We Jews seem to have a time for everything. Each holiday focuses on some aspect of personal or national life, there's almost a flavor of the month to our calendar. So where is our attention pointed in the days after Shavuot? Even after the Omer, I can't stop thinking about that "love your neighbor" mitzvah. It's one of the more difficult things required of religious people; at least, I have never had an irresistible urge to eat squid, while I would rather not admit to some of the nastier urges I have had towards difficult neighbors?.
We all have a responsibility to consider the challenge of this mitzvah, especially at this time of year. After all, how the mitzvah of loving other Jews is defined and what one does about it are invaluable indicators of who someone really is at the core; it would be no surprise to find it is a large percent of the "What did you do with your life?" test that comes at the end of 120. So it belongs on the "to do" list for Tammuz just as much as cleaning out chametz belongs on the calendar in Nissan.
We teach our children that causeless hatred led to the destruction of the Temple and the expulsion of our ancestors from Eretz Israel. Furthermore, the continuation of this sin is responsible for the extension of the current exile. To me, it seems obvious that if this hatred had been fully rectified by an outpouring of unconditional love for each other, there would be celebrations with Moshiach in Jerusalem right now. So the question of what we are doing about it has some significance.
There is a story that always comes to my mind when thinking of brotherly love. No, it isn't the one about the two brothers whose caring for each other caused the Temple to be built on their field. Rather, it is a simple but true story of our times: A family sent a son to learn in Israel for a while. While he was there, Iraq attacked Israel - and another son went to Israel to keep his little brother company.
That's all. But it is outstanding. Why? Because the story might have been different: The son in yeshiva might have decided to go back to America until the fighting was over - after all, what is a yeshiva bochur supposed to do about bullets and missiles? Or the mother might have been unwilling to bear the worry; she might have told him to come home until it was safer. The older brother might have stayed in America and just kept in touch with his brother in Israel by phone. Nevertheless, this family decided not to withdraw their strength from Israel, but to increase it. A brother chose to share the danger and stress, because he couldn't make it go away and couldn't bear the thought of his brother facing it without him. That's loving your fellow.
Maybe this type of loyalty isn't totally unique. Some people might at least think about doing the same thing if the same circumstances arose in their family. But wait - is this really the only situation in which such action is called for? Doesn't Hashem expect all Jews to be like family?
Take a look at what is going on in the Israeli side of your family: For all of Sharon's bluster, it is patently obvious that withdrawals aren't a sign of strength, but of desperation. The Arabs aren't crowing about the success of their terror campaign because Israel is so resolute, but because Israel gives every indication of being exhausted. They see their victory on the horizon, and please believe we aren't talking about a two-state solution. That's America's idea; a secure Israel doesn't exist on Arab maps or in their aspirations.
What does this have to do with loving your fellow Jew? Everything.
For one thing, if Jews in Tel Aviv and Haifa cared as much about the Jews of Sderot and Ashdod as they do about themselves, then the prospect of missiles fired from sovereign Gaza would be a far more cautionary thought.
For that matter, if Jews in Israel and the rest of the world had cared enough about our brothers and sisters killed by PLO terrorists in the 1970s, we wouldn't have allowed their murderers to pretend to be statesmen, nor given them any Authority in the first place.
If we cared enough about the lives and well-being of IDF personnel and their families, we wouldn't value the laudable goal of minimizing collateral damage to Palestinians more than the safety of our soldiers. As much, okay, but not more. Never more.
Does it matter if we are a little slack, a little too forgiving of our lapses in this mitzvah? Yes. Emphatically yes. Insufficient love can be fatal. It is a form of spiritual malnutrition that can cause someone to become weak and listless, to stop growing and to become defenseless against the pathogens in the environment. And that's just what it does to the unloved; its true effect on the unloving is probably even worse.
Do you doubt Jews in Israel are feeling unloved? It isn't just the never-ending animus from the Arabs, nor is it the episodic censures from the United Nations. It isn't the constant recriminations from the European Union, nor the sanctimonious protests and accusations hurled around by the international (and Israeli) Left. Actually, my North American family, it might be because of you.
What would you do if it were your children riding the buses to school in Jerusalem? That's what you should be doing now. What would be your response if it was your husband who had to man the checkpoints in Gaza or go on door-to-door searches for smuggling tunnels and terrorists? That's what your response should be now. Suppose your neighbors for five states in every direction were constantly screaming for your blood and raising their children to aspire to the commission of acts of murder and wanton destruction? What would you do? And why aren't you doing it now?
