Thoughts on the Role of Jewish Educators at a Time of War
I began writing this article on Monday (10/9/23). I wrote it primarily for myself, but if you, too, are feeling helpless, I hope my thought-process will be of value to you at this time of calamity.
This week's Torah content has been sponsored by Ann in honor of her son, Shmuel, who is currently serving in the IDF. May Hashem protect Shmuel Rachamim ben Alter Chaim, along with all the other members of the IDF and Am Yisrael.
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Note: I debated for a long time whether to publish this article behind a paywall to limit the number of people who read it. I was (and still am) concerned that someone might misconstrue my words, or find them insensitive, or self-indulgent. Ultimately, I decided that sharing my thoughts, feelings, and perspectives was worth that risk. So many of us are feeling powerless right now. If sharing how I’m coping with my own feelings of powerlessness helps even one person – especially a fellow teacher, parent, or student – then this article was worth it.
Thoughts on the Role of Jewish Educators at a Time of War
This past Sunday night, I only managed to sleep for about an hour. Ordinarily I’d chalk up my insomnia to the late nap I took on Yom Tov or to my usual post-Sukkos pre-travel anxieties. In this case, there was another reason for my sleeplessness: the war in Israel that broke out on Shemini Atzeres in response to acts of terror by Hamas.
But I suspect that what kept me up that night wasn’t what kept most people up. Yes – I, too, was worried about the safety of my Jewish brothers and sisters in Israel, including and especially the people I know and love. And yes – I, too, was worried about how long this war will last, how much it will escalate, and what its long-term effects will be on our people in Israel and around the world.
What really kept me up was the knowledge that, as a Jewish educator, it would be my responsibility to provide my young high school students with a Torah perspective on these current events. I would be expected to answer questions about God’s justice, about what our response should be, about how to deal with our feelings of fear, grief, and anger, and only questions I wouldn’t even be able to predict. I’ve fielded a wide variety of difficult questions throughout my 14 years of teaching, but this is the first time I’ve found myself in the position of teaching high school students during a catastrophe of this magnitude. And I did not feel up to the task.
To help explain why I felt so daunted, I’m going to share an email I received from a student of mine that same night (with permission from the student):
Hey Rabbi Schneeweiss,
I’m in Israel right now trying to rationalize how people can be so horrific. I know things aren’t meant for me to understand but how could a loving caring God let hundreds of his nation be murdered. Old women held hostage. Entire families torn apart. Girls my age being paraded around Gaza naked and bloody. I like to believe that I’m comfortable in my beliefs but I don’t think I can say that now. How am I meant to view such terrible terrible things? How do I daven for our people’s safety while I don’t feel any connection at all? I donated blood yesterday after waiting in an 8 hour long line to do so. The only thing that kept me going was how many people wanted to donate and waited that long. It’s the people I believe in sometimes. Not necessarily God. I don’t know why I’m emailing you at 2 AM for me I just wanted to vent for a second and thought you could have something to say on this topic.
Thank you for everything,
[student’s name]
How would you respond to such an email? How confident would you be in your answers to such questions? How certain would you be that your words would help and not harm? This is what kept me up.
My feelings of inadequacy melded with the general feeling of helplessness I was feeling about the situation. Before going to sleep, I checked in on my friends in Israel, donated money to a reliable organization, and shared some relevant Torah, but I still felt like I wasn’t doing anything that would make a real difference.
Then I remembered a midrash (Eichah Rabbah Pischah 2) which utterly shifted my perspective on my own role:
Rebbi used to send R’ Assi and R’ Ammi to go out and improve [Jewish education] in the cities of the Land of Israel. They would enter the cities and say to the people, “Bring us the natorei karta (guardians of the city).” The townsmen would then bring before them the man in charge of guarding the city or the chief policeman. But R’ Assi and R’ Ammi would [then] say to them, “These are the guardians of the city? [No!] These are the destroyers of the city!” The people [would] ask them, “Who, then, are the [true] guardians of the city?” They would answer them, “[The true guardians] are the teachers of Scripture and teachers of Mishnah, who recite [the Scriptural verses] and teach the Mishnah and are heedful of the [study of] Torah day and night, in fulfillment of that which is written, ‘You shall study it day and night’ (Yehoshua 1:8).” And Scripture also presents this [concept about how cities are guarded]: “If Hashem does not build a house, its builders toil in vain; if Hashem does not guard a city, its sentry stands in vain” (Tehilim 127:1).
