I have been lunching regularly with my local Rabbi here in Florida since 2017 when I joined his synagogue. I enjoy his company and find him a particularly good sounding board for personal issues, but today’s lunch was not about me. I was curious to hear his thoughts on the events of October 7th, when Hamas terrorists drove into Israel to murder 1400 people before taking over 200 hostages. The Rabbi said his temple congregants had responded by providing assistance to Israel –some had donated ambulances to replace the ones hijacked by Hamas after killing the drivers who were rushing to aid the victims of the attack. He talked about of the resilience of the Israeli people and how we in the United States must overcome the feelings of inadequacy in seeing such a horrific attack from afar, and that we must resist the tendency to compare what happened in Israel to the Holocaust of World War II. He spoke of a recent ceremony at his temple during which scrolls hidden from the Nazis were brought out in a celebration of truth, having survived the war. I asked him about the resurgence of anti-Semitism. His response was that, in his view, social media has been a principal culprit in pushing the rhetoric forward and giving “permission” to the obvious agitators. “People will say things on social media that they will not say to your face.” I said I was troubled for the future of my children and grandchildren, but the Rabbi was optimistic. “I don’t see current anti-Semitism as comparable to Germany during the 1930s and 1940s. It is bad, but not as bad as some think.” His words were calming and left me feeling less anxious about the disturbing current events. We talked about news propaganda coming out of Gaza perpetrated by Hamas showing Israel bombing hospitals. My prayers are with the families devastated in Israel, yet I cannot help but feel empathy for the one and a half million children in Gaza. Like the rest of the world, I await proof that Hamas in fact hides under hospitals.
Category: Judaism
Before Pesach
It was a little after 9:30pm last Tuesday evening, the night before Pesach, or Passover. Services at the Orthodox Synagogue in West Palm Beach had ended shortly before. A group of men similarly dressed in long black satin coats with beaver hats covering their kepis (Yiddish for “head”) walked down Worth Avenue to the intersection with South Ocean Boulevard and the beach. One of the men, with his long gray beard, was the elder of the group. Several women walked behind the men. They wore long skirts and headscarves over their wigs, symbols of propriety and of marriage. They were Hasidim–members of a strict, Orthodox branch of Judaism. The men and women gathered in front of the Worth Avenue Clock landmark at the crossroad. A streetlamp cast a warm circular light around them. One of the younger men offered his arm to the elder for support as they made their way across to a line of wooden benches along the beachfront. The women continued walking separately and settled onto benches further down, away from the men. The women conversed in hushed voices as the wind from the northeast blew softly against their unmade-up faces. The elder, seated at a bench among the men, hunched over an open book as he read aloud a prayer, his glasses perched on his nose. The other men stood around him and rocked gently on their heels, listening, their movements evocative of the flickering flame of their faith. The Worth Avenue clock chimed ten times. The men looked up and over to the women. The elder was helped to his feet by the outstretched hand of a young man. Supported on both sides, the elder led the men over to where the women were seated. “Good erav Pesach,” he said. The women returned his greeting. “Nu ihr zi grayt mahr Pesach?” he asked. (Are you ready for Pesach?”) It was a question heard many times that evening. The women nodded and smiled. “Velchen shmurah matzah haht ihr gekoift dem yahr?” (What brand of matzah did you buy this year?”) This started a lively conversation about what would be served at the much-anticipated Passover meal. One young man held out his hand to one of the older women, his bubbeh (grandmother), who reached up and gripped it as she stood from her seat. Then everyone stood and pairing off, chatted as they strolled back across South Ocean Boulevard. The full moon shined overhead coloring the line of Hasidim with a bright, golden glow as the group continued on up Worth Avenue and slowly disappeared past the unlit shop windows in the distance.
The Chuppah
The sun glistened off the Fox River in late afternoon. I was seated with Patti in the second row of the groom section, at a picture-perfect outdoor wedding. The chuppah was constructed that afternoon by the uncles of both the bride and groom, with white birch cut down at the groom’s Adirondack family compound on Saranac Lake. The chuppah, a Jewish tradition, is open on four sides with a simple white covering. The white cloth represents family gatherings past and present, while the four open sides symbolize the future home of the newly wedded couple. Under the chuppah, the bride and groom would take their vows. Light breezes from the river reached the seated wedding guests, as we awaited the start of the ceremony.
It was my second visit to Chicago this year with Patti. On this trip, we were there to witness the marriage of my late wife Judie’s nephew, to a lovely woman from the Chicago suburbs. The wedding was in Geneva, Illinois at an idyllic event site situated on the Fox River, just west of the city. Friends and family came from Rochester, the home of the groom, and from around the Midwest on the bride’s side. Patti and I knew no one except the groom’s parents, but we managed to have a lovely evening meeting new people.
The significance of the chuppah in this wedding also represented the coming together of a Jewish-Christian couple. The marriage ritual was non-traditional, with readings from the Corinthians, of the New Testament, as well as a recitation of the Seven Blessings or Sheva Brachot, known as the heart of a Jewish wedding ceremony. A college friend of the bride, a graduate of the Yale Divinity School, served as the officiant. For me, the sight of the traditional Jewish chuppah brought back memories of weddings past, my own, my children’s and friends and family, some long gone. I thought how fast time moves ahead and yet, the future bears happiness. I am happy.
Here Back East 