Hope and despair chafe at sharing the same space. Since October 7, while Hope has been Israel’s national anthem, despair has been the national condition.
Israel has a long history of irrational hope. As Ben Gurion said, “In Israel, in order to be a realist, you must believe in miracles.” So, for the past 500 days, in our hope, we believed in miracles. Many of us chose to believe that the reports of the deaths of the Bibas family were just Hamas propaganda. Our hope – in the face of all the evidence – rose to an irrational optimism surrounding the Bibas children. It was not unlike the hope for Hersch Golderg-Polin. We were realists imagining that a miracle would come for them as it did for Noa Argamani, Almog Meir Jan, Andrey Kozlov, and Shlomi Ziv who were rescued in Operation Arnon.
Images of the flag-draped Bibas coffins are a dose of reality. This is a national painful moment when all of the hope dissipates and frustration, anger, and loathing for the vileness of their captors begins to register. It seems to escape all emotional containment.
This is one of those moments that sheds emotional clarity on the Jewish practice of ripping a garment in mourning. The Torah’s earliest account of keriah – the tearing of garments – is first and foremost a response to the loss of children. When Joseph is thrown into the pit, Reuven intends to return in secret and rescue him. However, when he returns it is clear that Joseph has been sold.
וַיָּשָׁב רְאוּבֵן אֶל הַבּוֹר וְהִנֵּה אֵין יוֹסֵף בַּבּוֹר וַיִּקְרַע אֶת בְּגָדָיו
And Reuven returned to the pit, and behold Joseph was not in the pit; he tore his garments.
We can only imagine Reuven’s emotions, he was the oldest, and he was responsible for his brother. His father would surely demand the return of his son. Joseph had so much potential, and in a moment he and all his future were gone. Hope was lost, the torn garment was a physical expression of that despair. It is an act that exposes the pain, naked and bare, raw for all to see.
Similarly, when the brothers present the torn Ketonet Passim (coat of many colours) to their father, Yaakov also tears his garment. Back in Egypt, the brothers rend their garments when they think Benjamin will be thrown in prison there for life. In Shoftim (Book of Judges) Yiftach and David tear their garments upon news of the deaths of their children. In Melachim (Book of Kings) the king of Israel tears his clothes when he hears the story of the children devoured by the starving survivors of the siege of Shomron.
Throughout the Tanach kings tear their garments on hearing overwhelmingly bad news, the kind of news that suggests the end of Jewish sovereignty. Hezekiah does so when Rav Shakeh suggests that Hashem is no match for Sanherev. Yoshiyahu rends his when he learns of the impending doom of the Kingdom of Judah. Achav rends his garments when Eliyahu tells him of the utter destruction of his dynasty. The tearing of the garments reflects a certainty of hopelessness. It is for times when the hope of the kingdom has been snuffed out with its children.
There have been days since October 7 when we all feel we need to tear our garments. This is especially the case when we see the spectacle of Hamas celebrating their orgy of terror and torture, while their people throw rice as if it is a wedding celebration.
Today is one of those days when our feeling of pain is understandably acute and all-consuming. We could be tearing ourselves apart in our loss of hope. However, in Judaism we rend the garment, we are forbidden to cut the flesh. We are commanded to wear the torn garments for a time, to feel the pain, and have others see our pain.
We are also commanded to divest of the torn garment after the week, because there are reasons to be hopeful now, even today. Israel’s historic enemies in Lebanon and Syria have been defanged at least for the time being. The deterrent value of the IDF has been restored. Israel’s economy has demonstrated that it can remain robust even amidst a war. Diaspora Jews have rallied back to synagogues and Jewish institutions in impressive numbers. Israel has demonstrated moments of exceptional unity, even if shorter-lived than we would hope for.
I remember thinking on October 7th that those hostages will suffer the fate of Ron Arad, they will never see Israel again. Yet, 141 of them have been returned or rescued alive. Leaving the politics and negotiating strategy and the heavy cost aside, there is an upside to that 141; it would also seem that we should be optimistic because Israel will never let its guard down again, not in the north, nor the south, and not on any of the other five fronts of this war.
Hamas produces these horrible spectacles and celebrates the death of our children to provoke us to despair. We have to mourn, and mourn intensely, but we also have hope. It is in our character to show our resolve, that we have stamina, and that we have hope. It is also part of our character – and in our interest – to show the world in the face of Hamas and their supporters that we still have resolve, we have stamina, and we have hope.
I urge you to do more than make our expressions of despair and hope symbolic. In the history of our people, it is through ritual, community, and personal action that we sustain our resolve. Make sure you mark this day by finding your way to Shul, to a rally, or to Israel. This is who we are; so, tune in, show up, volunteer – let us translate these emotions to action, to turn a collective despair into a hope fulfilled.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Rosenblatt
