victims, the mother of Alan Mallinger, a 35-year member of the JCC of Greater Pittsburgh staff. Rose was one of the regulars at Shabbat services, often volunteering to prepare breakfast for other congregants. She was a retired school secretary, mother of three, grandmother of five, and proud great-grandmother of one.
We all have been consumed with the events of the past week, and it is hard to think of much else. We are wise to take comfort in the words of Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, the former chief rabbi of England: “The only sane response to anti-Semitism is to monitor it, fight it, but never let it affect our idea of who we are. Pride is always a healthier response than shame.”
Prior to the devastating events in Pittsburgh, I had looked forward to reflecting on my recent experienced in Israel where I visited my son and took part in the Jewish Federations of North America General Assembly. A chance to take pride indeed.
I arrived in Israel on Friday, Oct. 19 and for the first time was greeted at the airport by my Israeli son, Aaron. He was there early, waiting for me. His Hebrew is coming along quickly, the byproduct of intense study and determination as he prepares to begin his service in the IDF on Dec. 23. We departed Ben-Gurion Airport and began the first of two memorable Shabbats together.
The night before my arrival, a Grad missile, fired from Gaza, struck a home in Beer Sheva, the capital city of Israel’s Negev Desert region. Single mother, Mira Tamano, an immigrant from Ethiopia, was awakened at 3:40 a.m. by a loud siren, part of a red-alert system that, given Beer Sheva’s distance from Gaza, provides roughly 60 seconds of warning before impact. She grabbed her three young sons, ages 8, 9 and 12 and made it into a bomb shelter seconds before the missile struck and destroyed her home. This time, a family wasn’t saved by Israel’s vaunted Iron Dome. Perhaps it was the hand of God.
While in Israel, JCC Association Board Chair Gary Jacobs [of San Diego] and I participated in the GA, the annual gathering of leaders of North American Jewish communities from across the continent. The theme was “Let’s Talk,” a call for dialogue between these leaders and leaders from the State of Israel; a dialogue about common concerns, shared achievements and an opportunity to engage one another on matters over which we have disparate points of view. The backdrop was a celebration of Israel’s 70th birthday and the people we saw and heard provided a proud reminder of the modern miracle that has been achieved here—the restoration of Jewish sovereignty in our ancient homeland after nearly 2,000 years.
Perhaps the most powerful speaker was 2018 Israel Prize winner, Miriam Peretz [you can listen to highlights of her acceptance speech here]. Peretz, who came to Israel from her native Morocco in 1964, has spent her career as a celebrated teacher. She also lost two sons in combat. Her eldest, Uriel, was killed in Lebanon in 1998 at the age of 22, while serving in the elite Sayeret Golani unit. Twelve years later, his brother, Eliraz, serving in the same elite unit, was killed near the border with Gaza. In between, her husband Eliezer died of what Miriam described as “a broken heart.”
Repeating a small portion of her Israel Prize acceptance speech, she told the GA, “As a girl, I felt I did nothing for my country. I came to a ready-made country and didn’t know that there would come a day when I would give my dearest to the country—my sons Uriel and Eliraz. … I have a heart that was broken thrice. … With that heart I came to my nation and in simple words, in the language of a broken heart, I spoke of this land and its legacy, of choosing goodness, of happiness, of devotion to life, of responsibility, of social involvement, and out of a heart which beats with faith in this country and this nation. Out of the great depth of pain flowed springs of love.” There wasn’t a dry eye in the house.
Thursday evening, Aaron joined me in Jerusalem for dinner with two remarkable young women. Emma, the daughter of a Jewish father and a Catholic mother, grew up in Cranford, New Jersey, a product of NJY Camps. Her dad is among my closest friends. She’d made her first visit to Israel only three years ago and returned for her second only a few weeks ago to begin a gap year on the Young Judaea Year Course, a 10-month, volunteer study program. Courses in Hebrew, history, comparative religions, Zionism and human psychology comprise the academic portion of her program. And Jerusalem is her classroom, with roughly one-and-a-half days each week spent learning in the places where history was made; and where it is being made, each and every day. Her journey to a rich and committed Jewish life is unfolding with extraordinary meaning.
The other young woman, Liat, is a madricha (counselor) on Emma’s program. Liat has been friends with Aaron since they were little kids, starting at Camp Young Judaea Sprout Lake in New York. She and her family made aliyah when she was 12, returning to the land of her grandfather, an unsung hero of the War of Independence. She recently concluded her own service in the IDF, where she served in a special search and rescue unit, the only woman to successfully endure the difficult training. She suffered serious injuries during the course of her service, which included a host of combat deployments, and which concluded earlier than planned, when those injuries made it impossible for her to go on. Now, instead of search and rescue, she is shepherding 62 young adults through a year of Jewish and Zionist discovery, inspiration and growth.
So, back to Aaron. He’s living on Kibbutz Afikim, just south of the Kineret (the Sea of Galilee), where—like each of the 24 young men and women in his garin (a group that has made aliyah together)—he has been adopted by a family on the kibbutz. On Friday evening, Aaron and I were joined by his kibbutz dad, Ruvik, for Shabbat dinner at a beautiful restaurant overlooking the Jordan River Valley. Ruvik is an engineer and a retired career naval officer. He is third generation on Afikim and lives there with his wife and young son.
We spent a long, lovely evening in wide ranging conversation—all in Hebrew as he is determined to help Aaron become ever more capable ahead of his service. In a particularly poignant moment for me, he said that he and Orit (his wife) would always be there for my son. Every ceremony. Every drop-off. Every pickup. Every time he’s sick. Every time he can’t make the bus to travel home for a free Shabbat. Every time he needs anything at all. As my eyes filled with tears, I told him that I didn’t have the words to adequately express my thanks. He said that whatever he and his family can do for Aaron pales in comparison to what Aaron has chosen to do for them, for Israel and for the Jewish people.
I have no words. We met as strangers and parted as family. Janet, Yoni, Elan and I will return to Israel in December to be with Aaron as he heads off to the start of his IDF service. The night before, we’ll raise a glass to Aaron together on Afikim with Ruvik, Orit and Yorad.
As the new week began, sirens blared once more in the dark of night. This time, Iron Dome was there, and countless Israelis were spared what Mira Tamano and her sons experienced just a week before. In between, I was privileged to be in the company of Gary, Miriam, Emma, Liat, Ruvik and, of course, Aaron— among so many others. Each one making a unique contribution to strengthening the ties that bind us together as a people.
One of the most powerful concepts in Judaism comes from the Talmud (Shevuot 39a); Kol Yisrael arevim zeh bazeh—כל ישראל ערבים זה בזה—all of Israel are responsible for one another. It is the essence of Jewish peoplehood. Our strength as a people comes from our ability to draw strength from one another—across the street or around the world. Today, we bring that spirit of peoplehood to Pittsburgh. May the families of those who were murdered here in the Tree of Life Synagogue be comforted among the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem.
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Doron is president and CEO of the JCC Association of North America