I have spent the last week grieving privately. Horrified -- nauseated, actually -- by the two killings that took place in Israel last week.
The first victim: Shira Banki, a 16-year-old girl, stabbed by an ultra-Orthodox Jew at the Gay Pride Parade in Jerusalem last week. She succumbed to her wounds this past Sunday morning. Five other young people were injured in the attack.
The second victim: Ali Dawabsheh, an 18-month-old baby from a Palestinian village in the West Bank, burned in a fire set to his house, presumably an act of terrorism by religious nationalist extremists. The other members of the Dawabsheh family are still fighting for their lives due to injuries sustained in the fire.
The two killings have left me -- and so many people I know -- feeling speechless with horror. Some statements have been issued, some speeches have been made, some blogs have been posted, but, as far as I can tell, the response has been chillingly quiet.
Perhaps there is something important about the quiet itself. We really don't know what to say. Or anything we might say feels inadequate in the face of these two killings -- both victims, children.
Then I woke up this morning and read an op-ed by the Israeli writer Etgar Keret. He described going to a demonstration in Tel Aviv with his 9-year-old son -- a demonstration protesting the murderous attack on the Dawabsheh home and family. He described the disturbingly low turnout at the rally, the relatively small numbers of people who had made the effort to show up, to express outrage at this latest expression of religious extremism by "one of our own." The article ended with the voice of another child - Keret's own son - who was puzzled. Where was everyone? They must be on their way.
To [my son's] mind, every person who believes that the murder of children and the stabbing of innocent people are wrong should come out to demonstrate against those acts. As he sees it, there should be millions of such people in our country, millions. If people haven't arrived yet, he insists, it's only because something's holding them up. Maybe their kid can't find his shoes or the babysitter is late. It's only a matter of time until they come, that's clear.
"Let's wait a little longer," he said, placing his small hand in mine. "Another tiny little bit, just until they come."
Keret's response, poignantly ambiguous, was evasive and deeply honest all at once:
"The only answer I managed to mumble: It's late already and it might take a long time, a really long time, for all the people who should be in the square to make their way here."
In memory of Shira Banki and Ali Dawabsheh, and in honor of the haunting question asked by Etgar Keret's 9-year-old son, I want to extend a simple invitation.
Two thousand years ago, a gentile came to Rabbi Hillel and said, "Teach me the Torah while standing on one foot."
Hillel's response is well known: "That which is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow. The rest is commentary. Go and learn."
I'd like to invite you -- whoever and wherever you are -- to consider turning this teaching into a daily practice.
Stand on one foot, and recite the words: "That which is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow."
Lean on something or someone if you need to. Do it alone or with other people. Say it in whatever language you want -- whatever language speaks to your heart. Say it when you rise up in the morning or when you lie down at night, when you're in your house or walking on your way.
Try it once. Try it once a day from now until Yom Kippur. Try it, with me, once a day for a year.
Take a picture. Shoot a video. Record yourself saying the words. If you're willing, please share it widely, in any way you can imagine. And if you share it, consider tagging Hebrew College on Facebook and using the hashtag #ononefoot so we can help spread the word.
Perhaps, with practice, we can take Hillel's words more deeply into our hearts.
Perhaps these words will help us find other ways to show up.
The children are waiting.
Seventy Faces of Torah is a pluralistic Jewish scriptural commentary, produced by The Center for Global Judaism at Hebrew College, in which thought leaders from around the world offer insights into the weekly Torah portion and contemporary social, political, and spiritual life.
