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September 19, 2003/Elul 22 5763, Vol. 55, No. 56
Reverberations echo from Cafe HillelJUDY LASH BALINT"There's been limited publicity about it here," wrote one of my West Coast U.S. correspondents about the latest Jerusalem cafe bomb attack. I was stunned.The explosion that tore through our neighborhood on Sept. 9 has reverberated through every fiber of the lives of all of us in the area and consumed our emotions and attention. I had naively assumed that the enormity of the impact of the tragedies would have rippled through the media too, as they had through Jewish communities throughout the world by word of mouth. Here in the close-knit community of English-speaking immigrants, the impact of that fraction of a second explosion has been enormous. The horrendous blow to people we all know and a place we all frequent has shaken almost everyone. Dozens of e-mails circulate from people who found themselves at various distances from Cafe Hillel - my guess is that like myself, many writers use these expressions to provide some catharsis for the anguish we feel. Looking at the faces of neighbors and friends over the past few days, I see that shellshock is evident. Many who live within a half-mile of Cafe Hillel report feeling the physical force of the explosion through their bodies. Those who raced out of their apartments to see what happened saw horrific sights. The rest of us just heard it. Such experiences must have a profound psychological and physical affect that we're not yet fully aware of. My synagogue, Shir Hadash, is on Emek Refaim, approximately one hundred yards from Cafe Hillel. Before Shabbat, Rabbi Ian Pear, a Phoenix native, sent out an e-mail to members urging especially spirited prayer this week. It read in part: "In attacking our neighborhood, I am convinced that the terrorists were not simply trying to score a military victory. They were, I believe, also attempting to wage a spiritual war against all Jews living in Israel. They were attempting to demoralize us, inspire fear, and to make us question whether or not it's worth it to live here. ... "The terrorists wanted to turn our community into a Jewish cemetery, a place without life and devoid of happiness. We must proclaim with all our strength - and through our tefillah (prayer) - that it is a joyful, soulful place where the exultation of being a part of rebuilding the Jewish nation permeates our very essence. I can assure you that that was the attitude of many of the victims in these recent attacks. When we do so, we will have frustrated the terrorists goals." Rabbi Pear warned that expressing joy when we are filled with sadness would not be easy, and that many of us find ourselves struggling through tears to sing the difficult words. When we sing "Lecha Dodi" - the lyrical hymn welcoming the Sabbath bride that opens with "come My beloved to greet the bride" - who among us is not thinking of 20-year-old bride, Nava Appelbaum, buried on her wedding day? As we praise God, "who spreads the shelter of peace on us, on all His people Israel and on Jerusalem," who among us doesn't wonder what happened to that peace right in our own Jerusalem neighborhood? After services, we see dozens who gather in front of the flickering memorial candles outside Cafe Hillel. Walking home I pass the home of Yaffa Moalem, a 65-year-old grandmother killed in the #14 bus bomb in June. During Shabbat morning services Rabbi Pear suggests that anyone who was in the vicinity of the bomb attack and heard or saw it should say the "birkat hagomel" prayer recited by one who has escaped danger. More than half the congregation rise to say the blessing. Instead of the usual Kiddush in the courtyard at the conclusion of services, the entire congregation walks together to Cafe Hillel. Rabbi Pear has prepared a Torah commentary by Rambam that we study as we stand in the sun in front of the boarded-up cafe. The boards masking the devastation within have been painted blue, our national color, and are covered with black-bordered shiva announcements of the victims. The sweet face of Alon Mizrachi, the 22-year-old security guard who died in the blast, faces us from a poster on the wall. As the light, spices and wine of Havdalah mark the transition from the holiness of Shabbat to the mundane workweek, many neighbors and friends brace themselves for the resumption of shiva visits to the bereaved families. But it will take more than Havdalah for the reverberations of a horrible week to be forgotten. Judy Lash Balint is a Jerusalem-based free-lance writer. |
