Other than a small article in the back pages of the Miami Herald about an arrest in a small Miami Beach hotel, nothing was reported about the attempted terrorist attack of two members of the Society of Germanic Americans. Yehoshua had assured Eitan that Tommy Howell and his henchman were reeling from the foiled mission. There was no chatter of any follow-up attacks, and the FBI was monitoring the group and all of their movements.
The most eventful news of the last couple of days around the Temple was the interest Rabbi Groh’s exploits in Ukraine had generated nationally. With the rise of antisemitism in the US, his words on this Rosh Hashanah were greatly anticipated. Requests from various reporters to attend services filled Avishai’s voicemail. He was not surprised to hear from the Miami Herald or the Sun-Sentinel, but he was a bit taken aback when reporters from CNN, the New York Times and the Washington Post also requested permission to attend services.
Rabbi Groh believed that he had a message this year that was worth sharing, and he encouraged Avishai to acquiesce to their requests. They would still have to pass background checks, Avishai insisted. But other than that, they would be welcome to join the congregation.
As congregants were filing into the sanctuary for the start of services, Rabbi Groh sat in his office with Yehoshua and Emma. Soon they would head downstairs and welcome the New Year with the massive membership of Brit Kodesh. But before they made their way to Brit Kodesh’s majestic sanctuary, they shared a brief moment of reflection together.
“Can you believe the year we just had?” Eitan said, trying to put the past few months into perspective.
“I’ve been defending the Jewish people my whole adult life,” Yehoshua responded. “But this year was pretty intense even for me.”
“Hopefully this New Year will usher in better times, but the challenges facing the Jewish world are certainly formidable.”
“When haven’t they been, Eitan?” Yehoshua quickly retorted.
“Good point, Yehoshua. But the Jews waiting for us in the sanctuary are not used to such vile hatred and threats. It has hit a lot closer to home in the last few years, and they are hurting.”
“Well, that’s what you are here for. I am sure your words are going to give them strength and comfort.”
“I hope you are right, Yehoshua. I hope you are right.”
“Well, if you want them to hear what you have to say, you better get in there. It’s time to start the service,” Emma said.
“Ok, Eitan. It’s your moment. Be strong and brave. They are ready to hear from you.”
Eitan rose from his seat and gave Yehoshua a quick hug. The he turned to his wife and gave her a longer embrace.
“Go do your job,” she whispered in her husband’s ear. “Your people need you.”
* * *
Rabbi Groh was delighted when he walked into the sanctuary to see that every seat was filled. He had wondered how many would stay away from fear of the lingering pandemic. But on this day, for the first time since the pandemic began, not a seat was to be had. Avishai nodded to the rabbi as he ascended to the bimah from his station by the sanctuary entrance. With great pride, Rabbi Groh welcomed his congregation back to their spiritual home and told them how delighted he was to see everyone back together again.
Then the service began. The cantor and associate rabbi led the bulk of the preliminary prayers and the Torah service. Rabbi Groh prayed dutifully with the congregation, waiting for his moment to address his congregants. He could see off to his right a reporter from the Miami Herald whom he had met on several other occasions. Next to her was a young woman he did not recognize wearing a CNN jacket. Rabbi Groh was hopeful that his message today would reach beyond his congregation because he felt it was a message for all of American Jewry.
When the Torah service began, Rabbi Groh’s heart began to beat faster and faster. After two decades on the pulpit, he didn’t usually get nervous anymore before big speeches. But this year was different. This year his message felt more important than ever. This year his congregants needed inspiration to help them persevere in an America that felt less and less welcoming. And in a world that was becoming more and more hostile to the Jewish people.
When the cantor completed the closing blessings of the Haftarah, Rabbi Groh stood up from his chair, folder in hand, and made his way to the podium. He stood quietly, surveying the scene before him. He waited patiently as a few children made their way to the exit, and several other congregants returned to their seats from the lobby. Then Rabbi Groh began. An eager congregation was fixated on him, hoping to hear how his experiences in Ukraine could inspire them and give them hope.
