Photo from @bring.hersh.home on Instagram
I shared these words at the Jewish Federation of Broward County’s annual meeting earlier this week.
On Monday, I was at White House for a reception in honor of Jewish American Heritage Month. President Biden spoke as did the Second Gentleman, Doug Emhoff, who was joined by Vice-President Harris. Congresswoman Wasserman Schultz and Congressman Jared Moskowitz were in attendance. I met comedian Tiffany Haddish, Ambassador Lipstadt, and chatted briefly with Ted Deutch, now the CEO of the American Jewish Committee. I will be speaking more about my visit at services this evening.
There were two people I connected with Monday evening that were, with all due respect to everyone who hosted and were in attendance, the most important people at the event. And standing in their presence, holding their hands, looking into their eyes, was more important than being at the White House, as a guest of the President of the United States. These two people were Rachel Goldberg-Polin and Jon Polin, the parents of Hersh Goldberg- Polin, an Israeli-American, one of the hostages stolen from Israel by Iranian backed Hamas militants from the Nova music festival in Israel on October 7. Rachel and Jon, as many of you know, have dedicated their lives to demanding the release of their son.
For me, during this insanity, during a time when the world has gone mad, Rachel and Jon epitomize the miraculous perseverance of our people. A perseverance that, if it were not for these two panicked, grief stricken, outraged parents that found the strength to stand before me yesterday, would almost be impossible to fathom. But there they were, collected, classy, managing the crowd, looking me in eye, engaging me in conversation, asking about me. Taking my hand.
Yes, I could see the weight of the world pressing down on their souls, but, despite this crushing weight, I witnessed two incredibly bright lights who had every reason to be huddled in a ball in the dark. But, doing so, for this couple, is not an option. “When you’ve been so traumatized and so terrified, nothing scares you anymore,” Rachel teaches. As she has shared, Rachel admits to having breakdowns. She is like a modern-day prophet, but she is human. And when she does lose it, she says “the noises coming out of me” are like those that came out of her when she gave birth to Hersh without an epidural.
On Friday nights, on the balcony of the Polin-Goldberg home in Jerusalem, Rachel faces south toward Gaza and screams the traditional blessing over children that we say on Shabbat – for her eldest child, for Hersh. Afterwards, for the sake of her two daughters, she’ll go to a friend’s home for a dinner but admits that it feels like her skin is being torn off. Rachel says that she has learned that feeling this way, feeling so uncomfortable – it is her new normal. One she doesn’t want to get used to, but what choice does she have? Who wants to plea with the world every single day not to forget your son and the other hostages? Who wants to tape numbers documenting the number of days these hostages have been held against their will to their chests? Who wants to walk around with dog tags and yellow ribbons in a world that is ready to pounce with antisemitic fervor at any of us who openly support Israel!? Rachel and Jon, they have no choice. And Rachel teaches that everybody – all of us – need to be uncomfortable along with them. It’s the least we can do. Especially those of us who can wrap our arms around our loved later tonight or FaceTime them right now; those of us who don’t have a loved one held hostage or a family member actively serving in the IDF.
I thanked Rachel and Jon for their strength. For being role models, albeit against their will, for all of us amid their personal torment. “If we have strength, it’s a very primal, maternal-paternal drive,” Rachel has said. “The pain, it’s a primal pain. I don’t know that we’re always strong. But I think that we feel this driven need to do whatever we can to save him. That’s where the strength comes from.”
Tragically, miraculously, their strength is what has defined our people for centuries. And we must dig deep to find that strength within us now. It’s there. It’s in our DNA. If you haven’t found it, dig deeper. “Hope is mandatory,” Rachel says. “I believe it, and I have to believe it, that he will come back to us.” She is so bold in her hoping that she imagines Hersh doing amazing things with a new bionic arm. And she thinks a lot about the grandchildren he’ll bring into her lives someday.
Rachel won’t hug people right now. “Hugs hurt,” she says. And she doesn’t like to take pictures – but promised to take one with me and Hersh when he gets home. I plan to take her up on that offer soon. She prays every morning, focusing on the opening lines to the Amidah prayer: Adonai s’fatai tiftach, ufi yagid tehillatecha; “Gd, open my lips, that my mouth may declare your praise.” After these words, she says out loud “Redeem Hersh.” Rachel also has her own mantra, one that she used to directe to Hersh and now she includes herself: “Stay strong, survive. Stay strong, survive.”
Today, I offer as our prayer Rachel’s daily prayer and mantra: Redeem Hersh and all the other hostages. And may we be strong and use that strength to survive. Stay strong, survive. Because our ancestors found the strength, because our grandparents found the strength, because Rachel and Jon have found the strength, and because we find the strength, we will always be able to say: Am Yisrael Chai.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Andrew Jacobs