When the President of the United States Restored My Faith in a Judaism that is Much More than Survival

When I was growing up, my rabbi—who had been on the pulpit since the late 1930s—told us again and again that the world did not like Jews.  He explained that our comfort as Jews in the diaspora was an illusion and that, when push came to shove, we should not expect to feel the warmth of the stranger’s embrace.  He told us that despite assimilation and seeming wide-spread acceptance, Jews were still alone. 

As I listened to this message growing up, I was always uncomfortable.  I never felt vulnerable as a Jew – I spent my childhood surrounded by non-Jews who liked me. My non-Jewish friends came to my Bar Mitzvah and played basketball with me at the Jewish Community Center.  In the media and in popular culture, Judaism was widely embraced, celebrated and integrated.  I never felt that my Judaism made me any different.  

For my generation, this feeling of general acceptance led to a re-imagination of what being Jewish actually means. My generation sought to define Judaism by the ways in which it affirmed life and provided a structure to live life more completely. Instead of spending so much time reacting to our enemies and emphasizing the need to defend ourselves, we aimed to build a Judaism that could be incorporated into an assimilated life.  We assumed that we were living in a new age for the Jewish identity – one in which Judaism no longer separated us from the world, but asked us to integrate our tradition with that world.    

On Saturday, October 7th and on the days afterwards, many of my generation’s most sacred assumptions were shattered.  As Hamas terrorists came into Israel from Gaza and committed the most horrific of atrocities, much of the world remained silent.  Instead of calling out the acts as terrorism, there was equivocation with the succeeding Israeli military action. Many said nothing, while others called for nothing more than a general end to the killing of innocent civilians on both sides. 

Throughout these last two weeks, I have received calls, emails and texts from so many in our community who feel alone. Children went to school where nothing was said by administrators or teachers. Others went into work where colleagues spoke only of sport scores. Some congregants were actually told by non-Jews that Israel was to blame for the violence against its own citizens. Kids on college campuses needed to stay clear from rallies where antisemitic slogans were written on banners held by other students.  

Throughout these last two weeks, we have all felt a sense of eternal loneliness – a sense that the anxieties felt by generations before us are as pronounced as they ever were.  In so many ways, it felt as though our childhood rabbis’ warnings about Jewish vulnerability were as true they ever were. 

But then, we all saw President Biden speak.

On October 10th and then on October 18th, President Joe Biden delivered two of the most pro-Israel and pro-Jewish speeches ever given by an American politician.  In his speeches, the President made it clear that the responsibility for both the terrorist attacks and the ensuing war was solely on Hamas.  

But even more importantly, Biden stood up in front of the world and empathized publicly with the Jewish plight – making it clear that these attacks were the worst since the Holocaust; and were reminders of the pain that the Jewish people have seen too many times. 

Biden spoke as if he himself were a wise rabbi.  He reminded Israel to lead by its values and to protect innocent lives – and he spoke about how challenging that is when your enemy uses its own civilians as shields.

Biden allowed us as Jews to feel embraced, to feel as though someone outside of our community cares for us and cares for the vision of the world we hold dear. Biden reminded us that at some time, we need not look at ourselves only as victims, only as other people’s enemies – to be Jewish means much more than that.  

To be a Jew means that you stand up for what is right and just in this world – and inspire others to care alongside you for a world that needs fixing.  To be a Jew is not simply about feeling alone or feeling at risk or in danger — it is to stand up and to care for this world, to embrace it and to seek its repair. 

My childhood rabbi was wrong. We are not only surrounded by enemies. We are not a people who is simply in chronic survival mode. We are a people who inspire the world — and we must continue to do just that…

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