King Solomon in Ecclesiastes advises us, among other things, that there is a season for everything – including a time to love and a time to hate.
As a young child of Holocaust survivors, I instinctively internalized this feeling, deriving satisfaction when, for example, I heard of a train derailment in Germany with many fatalities. I would think to myself, let these people, the generation of Hitler, feel the sorrow and grief of losing a beloved family member abruptly and unnaturally.
As anti-Semitism becomes fashionable again (it never really disappeared, it just languished in the closet until it was allowed to come back into style), I find myself getting angrier at the baseless hatred directed at Jews.
Not only is there no appreciation for what Jews have done over the centuries to improve the quality of life of the nations among whom we live, but they actually hate us enough to want us to become extinct. So much so that the UN, the institution created to be the collective voice of the nations of the world, condemns the Jewish state – populated by people who through the ages were the hapless, vulnerable victims of those very nations – for defending itself. For having the chutzpah to take preemptive action to protect its terrorized civilians. For having the gall to survive.
Earlier this month, two synagogues in Turkey were blasted on a Shabbat morning, at a time when these peaceful and holy places of worship were fully occupied. Obviously the intended victims were innocent civilians – men, women, children, young and old, unarmed and unprotected, residents of Istanbul rather than inhabitants of ‘occupied’ land.
There was nothing politically or geographically offensive about the intended victims – other than the fact that they were Jews. The bombers must have known that their exploding vehicles would also kill fellow Muslims. In fact, most of the fatalities – as well as the great majority of those blinded, maimed and burned – were Turkish Muslim passersby and neighborhood residents. But such is the mindset of the evil perpetrators of this terror that sacrificing their brothers is acceptable if it means leaving fewer Jews alive and breathing.
The silence of the UN is indeed mind-numbing. Sure, there were a few polite mumbles offering condolences, but I can only surmise that the official spokesmen who comment on activities such as these still have laryngitis from their screams of rage and indignation directed at Israel’s ‘barbaric’ bombing of some empty buildings in Gaza.
Last year, when I realized that the spilling of Jewish blood elicits less of a reaction in post-Holocaust Europe than the kosher slaughtering of animals – which has become a cause celebre among those who tolerate the boiling of live lobsters, the forced feeding of geese and livestock, cock fights, dog races, fox hunts and circuses – I decided to add a little something to my prayers when I light the Shabbat candles.
I always have felt closest to Hashem when I cover my eyes and recite the blessing that came down from Har Sinai. It is my private time with Him – the dancing, energetic light of the candles seem to beam my thoughts directly to Heaven.
In the past I would ask Hashem for blessings – for me, my family, my friends, and for klal Yisrael. Nothing outlandish like winning the lottery or finding a no-effort weight loss diet, just the usual requests: good health, parnasa, shidduchim and children for those who are ready and anxious to reach these milestones in life.
But these days I go one step further when petitioning G-d. I ask that all evil plots, plans and schemes directed toward the children of Yaakov be foiled, and instead boomerang on the plotters themselves. I pray that Jewish wives be fruitful, and in the same breath ask that G-d justly ‘reward’ the women who ecstatically celebrate the premature and violent deaths of their suicide-bombing children and those of their life-loving victims. These women who encourage murder in His name should be ‘blessed’ with putrid, festering, sterile wombs.
I am not in a position to physically fight those who wish me and mine to be erased. But every son or daughter of Yaakov, through Hashem?s grace, has been given spiritual bullets. And I use them to the best of my ability.
It’s not enough to wish well for ourselves as we recite Tehillim, as we daven daily, as we bench rosh chodesh, as we light our candles. On Pesach, during the sedorim, we ask G-d to pour out His wrath on those who hurt us. Maybe we should add that sentiment to all our prayers. King Solomon said it: there is a time to hate. As I see it, the time is now.
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