Shabbat Messages

We are in the midst of a season of memory. Just last week we concluded our celebration of the festival of Pesach. We marked the beginning of the holiday by reading our haggadah, a recounting of the tale of our ancestors’ toil and the miraculous Exodus which calls to each of us to feel as if we ourselves were freed from Egypt. This is a call to memory; we are asked to internalize the story and allow its joys and sorrows to make indelible marks on our identities. In this period we learn that when we remember and let ourselves be affected by a story, it not only becomes ours, but our responsibility to transmit. 

This week we observed Yom HaShoah, our Jewish day of Holocaust remembrance, another day that calls us to take ownership of and transmit the stories of our ancestors. Around this holiday, I always think a lot about my grandmother, who we knew affectionately as Nanny. Nanny was a gifted storyteller. When we were little, Nanny would tell my siblings and me fanciful stories about characters like Wanda the Witch. When we got older, Nanny told us stories about our family history, including the story of her mother’s family. My great-grandmother, Sarah, moved alone to Brooklyn from Paris in the 1920’s. The rest of her family stayed behind. It seems that they lived nice lives in Paris. The few pictures that were sent over the next few years show a happy and healthy family.

As the situation deteriorated in Europe the mail stopped, until Sarah finally received a letter from HIAS (Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society) informing her of their deaths at the hands of the Nazis. The news broke her. And yet, the news that was too much was also not enough. The notification did not give any specifics about their deaths. Nanny carried that mystery with her for over 60 years until she finally, on a trip to France, was able to determine exactly what happened to the family she never met. The family had remained in Paris for the majority of the war, but were eventually deported to Auschwitz, where they were murdered. The ending to their story is almost wholly unlike that of the Exodus; there was no miracle, they were not freed, and it is impossible to conjure any feeling of joy as I share it. However, like the Exodus, this story also demands that we remember and share it. The lessons we learn are too important to keep to ourselves. 

Next week, we will observe Yom HaZikaron and Yom HaAtzmaut, Israeli Memorial Day and Israeli Independence Day. Here, too, we will be called to remember. On Yom HaZikaron, we recall and honor the heroism and the sacrifice of those who fight to keep the State of Israel safe and the victims of senseless violence and terror perpetrated against her citizens. On Yom HaAtzmaut, we remember and celebrate the founding of the State and the immortal hope and promise embodied in that moment. These memories are the most recent, but they echo in conversation with all of the collective Jewish memories we have internalized over the course of our thousands of years of history. At this time of year, as these many memories resonate within our collective consciousness, the message eventually rings clearly: The memories of our past and the way we transmit them have the power to shape our future.

Never forget. Never Again. And never stop telling our story. 

Shabbat Shalom
Jeff Silverstein - Rabbinic Intern