How are you?

“I must be made of water.

I have nothing left but tears.

Daughters. Mothers.

My spirit aching.

Sisters. Brothers.

A heart that’s breaking.

I must be made of water.

I have nothing left but tears.

Blood and terror.

Children dying.

Fear and anger.

So much crying.

I must be made of water.

I have nothing left but tears.

Oh this heartbreak,

Silence howling.

Oh this heart ache,

Terror prowling.

I must be made of water.

I have nothing left but tears.

Not just water.

These tears, they feed me.

My bones are iron.

My people need me.”[i]

This is a poem by the Jerusalem-based American liturgist Alden Solovy, who has been writing obsessively for three weeks. Every day I receive words full of emotions, sometimes contradictory ones, that reflect the soul of the Israeli people during these absurd times, words that are the mirror of the soul of Jews around the world.

Three weeks ago, I lost my words. Me, who had always expressed myself actively on social media, who had always made my ideas public, I started reading obsessively, watching news almost without limits, absorbing all the pain, hatred, sadness, and resentment that flooded my cell phone. I couldn't breathe anymore. I stopped. Then, I felt that the world needed love, and I thought about publishing prayers to help people's souls, but I had no air or words. So, I started talking to people, reaching out for my friends, family, people I hadn't spoken to in a long time, or people I talk to regularly.

How are you?

From Israel, the responses were very diverse. “I'm fine, but the world isn't”, “I'm cooking for the soldiers, can you contribute?”, “I'm going to miluim”, “I want to talk, but I don't have time. Now I have time, but I don’t want to talk anymore”, “We are going to kill everyone!”, “I can’t turn on the TV anymore”, “Thank you, I needed your love”.

From London, my students said that they were afraid, that they didn't understand. “Why does everyone want to kill us?” at 11 years old the questions are sincere and may be difficult to answer. I don't know, and I don't know if anyone really knows.

From Brazil came the question: “Why aren’t you posting anything? Why are the rabbis so quiet?” The question went straight to the heart. The immediate response was that we are trying to take care of people, because people are posting, replicating, flooding the world with information. The world needs to know. History will not repeat itself!

How are you? I'm out of breath, I'm speechless.

But the Torah contains countless words that surround our reality... This week we read about the moment when God promises the land to Avraham and his descendants. We will be more numerous than the stars in the sky. The land was not uninhabited, the Canaanites inhabited the place promised to us. And from then on, our relationship with that special place began. However, to reach that land Avraham needed to leave his father's place, build a new story for himself. Lech lechah: “get out”, “go ahead” or, literally, “go to yourself”. Lech lechah – look inside, ponder.

How are you?

Throughout this parsha Ishmael, the first son of our patriarch, is born. The rivalry between Sarah and Hagar is born. The promise of a son is born to Sarai, the wife who is included in the pact between Avraham and God and is renamed Sarah. The rivalry between two peoples is born.

Elie Wiesel wrote in 1986: “Sarah believed in God and in His promise; therefore, she suffered for her own kindness. And because Sarah suffered, she inflicted suffering. Was she wrong? Maybe, but we love Sarah nevertheless. Maybe we love Sarah even more. In other words: Because Sarah was wrong and knew it but could not help it, it becomes our duty to do the impossible and correct her fault without diminishing her. We are her children, and that is the least we could do for her. If only Sarah could have shared her love between Isaac and Ishmael! If only she could have brought them together instead of setting them apart! Maybe some of today's tragedies would have been avoided, The Palestinian problem is rooted in the separation of these two brothers. As always we must ask: Is it the mother's fault?”[ii] I confess that Dona Carla, my grandmother, of blessed memory, believed so.

Therefore, perpetuating history, three weeks ago our certainties fell apart. Israel is not the safe place we fled to, but the place in danger some of us flew to protect. Three weeks ago, anti-Semitism took off its mask and put us at risk around the world. And in the cacophony of obsessive posts that we reproduce, we stopped looking inside, we stopped going to ourselves and asking ourselves: How are you?

I must be made of water.

I have nothing left but tears.

I have no air and no words.

So, I hold on to the Divine promise made to Avraham:

“I will make of you a great nation,

And I will bless you;

I will make your name great,

And you shall be a blessing.

I will bless those who bless you

And curse the one who curses you;

And all the families of the earth

Shall bless themselves by you.”

Shabbat Shalom

[i] Alden Solovy - Nothing Left but Tears - https://tobendlight.com/2023/10/nothing-left-but-tears/ [ii] Elie Wiesel, "Ishmael and Hagar," in "The Life of Covenant: The Challenge of Contemporary Judaism" Essays in honor of Herman E. Schaalman," edited by Joseph A. Edelheit, Chicago, Spertus College of Judaica, 1986, pp. 235-250.