It was Friday night, and I sat at a table next to a lovely young woman. Her name is Emma, but the name she took after converting, a year ago, is Halleli, meaning “Praise God” as a command. It comes from the parsha (verse) in Tehilim 147:12, “Jerusalem, praise the Lord, praise your God, Zion.” Emma’s parents, a Jewish father and a non-Jewish mother, came from Russia in the 90s. Her father’s last name is Katz. “Cohen Tzedek” she says proudly.
Emma is one of more than 3,000 young people who were at the Nova music festival when their world exploded on Oct.7.
Three hundred sixty-four of those at the festival were murdered and 40 were taken hostage to Gaza. Emma-Halleli and her close friend, Shir, are two of those who escaped.
Emma-Halleli and Shir were among 100 Nova survivors who were hosted by the Kesher Yehudi organization at the Ramada Hotel in Jerusalem, the Shabbat of Aug. 3. It was the second such Shabbat organized by the organization for survivors, but their ultimate goal, in addition to providing a warm, spiritual and loving Shabbat, one that is full of healing, was to have it culminate in the creation of long-term “havrutot,” partners in the learning of Torah topics.
It is just as well that on Shabbat one cannot take notes, as one cannot write while crying. It was a Shabbat of laughter and tears, and tremendous inspiration.
Kesher Yehudi, which began 13 years ago, says their mission is to be “a social movement bridging the gaps in Israeli society between religious and secular Jews by building friendships — two people at a time.” They hope those partnerships will be for life. Partnerships that are necessary now, more than ever.
Their bold move is to bring together not just any two groups of Jews, but those who define themselves, for the most part, as “secular” (though some of those are traditional) and those who one might imagine are the farthest from them — Haredi Jews. Tzili Schneider, the founder, says she wanted to recruit those Haredi who are hardcore in their observance. The success of the endeavor indicates that they are softcore in their hearts.
Parents of two hostages were the honored guests at the Shabbat; Merav and Shlomi Berger, the parents of Agam, who was a ‘tazpitanit’ – an IDF lookout, and Sigi and Momi Cohen, the parents of Eliya, who had been at Nova. They were deeply moved by all the love showered upon them and blessings made for the return of their children. There were constant mentions of the hostages, and that the Shabbat was for the merit of their return.
The line-up for the Shabbat indicated how important people think it is to reach out to those who suffered and are trying to find their way back to normalcy. The former Chief Rabbi, Yisrael Meir Lau, held a pre-Shabbat session at which he spoke and memorial candles were lit.
Yonatan Razel, a much beloved American-Israeli singer, writer and composer, spent the entire Shabbat with the program. He preceded the candle lighting with a musical Kabbalat Shabbat, with singing and dancing, led some of the Shabbat prayers, singing during the meals, and concluded the Shabbat with a musical Havdala, at which one of the Nova survivors pulled out a drum and all joined in the singing and dancing.
Rabbanit Yemima Mizrachi, an iconic speaker who has appeared throughout the world, lit Shabbat candles with the guests, saying to them, “You need to pray for us now. Your prayers are even stronger than the prayers of Moses.” She placed her hands on the young women who came to her afterwards asking for blessings. “All those who were murdered for kiddush Hashem,” she said, before the candle lighting, “in the name of heaven [because they are Jews], are present with us now.” Offering new meaning to the accepted explanation of the “zachor” and “shamor” of two Shabbat candles, she said, “One candle we light will be ‘zachor,’ a candle of remembrance, and the other ‘shamor’ — that those who remained after that Shabbat will stay safe.”
Sivan Rahav-Meir, one of Israel’s favorite journalists, said to the gathering on Shabbat afternoon, “You should not be called ‘the Nova survivors’ but ‘the Nova heroes.’ And you survived for a reason. You have a mission now.”
Sivan Rahav-Meir, one of Israel’s favorite journalists, said to the gathering on Shabbat afternoon, “You should not be called ‘the Nova survivors’ but ‘the Nova heroes.’ And you survived for a reason. You have a mission now.”
