by Rabbi Adina Lewittes
by Rabbi Adina Lewittes
by Rabbi Adina Lewittes
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A RABBI’S REFLECTIONS IN THE JUDEAN DESERT<br />
By <strong>Rabbi</strong> <strong>Adina</strong> <strong>Lewittes</strong><br />
<strong>Rabbi</strong> <strong>Adina</strong> <strong>Lewittes</strong> right with her sisters Malka <strong>Lewittes</strong> left and Lori <strong>Lewittes</strong> centre<br />
All my life I have been told, and since becoming a rabbi 18 years ago have been telling people<br />
myself, that the Jewish people are one, that we are a single family united <strong>by</strong> a common past<br />
and a shared destiny. But sermons, campaign slogans and posters came to life for me last<br />
week like never before in a most unlikely place: the remote, empty and sun-soaked trails of<br />
the Judean desert.<br />
For five days my two sisters and I and 80 others hiked up extreme ascents, down treacherous<br />
cliffs and through deep canyons in one of the world's most breathtaking settings, with the Dead<br />
Sea's luscious yet lifeless blue waters keeping watch over us. If you had come upon us in the<br />
desert you would have assumed we were yet another group of North American Jews exploring<br />
our homeland and building ties to Israel through nature, fitness and history. But you would<br />
only be half right. Let me introduce you to some of my fellow hikers.<br />
Tzur had been shot in the head <strong>by</strong> terrorists and told he would never walk or talk again. He<br />
and his father Oren hiked with us in the advanced group all week. Cheryl's son Daniel was<br />
murdered when serving as a captain in the Israeli Defense Forces as he attempted to arrest<br />
members of a terrorist cell. Ron lost his 17 year-old daughter Tal in 2003 when the bus she<br />
was riding on in Haifa exploded. Ettie's son Edan was killed <strong>by</strong> terrorists on the last day of the<br />
Second Lebanon War. Mikey takes a month off from work every year to travel with and<br />
supervise a group of young victims of terror who are brought to summer camp in Canada.
The rest of us were mostly from Toronto, a couple from Boston, and me from Bergen County,<br />
NJ. We had come to Israel to embrace these Israelis and share with them and the over 17,000<br />
others whose lives have been changed forever <strong>by</strong> terrorism the more than $300,000 we had<br />
raised this year for the One Family Fund -- a remarkable organization that provides<br />
psychological, medical, social and recreational support to victims of terrorism and the families<br />
of those murdered (www.onefamilyfund.org). And yes, we had come to hike.<br />
Ironically, our hike got started as 100 kilometers away rockets rained down on Ashkelon and<br />
Ashdod where my brothers-in-law were starting a five-day bike ride in support of disabled IDF<br />
veterans through Beit HaLochem. The theme for this fourth annual Cross Israel Hike,<br />
organized <strong>by</strong> One Family Canada, was memory -- remembering those who had perished at the<br />
hands of terrorists. Each hiker was given a small picture and bio of someone in whose memory<br />
we were to hike that we were to attach to our backpacks. They were not all strangers. As I<br />
looked through the pile I was struck <strong>by</strong> a familiar face -- my cousin's (<strong>by</strong> marriage) brother Ro'i<br />
Arbel who had been killed <strong>by</strong> snipers driving home from work one evening in 2004. He left his<br />
young wife Hagit and their 1 year-old triplets. I still have his picture clipped onto my pack.<br />
Each day we were out in the desert awed <strong>by</strong> its rugged beauty, and each night we gathered<br />
under the stars overwhelmed <strong>by</strong> the rugged courage of our Israeli brothers<br />
and sisters -- listening to their stories, watching home movies of their gorgeous, now dead<br />
children, witnessing their pain and their suffering, their strength and their spirit.<br />
One night the One Family Bereaved Men’s Choir came to sing for us. We gathered on the<br />
mosaic floor of a 1500 year-old synagogue in Ein Gedi, covered only <strong>by</strong> a canopy blowing in<br />
the desert night wind, to listen to the heartfelt voices of fathers who had buried sons and<br />
daughters murdered because they are Jews living in Israel. How embarrassing to have been<br />
unable to restrain my tears as these fathers found the courage to sing-- to sing!!-- in the wake<br />
of their children's deaths. Speaking to one of them after the concert, he explained to me why<br />
