A few weeks ago, I woke up, excited about the day
ahead. It was a sleepy Sunday morning,
but more importantly, it was the Jewish holiday of Shavout! In just a few hours, we’d gather in our
sanctuary for Confirmation. Our 10th
grade students would don their white robes, lead us in prayer, and share
stories about their Jewish journeys. As
I jumped out of bed, I grabbed my phone, and that’s when I saw the news that
stopped me dead in my tracks: 49 people dead, countless others injured. It was like a punch in the stomach. Another shooting, another terrorist attack,
another massacre. In the last few years:
Columbine, Boston, Sandy Hook, and now Orlando.
Too many killed, too many maimed, too many hurt, physically and
emotionally.
Long ago, the Israelites felt a similar punch in the
stomach. Miriam, one of the leaders of
the community, and Moses’ sister, was struck with a terrible skin
condition. Without warning and very dramatically,
Miriam encountered a horrible and debilitating disease. It was a shock to all and it was devastating
to Moses. Like the attack in Orlando,
this moment seemed incomprehensible. His
sister was struck with a terrible illness, unlikely to get better. The world that he knew was upturned and
nothing felt normal. He felt powerless
to do anything at all, so he did what he could do, he prayed to God with these
words: El Na Rafah Na Lah, “O God, please heal her!”
This prayer is one of the shortest in Jewish tradition. It consists of only 11 letters, five
words. Each of the words, except for God’s
name, ends with a vowel. It’s as much a
cry as a prayer: El Na Rafah Na Lah, “O God, please heal her!” Moses felt like we did after the attack: an
unease, feelings of mourning, a brute sense of fear and misery. He asked the same questions we did: “How could
this happen? What can we do to move
forward?”
It’s been almost two weeks since the attack at the
Pulse night club. For many of us, we’ve
moved passed the feelings of shock and fear.
We’ve moved on to another phase of mourning: of longing for the past; of
anger that these attacks continue to happen in our country. We might even feel a willingness to move
forward, to do something.
The Torah teaches that the Israelite people did not
travel forth until Miriam was fully healed.
They waited in the camp for over seven days, until she was reunited with
the community. Only after time and
healing, could the community move forward.
We’ve lost too many innocent men, women, and children who are no longer
able to rejoin us. They’ve been taken
away from us by hatred, by violence, by bombs, by bullets. How can we move forward without them? In many ways it’s easy to allow these moments
of violence to become the status quo.
After an attack, we rush to social media to update our profile picture
or to post on facebook or twitter. That is
helpful, but is it enough? A few days later,
everything fades away, our sadness disappears, our anger dissipates, and then
we continue on with life. These moments
of bloodshed become the new normal and that is terrifying!
Moses cried out to God. His cry was blunt and from the heart. El Na Rafah Na Lah. “O God, please heal her!” His cry rose up to the heavens and God heeded
his request. Our cry must be heard
too. We must not remain silent or
indifferent after these terrible tragedies.
We can’t allow ourselves to settle in to the status quo and allow these
massacres to continue. Our cries must
reach up to the heavens, but they also must reach towards the halls of our
state capitols and Washington DC. May
our cries change us and may our cries change our world.
No comments:
Post a Comment