In many cases, when I asked survivors what their profession is, many of them replied that for now, “I am rehabilitating.” After hearing it several times, I began to understand that they are, fortunately, giving themselves the time they need to heal.
During Shabbat dinner, while I was getting to know Emma-Halleli and Shir, I asked them what they were up to now. Well, they said, we’re both going into reserve duty soon. Reserve duty? Wasn’t the army giving them a pass after what they had endured? In the course of the Shabbat, each time I heard the same responses from Nova survivors who were about to, or had already done, reserve duty since Oct. 7: “But I want to do reserve duty.” I was astonished. Only in one case did a young man say, “I was back in Gaza in reserves for a month and I told my commander, I can’t do any more of this right now, and he immediately let me off.”
And what do Halleli and Shir, these 22-year-olds with the gentle demeanor and sweet smiles do on reserve duty? “We’re warriors,” said Halleli. “We’re in a unit called the Lionesses of Jordan, as we are stationed in the Jordan Valley.” They chase terrorists.
Schneider was a teacher in Bais Yaakov. She had grown up in Mea Shearim and remembered how, when she was six years old and the Old City of Jerusalem was liberated during the Six-Day War, soldiers and local residents danced together in the streets; she was carried on the shoulders of a soldier, who was then hoisted to the shoulders of one of the black-garbed Haredim. “So I was on the ‘third floor’,” she says, “and there was unity, there was tremendous shared joy. My mother raised us to think that there were not ‘camps’ among us – there were only two kinds of people: Jews, and the children of Noah.” Noah, who preceded Abraham and Judaism, was given seven commandments to uphold and all the world’s people emerged from him.
Schneider remembers how there were names of soldiers to pray for written on their refrigerator with markers and before Passover she wanted to clean the refrigerator and wipe off the names but her mother would not let her, because, she said, “These are holy people.”
After teaching for many years, Schneider reached a point in her career when she wanted something different. She told The Journal how she used to travel on a bus every morning to the school she taught at, and there was another woman on the bus with her who appeared to be secular, and for four years they saw each other and never spoke to each other. Schneider said this situation pained her and pursued her. “We came to Israel from somewhere in the world; we are living through intifadas and difficulties in the country, we put our kids in the preschool, get on the bus, pick them up at the end of the day, deal with challenges … how is it possible we haven’t spoken to each other? Are we two peoples? Don’t I want to know her, to know about her life, why she lives here, why in Jerusalem? Maybe she is also curious to know me. This made me think that something needs to happen here.”
She approached Rav Yosef Shalom Elyashiv, at that time the esteemed rabbinic leader of the Haredi community in Israel and abroad, with her idea that became Kesher Yehudi. He encouraged her and said that Am Yisrael has to be unified, to return to the way we were when we all stood at Sinai together, and that this is the way to save Am Yisrael.
But how does one take an idea and make it happen?
“I was in Kupat Cholim [the local HMO]for a blood test. I had already decided that the axis of the Torah should be the connection between the two sides. I saw the secretary and she appeared hiloni and I asked her, ‘Are you interested in a learning havruta with a Haredi woman?’ and she said, ‘It sounds interesting.’ Then I asked the nurse who took my blood and she said, ‘Yes, I see a lot of Haredim in the clinic and I don’t know them.’ Then I went to the doctor and she was also interested. She said she has a lot of Haredi patients and they have different codes and she’s also interested.
“I was on my way out and I saw the cleaning woman who told me, ‘Don’t walk here yet; it’s wet’ and I asked her the same question and she said, ‘Yes,’ so then and there was the possibility of four havrutot, each of whom is different, and all of them expressed interest.
“It was my free day from teaching but I knew there would be a break soon so I took my son and went into the teachers’ room and I told them about the initiative and on the spot I got more than four teachers who said they are interested.”
Within a year there were more than 1,000 havruta couples, Schneider said. At this point, 13 years later, 17,000 havruta couples have been created. That is 34,000 Jews who are learning together and, more important, talking to each other even though they come from opposite ends of the spectrum.