he loves to perform. Not only is singing healing to him, but since his son Ofir no longer has a<br />
voice, he believes that when he sings he brings forth the beautiful and melodious soul of his<br />
child.<br />
The nightly experience of immersing myself in the stories of these parents whose children had<br />
been so violently taken from them was emotionally overwhelming. At some point in the evening<br />
my cell phone would ring and on the other end would be the voice of one of my four precious<br />
children calling from the States to check in, say "I love you" or "I miss you" and promise to call<br />
again the next day. The juxtaposition was humbling, to say the least. How blessed, and how<br />
vulnerable, I felt.<br />
Each night's presentation inevitably ended with profuse thanks from the Israeli participants to<br />
all of us who raised money to enable the One Family Fund to comfort and support them in the<br />
many important ways that they do. It often felt like the awkward stereotypical Jewish story: the<br />
rich cousins from America bring some fruits of our freedom and privilege in the Diaspora to our<br />
struggling cousins in Israel. That is, until I spoke to Cheryl.<br />
After a lengthy conversation during which she told me of her and her husband's decision to<br />
move to Israel from Toronto with their five children now some 20 years ago and of their tragic<br />
2
and devastating loss of their son Daniel, I asked her what message she would want me and<br />
my fellow hikers to bring home to our communities in Canada and the U.S. She paused for a<br />
moment, gathered herself, and then calmly said the following: "I am not angry about what<br />
happened to Daniel. I understand that there are responsibilities that come with living in Israel,<br />
one of which is participating in her defense. And along with that comes great risk. But I want<br />
people to know that Daniel didn't serve in the Israeli army and risk and ultimately lose his life<br />
only out of his loyalty to the State of Israel or out of his strong personal convictions." She<br />
looked me straight in the eyes and continued, "He did it for you."<br />
The message that the freedom and security enjoyed <strong>by</strong> Jews around the world is largely<br />
dependent upon a strong and secure State of Israel is one we have heard many times. And it<br />
is true. Equally important is the strength and vitality of the United States of America to the<br />
wellbeing of Israel. But to have the mother of a murdered soldier stare straight into my eyes<br />
and declare that her son risked and lost his life in part for me -- for my safety and freedom as a<br />
Jew in the Diaspora -- affected me deeply. What I had always known in my head seared its<br />
way into my heart.<br />
When asked to offer some closing remarks that night, I made sure that the expressions of<br />
profound and humbling gratitude from us to all those who not only serve in the IDF but who<br />
build lives, families, careers and communities in Israel were heard loudly and clearly. For<br />
ultimately, what defines a family is not simply the provisions one member supplies to the other.<br />
What defines a family is the sense of responsibility each member feels for the other. We were<br />
there with our sponsorships, our compassion, our commitment and our hiking boots, for which<br />
our Israeli family expressed deep thanks. They were there with their scars, their memories,<br />
their courage and their resolve, for which we expressed immeasurable indebtedness. Kol<br />
Yisrael Arevim Ze Bazeh-- the Jewish people are all responsible one for the other. How tragic<br />
that too often it takes tragedy to remind us all.<br />
At the closing celebration at the end of the hike, we clasped hands and danced to the<br />
irrepressible music and spirit of life. Jews from different backgrounds, countries, religious<br />
philosophies and political orientations all rallied around the singular truth that at the end of the<br />
day, we are One Family.<br />
Perhaps one day humanity will come to recognize that beyond the distinctions of race, religion<br />
and culture we too are one human family, will start to truly accept responsibility for one<br />
another, and will allow such extraordinary organizations like the One Family Fund to shift their<br />
efforts from consoling people in the wake of terror and death to celebrating with people the<br />
beauty and sacredness of life.<br />
<strong>Rabbi</strong> <strong>Adina</strong> <strong>Lewittes</strong> is the founder of Sha’ar Communities in Bergen County,<br />
NJ. www.shaarcommunities.org<br />
For more information on One Family Fund Canada please visit www.onefamilyfund.ca