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Rabbi Tarfon used to say: It is not your duty to finish the work, but neither are you at liberty to neglect it;   

Pirkei Avot

 I don’t usually write about the War in Gaza in these Reflections.  This is due partially to the broad spectrum of feelings and perspectives Jews here (and everywhere) have toward Israel.   I’m here to support each congregant and I can’t if I, as Rabbi, voice a position that is hurtful or alienating to anyone.  So, generally, I am silent, waiting for others to speak so that I might know what they need.

Another reason (excuse?) for not writing about the War is that the news can change any day.  I’m writing this on a Thursday and it won’t come out till Monday.  This week, however, I’m writing about Gaza because it is clear two things will not have changed by Monday, and I have to give them voice.

One, the surviving hostages are home!  We praise God, for their return, their survival, all the suffering that is over for them and their families.  What carnage Hamas’ killing and kidnapping caused!  What profound agony for everyone!

 The second thing that will not change is this:  Nobody’s suffering is over, really—not the freed hostages or their families. That trauma will haunt them.  But more, Israel is still in deadly conflict, Gazans are starving, violence is spreading in decimated city streets….   No matter the triumphalism in the press over the ceasefire, nothing is really over for anybody.  Our People know, from terrible experience, even if the bombing stops, that peace and recovery don’t come in a year or decade or even a generation. 

It’s so overwhelming and depressing!  How can we still believe in peace!  How can we still work for peace?  It feels like building a sand castle in a tidal zone.   Every time something beautiful is built, the next moment it washes away.  Do that again and again over an afternoon—or a century—and, yes, one begins to loose hope. ow caHow

Rabbi Tarfon always helps me here.  With that little quote above, I understand my place, my obligation.  I don’t have to bring Peace, finish the Job, solve the Middle East.  Peace may be the ultimate goal, but it is also what I’m doing.  It’s all part of the Path:  We work for peace, though it seems nowhere on the horizon; we gather nonperishables for the foodbank, though people will eat and just be hungry the next day; we find homes for animals, though there will always be more kittens and puppies born.  Maybe we will create little pockets or moments of peace, or a kid won’t be hungry one weekend, an old dog has some warmth and kindness.  Each bit we do contributes whether or not war or hunger or animal cruelty  is vanquished (in our lifetime).  We’re not responsible for the universe, just our part in it.  It’s about staying present, and having—dare I say it—faith.  Perhaps humility.  (Think globally, act locally.)

The other thing that always helps me is seeing our little community function in the mutual care-taking way that communities were created to do.  I was at a shiva minyon tonight and even though we are a tiny congregation, more than a minyon came to show care and support.  Someone brought a frittata, another cornbread, and someone else cookies.  This is what we do. We can’t stop suffering, but we can address it, bring comfort and lessen it today and maybe more in the coming weeks and months.  We have a role in caring for each other, and this is what we can (and should) do, on a daily basis. 

The Path is here and now, and often the need (the mitzvah opportunity) is the person right in front of us. 

Those are my reflections, this Thursday night, the third day of this wonderful, though tightrope cease fire.  As it is written:  All the world is a narrow bridge.  We take it step by step, day by day, like a fiddler on the roof.  (Like when Golda asks, “Do you love me?” and Tevya answers, “Sunrise, sunset.”)

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