We have every responsibility to stand in solidarity with our Jewish neighbors.
We have every responsibility to stand in solidarity with our Jewish neighbors.
‘C ounterterrorism police.” One weekday morning about a decade ago, I was at St. Patrick’s Cathedral on Fifth Avenue in New York City waiting in line to go to confession. I was probably hanging my head down in shame, remembering what I wanted to say to the priest, to be blessed with the grace of God’s forgiving sacramental mercy. When I looked up and remembered where I was beyond my own sins, I saw the seemingly heavily armed man. He wasn’t patrolling to protect the priest from me. My memory is that he was actually looking for a bathroom. This particular day was the convergence of the height of the so-called Islamic State threats on Christian churches and the annual U.N. General Assembly week in Manhattan, and the permanent increase in terrorism awareness that came to our city and homeland 25 years ago after the September 11 attacks on the United States.
But I remember thinking: This is not normal. Is this what it’s like for my Jewish neighbors every Sabbath?
It echoed what I thought at some point during the morning of 9/11: Is this what it’s like to be an Israeli Jew?
This all comes to mind for the obvious reasons that remembrance is in the air as we just marked the day a quarter century ago and all that followed immediately after. The courage and the fear. The virtue and the evil. And Israelis are about to mark the third anniversary of those horrific attacks on the Nova music festival, the tortures and rapes of innocents in their kibbutz homes, and elsewhere. September 11 was an attack on all Americans, all of the good we stand for. October 7 was not a political statement but an attack on every Jewish man and woman the world over. No amount of complaining about anything Benjamin Netanyahu says or does can obliterate that fact. Because it didn’t start with his existence. And unfortunately it won’t end when he retires from political life. Antisemitism is a grave evil. One that must be acknowledged in a common solidarity among people of goodwill.
My cubicle had a window overlooking Lexington Avenue, just a few blocks from an armory that became a gathering place for families hoping against hope that there would be information incoming about loved ones discovered alive in Ground Zero. By the time anyone got there, it really wasn’t a recovery effort anymore. Still, the lampposts would have “missing” signs with photos of people who worked at the World Trade Center. Earlier in September that year, I had a view of one of the towers. Never again.
We, of course, know what aromas we are fond of. A particular flower in a field in spring. The smell of a family recipe on a stove. The scent of an overpriced perfume. Incense marking a solemn religious ceremony, bringing our senses in union with the deepest prayers of our hearts. But on 9/11 and the day after, the winds introduced some of us to the brutality of that sense. The next day, National Review’s offices were full of smoke, and it was too late to close the windows. The immediate historical reference the smell suggested were the crematoria built by the Nazis.
At the time, of course, ISIS wasn’t a blip. We Christians have had our own history of persecution that continues right to this very moment. There are Christians the world over who risk their lives going to Mass or any other church service. But the hatred of Jews is of a uniquely pernicious sort. There is nothing new under the sun, and antisemitism wasn’t invented in the 20th century. Jews are into their highest holy days and continue to face some of the same old realities, only heightened yet again. There are news stories about renewed fear. But with that comes resolve, too.
“Jews and Christians share an immense spiritual patrimony, flowing from God’s self-revelation,” Pope John Paul II said when he spoke at Yad Vashem in Jerusalem in the millennial year. “Our religious teachings and our spiritual experience demand that we overcome evil with good. We remember, but not with any desire for vengeance or as an incentive to hatred. For us, to remember is to pray for peace and justice, and to commit ourselves to their cause. Only a world at peace, with justice for all, can avoid repeating the mistakes and terrible crimes of the past.”
When you notice the police car outside of your local synagogues, acknowledge that it takes your Jewish neighbor courage to go to temple services, to wear a kippah, or make the sacrifices that come with keeping kosher. If you are Jewish, please know that many of us — more of us than you know — love and admire you as the elder brothers and sisters in faith that you are. Several Jewish friends told me that a simple “I’m praying for you” in the days after October 7, 2023, was appreciated more than we could know. Shalom, my friends. And may we prosper together in humble gratitude to God.
This column is based on one available through Andrews McMeel Universal’s Newspaper Enterprise Association.