Last week, while lecturing in Miami, I went to see Nova, a traveling art installation described as “an in-depth remembrance of the brutal massacre at the Nova Music Festival on October 7…. the largest massacre in music history.”
I say I went to “see” it, but “see” doesn’t do the experience justice. I was totally immersed in it; and through it, immersed also in Israel’s trauma and (by extension) in the Jewish condition through time. I am congenitally an optimist, so I loved Nova’s insistence that,despite it all, “we will dance again.” That said, the exhibit hammered home what some of my long-time liberal friends who are not Jews – and even some who are – do not, I fear, fully comprehend.
I don’t mean just the all-out protesters on college campuses. I mean good solid friends who support a Jewish state and who phoned me in solidarity on October 8 or 9; but who, later, as the war ground on, became fixated on the need for an immediate peace, because war is inherently bad and Israel had done too much damage already.
I too question much about the policies of Israel’s right-wing government; I too watched the Gazan suffering in horror. Neither my friends nor I have the benefit of military intelligence, but were we to know all the facts, we would probably agree on a great deal. So I am not arguing policy here. I am not arguing anything at all. I mean only to say that something very deep within me was confirmed by the Nova visit, something that I find hard to convey to even these lifelong friends: the realization that the October 7 victims were my people, that my people were being slaughtered once again.
I visited the Nova exhibit from a sense of Jewish obligation – the way one visits a Holocaust Memorial, hardly out of curiosity, much less to be entertained, or even just to learn something that we don’t already know. Not a day goes by without my thinking about the butchery that felled so many Jewish innocents. Some victims were not Jewish, mind you. But they were collateral damage, caught up in the wrong place at the wrong time. October 7 was the underbelly of the human race unleashed upon Jews, first, last, and foremost.
The exhibit consists largely of some warehouse space, filled with detritus from the actual Nova campsite: tents, camping gear, skeletons of burned out cars, clothes scattered everywhere. Visitors shuffle along in the semi-darkness, stopping every few yards to watch videos recorded during and immediately after the attack.
I watched each video at least twice over, the scenes of Jews who came to dance through the night and greet the morning sun, only to be murdered wholesale by Hamas attackers who shout over and over, ”Allah is great” and (at one point) “We are heading for Paradise now, guys.” A Jewish survivor describes the scene afterward: “Kids tied to a tree, naked girls tied up everywhere you look.” As I took it all in, I recited what I could remember of El Malei Rachamim, the signature Jewish burial prayer composed after similar slaughters by Ukrainian Cossacks in 1648. I thought back to Chaim Nachman Bialik’s epic poem that memorializes the 1903 Kishinev pogrom. “Get up and head for the city of slaughter…. See for yourself the trees, stones, and fences laden with spattered blood and dried out brain matter.”
I shed Jewish tears left over from 1648 and 1903 and so many other times as well. There must be a chamber of the heart where old tears get saved up like a bank account, and then accrue with time, to be withdrawn and spent on the likes of October 7.
It goes deeper than the heart, however. We properly differentiate head from heart: the cold rational intellect that thinks versus the warm, emotional sentiment that feels. We either believe something strongly or feel something deeply. I both felt and thought my way through the Nova exhibit; but my tears came from somewhere deeper.
They came from what the Yiddish calls kishkes; in English, “the gut.” A “gut punch” is a surprise blow to the stomach that stops you in your tracks, takes everything out of you, and leaves you reeling, shocked, dazed, enraged, and afraid for your life.
This is more than just metaphor. Scientific research posits an actual brain-gut connection. There is clearly a well of commitment, devotion, and faithfulness that transcends both head and heart, both thinking and feeling. We do not even know it is there, until we feel threatened to the very core of our being.
It is, I think, the personalized outrage that comes when one’s family is threatened; and what I cannot adequately convey to others is that Jews like me do somehow sense that Jews everywhere and through all time are an extended family. I don’t mean rank tribalism, because anyone can become Jewish by choice. But in so doing they do not so much convert as they join the family. I am proud of that family, of its heritage and its commitment to a wise and compassionate world. I particularly deplore other Jews whose immoral behavior defiles everything Judaism hold dear: Bernie Madoff and Harvey Weinstein in America; the right-wing Settler Movement in Israel. I applaud responsa that insist on the rightness of informing on our own wayward family members whose behavior is evil.[i]
By the same token, I am happy to engage critics of Israel’s war in Gaza. I am critical myself. But those critics need to know that Israel is my family. They can take issue with me but only if they also make a shiva call to offer their condolence. People who celebrated October 7 celebrate also my own imminent demise, for I am a Jew.
Edmond Fleg (1874-1963) was a French Jew, totally assimilated, until 1894, when Alfred Dreyfus, a Jewish captain in the French army was imprisoned on the trumped-up charge of treason. The episode awoke in Fleg his all-but-completely suppressed Jewish identity. “I am a Jew,” he wrote, “because born of Israel and having found it again, I would have it live after me.” By Israel, he meant the People, not the state, which didn’t yet exist. But the Dreyfus case convinced him, as it did Theodor Herzl, that only a Jewish state could be counted on to shelter Jews unwanted elsewhere and to protect them, come what may. I would say, “I am a Jew, because having been born of it and never lost it, I know not just in my mind and heart but in my very gut how right Herzl was, and how Jewish I really am.
[i] See, e.g., https://www.jewishideas.org/article/reporting-and-prosecuting-jewish-criminals-halakhic-concerns
Rabbi Lawrence A. Hoffman, Ph.D. 