The actions of Diaspora Jews impact greatly on Israel's foreign relations and internal policies. On the international level, the world wouldn't say that Israel is unnecessary and has no longer any reason for being, if there weren't so many, many Jews who obviously are happier to be living in America. The nations wouldn't dismiss the commitment of Jews to Jerusalem, or equate it with that of Moslems, if more Jews were serious enough about it to live here.
On the domestic level, the fact that more Jews aren't making aliyah hugely affects Israelis' morale, whether or not one is willing to say so in public. How can it possibly not matter whether brothers are willing to stand side-by-side in times of trouble? Being there, not just metaphorically, but physically, lends strength far beyond the simple addition of one more person. Just think: Israelis wouldn't be so worried about demographics, and so desperate to unload chunks of territory with large Arab populations, if more Jews were living and raising their babies in Israel. And that's just one example of how olim affect Israel. Think of any aspect of Israeli life - politics, religiosity or culture - that is of importance to you, and try to envision the impact that you and others like you could have. If you were here.
Obviously, not everyone intends to be a part of this Jewish state; at least, not yet. If you want to see all of its security, economic and political messes cleaned up first, then the rest of this discussion isn't for you. Forget about it, especially if you would prefer to wait for Moshiach to present you with a brand new state just perfect for people like yourself.
However, if you are still with me, I have a few suggestions: It is Tammuz, when summer plans offer some more flexibility than other seasons. Imagine taking advantage of the kids being in camp and making a quick trip to Israel to see if aliyah might be possible. If the kids aren't in camp, even better, bring them along and show them what commitment means. If that won't work, how about offering to look after a neighbor's kids so they can make a pilot trip? Or send your older kids to an Israel Summer Program that might spark them to think about a future return. Or organize a shul committee, or even just a group of friends, to send a delegate to research opportunities and communities. Join a chug aliyah, or get into an ulpan. Do something, anything, to show that you aren't willing to sit this one out anymore.
Here you are wanted, even if you plan to change the way we do things a little. Here, you are needed, even if the help you offer is no more than an ability to baby-sit, or make phone calls for your favorite politician, or hold the hands of an exhausted neighbor. Coming to Israel, even just to look around, is the very best way to say, "I love you."
And then next Tisha B'Av, if, G-d forbid, we are still sitting on the floor and crying, at least we'll be together.
We all have a responsibility to consider the challenge of this mitzvah, especially at this time of year. After all, how the mitzvah of loving other Jews is defined and what one does about it are invaluable indicators of who someone really is at the core; it would be no surprise to find it is a large percent of the "What did you do with your life?" test that comes at the end of 120. So it belongs on the "to do" list for Tammuz just as much as cleaning out chametz belongs on the calendar in Nissan.
We teach our children that causeless hatred led to the destruction of the Temple and the expulsion of our ancestors from Eretz Israel. Furthermore, the continuation of this sin is responsible for the extension of the current exile. To me, it seems obvious that if this hatred had been fully rectified by an outpouring of unconditional love for each other, there would be celebrations with Moshiach in Jerusalem right now. So the question of what we are doing about it has some significance.
There is a story that always comes to my mind when thinking of brotherly love. No, it isn't the one about the two brothers whose caring for each other caused the Temple to be built on their field. Rather, it is a simple but true story of our times: A family sent a son to learn in Israel for a while. While he was there, Iraq attacked Israel - and another son went to Israel to keep his little brother company.
That's all. But it is outstanding. Why? Because the story might have been different: The son in yeshiva might have decided to go back to America until the fighting was over - after all, what is a yeshiva bochur supposed to do about bullets and missiles? Or the mother might have been unwilling to bear the worry; she might have told him to come home until it was safer. The older brother might have stayed in America and just kept in touch with his brother in Israel by phone. Nevertheless, this family decided not to withdraw their strength from Israel, but to increase it. A brother chose to share the danger and stress, because he couldn't make it go away and couldn't bear the thought of his brother facing it without him. That's loving your fellow.
Maybe this type of loyalty isn't totally unique. Some people might at least think about doing the same thing if the same circumstances arose in their family. But wait - is this really the only situation in which such action is called for? Doesn't Hashem expect all Jews to be like family?
