A Jewish Girl's Healing Sunday in Church
"I was startled and stunned to see graffiti just blocks from my home that read: “FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA FREE GAZA.” I felt so paralyzed that I had to pull my car off to the side of the road."
By Lisa Lang
On a Sunday morning last December, I had a remarkable experience at, of all places, church! Currently, my synagogue’s congregation is being housed in an incredibly welcoming church, while the temple is under construction. It has been a truly inspiring and unifying experience for both religious communities, and a blessing for all. But on this Sunday I was feeling particularly blessed by the healing essence of G-d’s love.
To understand why that morning was so poignant, we must go back to the week before. On a beautiful afternoon along California’s Central Coast, I was coming home from a glorious time at the dog park. I was feeling light, carefree, and grateful…until my day came to a devastating halt. I was startled and stunned to see graffiti on the side of a building three blocks from my home that read: “FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA FREE GAZA.” Driving past, I felt paralyzed to the point I had to pull off to the side of the road.
It’s reasonable to ask why this graffiti had such a severe impact on me. Simply put, I was traumatized. I was hit with the realization that these words don’t hold the same meaning for all people, and yet they are galvanizing hundreds of thousands of people all around the globe. This phrase is a battle cry for the total annihilation of Jews, first in Israel and eventually everywhere. It terrifies me to think that those who are unaware of the historical reference of this phrase are actually marching in solidarity with it. I believe most people who have been marching in the streets think they are protesting on the side of the innocent and the oppressed. But what it feels like they are doing is strengthening the forces that want me and my entire Jewish family dead. It is literally evil masquerading as a social justice campaign.
While I might not be able to properly convey how my psyche processed this event, I can describe my personal fallout from it. I woke up in the middle of that night and broke out in sobbing tears uttering the words “I don’t understand“ and “I’m so afraid.” It’s hard to dispel what might be considered irrational thoughts in the middle of the night. The morning tends to bring clarity. But in this case, it didn’t. I found myself completely paranoid for most of the week. Ultimately, I began researching dual citizenship and searching for homes abroad in case I needed to move my family out of the country.
My weeklong trance of extreme fear and paranoia finally broke when I attended church the following Sunday. That particular Sunday fell on Hanukkah, so the pastor had invited my rabbi to give a sermon. Following worship, the pastor shared that the rabbi would be staying for a Q&A if anyone wanted to ask questions about Hanukkah or anything else about the Jewish religion. Everyone stayed. What followed was a heartwarming hour of thoughtful questions and heartfelt responses. Topics ranged from the number of candles on a menorah to the final question which, in my opinion, was the hardest to answer given the stakes of the current moment: “What is antisemitism and what can we do to help?”
The rabbi gave an exceptional response, essentially distinguishing between having valid critiques of Israel’s government policies vs. double standards and/or scapegoating Jews for the problems of the world. He cited true, but absurd, examples that resulted in audible gasps in the pews.
As the pastor thanked the rabbi on behalf of his congregation, I raised my hand to add my thoughts on the second part of the question “What can we do?” I said something to the effect of, “You’re doing it.” I thanked them for being so welcoming to our community and for asking questions. I shared how proud I am of my heritage and how much it meant to me that they wanted to learn about Judaism and our traditions. I ended by saying how fearful I had been that past week and how healing it was that they were embracing our community and asking the question, “how can we help?” Finally, I didn’t feel so alone and my fear had started to lift.
When I finished talking, the congregants erupted in an unexpected round of applause. Once the service was officially completed, a handful of members raced directly over to me — embracing me, both figuratively and literally — with their love. The first person who gave my trembling body a hug held me very tightly, the way my mom used to. She then whispered words of support in my ear. I only caught half of what she said, but I understood every word. She was essentially telling me “you’re not alone. We are here for you.“ (As I type, the memory of this moment brings tears to my eyes and warmth in my heart, the way I felt while she was holding me.)
I felt held by this entire community and it meant more than I’ll ever be able to fully express in words. It was the personification of what I understand to be the essence of “Christ’s Love.” It was a cathartic experience that literally healed me.
I continue to see more graffiti on buildings, as well as QR codes linked to anti-Israel rhetoric and propaganda spray-painted on sidewalks and on posters glued throughout my hometown. There seem to be no repercussions or mentions in the media for the defacement of public property nor what I would consider as a hate crime. It devastates me. However, I’m no longer traumatized. Rather, I turn my gaze to where the Love is. For peace isn’t achieved through anger, aggression or even fear, it can only be achieved through love. With eyes and heart wide open, I bear witness to the power of this energy every single day. I believe in the evolution of our species to access it, not as a platitude, but as the path to move forward. I know that’s how I did.
Lisa Lang is the founder of Spread Goodness®, a multi-channel brand with the mission to uplift the vibration of the planet through acts of humans kindness and generosity of spirit.
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