This JCC State of Mind is written by Rabbi Hindy Finman, Senior Director of Jewish Life

As I walked through the Old City of Jerusalem just over a week ago, I was struck that nothing and yet everything had changed since I had last been to Israel more than 10 years ago. Despite the same landscape and aromas I remembered from 2013, there was something very different about this Shabbat walk relative to all of my previous Saturday strolls in Jerusalem. It was eerily quiet. In fact, the silence was deafening.

Israel is not meant to be a quiet place. There is always a hustle and bustle, a loudness that embodies the country’s vibrancy, and its energy reflects a blend of deep cultural, historical, and modern-day dynamics. And yet it was quiet. It was quiet when I prayed at the Kotel. It was quiet when I walked along Ben Yehudah. It was quiet(er) when I walked through the shuk on Friday morning. It was quiet when I walked through the streets of Tel Aviv and Jaffa.

But as I was about to begin my learning as a participant in the iCenter’s A Mifgash that Matters, co-hosted by the JCC Association of North America, air raid sirens began to blare, and we were sent scrambling for the nearest shelter. And when the sirens finally ended, the silence I had experienced over the previous few days was drowned out by the power and emotion of the stories we would hear describing the horrors of October 7, 2023, as well as the Israel of today.

We heard from Mazal, a retired teacher from Kiryat Shmona who had been displaced, along with her husband Motti, to a hotel in Jerusalem with their children and grandchildren located too many bus rides away for consistent and reliable visits. When asked how she spent her days, Mazal broke out with a large grin and spoke about her new-found love for Jerusalem, her new group of friends and how she volunteers to help others. But underneath her smile, there was a quiet sadness that is felt around the country. The desire to be back in her own home, with her kids and grandchildren celebrating Chanukkah.

We heard from Youssef Ziadna, the Bedouin driver who saved 30 lives on October 7th. He shared the details of his meetings with famous leaders and politicians since those horrible first days of the war. He spoke about how he keeps in touch with festival goers he saved and how he still drives them to other festivals. He told us that he hasn’t slept well since October 7th and that he smokes three times as much as he did before that fateful day and that he relies on coffee more than he ever has in the past. We heard his story and then there was that quiet silence.

We heard from Shai Tsabari, a beloved Israeli musician who was asked to sing at funerals and shiva homes throughout the country. With great humility and deference, he described the power of using one’s musical voice to bring comfort to those in deep trauma and grief. He reflected, “The only time the left and right come together is when we clap.” And so we clapped and clapped and clapped and yet the silence persisted.

We heard from Etgar Keret, famed Israeli author who said there are no good times or bad, just easier and harder times. He described his efforts to bring distraction via words to others through short stories shared out on WhatsApp.

We heard from educators, program coordinators, farmers, families of those killed at the Nova festival, families from The Hostages and Missing Families Forum, artists, reservists’ wives, young Israeli Arabs, and from each other. We listened for four days.

We showed up to listen. To listen to those who have been showing up each and every day since October 7, 2023. We listened to their pain, their trauma, their miracles, their pride, their resilience, and their hope. Each one of these precious humans that we had the privilege of meeting with is a modern-day Maccabee. They continue to show up when all resources have been drained. They show up to tell their stories and the stories of those who are missing or killed. They show up to share the burden of the work they are doing. And throughout it all, and despite the quiet, they have hope.

These Maccabees of 2024 have the same determination and grit as the Maccabees from the original Chanukah story, and dare I say perhaps even more as their war is still going on and they are still showing up. If there is anything I can pass along from my time in Israel it is the blessing to be able to continue to show up for each other, to listen to each other, support each other, and to celebrate with one another with so much joyous noise. And may Israel’s loudness also soon return as an explicit representation of its diverse people and rich traditions.

Wishing you and your families a Shabbat shalom and chag Chanukah sameach,

Rabbi Hindy