2023 Yom Kippur Morning: Antisemitism
What a wonderful morning!
מַה טֹּובוּ אֹהָלֶיךָ יַעֲקֹֽב מִשְׁכְּנֹתֶֽיךָ יִשְׂרָאֵֽל
How good are your tents O Jacob, your dwellings, O Israel?
We sing these words at every single morning service, today included. The words of this poem are found in the book of Numbers, and its tale is one of fable, intrigue, and wonder.
Balak was the King of Moab. He noticed the Israelites’ presence in his land, and grew concerned with their growing numbers and perceived strength.
King Balak sends messengers to the prophet Balam, saying Come then, put a curse upon this people for me; perhaps I can thus defeat them and drive them out of the land. For I know that whomever you bless is blessed, and whomever you curse is cursed.
Balam travels to Moab and positions himself where he can see the Israelite encampments. But then, as the Torah says, The spirit of God came upon him.1
And so instead of cursing the Israelites, Balam blesses them. The words that came out of Balam’s mouth are the words that Jews say every morning during the morning blessings prior to the recitation of Bar’chu: מַה טֹּובוּ אֹהָלֶיךָ יַעֲקֹֽב מִשְׁכְּנֹתֶֽיךָ יִשְׂרָאֵֽל
A midrash suggests that when Balam saw the Israelites, he had a change of heart. Observing them, he saw the warmth of the community and the ways that they welcomed the stranger … In fact, their tents were open on all sides to more easily allow guests to come in. And so, he said How good are your tents, O Jacob!
That was a long time ago.
I think that if Balam saw our Jewish communities today and their encampments, he would not make such a proclamation of blessing and admiration.
Our tents are not as open and welcoming as they used to be. The doors are locked. Armed officers are present. We have discussions about alarms and cameras and where the police officer should park and what time they need to get here and who is going to have the emergency “panic button”?
There’s a saying that being Jewish is hard … but worth it. I would hope that you all agree with me that it’s worth it. But it is undoubtedly hard.
Jews have experienced hatred, persecution and antisemitism for a long time. The Egyptian Pharaoh, also worried about the Israelites’ growing numbers, decided to enslave us. Wherever there has been Judaism there have been those who proliferate conspiracy theories, exaggerated truths, violence and hatred. Ecclesiastes wasn’t likely referring to antisemitism when he wrote these words, but they nevertheless sting with bitter accuracy: What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun.2
In 2018, the Jewish community was rattled after a tragic synagogue shooting at the Tree of Life Synagogue. Since then, our fears and concerns have grown even more pronounced. And in the years since, the number of antisemitic incidents and crimes has increased. Even here in Athens, some of us woke up to find our lawns littered with what our dear friend Sabrina Orah Mark called: little plastic bags filled with hate.
Just before a Shabbat service last January, Rabbi Cytron-Walker heard a knock at the synagogue door. He saw a man that looked like he needed to get out of the cold. The rabbi welcomed him in, and even made him a cup of tea. Later, that same man held the rabbi and several congregants hostage for several hours.
By welcoming this man, Rabbi Cytron-Walker wasn’t only performing a mitzvah, he was performing a mitzvah that is so important it is specifically mentioned every day as part of our morning liturgy. Hachnasat Orchim, the welcoming of guests is not only a nice thing to do. It is a holy thing to do. In the book of Genesis, Sarah models the performance of this mitzvah when she gives her finest cakes to three complete strangers.
I like to imagine that this is the mitzvah that Balam saw the Israelites perform when he changed his words of a curse to a blessing.
The reality of antisemitism is horrible. It causes fear and concern, confusion about what to say to our children, anger, distrust, and even hopelessness. And heartbreakingly, the realities of antisemitism create a necessary tension between our desire for wide open tents and the necessity to lock the doors, audacious hospitality and suspicion, inclusivity and safety.
Here at CCI, we have a number of wonderful committees and auxiliaries that help us perform the holy work of Jewish life. But we don’t want to have a security committee. We don’t want to have a visibly armed officer at every synagogue event. Rising security concerns take time and resources away from the work that we want to be doing!
Antisemitism has taken its toll on us.
As for me, through your abundant grace, I enter your house. I worship at your temple
This is the second verse of Mah Tovu. We can use this as a response to the antisemitism and hate that exists in the world.
We will continue to gather at the synagogue. We will continue to worship. We will continue to fulfill mitzvot. In short, we will live our Jewish lives. Yes, as we talked about last night, the world is a narrow bridge, and lately, it’s a dangerous bridge. But with proper precautions and preparations, we will walk across nonetheless.
One more thing about this verse from Mah Tovu: There are ten Hebrew words. Va’ani b’rov hasd’kha, avo veytekha, eshtahaveh el heikhal kodsh’kha b’yir’atekha. I once heard that when checking for a minyan of 10 people, prayer leaders will sometimes count to ten while singing along to the 10 words of this verse.
It’s an interesting little factoid, but it highlights the paramount importance of community. Our tents are only good when they are full of friends and family and guests.
Our response to antisemitism must be one of communal action and support. Kol aravim Yisrael aravim zeh bazeh, Each Jew is responsible for the other. Additionally, we have wonderful partners in the interfaith community that continue to pledge their love and support. After the first waves of flyers made their way to our lawns, the Interfaith Clergy Partnership of Greater Athens wrote a statement: We will not tolerate the proliferation of antisemetic tropes, stereotypes or actions…Our community and our world are strengthened by the contributions of the Jewish people and we will continue to support them and their houses of worship.
One of the strongest themes of these Days of Awe is that uncertainty. We somberly state the prayer of Un’tanetokef, noting that some shall live and some shall die. We can not control what we call judgement’s severe decree. There are no guarantees of anything, much less perfect safety and security.
The end of the Un’tanetokef ends with this line: But repentance, prayer and acts of righteousness temper judgement’s severe decree.
We can not end antisemitism. But we can continue to live Jewish lives, celebrating, praying, mourning, eating, and of course, welcoming our guests. Along with our many partnerships with the greater community, these will temper the harsh reality of antisemitism.
I pray that one day we might look out upon the encampments of the world and joyfully shout: Mah Tovu ohalecha HaOlam - O world, how good and welcoming are your tents!
But until then, we will do what we can do, and what we must do. Am Yisrael Chai.