On the surface, the stance taken by R’ Assi and R’ Ammi seems arrogant, hyperbolic, and naïve. Granted, the teachers of Torah are important, and the merit of their Torah study undoubtedly protects the city, but how can they go so far as to call the city guards and policemen “the destroyers of the city”? Maharzu (ibid.) answers:
If all the [citizens'] security is in these guards alone, then the city will certainly be destroyed, as it is stated: “If Hashem does not build a house,] its builders toil in vain; if Hashem does not guard a city, its sentry stands in vain” and as it is stated: "Upon your walls, O Jerusalem, have I posted guardians; all the day and all the night, they will never be silent; you who recall Hashem, be not silent!" (Yeshayahu 62:6). These are the true guardians, who continually cause [the citizens] to recall Hashem in Torah and in tefilah.
Those who physically guard the city certainly contribute to its protection. However, if people view them as a source of protection independently of Hashem, to the point where they place their psychological security in them instead of in Him, then their efforts will contribute to the city’s destruction. It’s not that these human guardians are intrinsically “destroyers of the city.” Rather, it is the fact that the residents identified these men and only these men as the “guardians of the city.” They are “destroyers of the city” only for those who place all their security in human might, denying the reality of “if Hashem does not guard a city, its sentry stands in vain.”
This midrash reminded me that as a Jewish educator, I can contribute to the protection of Israel, and I can do so in a direct manner. The soldiers of the IDF risk their lives to provide physical security for Israel. Without them, we would not stand a chance against our enemies. And yet, they are not the source of Israel’s protection. The true Guardian of Israel is “Hashem, Maker of heaven and earth” (Tehilim 121:2), Who “neither slumbers nor sleeps” (ibid. 121:4). I, as a teacher of Torah, am a different kind of guardian. I am one of the guardians about whom the navi said: "Upon your walls, O Jerusalem, have I posted guardians; all the day and all the night, they will never be silent; you who recall Hashem, be not silent!" I have been charged with the crucial task of helping those around me to “recall Hashem” and to remind them that “if Hashem does not guard a city, its sentry stands in vain.”
This shift in perspective turned out to be a salve for my feelings of inadequacy. I have never served in any military position, but I imagine that soldiers also don’t feel 100% confident in the correctness of the decisions they’re forced to make in the heat of the battle, even when the stakes are high. They simply make the best decisions they can, given their knowledge, their skills, and their circumstances. And so should I. Will I make mistakes or give bad answers or fail to provide the emotional support and religious guidance my students seek? Inevitably. But all I can do is give it my best shot and place my security in Hashem.
May Hashem help us find our own ways to contribute to Israel’s welfare, and may He grant our efforts success.
How have you coped with the frustration of feeling like you’re not doing enough?
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These are old questions. Difficult questions. Questions that arise every time humans inflict pain and suffering, of any degree, upon each other. At any time or place. I sympathize with the position you find yourself in. If one subscribes to the notion that God created humans as autonomous beings, with unfettered free will to do as they please, it greatly lessens the bite of the question. If God prevented people from sinning the human enterprise would cease to exist. It doesn't lessen the hurt but it does allow one to feel that God too is "horrified" by what is going on (as He was before the flood). He will somehow make it up to those that unjustly suffer, and punish those that inflict the suffering. (This would need to be squared with Tanach's insistence that God was indeed behind the many military campaigns against Israel as punishment for their sins.) What we need to know is that it is up to us as humans to spread as much light as we can while concomitantly taking every precaution to protect ourselves from the remaining darkness amongst us. Ultimately, too, we need to take a hard look at this colossal security failure, as we took our eye off the ball to some extent and got too complacent with our vaunted deterrence. Our last year of divisive infighting didnt help anything out. To end, there are no easy answers, as R Yannai said: אֵין בְּיָדֵינוּ לֹא מִשַּׁלְוַת הָרְשָׁעִים וְאַף לֹא מִיִּסּוּרֵי הַצַּדִּיקִים.