"Daddy, does Haman live in Israel?"

Rabbi Schuldenfrei offered a version of these words at the South Bay Memorial Service for Gilad Shaar, Naftali Frankel, and Eyal Yifrach on July 2, at Congregation Ner Tamid.

When I heard the news that the three Israeli boys who were kidnapped by Hamas terrorists had been murdered, like most of you, all I wanted to do was hug my children.  Later that evening, when I finally came home, my children were in no mood for hugs.  Instead, they wanted me to join them in a kind of role playing game where I pretend to be a bad guy  (Darth Vader, the prince from Frozen, or Antiochus from the story of Hanukah) and run around the kitchen island yelling and chasing them.  That particular evening my boys told me that I was to be the biblical villain, Haman.  They wanted to be the heroes, Esther and Mordechai.  Half-heartedly, I agreed to play.  But before the game could start, my four-year old son got scared.  He looked to me for comfort; “Daddy, tell me that Haman does not live in Israel!”   Barely holding back the tears that had been filling my soul the entire day, I stroked his cheek and lied to his face.  “No, Lev.  Haman does not live in Israel.” 

In fact, a modern Haman does threaten Israel.  Unfortunately, for Gilad, Naftali, and Eyal, despite the brave efforts of so many, there was no Esther and Mordechai to come to their rescue.

Before their abduction by Hamas, I imagine that Gilad, Naftali, and Eyal lived their lives with the sweet innocence of children unaware of the contemporary Haman.  Eyal would leave cookies out in a jar at the front of his classroom with a sign inviting all to enjoy.  Gilad would bake for his sisters, and was the most popular counselor in his youth group.  And Naftali filled the world with joyful music while playing the guitar and flute.

Tonight, after once again experiencing the cruelty of Hamas, of today’s Haman, we feel no joy.  The song we sing, while resilient and everlasting, is tinged with sadness over the senseless loss of such bright light.  

What can we say?  The Talmud teaches us that Moses is granted a request to meet the finest Torah scholar.  In a sort of ancient time travel, God transports Moses thousands of the years into the future to watch Rabbi Akiva teach.  Moses is mesmerized by Akiva’s genius; he asks God to see the reward for such a great man.  God then shows Moses the flesh of Rabbi Akiva being sold in the outdoor market, for Rabbi Akiva was brutally murdered by the Romans.  Moses cannot believe his eyes, and begins to protest the cruelty of Akiva’s fate.  Before he can finish, God silences Moses; Moses’ question, why, is left unanswered.  God does not answer Moses because for some questions, painful ones that break the heart and wound the soul, there are no answers or explanations. 

Similarly tonight, as we mourn Naftali, Gilad, and Eyal, we once again recognize that there is no answer.  There is just the sadness of reality.  And while we miss the song of their souls, we must go on.  As Shimon Peres said: “We will bow our heads but our spirits will not break.”  As Naftali’s mother taught as she eulogized her son: “We will learn to sing without you.” 

We will go on committed to building a state of Israel, free and safe, that upholds the value of democracy and the sanctity of human life.  We will go on building an Israel that celebrates the song of humanity in multiple voices joining a chorus of many languages.

Our future does not include shedding innocent Palestinian blood.  Those who wish to randomly strike innocent Palestinians act in violation of the law, and desecrate God’s holy name.  The Palestinians are our cousins with whom one day, hopefully, we will live in peace.

Together let us pray for a day when each of us-- Jew, Christian, and Muslim -- can hug our children, celebrate their innocence, and rest easily knowing that there are no Hamans in Israel, there is just a deep love of life.

Unfortunately, Eyal, Naftali, and Gilad will not live to see such an Israel.  They were cruelly taken from us.  Hatred, Hamas, modern Hamans wish to destroy us.  But the innocence and goodness with which Gilad, Naftali, and Eyal lived their lives illuminates the path that we must traverse together.  And as we set down this road together, may the light of their souls inspire us to feel more deeply, live more kindly, and to love more widely. 

Bring Back Our Boys (address for LA community vigil)

This past Sunday, my three sons were excited to share a  special day with me.  It was Fathers' Day.  We started with cards and pancakes.  Then we  made our way to the beach.


     As my three sons built sand castles and gathered sea shells, my thoughts were with Eyal, Naftali, and Gilad.  My  sons stood on the beach ready to share smiles and joy.  But, I could not bring myself to enjoy their innocence.  Each  laugh and shout with glee caused me to think of Eyal, Naftali, and Gilad, and their families.  

Later that night my wife observed that I wasn't  fully present during our family time.  I told her: "Three boys-- just like ours; they could have been ours."


Then my wife corrected me, and with her correction I recognized why we all feel such anguish.  My wife reminded me, "It is not that they could have been ours.  They are ours."  She was right.  They are ours.  They are our boys.   Bring back our boys.

Throughout the course of the week, like many of you, it has been hard to think of anything else except our boys.  Eyal, Naftali, and Gilad.  Their pictures have been swirling around in my thoughts;  such sweet pictures  teeming with innocence and youth.
But, now in addition to their picture, the picture of our boys, my thoughts have been littered with visions of other pictures. We have all seen them. Pictures of indoctrinated Palestinian children swept up in a culture hate. Their innocence and humanity compromised by a gesture of their hand. These children all are holding up three fingers.  A sign designed to celebrate the kidnappings of our three boys; frightening displays of a radicalized society and their embrace of hate. Ironically, this  three fingered salute of hate made me think of another very different hand signal.



Several weeks ago on Shabbat we read of the Preistly Blessing, Birkat Cohanim.  Its words have been recited in our synagogues and at our Shabbat tables for thousands of years.  And the words of this blessing are accompanied by a hand gesture.  About it our tradition teaches that when the Cohanim recite this prayer they keep several of their fingers apart to create conduits for the holy light of God.

 During a week that we have seen a three fingered salute -- callous and cruel; a deranged celebration of the suffering of our boys.  My prayer is that the hateful salute of three can be stretched into the holy sign of our Birkat Cohanim.  The hateful salute of three requires one to bend over two fingers closing  a portion of the hand.  And it requires one to fully close their heart to the humanity of our boys.  The hand gesture of Birkat Cohanim, in contrast, requires fully open hands, and even more importantly an open heart.

May we all soon see a world with the hands of Birkat Cohanim-- with open  hands and  hearts, moving from darkness and evil to light and godliness.  May we all -- Palestinian, Israeli, American, European, Jew, Christian, and Muslim restore the world from dark evil to holy light.  It is a small shift of the muscles in the hand, but it requires a transformation of the soul.

While this societal transformation does not seem likely today, or even likely in our lifetime.  The path from hate to holiness begins with Eyal, Naftali, and Gilad.  Our boys.  Bring back our boys.

Let us pray that in a coming Shabbat that Eyal, Naftali, and Gilad's parents have the chance to gather around a Shabbat table and off the words of Birkat Cohanim as a blessing over our boys.  Until then:

May God guard over our boys and bless them.


May God show them favor and help them hold onto the light of hope.


May the light of Godliness fill their beings, bringing them peace and bringing our boys home.