Television news is disturbing. The reports from war zones make me particularly uncomfortable.  I’m not worried about the sensationalist style of reporting. While the newscasters are breaking headlines, my response is what I find most troubling. Too often, my response is silence.

Silence is a critical part of the stories we share this week. In Torah, we read Parshat Acharei Mot. We also honor those murdered in the Holocaust on Yom Hashoah.  Each of Acharei Mot and Yom Hashoah have elements in common. Acharei Mot completes a story from earlier chapters. Two sons of Aaron offered strange fire, acted improperly, and were consumed by fire. Their death is inexplicable. In similar fashion, Yom Hashoah recalls inexplicable deaths.

Another element in common is silence. Aaron’s reaction to the death of his sons was silence. Despite his grief, Aaron’s duties as High Priest require his continued service. Aaron’s devotion is beguiling if we only notice the silence. While Aaron’s cries are muffled, his actions speak of devotion to both God and His people. Aaron acts with a higher purpose.

This Holocaust Remembrance Day the world is still confronting its unflinching silence during the Shoah. Recent studies have again condemned the United States leadership for failing to bomb the railways leading to the camps. While some Jews advocated for help, our government was mostly silent. But we gather each year to remind the world that silence is not acceptable.

Recall Elie Wiesel’s summation of how we must react to oppression. “I swore never to be silent whenever and wherever human beings endure suffering and humiliation. We must take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented.” Wiesel’s words have not moved the needle of public opinion.

Silence is not the absence of words. Silence is turning off the television so that we won’t be bothered by the news. Silence is worrying about the cost of gasoline while war is fueled by oil. Silence is gratitude that the bombs are falling far away from our homes.

I am struggling to find my voice. I’ve donated money. I’ve protested outside of the Russian Embassy. And now I am silent. Silence is pervasive. We’ve celebrated earth day but our continued silence denies the ravages of climate change. We’ve bemoaned anti-semitism and racism, yet our continued silence gives bigots a platform. Silence elects craven and power-hungry politicians. Silence throws a sheet over dead bodies in Mariupol.

At the core of America is a new silent majority. This is not the silent majority of the Nixonian era. The silent majority today are decent people with relatively comfortable lives. Rescuing a burning planet or rebuffing white supremacists are extremely difficult tasks, and so overwhelming that we avert our attention. Instead the new silent majority bitches about the price of tomatoes and turns the newspaper over to hide the headlines.

As we enter an election cycle here in the US, don’t be silent. Talk about ending the war, saving lives, and rescuing the planet from destruction. Otherwise, politicians will fill our silence with nonsense about critical race theory and pedophilia.

Like Aaron, we must find the greater purpose so that we are not silenced by grief but calling out with conviction. Like Elie Wiesel, we cannot let grief or complacency keep us from calling out injustice. Should you encounter bad news, pause and wonder if you can be inspired to speak out.

Rabbi Evan J. Krame

Many Jews feel compelled to update their Passover seder each year. You might make your seder more entertaining with a new au courant theme. Other seder updates take on the issue of freedom where people are in danger. Topical seders can make Passover more relevant to our modern lives. That is why I’ll be talking about Ukraine this year.

Last year’s seder conversations included freedom from Covid. The year before that the popular theme was . . . Covid. Over the years seders have highlighted important issues like civil rights, Muslim refugees, the labor movement, and Soviet Jewry. Some themes are represented by additions to the seder plate. We honor women’s rights at the seder by placing an orange on the seder plate. If you aren’t familiar with the symbolism, it has to do with a juxtaposition of competing ideas of excluding and including women in Jewish religious life.

Reflecting on a current issue through the lens of the seder is an important tool. Starting with our liberation from Egypt, we can better empathize with other enslaved or imperiled people. As the Haggadah says, we are supposed to feel as if we ourselves were set free. We can amplify that understanding when also considering a modern story of a people in peril.

On the other hand, some feel pressured to create an entertaining Passover seder. I saw new Haggadahs created around themes like the Disney movie Encanto and the television show The Golden Girls. These will be added to the pantheon of the Schitt’s Creek Seder and the Mrs. Maisel Seder. These leitmotifs make the seder enjoyable. Yet, they detract from Seder’s best feature, the opportunity for family and friends to express gratitude for the freedom we enjoy.

This year the world is more imperiled than last year. The war in Ukraine has disrupted the lives of 44 million people. Many Ukrainians have emigrated or escaped. Many more are trying to reach safety. There is no liberty when sirens are blaring the warning that bombing raids are upon your city. There is no freedom when your family is hiding underground to stay alive.

This year, I want to reflect on Ukraine at our Passover Seder.  I will add an icon to the seder table in honor of Ukraine and I urge you to do the same. Perhaps you can use a blue and yellow flag or sunflowers which are symbols of Ukraine. You might add an olive to your seder plate, to remind us that the olive branch is a symbol of peace. When you reach the part of the seder where we discuss the symbolism of matzah, maror, and the bone, point to the symbol of Ukraine as well.

This Passover let’s focus on the core reason for the Seder. We should take time to appreciate our freedom and commit ourselves to liberating all people from oppression.

