Following the UN vote in favor of the Partition Plan on November 29, 1947, jubilant Israelis erupted in spontaneous song and dance throughout the streets of Jerusalem. But one man of particular note could not bring himself to dance. Instead, David Ben-Gurion sat brooding, musing to himself that if only the people outside would stop and fully appreciate the impending war that the UN vote would soon trigger, they, too, would not act with such reckless, frivolous abandon.
I don’t think he was right.
One Sunday morning following the Lubavitcher Rebbe’s weekly regimen of handing out dollar bills to the throngs who came for a brief audience with him, one of his chassidim asked the Rebbe how he could tolerate the ordeal.
“Rebbe,” the man started, “This one comes with news of a child born after so many years of waiting, while this one comes with the news that a child was just diagnosed with an unspeakable illness. How can the Rebbe stand in the midst of such an emotional tempest without being pulled apart?”
The Rebbe answered simply with a line from the Zohar, “חדוה תקיעא בלבאי מסטרא דא, ובכיה תקיעא בלבאי מסטרא דא—Joy is planted on this side of my heart, while sorrow is planted on this side of my heart.”
Being a Jew means submitting to a connection with the entire gamut of the Jewish People across the full expanse of history. Retreating from that connection is simply untenable and would be depriving ourselves of the experience of Kehillah and of nationhood that is part of the bedrock of the Jewish experience. What, remains, then is living with the ability to vacillate between emotions, even those that lie on polar opposites of the emotional spectrum. It means fully empathizing with the pain and suffering of a fellow Jew in one instant, and joining in the blissful delight of another in the next.
I shared this story of the interaction between the Rebbe and his chassid on Shemini Atzeres 5784, when news of the calamity that had befallen our people had just begun to reach our ears, all on the eve of Simchas Torah, a time of profound happiness and celebration. I shared it again on the first anniversary of the horrific attack against our People on sacred land, as we once again stood on the precipice of exultant dancing even as the tragedy of October 7th cast a sorrowful pale over the day.
And I come back to the same story today. Because I find it to be the only adequate response to all that’s taken place over the course of the past week. Particularly for those of us living outside of Israel.
This past week, three Jewish women held in captivity for nearly 500 days finally returned home. I watched the videos of them wrapped in the embrace of family members who didn’t know if they’d ever see them again. I didn’t bother holding back the tears as I experienced the sheer ecstasy of the moment alongside them, even from thousands of miles away.
And I also watched similar videos from the other side of the aisle. Terrorists, murderers, and rapists being given a hero’s welcome in their communities and homes after being released from prison by the Israeli government. And it made my blood boil. To think that those who murdered innocent Jews in cold blood would not spend the rest of their lives in prison. That they would be permitted to live lives of freedom. That they would have the opportunity to plot the next atrocity. That it was a similar prisoner exchange that served as the prologue to the eventual attack of October 7.
I don’t know if the deal should have been struck or not. Living outside of Israel, I don’t believe it’s for me to say or to even an opinion. Without living in Israel and making the sacrifices that that life entails, I’m not in position to weigh in on the injustice of hundreds of soldiers and ordinary citizens having lost their lives on October 7th and in the ensuing war, only for our enemies to be rearmed with the sort of human resources that can, G-d forbid, bring another such attack to fruition. Nor can I fully appreciate the profound need to begin bringing soldiers back home and to see the return of at least some of Jewish souls held in captivity for far too long.
It is not my prerogative to have an opinion. But it is my responsibility to feel. To feel both elation and indignation, euphoria and resentment. To have joy planted on one side of my heart and sorrow planted on the other side. To vacillate between the two. Not the two opinions, but the two emotions. To be a feeling, caring, conscious member of the Jewish People.
I think Ben-Gurion was wrong in his assessment of the exultant crowds that took to the streets the night of the UN vote. I don’t believe they were blind to the reality of the war that would follow and the series of tragedies it would unleash upon the Jewish People in its wake. I think they were acting as Jews do, ecstatic in times of joy, with the full knowledge that mourning lurked just around the corner.
The experience of one does not negate the other, even when the two emotions occur precisely at the same time.
The frustration and indignation I feel over the release of a pack of monsters with Jewish blood on their hands will not prevent me from identifying with the bliss of the hostages returning home and their families who get to hold them. Nor will the joy I feel over the latter prevent the bitter discontent I feel over the former.
Opinions are to be formulated by those who personally have more at stake, not for those of us sitting on the relative sidelines. It is our role simply to empathize, to understand, to feel. Radically different emotions. All at the same time.