A first-person account of living through and moving on from violence in Israel.
Jerusalem — Thursday, July 30 was planned as a day of celebration of tolerance and acceptance — a day to embrace differences, to lift up diversity and cooperation in Jerusalem as the Israel’s capital hosted its gay pride parade. Arriving in the city, I was delighted to see rainbow flags lining some of the main streets. Near the American Embassy, a huge banner declared, in English letters, “LOVE WINS!” The message was repeated in languages from the region and from across the world.
When evening fell and the heat of the day dissipated, we learned of the twin acts of terror that crushed the hopes with which the day began. Eighteen-month-old Ali Dawabsheh was burned to death in his Duma home by ultra-religious Jewish terrorists. One hour away, Shira Banki, walking with friends and classmates in Jerusalem’s gay pride parade, was stabbed by a man who had been released weeks earlier after serving 10 years in prison for a similar attack on the 2005 Jerusalem parade. Shira died three days later. Ali’s father, Sa’ad died 10 days later. Ali’s mother and 4-year-old brother are being treated for major burns, and five other marchers are recovering from stab wounds.
The handwritten sign on the Bankis’ door announced shivah from 10 a.m. until 10 p.m. On Thursday, Aug. 6, we were the first to enter the shivah house. At first, we did not realize that we had been welcomed by Mika, Shira’s mother, because she seemed so young herself. “We are private people,” she said. “We asked that there be no press at the funeral, and none at the shivah, and they have been very respectful.”
We leaned in to hear her as others joined us in the garden, a gracious outdoor space shared by the residents of the apartment building. “We recently celebrated our son’s Bar Mitzvah here,” she went on. “As we sat here, we realized it is a lovely space for a wedding. Perhaps, one day, Shira’s wedding. Here we are, with guests and tables filled with food, but this is not a wedding…”
We came with a gift, a book of 1,720 signatures and notes of condolence from across the world, collected by the Israel Religious Action Center. Anat Hoffman, the center’s director, had written Shira’s name on a stone that Shira’s mom held in her hand as she spoke. “The shivah is allowing me an additional week of not comprehending what has happened. Shira is the eldest of our four children. Our house is always open, always filled with our children and their friends. We raised our children to be open, to find their own voice, to walk their own path.”
We sat with Mika, four women who have also raised children, three of us now grandmothers. We came as representatives of thousands of others like ourselves who are stunned by the violence that, in one day, shattered the lives of so many families.
I have visited many shivah houses in the last 50-plus years. I have sat with many who have lost beloveds, both those who have suffered a sudden loss and those who have sat for days and months at the bedsides of dear ones and watched helplessly as their lives slipped away.
As we sat in the Banki’s garden, we felt Shira’s absence — and her presence. The photos of Shira introduced us to a smiling, engaged young woman who would have celebrated her sixteenth birthday in three months.
This will be the fourth Shabbat since these twin attacks. Last week, Jews across the world welcomed the month of Elul. Our tradition teaches the power of this last month of the year in which we prepare for Rosh Hashanah. Aleph, Lamed, Vav, Lamed, the four letters of the Hebrew name of the month, echo the words of the Song of Solomon, the Song of Songs: Ani L’Dodi V’Dodi Li: I am my beloved and my beloved is mine.
How can we love in the shadow of hate? Each new year, we are challenged to choose life. Our tradition invites us to acknowledge our own fears of death when we sit with the bereaved. This is how we choose life.
Our Judaism urges us, even in the presence of senseless hatred, to affirm love. Ani L’Dodi V’Dodi Li. We inscribe these words of love on wedding rings and sing them as we celebrate love and commitment. These words direct this month of reviewing our days, reconsidering our choices, reaffirming our commitments.
We choose life when we weave these words into the oft-quoted words attributed to the ancient sage, Hillel: “If I am not for myself, who will be for me? And if I am only for myself, what am I? And if not now, when?”
When love wins, we see that if I am not for myself, I cannot be present for another. When love wins, we understand that when we are only for ourselves, we cannot see even the beloved who is before us. When love wins, we grasp that the time is now. Now is the time to choose life, and love.
Our humanity is absolutely bound up with the humanity of others. There is no room for hate in our fragile, interdependent world. We can transform fear of the other into curiosity, and build respect in the place of ignorance. There is only one people, one fate, one Earth, one destiny. The perpetuation of a fiction of essential otherness is a recipe for annihilation.
Just as Eve and Adam left Eden, we took our leave of the Banki family in their garden. When shivah ended, they, too, left their garden. We must honor the memory of Shira Banki and the memories of Ali and Sa’ad Dawabsheh by choosing life and love. Love must win.
Rabbi Sue Levi Elwell is scholar in residence at Washington Hebrew Congregation in Washington, D.C.