I asked Schneider why she concentrates on Haredi and hiloni Jews, and doesn’t address those who are dati-leumi “nationalist-religious”– for want of a better term, those who in America would be called “modern Orthodox” though in Israel, there is also a term hardal which means “nationalist-Haredi,” strongly Zionistic yet closer to Haredim in their externals.
Because, she says, “The great disconnect in the nation is between Haredim and hilonim and I think that in order to solve it we need to take the two extremes and connect them; the middle will work out. Also in order to get total engagement on the part of the Haredi mainstream, those who (in the case of the men) are studying Torah all day, I need to be very clear about the framework. If I tell them it is a project of Haredim with hilonim I’ll get the top ones.”
Kesher Yehudi also works with 32 from among the 70 year-long pre-army preparation programs, called “mehinot.” They began as programs for the Orthodox community, that include Torah study, learning about faith, Israel’s history, building up one’s physical stamina and more. After a while, secular mehinot were also created. By enabling Kesher Yehudi to work with the secular mehinot, which are closely connected to the IDF, it indicates that they think it a worthwhile program. She describes how close they become and continue the relationship after the young peoples’ army service begins.
In the room, there was free-flowing wine on the tables, and bottles of liquor for a l’chaim before lighting candles and at Kiddush the next morning. The Nova music festival was a trance party, but there were also “regular” adults, and even married couples, who came for the music and dancing, leaving their children with the grandparents. One such couple described how they survived when the husband covered the wife with his own body, as they were hiding among the bushes while terrorists raged around them, killing everyone in sight. “I wanted my child to grow up with parents,” he said on Shabbat, “and if not with parents, at least with a mother.”
Several of the Nova survivors said the Hagomel blessing publicly for the first time since their survival. It Is a blessing one makes upon deliverance from danger. The “Amens” resonated throughout the dining hall at lunch and to the ends of the earth.
There was another surprise at lunch. Rav Yisrael Goldwasser of Bnei Brak brought a sefer Torah that was saved during the Shoah. It had been sneaked into a Nazi labor camp near the Czestoçhowa Ghetto and when the Jews reading it were discovered by the Nazi guards, they were cruelly beaten till blood ran. Somehow it was saved, and there are still blood stains on the parchment, on the Torah portion of Matot, the same Shabbat that we were in the hotel.He showed all the guests the bloodstains. “Our Simhat Torah was cut short this year,” he said, “so let us dance now.” The Nova survivors and others joined in, singing, “How greatly have I loved Your Torah…”
In the afternoon, newcomers were offered the option of beginning to study with new havrutot. I asked to see a copy of the booklet from which they were reading Jewish sources. Its topic title was: “Simcha.” Joy.
At the end of Shabbat, Nova survivors spoke of the Shabbat being an uplifting, powerful experience, saying that it was easier to keep Shabbat when they were together. One said, “I feel that the joy has returned to my life.” Another: “It’s like a honeymoon with God … we are leaving here with giant pride that we are Jews and that we were left alive for a reason …” Other comments were “I felt the light within my soul,” “This Shabbat, I finally felt connected to myself,” “I found my inner light, I felt joy in my soul, for the first time in such a long time…” “We experienced unity, love and how you care, and you don’t look down upon us for having gone to a party on Shabbat, you don’t think we are strange, you accept and love us and that is amazing.” One woman said, “The light you provided here for so many Jewish souls you don’t understand what you’ve done, but it’s for many generations.”
“This Shabbat, I finally felt connected to myself,” “I found my inner light, I felt joy in my soul, for the first time in such a long time…”
After checking out, all the participants were given a wrapped parting gift. I asked Tamar Frei, a Kesher Yehudi staff woman, what it was. “A lamp,” she said. I opened it at home and saw it was a small emergency lamp that works on batteries, the kind one keeps in a safe room for light during a rocket attack, in case electricity is lost. It was a chilling return to reality, at the end of a glorious, spiritual Shabbat, filled with a different kind of light.
And we are left with prayers that are the light of the Shabbat, that will accompany us all in the days to come.
The writer is an award-winning journalist and theater director and editor-in-chief of WholeFamily.com
