Our people do not dwell alone
As young Diaspora Jews after the atrocities of October 7. Are we in fact alone?
Reading the news, absorbing the posts and videos, diving into the comments – all of this is exhausting and depressing. And for me, it raises questions and fears – what world will our young people graduate into? Are they doing okay, or is the weight of the conflict, the atrocities, the accounts of horror from our homeland pushing them down into the ground and isolating them from each other and their faith?
These are the questions and concerns swirling in my head as I enter the classroom for my daily year 12 Tanach lesson. We’ve been tackling Parshat Balak which contains the famous verse from the evil prophet Bilaam who opined that the Jewish people were destined to dwell alone. Using the cover from The Economist from a few months ago that depicted a muddied Israeli flag flapping in solitude in a windswept desert, I asked the students if this is how they are feeling, as young Diaspora Jews after the atrocities of October 7. Are we in fact alone?
The first student to speak was Meira. She told of feeling terribly alone at a recent public speaking competition. She and another Yavneh girl, accompanied by their English teacher, gave prepared speeches on firsthand experiences of rising antisemitism. They were met with muffled laughter and sniggering from both students and teachers. The student who spoke after them finished his speech by chanting “from the river to the sea”. Meira reflected that this experience left her feeling rattled and Jewishly alone.
Shayna then reported that when working at her part-time job she tucks her Magen David into her top. No one has yet asked her what the origin of her name is or what her religion is, and she hoped it would stay that way.
The testimonies of these two students were authentic, meaningful and deeply felt. In each case the students did feel alone in those contexts.
But then, as is so often the case in the classroom, the wisdom of our young students bubbled to the surface and shifted my assumptions from despair to hope. Most students reported that although the antisemites were loud, they felt there was a silent majority who supported Jews and supported Israel. Most of their experiences led them to conclude that, at worst, the silent majority didn’t care enough to hate either side. For these young people, being Jewish did not attract blatant animosity nor did they harbour heavy feelings of fear and loneliness. These students were hopeful and optimistic. Their view that the world they were about to enter would be warm and welcoming reassured and buoyed me.
Dissecting their views further, I uncovered that more important than the comfort of the silent masses, what combats loneliness for these students is the overwhelming sense of connectedness; connectedness to each other, to their faith and culture and to their Jewish brothers and sisters the world over. This connectedness acts as a shield when needed, such as when the captains of the Melbourne Jewish day schools came together and asked in writing that the government do more to combat antisemitism. And the connectedness is like a warm reassuring hug, like the feeling that overcame Meira when she returned to school following the speaking competition.
The prophecy was wrong; our people do not dwell alone – not now, nor are we at risk to in the future. This next generation, our children, understand that whatever negativity and challenges they are experiencing in terms of antisemitism and hate pale in comparison to the difficulties and struggles of our brethren in Israel. Focusing on their own feelings is unproductive and isolating. Instead, we know our people in Israel need to feel our support – our connectivity must stretch the circumference of the globe and reach them in their time of greater need.
As they navigate the pressures of study, part-time jobs and vicious social media, Yavneh students still choose to focus on the good, and know that they have a network that supports them. Our children are choosing to ignore the cacophony and instead find solace in their community and in the quiet of the masses. I don’t know if the faith they show in the silent majority is flawed. But this does not detract from my admiration of their positivity and hope. For as Rachel Goldberg (mother of hostage Hersh Goldberg-Polin) tells us, “Hope is mandatory.”
As students who love being Jewish and practising Judaism, antisemitism just doesn’t rate in their calculation and aspirations for their life ahead. They feel so connected, strong and secure in their Judaism that the approval of others is not what they need nor seek. Whether they are alone or not among the nations of the world is not the question. But rather to be connected to each other, to Jews around the world, to Jews from the past and in the future, is the answer.
Shula Lazar is the principal of Leibler Yavneh College.
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