Read + Listen / השראה

Israelis in our Dining Room:
War, Israel and Us

A message from Rabbi Noa Kushner on Monday, October 9th 2023

I am sitting in my house. There are six yartzeit candles burning on my dining room table — we would’ve lit more but that’s all we had in the drawer when the Israelis asked for them.

The candles are there because, just an hour ago today, a contingent of Israeli twenty-somethings were visiting. This is not unusual, we host groups from Israel all the time. But not like this, not at times in the world like this. Because there’s never been a time like this.

I was surprised this group was in town, given everything. But this war happened so fast, they had already arrived in the US last week, they were already here.

I did not know what to expect. They’re thousands of miles from home, their country is in a full scale war, the violence is unprecedented, the death count is rising by the hour, and their army is completely made up of people they know. Polite and gracious, they were trying to stick to the regular kinds of questions guests ask about The Kitchen, a script. But some were checking their phones, of course. Some were in tears.

I didn’t know what I wanted to happen but I knew it was absurd to talk about Jewish life when Jewish life was unfolding in our dining room.

Michael, my husband, also a rabbi, said he wanted to know their names and the names of those they were carrying. Now the veneer of having a polite US-Israeli conversation started to wear thin, it wore away. They had not yet been in a home on this trip, and something about being in our home reminded them of just how far away they were. We could feel their need to say these names out loud, they needed to tell each other these names. We stood, a makeshift ceremony in real time. Asher, our Hazzan, had the oud and we all sang אחינו כל בית ישראל. Then the names poured out of their mouths, the ones they were holding so tightly, the names of those who had died, names of those still in peril, the names of those held hostage, the kidnapped, the wounded: this one who was a neighbor, this one who is in a bomb shelter, this one who was a bartender at that rave, this one who lost his leg, this one for whom the psychic scars might not ever heal, Jewish names, they spoke in English and then gave up and spoke in Hebrew and the words and the names and the languages tumbled together in sprawling, sporadic waves, stopping and starting again, their open, young faces crumpled in pain. I could barely open my eyes.

No amount of checking the news, no social media post, no statistic in my life will ever compare to the experience of these pleading faces as they tried to put syllables together to make some meaning, any meaning, in such a violent world, while standing in the house of a rabbi they had never met, so very far away from home.

We lit all the candles we had in the house, I wish we had more. We said kaddish. We tried to help but I have never felt so inadequate in all my life, I could barely construct a sentence. So we made them promise they would return in better days, for shabbat, another day, any better day. I just wish I could have kept them a little longer, I keep thinking I should have made them stay here with me.

– Rabbi Noa Kushner
October 9, 2023 / Parashat Bereisheet, 5784

High Holiday Drashot

Music

High Holiday Melodies

A series of prayers all about mercy and forgiveness recorded Hazzan Asher Shasho Levy.

Shabbat Drashot