“Do American Jews really care?”
This is a question that has haunted us over the past two months. No one questioned American Jewry’s commitment and concern for our brothers and sisters in Israel after the terrorist attacks in southern Israel on Oct. 7, 2023. We rallied, marched, packed bags, went on missions and sent more money than ever to causes big and small; the Israeli slogan b’yachad nenatzei’ach— “together, we will overcome”—resonated fiercely across the Atlantic.
But on Feb. 28, when the joint U.S.-Israel war with Iran resumed, the call for unity was barely heard. While we ran around delivering mishloach manot, our brothers and sisters ran into their safe rooms. While we scrambled to get our teenage children to safety outside of Israel, our brothers and sisters were sending their teenage children to the battlefront.
While we made Passover plans around proximity to kosher food, our brothers and sisters made plans around proximity to bomb shelters. When the Orthodox Union launched a pre-Passover campaign to support those who were affected by the war, the response was not the same as it was after Oct. 7.
Yes, we resumed our recital of tehillim (Psalms), but if I am being honest with myself, my kavanah was lacking. I don’t think it was just me.
More embarrassingly, this question is not just in my head; it’s been posed to me by my friends in Israel. They, too, have noticed the muted response on social media. They have observed how distracted we seem to be. They are starting to wonder if we really are our brother’s keeper.
In Orot (“Light”), Rav Abraham Isaac Kook invokes the famous tale of King Solomon and the baby fought over by two mothers. One wholeheartedly agrees with his suggestion to split the child, and the other loudly protests, willing to give up her motherhood to save the child.
Rav Kook sees in this story a long-standing debate within the Jewish world. There is one view that is comfortable with splitting the nation. Be it on ideological grounds or geographic, they feel that there are differences that cannot be bridged, and in order to survive, we may sometimes have to go our own way. The other view does not resolve the tension; it acknowledges that there are insurmountable differences, and yet is willing to forego those differences, even with grave results, for the sake of keeping the nation together.
“She is the true mother!” proclaimed King Solomon. The one who recognizes that the essence of our nation is found in the unity of our nation and that our togetherness must be maintained at all costs can rightfully lay claim to Am Yisrael, the nation of Israel.
On Yom Ha’atzmaut, the people of Israel will celebrate how a small plot of land has turned into a flourishing country, housing the majority of Jews in the world, with a thriving economy and military dominance, and the source of unprecedented Talmud Torah. Naturally, Diaspora Jewry will join them in celebration.
Right before that, on Yom Hazikaron, the State of Israel came to a grinding halt. We may not have a two-minute national siren to alert us to honor those who have fallen, but we can still pause and reflect on these heroes. We can carve a moment out of our very different American reality to acknowledge the sacrifice of these brave men and women in Israel’s military and protective services, as well as victims of terror.
It is not just this week of “Yoms” that demands our attention. When was the last time I reached out to friends and family in Israel, letting them know that I was thinking of them? One friend downloaded the app that lets him know when there is a siren alerting an incoming missile attack. Another friend told me how he sent a short text check-in message to everyone he knew in Israel during Passover, including a WhatsApp to his last taxi driver.
These small gestures made a deep impact. We all feel that sense of unity, but it behooves us to express it in actions big and small.
Those who live in Israel sacrifice daily for the dream of Jewish peoplehood. We who do not yet live there have a greater obligation to demonstrate that nothing—not ideology or geographical distance—can hold us apart.
Let us double our efforts to not only feel that connection but to demonstrate it to our beloved other half in every way we can. Let us send our chizuk—our strength and encouragement—from one side of the ocean to the other. And let us echo the true mother’s calling.
