Parshas Haazinu: National Crisis

“They have provoked My jealousy with a non-god… so I will provoke their jealousy with a non-people… (Devarim 32:21)

The din of the world war had scarcely quieted, when the great powers gathered to redraw the map of Europe. All sorts of small ethnic groups, barely boasting their own language and script, were awarded with territory to call their own. No one challenged their claim to nationhood. Until the Jews. (Rabbi Yitzchok Adlerstein, Based on HaMedrash V’HaMaaseh: Rav Yechezkel Libshitz)

When I was in sixth grade, I won a writing contest sponsored by the Jewish Veterans of America. This led to a class visit by two Jewish veterans who made grand speeches before presenting my prize. (An American war bond. Seriously? Some cash would do!) Squirming at all the attention, I listened to the older of the two veterans speak, while wondering irreverently how his neatly folded infantry cap remained in place on his perfectly bald head.

With much pomp and emphasis, he concluded his speech with a line I’ve never forgotten. “We are all here proud Jews. But we must remember that we are first and foremost proud Americans.”

My sixth-grade kanai self didn’t jump up to make a mechah, nor did my mercenary self refuse to take the prize offered. But my stronger adult self still wishes for the chance to rebut his words. Are you a Jewish American or an American Jew?

When the Jews sought recognition of their national rights, they were met with stiff opposition. The evil neighbors of the region were filled with fury. Other nations paused to consider whether there was even justice to a claim of Jewish nationhood. Some Jews themselves were swept up by the process, questioning, too, whether Jews should be considered a nation, or only a faith-based community!

At the time I am writing this, Hersh Goldberg-Polin Hy”d  was just laid to rest. I wanted to go to the levayah and to be menachem avel. It had nothing to do with the fact that Hersh was American, nor with his high-profile captivity, as his courageous parents traversed the globe as his advocate. No, my connection to Hersh didn’t stem from us speaking a common language. I first heard Hersh’s name at the very beginning of the war, when I signed up to receive the name of a hostage for extra tefillah. Hersh became mine. At that point he was a faceless name, a Jew  suffering, and he became part of my daily tefillos, my hafrashas challah routine, my weekly Tehillim and my Shabbos lighting thoughts. It was only later that I found out his background and nationality.