One year after Oct. 7 2023, Masorti rabbis sublimated grief into efforts to heal others and transform society

By Rabbi David Weiner / Knesset Israel

Last December, I attended the 2024 Rabbinical Assembly Convention in Jerusalem. This was my first visit to Israel in about a year. In December 2023, I had joined a Rabbinical Assembly delegation that tended to our Israeli colleagues and bore witness to what had happened on and since October 7. This more recent trip was different – far less intense, not so much a shiva call as a social call. Though many colleagues chose to visit sites related to the war – destroyed kibbutzim in the Gaza Envelope, the Sderot police station, the site of the Supernova Music festival, I chose other paths. The convention offered me a chance to reconnect with colleagues from all over the world, to share ideas, and to see how current events look from across the ocean.

It was safe to travel in the central and southern parts of Israel when I was there. Though combat was continuing in Gaza, new operations were underway in Syria, thousands of people were still displaced from destroyed homes, and the hostages were still in captivity, the world somehow was still turning. Buses and trains were running, and schools, restaurants, shops, and many hotels were open. Though it seemed premature for a typical tourist visit to Israel, anyone who has been delaying a visit to relatives, wondering whether it is safe to send a high school student for the summer, or considering joining a volunteer mission should feel confident booking flights and making arrangements. Visits strengthen connections between Israeli and American Jews and help stitch the Jewish people together.

The theme of this convention was “Bridging Dreams and Reality.” Sessions explored this moment of time and confronted its challenges from a variety of angles – Israel’s complicated and evolving context, the many pressures that are exhausting all of us and our communities, the rising antisemitism in many societies worldwide. Polarization has been stressful enough in the United States in recent years, reaching yet another crescendo in the recent election season. But even for someone accustomed to such rancor, the animosity among ‘tribes’ in Israel seemed remarkably, frighteningly intense. Tensions have attenuated. Who serves in the army? Who is exempt? Who makes sacrifices? Who lives off the back of others’ sacrifices? Who has a voice? Who is preserving democracy, and who is undermining it? Israel’s politics have never been simple or calm, but dropping in from abroad to hear such intense mutual distrust was disconcerting.

Many speakers and workshop leaders focused on incremental ways to heal the growing gaps. In contrast to my visit a year ago, when messages centered around grieving and paralysis, today it struck me how many of my colleagues are sublimating their grief into efforts to heal others and transform society. Though they are still bereft, every Masorti (as the Conservative Movement is known in Israel) rabbi is also focusing on “doing something.” Masorti rabbis convene a daily prayer circle at the Hostages Square in Tel Aviv, carving out a place for egalitarian, responsive, modern, traditional, community-based spiritual support. One colleague has conceived of a new way to support Lone Soldiers – young people from abroad, disproportionately alumni from Camp Ramah, who choose to make aliyah to join the Israel Defense Forces – by starting the first pluralist hesder yeshiva community at the Masorti Kibbutz Hanaton. Masorti synagogues have taken in people displaced from towns north and south, organized drives for food, clothing, and other needs; and set up education and youth movement programming for Israelis whose lives have been upended. Several of my colleagues have made the transition from simply providing services to survivors to helping survivors access their own sense of independence and agency. These Israeli rabbis are remarkable – they are helping their people, our people, to grieve and heal.

Efforts for healing and rebuilding are happening not only in the Masorti movement but also across many sectors of Israeli society. An innovative not-for-profit called Project 24 Israel (project24israel.com) connects the devastated Israeli communities of the South and North with North American Jewish communities. The startup creates tailor-made projects that offer support and healing for everyone involved. Some projects have focused on turning children who have become victims into community heroes – exactly what a community would do for a young person who endured a family tragedy or survived an illness. Others have been more ambitious – a dozen cyclists from the Gaza Envelope rode with American Jews in New York and Ohio; a club scattered from a destroyed southern town swam together with the Princeton University swim team for a week, then stayed a few days in the homes of congregants of a Westchester synagogue. Like reintegration programs for young IDF veterans, such as wilderness experiences in the American West, these programs provide unique, concrete healing experiences for Americans and Israelis alike. I wonder if the Berkshire County Jewish community is able to “do something” this summer. If you think we are, I hope you’ll email me to let me know that you’re interested in helping to put something together.

I suppose there are two ways to look at the psychological transformation that is underway in Israel. It is disconcerting to see how people can get used to just about anything, no matter how awful. On the other hand, the urge to heal demonstrates our adaptability and capacity to change and grow. The pain and trauma of October 7, though still with us today, will not last forever. Although things will never be as they were before, the Jewish people will not, from now on, always be walking in the valley of the shadow of death. We might argue about politics and policy but still find common ground through song, prayer, and values. The path forward travels by way of community, Torah, and hope.

The convention took place on the eve of Hannuka, which suggested a message for rabbinic work and Jewish life in general at this moment. Hanukkah always falls at the darkest time of year, close to the winter solstice, and the core message of the holiday is that a Jewish response to darkness is to light a flame. Crucially, the custom of the holiday is for the person kindling the menorah to use a shamash, a helper candle, to provide the energy to ignite the other candles. This adds a layer of meaning - The shamash, with devotion, dependability, and generosity, lights other candles. Its own light is not diminished, but the world becomes brighter and brighter as light begets light.

Rabbi David Weiner is the spiritual leader of Knesset Israel in Pittsfield.

Image: Scene from the Rabbinic Assembly in December 2024