Rabbi Evan Krame

Habib Rahman, the Lord Mayor of Newcastle, in the UK, has helped organize relief for the Ukrainian city Novograd-Volynsky. These two cities aligned through an international network of municipalities named Newcastle (Novograd in Ukrainian means Newcastle).  My great-grandmother, Anna, left Novograd-Volynsky in 1911. But for her, I might not be writing this today, when my thoughts about Ukraine are influenced by a Muslim mayor in Newcastle.

As war rages in Ukraine, I researched Novograd-Volynsky, in particular. The community’s history has been documented by Leonid Kogan, a Jewish historian living in that region. Jews began to arrive there in the 1480s. Until the 20^th Century, they lived in relative security. I corresponded with Kogan to learn more about my family. I only knew of my great-grandfather, Azriel Krasnastovsky, who was a shoemaker and died in 1908. Kogan helped me to identify the names of family members who remained in Novograd-Volynsky. Yosef, brother to Azriel, moved east to Kazakhstan during World War II. While he survived the war, his two sons died as soldiers.

The larger story of Novgorod-Volynky’s Jews is also a story of ongoing depravity and oppression. As World War I ended and Communism arose, the Jews were caught between revolutionary Bolsheviks and marauding Nationalists. In turn, bands of soldiers and gangs of peasants robbed, brutalized, and murdered the local Jews. Kogan recorded stories that are too horrific for me to repeat here.

The killing continued in each of the succeeding decades. In the 1930s, Stalin starved Ukraine and murdered intellectuals. In August 1941, most of the remaining Jews of Novgorod-Volynsky were shot by Nazi death squads.

Now, we are witness to another, and perhaps a final, sad chapter for the Jews of Novograd-Volynsky. Help for this region is coming from people like Mayor Rahman of Newcastle, who knows about senseless cruelty. As I researched Novograd-Volynsky, I came upon this story. Lord Mayor Habib Rahman’s father Azizur was stabbed to death in 1977, 10 days after arriving in London from Bangladesh. Azizur Rahman was working in a curry restaurant. A disgruntled patron returned with a knife and murdered Azizur. Shortly after, Rahman’s mother moved the family away from London.

In 2021, Mayor Rahman and his family returned to the restaurant for the first time in an act of reconciliation with the past. Mr. Rahman praised his mother for being a “tower of strength and a true symbol of humanity” who had led the family in forgiving the killer in accordance with their Islamic faith. I thought of the strength of my great-grandmother Anna who brought her young family to the United States after the death of her husband.

As I reflected on Mayor Rahman’s story, I reflected on my own relationship with Ukraine. I have been tentative in my support for Ukraine. Jews were too often attacked by Ukrainians and I am wary of them. However, now is the time to release resentments. I am inspired by Mayor Rahman and his family. Now it is time for me to forgive in accordance with my faith.

We celebrate Purim this week, perhaps as a reminder that the Jewish people have long been targets of hatred. Sometimes we outsmart the enemy as Esther did in the Purim story. Sometimes we escape to safety as my great-grandmother did. Too often, we fall victim to our adversaries.

Purim celebrations this week will be overshadowed by the war in Ukraine. Yet, we will honor this festival. Leonid Kogan shared that the small Jewish population of Novograd-Volynsky in the Soviet era still gathered to celebrate Jewish holidays. Kogan posted a picture of a Purim gathering in 1977.  It is with those Jews in mind, that I will celebrate Purim in 2022.

For all those who have ancestors from Ukraine, for all those whose relatives were victims of hate, and for the sake of our Jewish heritage, we gather for Purim. We gather in safety and freedom. We gather in recognition that our people have been bequeathed a legacy of resilience. We gather to say that being Jewish means standing up to tormenters like Haman or Putin.

May the Holy One who makes peace in the heavens bring peace down to all who cherish life.

Rabbi Evan J. Krame

 

I recently visited the Ukraine memorial in Washington, DC. It is a bas-relief commemorating millions of deaths in Ukraine in the 1930s. Millions of Ukrainians are again imperiled. Families are being ripped apart, others are seeking refuge in new lands, and many are fighting for a treasured homeland. These stories are familiar to those who know Jewish history.

Jews inherit the trauma of generations who endured times of great peril. From the Assyrian invasion of Israel in the 8th century BC to the destruction of European Jewry, nations of the world assaulted the Jewish people time and again.

Perhaps the miracle of Judaism is that the Jewish people persist despite the millennia of oppression and hatred. Judaism has survived in part because of our attachment to the land of Israel. Jews in the diaspora have dreamed of Zion even when we Jews had no hope of returning.

The reports from Ukraine show a similar attachment to the land. The Ukrainian people are committed to defending their nation. We can appreciate reverence for land as a core Jewish value.

Yet a superior Jewish value is the preservation of life. Exactly these competing values challenge Ukrainians today. Some are leaving their homes and homeland to preserve life. Others are defending their homeland, risking life to protect their land. And the evil Putin, covets land and abhors life.

The Jewish vision for the future is of a world at peace. All attachments to land and nations will be released.  As said in the last lines of Talmud tractate Ta’anit 30b: “In the future, in the end of days, the Holy One, Blessed be He, will arrange a dance of the righteous, and He will be sitting among them in the Garden of Eden.” Until then, our mission is to preserve life. And history will record how we respond to Ukraine’s call for help.

Rabbi Evan J. Krame