Take a look at what is going on in the Israeli side of your family: For all of Sharon's bluster, it is patently obvious that withdrawals aren't a sign of strength, but of desperation. The Arabs aren't crowing about the success of their terror campaign because Israel is so resolute, but because Israel gives every indication of being exhausted. They see their victory on the horizon, and please believe we aren't talking about a two-state solution. That's America's idea; a secure Israel doesn't exist on Arab maps or in their aspirations.
What does this have to do with loving your fellow Jew? Everything.
For one thing, if Jews in Tel Aviv and Haifa cared as much about the Jews of Sderot and Ashdod as they do about themselves, then the prospect of missiles fired from sovereign Gaza would be a far more cautionary thought.
For that matter, if Jews in Israel and the rest of the world had cared enough about our brothers and sisters killed by PLO terrorists in the 1970s, we wouldn't have allowed their murderers to pretend to be statesmen, nor given them any Authority in the first place.
If we cared enough about the lives and well-being of IDF personnel and their families, we wouldn't value the laudable goal of minimizing collateral damage to Palestinians more than the safety of our soldiers. As much, okay, but not more. Never more.
Does it matter if we are a little slack, a little too forgiving of our lapses in this mitzvah? Yes. Emphatically yes. Insufficient love can be fatal. It is a form of spiritual malnutrition that can cause someone to become weak and listless, to stop growing and to become defenseless against the pathogens in the environment. And that's just what it does to the unloved; its true effect on the unloving is probably even worse.
Do you doubt Jews in Israel are feeling unloved? It isn't just the never-ending animus from the Arabs, nor is it the episodic censures from the United Nations. It isn't the constant recriminations from the European Union, nor the sanctimonious protests and accusations hurled around by the international (and Israeli) Left. Actually, my North American family, it might be because of you.
What would you do if it were your children riding the buses to school in Jerusalem? That's what you should be doing now. What would be your response if it was your husband who had to man the checkpoints in Gaza or go on door-to-door searches for smuggling tunnels and terrorists? That's what your response should be now. Suppose your neighbors for five states in every direction were constantly screaming for your blood and raising their children to aspire to the commission of acts of murder and wanton destruction? What would you do? And why aren't you doing it now?
The actions of Diaspora Jews impact greatly on Israel's foreign relations and internal policies. On the international level, the world wouldn't say that Israel is unnecessary and has no longer any reason for being, if there weren't so many, many Jews who obviously are happier to be living in America. The nations wouldn't dismiss the commitment of Jews to Jerusalem, or equate it with that of Moslems, if more Jews were serious enough about it to live here.
On the domestic level, the fact that more Jews aren't making aliyah hugely affects Israelis' morale, whether or not one is willing to say so in public. How can it possibly not matter whether brothers are willing to stand side-by-side in times of trouble? Being there, not just metaphorically, but physically, lends strength far beyond the simple addition of one more person. Just think: Israelis wouldn't be so worried about demographics, and so desperate to unload chunks of territory with large Arab populations, if more Jews were living and raising their babies in Israel. And that's just one example of how olim affect Israel. Think of any aspect of Israeli life - politics, religiosity or culture - that is of importance to you, and try to envision the impact that you and others like you could have. If you were here.
Obviously, not everyone intends to be a part of this Jewish state; at least, not yet. If you want to see all of its security, economic and political messes cleaned up first, then the rest of this discussion isn't for you. Forget about it, especially if you would prefer to wait for Moshiach to present you with a brand new state just perfect for people like yourself.
However, if you are still with me, I have a few suggestions: It is Tammuz, when summer plans offer some more flexibility than other seasons. Imagine taking advantage of the kids being in camp and making a quick trip to Israel to see if aliyah might be possible. If the kids aren't in camp, even better, bring them along and show them what commitment means. If that won't work, how about offering to look after a neighbor's kids so they can make a pilot trip? Or send your older kids to an Israel Summer Program that might spark them to think about a future return. Or organize a shul committee, or even just a group of friends, to send a delegate to research opportunities and communities. Join a chug aliyah, or get into an ulpan. Do something, anything, to show that you aren't willing to sit this one out anymore.
Here you are wanted, even if you plan to change the way we do things a little. Here, you are needed, even if the help you offer is no more than an ability to baby-sit, or make phone calls for your favorite politician, or hold the hands of an exhausted neighbor. Coming to Israel, even just to look around, is the very best way to say, "I love you."
And then next Tisha B'Av, if, G-d forbid, we are still sitting on the floor and crying, at least we'll be together.