Wailing/Waiting

Kollel

Wailing/Waiting

Much like the programming of this week that we are reporting, the report itself is influenced and altered by the more somber tone of the 9 Days and impending Tisha B’Av. In style and substance, the depictions of schedules and events should capture the mood and introspection so pervasive these days. This is not the time for shiny PR clips or triumphant missives. It is both more accurate and appropriate to describe failures and disappointments, ruins in need of rebuilding, and the senses of yearning and purpose that are generated at this time of year and this point in history.

On one level, summer programming the week of the 9 days can be a challenge. It can seem that the only two realistic options are to run a regular camp and abandon the themes of Tisha B’Av until the fast commences or to take a hiatus from camp energy and revelry and spend a week of low-key gloom. We aim for a different approach. The excitement remains, but different. The core elements of NCSY Kollel carry through, but with changed applications and focus. If last week we were enthralled by a Leil Iyun working on Simcha, this week we were in the same spot and with the same engagement but hearing from Avi Rosenfeld, a father who just completed Shloshim for his son who served in the IDF and was killed in Gaza. If last week had three on three ball and festivals, this week had playoffs with Midos campaigns and Achdus intercamp games. If last week we enjoyed the food Tiyul and water hikes, this week we were inspired by rather different but equally memorable travel.

Our 9 Days Tiyul, like Tisha B’Av itself is often cited as a “highlight” of the summer, as discordant that may sound. This is our aspirational third approach. The meaningful can be attractive and enthused, the experiential and exciting can be significant too. There is an additional challenge in mourning events thousands of years old and finding resonance. Tragically, October 7 made that less of an issue. We have new Kinnos and new interpretations of familiar elegies. But the intentional progressions of our Tiyul day and entire week of programming also help. We visit the Old City and gaze on the Temple Mount itself. But we also visit Yad Vashem, and we also learn about 1967 and 1973. We also stop at Har Herzl. These visits are doubly valuable. First, they are inherently moving and create deep and everlasting connections. At the same time, we can trace the themes of destruction and rebuilding through all Jewish history. A bus ride from Yerushalayim to Kfar Etzion is not a point A to point B transfer. It is a time machine whose obvious end is here and now.

All our busses converged on Chevron and Me’aras HaMachpela as day turned to night. It is always extraordinary to join the group in the appreciation for sanctity of the land and the origin story of each one of us. This year’s visit was punctuated by another alert siren triggered by a Houthi missile. There was something especially surreal and eerie about experiencing a siren there. For months, Israelis have been gathering with their families in fortified rooms waiting for an all clear after attacks from Gaza, Lebanon, Iran, and Yemen. The idea of “protected spaces” has many layers of interpretation. Of course, on the most practical level, the protection comes from the reinforced concrete and steel that fend off much of the harm. But it is not a coincidence that the rooms and the experiences in them often involve other forms of safeguarding too. These areas are places of prayer and goodwill. In many instances, including the first night on NCSY Kollel this summer, they are places of defiant singing and dancing, which afford their own dose of defense. It’s also true that these rooms are very often family affairs. Parents and children, early hours of the morning, meaningful exchanges, and comforting embraces. And here we were, gathered and directed to Hebron’s largest protected space. Greeted by matriarchs and patriarchs, the weight and pride of Jewish history. Early hours of the new evening, meaningful exchanges, whispers and echoes from our illustrious past, and the most comforting of embraces.

And yet, with all that inspiration and connection, a siren is a siren, and Chevron is not quite redeemed, and the site serves as a reminder of loss too. We are not entitled to skip steps. Part of redemption starts with allowing the sensation of pain, of not being in denial about work that needs to be done.

We’ve had quite a few of these alarms this summer. Blessedly, they have been exclusively of the relatively harmless variety, but certainly unsettling and disruptive of our preferred calm, nevertheless.

Each time, we’ve shared a standard text that is our paraphrase of the Homefront Command all clear.

“All procedures were followed…”

It’s not the kind of statement that we should become accustomed to or have memorized by heart. But these are the times we live in.

A few weeks ago, after an alert, a wonderful and supportive parent reached out asking for a clarification. We had announced that protocols were adhered to, yet in this incident she knew that her son had not made it to a safe room. What we explained to her is a metaphor for our entire experience and National trauma over the past many months. Our policies do not provide a failsafe method for every NCSYer to reach a safe space in the event of a siren. Our protocols dictate that we work to make everyone as safe as possible. After all, on a mountain hike, none of our participants would be in such a room. And in the event of a siren on such a Tiyul we would still claim that we’ve followed protocol. So, what are our policies? What is it that we’ve followed?

First, we’ve established a baseline of locations that are fundamentally responsible and safe. Second, we will do our very best to minimize risk and provide expert direction to maximum safety. We will not remove all vulnerability. We will not eliminate all risk. We will not provide guarantees and we cannot make the world what we wish it to be. We can only do our part in dealing with a broken world to the best of our ability and to galvanize the next generation to drive humanity to a safer and more wholesome place. It’s still the 9 days, we still contend with the realities of Tisha B’Av and persistent loss.

Similarly, over many summers we’ve offered another variation of the “all clear,” usually after a more local attack or terror incident.

“Our group was not in the area at the time of the attack. We are accounted for and safe.”

Here too, a clarification is in order. It’s never sat perfectly well with us, never been quite as reassuring as we hoped. And this gap is also indicative of broader educational messages.

Our group is safe. Our NCSYers were not there. But someone was. We are accounted for, we are safe. But we are not so callous or insensitive to ignore the implication that not everyone can say the same. It’s not an “all” clear. It’s a very partial clear. The pain and suffering is real. Our educational focus over these three weeks is to introduce peoplehood into the experience of NCSY Kollel. Responsibility and empathy for the collective, identification with Am Yisrael.

Today marks 665 days of captivity for the Israeli hostages in Gaza. We are not all good, and we are not in celebration mode just quite yet. The daily counting of these excruciating days mirrors our counting, measured now in years, of two millennia of exile and great imperfection. This too is taped to our clothing above our heart, a constant reminder of what was lost and what can and will be.

Not only will it be, but we are not content with being passive observers of this redemptive process. We aspire to take part, to bring about, to partner as redeemers.

Our upcoming Shabbos of vision and hope, of all kinds of preparation, is aligned with that aspiration. Our entire summer has been.

We wail and we wait, not patiently. We feel and we support, and we identify the reality of Geula as we run towards it.

We wish you a Shabbos of respite and of insight, from the glorious hills of Jerusalem

Prayerfully,

Moshe Benovitz

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