A Jew sitting in two rooms

On Monday night, Nov. 2, I sat in a room at the Jewish Community Center of Greater Pittsburgh listening to a discussion about Israeli elections: fear, identity and hope in a polarized world. Tuesday morning, I sat in a federal courtroom to witness the appeal of the man who murdered 11 Jews in the Tree of Life building in 2018 — including a member of Dor Hadash, where I serve as co-president.

I am still trying to understand what it means to have been in both rooms within 12 hours.

In one room I heard about a 1:4 ratio regarding enemy combatants. It was a discussion examining the veracity of a purported civilian-to-combatant causality ratio, indicating that for one enemy combatant killed, four civilians lose their lives. I am a civilian.

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In another room I heard a federal judge speak about a shooter coming to kill Jews who work with refugees and support HIAS. I am one of those Jews.

The Israeli election discussion reminded me how differently parliamentary democracies work. Many parties, many voices, many ways to participate. It is a system that makes room for a startling range of people. Yet that openness exists alongside violence, grief and a war that has not ended. Palestinians and Israelis are living inside the same tension, which the election both reflects and in flames. I left unsettled, aware that a democracy can be wide open and still fail to protect its people.

The courtroom demonstrated a different aspect of democracy at work. The shooter was sentenced to death, and the appeal is part of a legal process in which his lawyers are trying to save his life. Witnessing the hearing, I felt both honored and afraid. I was honored that my community trusted me to be present. But I felt afraid, because I saw the appeals as never-ending, each one taking a toll on our souls and hurting our community.

Elections, appeals, verdicts and policy debates are how societies make meaning of violence. They matter. But they operate at a distance from the people they affect. Somehow in the rush to justice, individuals can become disconnected, isolated and scared.

I do not want to be in rooms hearing about enemy combatants and shooters. I do not want my family, my children,
grandchildren and friends in these rooms. I accept that these spaces exist, but these are not the only spaces we can occupy, create and build. Every congregation and Jewish organization in our greater Jewish community can create safe spaces by considering what they do well and sharing it with the community. For Dor Hadash, that means prioritizing prayer together, celebrating b’nai mitzvahs, family Shabbat dinners, Jewish education, conversions, weddings and baby namings, and welcoming and supporting refugees.

Community needs can arrive quietly, without headlines. In recent months, members of our congregation have died. Another beloved member suffered a stroke. Today, as I was thinking about the courtroom, someone in our congregation faced a cancer diagnosis.

People want care and support, to talk with our rabbi, a phone call, a meal, a ride to an appointment, someone to sit in the waiting room. None of it makes the news. All of it matters.

The legal system and the political system are essential, but neither can hold a frightened person’s hand. When the world feels polarized, unresolved and unsafe, the most meaningful work is close to home. Life can be wonderful when we are together, and brutally hard. What gets us through is building community and space to support one another. PJC

Carl Fertman is the co-president of Congregation Dor Hadash.