Rabbi Yisrael Meir Lau survived the Holocaust as an eight-year-old child. After the war, he was sent to a displaced children’s center in Ecoius, France. One day, a group of local politicians came to tour the center, filled with the youngest survivors of the Holocaust. At the end of the visit, the visitors addressed the children. The children resented being props for the politicians’ speeches, so they sat silently with their heads down. But then the final speaker got up. As Rabbi Lau describes him, the man “was a Jew who had survived Auschwitz, where he had lost his wife and children. Since the liberation, he had dedicated all his time, energy, and resources to war orphans.”
Rabbi Lau describes what happened next:
“At that moment, without any advance planning, five hundred pairs of eyes lifted in a look of solidarity toward the Jew standing on the stage. He was one of us. We looked at him, and he saw hundreds of pairs of eyes fixed on him in a powerful gesture of empathy. Tears choked his throat. He gripped the microphone, and for several long seconds, the microphone broadcast only the sounds of his hands shaking. He tried to control himself, but managed to say only three words in Yiddish: “Kinder, taiyereh kinder” (“children, dear children”). Then he burst into tears.……We all considered it unmanly to cry, since, after all, we had survived the concentration camps. Yet each boy sitting on the grassy plaza stealthily wiped his eyes with his sleeve….then the dam broke. All at once, the lawn of [the orphanage] was transformed into a literal vale of tears.”
This survivor of Auschwitz, alone in the world, had devoted himself to the remaining Jewish children in Europe. In three tear-choked words, he summarized his mission: “Children, dear children.”
On Thursday, the words “children, dear children” kept repeating in my mind. Ariel and Kfir Bibas, aged four and nine months, were laid to rest with their mother Shiri. They were murdered, killed for the crime of being a Jew. Ariel loved Batman because he dreamed of saving those in need, just like Batman does. Because of this, the entire Bibas family had dressed as Batman on Purim. When Kfir was born, Ariel came to visit him, and embraced him with love; they were a beautiful pair of redheads, cute and carefree.
Ariel and Kfir are our dear, sweet children. We are so heartbroken that they are gone.
Jews love their children. This is not a given; children are not loved in every culture. Phillipe Aries has argued that deep bonds of love between parent and child were uncommon in Medieval and Early Modern Europe. While he has many detractors, Aries marshals significant evidence for his point of view. In one example, a woman in the 17th century gives comfort to her neighbor who had just had her fifth child by saying: “before they are old enough to bother you, you will have lost half of them, or perhaps all of them.” Aries’ insight is that parental instinct alone isn’t enough to ensure that parents love their children; the culture of the community plays a significant role as well.
Ephraim Kanarfogel points out that Medieval Jewish culture was very different. Multiple sources, both Jewish and Christian, portray the love of children in the Jewish home. Rabbeinu Asher, (1259 – 1327) the 13th century German Rabbi, criticizes the common phrase “the pain of raising children” by saying that “children do not bring one pain, only joy”. Even when children are a challenge for us, we must see them as a joy.
Kanarfogel notes that one of the greatest contrasts between medieval Jews and Christians is in the area of education. In the early 12th century, a student of Peter Abelard writes that unlike Christians, “a Jew, however poor, would put even ten sons to letters, not for gain, as Christians do, but for the understanding of God’s Law, and not only his sons but also his daughters.” (Even Jewish daughters are being taught in the 1100’s in France, and that is notable.)
Judaism places children at the center; they play a starring role on Pesach and Purim, and their education is a priority. Judaism may be rooted in the past, in our history and traditions; but it is particularly focused on the future. And that makes children central to the Jewish story.
In Parshat Terumah, the construction of the Mishkan, the first Jewish sanctuary is outlined. At the very center of this sanctuary is the Ark of the Covenant, and on top of it are the keruvim, two winged creatures. Elsewhere in the Tanakh, the keruvim are associated with God’s throne or chariot; God resides above the keruvim, who carry His throne and protect it.
But what are the keruvim? Commentaries search for textual clues to reconstruct their image. Because it has wings, the Rashbam says it is a bird of prey. Bekhor Shor writes it is an “angel in the form of oxen.”(He bases this on the similarity of the word keruv to the word for plowing.) Rabbi Isaac Reggio says it is the image of a hybrid creature, much like a sphinx or griffin, with characteristics of various powerful animals.
All of these theories make sense in terms of the function of keruvim. They are meant to project strength, as they stand around God’s throne. Similarly, King Solomon’s throne had 12 lions surrounding it, standing as symbolic guards.
Rashi offers a very different interpretation, which is found in the Talmud. He says the keruvim had a child’s face, and bases this interpretation on a similarity between keruv and the Aramaic word for child. The Talmud’s interpretation ultimately influences the English word “cherub,” which is an innocent, child-faced angel.
But Rashi’s interpretation seems incongruous. The keruvim stand guard at God’s throne. How do innocent looking children symbolize divine power?
But that precisely the lesson. Rashi’s interpretation teaches us that the greatest power in the world is the power of children. Each child offers the possibility of a better future, of taking another step closer to redemption.
When Isaiah describes the Messianic era, he says:
The wolf shall dwell with the lamb,
The leopard shall lie down with the young goat…
And a little child shall lead them.
It is our children who lead the way to redemption. And that is why each child is so dear to us.
Kfir and Ariel were brutally murdered; and then the way Hamas returned their bodies was an ugly disgrace. But these two little angels are finally home, buried with their mother Shiri in one casket. They will now be together for eternity.
Israelis lined the streets to bid the Bibas family farewell; orange banners, orange buttons, and orange kippot were worn by a country in mourning, mourning for their children, their dear children.
But this grief will not hold us back. On the very day that Kfir and Ariel’s bodies were brought back from Gaza, a baby in Netanya, Israel, has been named “Kfir Ariel” in their honor. And despite these tragedies, we will continue to build a better future, and have more and more Jewish children.
And we will love and cherish every one of these beautiful children.
They are our children, our dear children.
Rabbi Chaim Steinmetz is the Senior Rabbi of Congregation Kehilath Jeshurun in New York.
