It is heartbreaking to continue to reflect on the war flowing out of the October 7 massacre. I wrestle with whether ongoing commentary from me is worthwhile or whether we all just need a break.
Of course we recognize that Israelis and Palestinians do not have a break from this endless conflict. So we can recognize two truths that are not inconsistent with one another: (1) we need to build practices into our lives that nourish us, that sustain us, that allow us to relax and to experience—these ideas are implicit in the Jewish practices of thrice-daily tefilah (prayer, reflection, introspection), and Shabbat, a full container for rest and joy at least once per week; and (2) staying engaged with the world around us, including those parts of the world that touch us most directly as Jews and as humans, is incumbent upon us as a people for whom the words tzedek tzedek tirdof—”justice, justice you shall pursue” (Deuteronomy 16:20) are a call to action .
There are heartbreaking experiences on both sides of this war. The New York Times today shared a truly horrific depiction of the sexual violence that Hamas perpetrated on October 7. I warn you that it is incredibly graphic, and should only be engaged with if you are prepared to do so. It is hard to even know how to respond to acts of this nature—acts which indicate a sheer dehumanization of the Other. All I can do in this moment is offer a prayer.
Prayers are not substitutes for actions. We know that through our frustrations with the sending of “thoughts and prayers” in lieu of policy changes to solvable problems.
But prayers can help condition the human spirit to respond from a place of connection to the Divine, which, as Jewish tradition holds, underlies all of life and from which we all flow. Prayers can help attune our hearts to hold space for the raw emotions and sensations that are triggered by horrific depictions of war and war crimes. Prayer can help us step back and make sense of this broken universe and our small part in it, nourishing us to respond in the ways we feel called.
So in this moment I pray: I pray that we the world becomes rid of this level of hatred and dehumanization; I pray that we see the humanity of each individual touched by this conflict, as like us, according to tradition, descended from the same ancestral pair—not naïve to the need to take up arms to fight those who can’t see our own humanity, but not blind to the humanity of the other, either; I pray that we know how to hold one another in our grief—that in the aftermath and complexity of all this we can be there to support one another as we navigate our emotions and our confusion; I pray that ultimately—ultimately—the world will know peace, that our children, and our children’s children, will know a more peaceful world than we do; that the battles being fought today pave the way for a more peaceful future. I really hope that’s what’s happening. I pray that in our grief we know that things need to be different than they have been—that all of us, across race, religion, ethnicity, recognize that things have to change. I pray that we can navigate this together.
