Tragedies of War

 Dear Friends,

As we all struggle with the tragic events in the Middle East, the brutal acts of Hamas including the taking of hostages, and all the subsequent loss of life, I, like all of us, am struggling to find the right words.

I taught about the weekly Torah portion this past Shabbat (Sabbath) and we talked about the text that says that Noah was righteous in his generation.  Noah is not viewed as righteous for all time as is Abraham.  Noah is criticized for not arguing with G-d about the destruction of humanity and for not telling people why he was building the ark.

This led to a discussion about whether we have ever done enough to claim to be righteous.  One participant in the discussion said he would be happy to list "saving humanity" on his resume whether he was considered righteous for all time or not.

I gave the example of our Passover song, "Dayenu" which means "enough."  We say  that G-d does a variety of things for us and if G-d had only done any of the things enumerated, it would have been enough.

But do we really  believe that what  G-d or we do is enough?    When do we know we have done enough?

As we all struggle with the words to say and the things to do in response to events in the Middle East, I wonder at what point it is enough to condemn Hamas. At what point is it enough to condemn the killing of innocent civilians?  At what point is it enough to condemn the taking of hostages?

What I do think is enough and needs to stop  are the ways in which people have criticized each other for trying to make sense of this tragedy.  I am part of a number of organizations where individuals have written letters expressing harsh criticism about what leaders have said has occurred and is occuring in the Middle East.  

I hope we can remember that we are all humans who  are in mourning and are trying to make sense of a senseless tragedy. I hope we can respect the fact that there are no easy answers to the current situation and we all want peace..

Finally, I hope you will read what a friend sent me from the Jewish United Fund of Chicago. (see below)  It is one example about the horrors of what has occurred and is occurring.

May Shlomo's memory be a blessing and lead to peace not only for his family  but all humanity.

B'shalom,

Rabbi Bruce Aft 

Shlomo Ron was not armed. Shlomo Ron was not in the special forces or anything close. He was an older man. Rather sickly. A soft man. Shlomo loved the theater, music and books. He loved Hannah, his wife of many years. He loved his daughters. And he loved his little grandson deeply. 

He also loved the poetry of Rachel and the works of Naomi Shemer. He loved art. 

Shlomo and Hannah lived in Nahal Oz. They never left their community, even on the scariest of times. That’s where they lived, that’s where they chose to live. That’s where they were on the morning of October 7, 2023. 

Their daughters were visiting their home. Their grandson was in their home. It was Simchat Torah. Almost the end of Sukkot vacation. They must have had a great time together.

Mass murderers raided their kibbutz. Criminals against humanity. There was no defense against them. The intelligence agencies collapsed. The border was breached. The army wasn’t there. Nor the Border Police. They remained alone against armed war criminals, well trained and equipped. 

Shlomo wasn’t armed, he wasn’t in the special forces or anything close. He wasn’t a general in the reserves. He was an elderly man with a mustache and glasses. He was rather sickly. He had a gentle soul. He loved the theater, music and art. 

He came out of the safe room where his beloved Hannah and their daughters were hiding together with one of the daughter’s sons, his little beloved grandson. 

 

He sat in the living room of his house. He sat there all by himself. He waited for the murderers. And they arrived. 

When they saw him alone in the living room of his house, the murderers shot him dead. They saw an elderly and rather sickly man sitting in his armchair by himself. And they executed him. An elderly man. A solitary man, they thought to themselves. No reason to hang around any longer. 

That’s why the murderers left his home and continued on their way. 

That had been Shlomo’s plan: to wait for the criminals against humanity alone in his living room. So that they would think he was a lonely, elderly man. Solitary. Living alone. He knew they would murder him. He hoped that after they murder him, they would go on their way. They would think that he lived alone in the house. 

Shlomo Ron thus saved the life of his beloved Hannah. He saved the lives of his beloved daughters. He saved the life of his beloved little grandson. They were all saved, sitting quietly in their safe room. They were all saved thanks to Shlomo. 

 Shlomo Ron was buried in the moshav of Kinneret. He is now buried near the poet Rachel. Near Naomi Shemer. He is dead now. 

 Shlomo Ron wasn’t armed. He wasn’t in the special forces or anything close. He wasn’t a retired general. He certainly wasn’t a trained warrior or an expert in some martial art. Shlomo was just an elderly man, rather sickly, with a kind smile and a good-natured look in his eyes. Shlomo was a soft and gentle soul who loved the theater and music and books. A soft and gentle soul who loved Hannah and their daughters and their little grandson. 

Shlomo Ron was a soft man with no physical powers or anything like that. With no weapon. With no counter-terrorism training. Just an elderly man and rather sickly. Just a soft and gentle Israeli soul with a mustache and glasses. Just an Israeli with a good-natured look in his eyes who loves his wife and daughters and his little grandson. 

But Shlomo was a national hero.