A mother’s prayer
Perhaps it was the timing of coming together in these post-October 7 days.
Perhaps it was an escape from all the protests that seem to want to besmirch or obliterate our Jewish identities.
Perhaps it was the complicated vibe of Yom Hazikaron (Israel’s memorial day) and Yom Ha’atzmaut (Israel’s independence day) juxtapositioned back to back, and our desire to connect to that vibe from afar.
Perhaps it was that so many of us were without our mothers, either because of distance or loss, or without children.
Perhaps it was because a young Jewish mother was sitting in front of us on this Mother’s Day morning, having left three of her children overseas, singing to her husband who sat across from her and to us, needing to open her heart and share her music about parents and children and wanting to feel safe in a place she calls home and loving the land and all its problems and wanting no war and wanting her husband to return safely from reserves and believing in peace and needing to spread word about the power of love.
Whatever the reason, what started out in concept as an opportunity to acknowledge Israel’s two days of remembrance and gratitude during this uniquely complicated time was instantaneously transformed into a holy moment. We could not have anticipated the flood of emotion, the sense of hearts opening in our midst, the tear-streaked and smiling faces from the moment Yoni and Nina (“Yonina”) began to sing Al Kol Eleh (“For all these things, watch over me my good Lord, for the honey and the thorn, for the bitter and the sweet”). What might have been a forty-five minute singalong of Israel songs became a timeless ritual of holding our collective breath, inhaling deeply with a sense of wonder, awe and reverence for it all, and then exhaling the exhaustion, anxiety and sadness, only to repeat the exercise with each song.
Yoni and Nina came to us with Rabbi Hersh’s urging early in the spring of 2020. They performed via Zoom monthly on Friday morning to help us connect heading into Shabbat in a time when we could not yet gather physically. Their music, for many of us, has continued to feed us, uplift us, connect us. While we felt this personal appearance was a homecoming for them of sorts, I know they felt the conflict of being away from their one home, their parents, and their children.
For ninety perfect minutes, with the help of their music, lyrics and heartfelt stories, we ascended together out of the time and space that restricts us. We were all home with one another, all connected to our mothers and fathers, all feeling the love we give away coming back to us, all absorbing the resilience and hope shared by these two loving artists.
In their song Melaketet kochavim (“collecting stars”), Nina and Yoni sing to each other from afar, a mother caring for children and home, a father fighting a war, both hoping to reunite safely and soon, holding onto hope that their dreams will soon be realized:
So now I am gathering all of my strength
of kindness, and of faith
that good days are yet to come
that the songs of joy will return to us
and I hug the children tightly
to protect from the storms outside
and in all the craziness
under black skies
I gather stars
Inhale. Read the words and hear the song. Exhale. Repeat.
Happy 76th birthday, Israel. May this year be better than the last, one in which your children’s dreams come true, one in which your hope is realized.
Rabbi Craig Scheff
Answer Hatred with Love
We heard about the shootings in Pittsburgh at our synagogue after services during kiddush. Not yet knowing details, and a bit in shock, we sang Shabbat songs with joy, belting out medieval poems to the tunes of the Bumblebee Tuna jingle and “Sloop John B.” That’s what we do when we gather to celebrate Shabbat: we pray, eat, laugh and sing.
On the way out of synagogue, our security guard filled us in a bit more. An Orangetown police car, he told us, would be staying at the synagogue all afternoon. It started to become more real.
After Havdalah, I turned on my phone and found a plethora of messages on Facebook from colleagues and friends, expressing a range of sorrow, outrage, and fear.
I reached out to a dear friend who lives in Squirrel Hill with support and concern. Though her family attends another synagogue, I know that everyone in that close-knit community knows each other. She appreciated my contacting her, and wrote back, “It could have been any synagogue anywhere in America.”
Over this past day, I have heard many versions of that sentiment. “They are my family members.” “I am connected to them all.” “What happens to one Jewish community happens to us all.”
Israelis who come from Pittsburgh organize a vigil in Kikar Rabin, Tel Aviv
What do Jewish people do with this overwhelming sense of connectedness? How do we respond to a tragedy when we live by the dictum:
כל ישראל ערבים זה בזה
All of Israel is responsible one for the other.
We seek to be together as a community. As one of my congregants said to me, “We need to claim our seats after something like this happens.”
And once we are together, what are we meant to do?
How do we cope with the feelings of sorrow and helplessness when confronted with senseless hatred? We look hatred in the face and we answer it with love.
How do we grieve?
Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel wrote: “There are three ascending levels of mourning: with tears — that is the lowest. With silence — that is higher. And with a song — that is the highest.”
It was perhaps a coincidence, but I believe it was Providence… the OJC had planned our singing extravaganza, Kol OJC, the Voice of OJC, for this morning. Amichai Margolis, our Music Director, had been rehearsing with our band for a month. We had videography and sound engineering in place. 175 of us, of all ages, came together to learn a song in five parts in under an hour. We began with a moment of silence and dedicated our singing to the Pittsburgh Jewish community.
And once again, Providence played a hand in the songs that we sang: “Hineh mah tov,” How good and pleasant it is to sit, brothers and sisters together, and “V’ahavta l’re’acha kamocha,” Love your neighbor as yourself. The messages could not have been more meaningful or more timely.
Koolulam, the amazing Israel project which inspired us to organize Kol OJC, gathers thousands of singers. But we had just as much excitement and energy in our sanctuary as Koolulam gathers in any stadium throughout Israel. (Watch for our video around Chanukah time!)
When we feel afraid, sorrowful, and devastated by events over which we have no control, we have a choice about how we will respond. We can despair or we can take action.Today, at the OJC, we powerfully experienced the way that taking spiritual action can lift up a community.
May we go from strength to strength. May the community of Tree of Life Ohr L’Simcha Synagogue feel our solidarity and support in the face of their devastating loss. May the Squirrel Hill community, and Jewish people everywhere discover reservoirs of strength and optimism. May we remember that we are God’s partners in repairing our world. May we never give in to despair.
Rabbi Paula Mack Drill
Two Rabbis, One Voice, Three Opinions 
Recent Comments