Would you like to see prophecies of consolation coming true before your very eyes?
We’ve been reading the haftarot of Nechama — consolation — which describe Jerusalem awakening from her slumber and coming back to life; Jews who are distant, both physically and spiritually, coming home again; and the Jewish nation returning to G-d and to our proper place in the world.
Then I received a moving video with the following note: “Shalom, it’s Rabbi Reuven Taragin from Yeshivat HaKotel. Fifty new students arrived this week! These young men from the UK, the US, and Canada have graduated from high school and instead of going straight to college have chosen to spend a year learning Torah in Jerusalem, even during a time of war.
“From my own experience, I know that their Torah study and their encounters with the people in the Land of Israel this year will stay with them for the rest of their lives, and that many of them will ultimately decide to remain in Israel. Twenty graduates of our program are currently serving in the IDF.”
Welcome to our dear brothers! In the end, all of our prophecies of consolation will come true.
Our youth have spoken </strong >
I was just at the Western Wall for Selichot prayers. To my surprise, the majority of those attending these nightly services at the Western Wall, throughout Israel and around the world are young people.
I looked around, expecting to see the iconic elderly figure, the grandfather who would go from house to house, lantern in hand, knocking on doors and rousing people with the cry of, “Selichot, Selichot.” But that image is long gone. Now it’s his great-grandson summoning the public — not with a knock but through TikTok . . .
Since the start of the Hebrew month of Elul, the winding streets of the Old City are overflowing, creating what looks like a human traffic jam! The women’s section is packed with young, enthusiastic girls. One was in the middle of asking me for a selfie when her friend gently whispered, “Not now in the middle of Selichot,” before returning to her heartfelt recitation of the ancient prayers.
It’s worth noting that Selichot is not like Shabbat or kashrut; there is no obligation in Jewish law for young girls to be standing here at midnight, reciting ancient liturgical poems and holy words and pleading for mercy with tears in their eyes. This is simply a generation that loves our customs and is excited about our traditions and Jewish identity. Lifted by these words of consolation and hope, they leave with glowing faces.
There is no organization responsible for bringing these young people here from all over Israel. But clearly, something is happening here. Hearts are stirred and it’s impossible to sleep.
Elul, 5784. You’re invited, too.
My return to the synagogue. . . and the sidewalk
On Rosh Chodesh Elul, I arrived at the Hakippah synagogue in Beersheba to deliver a lecture to a women’s group in memory of their member, Orit Wei.
The time and venue were particularly moving to me personally: As a young woman, I came here to “do Shabbat” for my very first time. Arriving here last week, I paused for a moment on the sidewalk at the synagogue entrance. I remember standing at this exact spot many years ago and feeling as if I had been privy to a tremendous secret. It was my first exposure to the Torah portion, Shabbat meals and Torah learning. But it was something else that occurred after the prayer service that for me was truly life-changing.
I was a young journalist and a real workaholic (OK, so that part hasn’t changed), and after the service, I remember watching as members of the congregation lingered on the sidewalk and stood in circles talking among themselves. I couldn’t understand what they were doing. Who were they waiting for?
Finally, I decided to ask. The lovely girl who was hosting me explained:
“We’re not waiting for anyone. It’s Shabbat.”
Boom. Is there any day of the week when people stand around on the sidewalk, simply talking to one another, without glancing at their watches — I mean, cell phones? When are we not rushing to get somewhere? And even if we as individuals are able to set aside some time in our schedules for such one-on-one encounters, when is the entire community in “Shabbat mode”? When is the entire nation, in essence, the entire world tuned in to this special frequency.
Yes, I realize that there are more probably more exciting stories about discovering the beauty and serenity of Shabbat. The highlight of Shabbat is certainly not “hanging out” outside a synagogue in Beersheba. Still, visiting this synagogue and seeing the sidewalk brought back what was for me a life-changing experience.
On Rosh Chodesh Elul, the appointed month for thinking about teshuvah, returning, and charting a new course for ourselves, I had the privilege to return to the very place where it all began for me, this time, as a teacher of Torah.
For passersby, this synagogue is probably nothing special. But in truth, it houses a force of tremendous spiritual energy, a revolutionary “startup” hidden among the housing projects. In 2024, people are still standing on this sidewalk once a week, looking other people in the eye and paying attention to what they say, leaving behind all the noise, commotion and distractions of the week.
My heartfelt thanks to Hakippah for hosting me that week, and even more for hosting me on that unforgettable Shabbat so many years ago.
Message From a midwife
Leah Melamed is a midwife at Soroka Hospital in Beersheba. I interviewed her in the delivery room at the beginning of the war, and lately she reached out to me again with her observations.
“Since the outbreak of the war, being in the delivery room has been an emotionally draining experience. We’ve seen evacuees, women who survived the hell of Oct. 7, as well as women who were grieving the loss of family members.
“Assisting these brave women give birth, I was overcome by a flood of emotions, both joyful and sad.
“Now, almost one year later, I sense something different in the air. The couples who are arriving have decided to bring new life into the world, specifically at a time of crisis. This is a choice that, from a certain perspective, lacks all logic. How is it possible to think about bringing new lives into such a world?”
Ten months ago, Leah had told me that she draws her inspiration from the Hebrew midwives in Egypt.
“Today,” Leah wrote, “I derive strength from the mothers themselves, these brave women who can see into the future with the same strength displayed by their forbears in ancient Egypt.
“I am reminded me of Yocheved challenging Amram, her husband, who refused to bring other children into that oppressive world of Egyptian exile after Miriam and Aaron were born. She demanded that he rouse himself with newfound faith and have another child. The result was the birth of Moses, Moshe Rabbeinu.”
Leah went on to tell me about a wonderful couple from Kibbutz Nir Oz: Nofar and Amit Gore. Their kibbutz suffered a brutal fate, with dozens murdered and kidnapped. This past August, Leah accompanied the Gores throughout the delivery of their newborn daughter, Eli.
“I look at this photo every day in our hospital’s delivery room, and it gives me renewed faith in the future of our people. Perhaps it will give strength to others too.”
Translated by Yehoshua Siskin, Janine Muller Sherr