From the outset, Rabbi Groh had his community entranced. He began his sermon with a blow-by-blow account of the night of the Molotov cocktail. He described how the rise of antisemitism had touched him in ways he never could have imagined. He talked about how he’d met Vera, and what her courage had taught him. About how the Nazis wiped out her family and everything she had ever known. Rabbi Groh then delved into the destruction of the first and second Holy Temples in Jerusalem. He gave a masterful lesson in how the enemies of the Jewish people could never understand, or tolerate, the goodness that the Jewish people tried to offer the world.
We offered monotheism. They embraced the idea, but castigated us. We taught, love your neighbor as yourself. They cherished the concept, but spurned us as a neighbor. We championed the needs of the community over the selfishness of greed, and yet they still cast us out of their communities. But this country was different. This melting pot of races, religions, ethnicities, and cultures offered the Jew a home unlike any other. For the first time in 2000 years, a country that claimed “In God we trust” appreciated Jewish wisdom and tolerated Jewish culture. It was not always easy, but over the last 200 plus years, our people have built a home here that our ancestors never dreamed was possible anywhere in the Diaspora. But now we are seeing our world with new eyes. Times are changing, and not necessarily in our favor.
For a good fifteen minutes, Rabbi Groh captured the attention of his audience. They hung on his every word. He spent the next few minutes detailing the challenges that were now facing the American Jewish community. The congregation heard the emotion in his voice when he described how painful it was to witness the terror facing the Jews of Ukraine, only to come home and see that the same terror was bubbling up to the surface in his own country. For the Jews of Ukraine, he said, there was no other choice but to head to Israel. That did not surprise the congregation. But it was Rabbi Groh’s next sentence that sent shivers through the congregation.
“Is it now time,” he asked, “for the American Jewish community to question how much longer we will be safe here in this country?”
An uneasiness pervaded the pews. Some were angry. But most were on the edge of their seat, waiting to hear how their rabbi was going to answer his own question. Was he giving up on the American dream? Or did he still have hope that the tide of hatred in America could be curtailed?
That was his goal. Keep their attention. Preach from the heart. Make his point with passion, poise, and irrefutable logic. And then, once he had them right where he wanted, answer the question and deliver the knockout punch. This was the part that Rabbi Groh loved. The last two pages of his sermon. This was his time to inspire, and he had no intention of leaving his congregation unfulfilled.
Rabbi Groh paused for a moment, surveying the congregation. His spirits were buoyed by a few of his more prominent members, who were nodding their heads in support. Encouraged by what he saw, Rabbi Groh took a deep breath and began his closing with a story from the annals of American Jewish history.
Zionist history has not been kind to Rabbi Gustav Poznanski, the rabbi of the first Reform Congregation in this country. In 1841, at the dedication of his congregation’s construction in Charleston, South Carolina, Poznanski proudly proclaimed, ‘This synagogue is our temple, this city our Jerusalem, this happy land our Palestine, and as our fathers defended with their lives that temple, that city, and that land, so will their sons defend this temple, this city, and this land. America is our Zion and Washington our Jerusalem.’ The quote implies that the early Reformers in the United States were ready to jettison the dream of a Jewish homeland in the land of Israel in place of salvation in this new world. This however distorts the context of Poznanski’s intent. In 1841, Zionism was not exactly what it is today. Poznanski had another objective. His goal was to say to his congregation that the Jewish community had been, and would continue to be, a valuable force in the burgeoning American society. We fought for the birth of this country, he reminded them. He told them that even though dark forces were rising up to threaten their security and make them feel unwelcome in their own country, they would never forget the sacrifices they made for this country, the dreams they had for its future, and their belief that if the Jewish people could not be accepted in this free land, then certainly they would not be accepted anywhere on this planet. There was no going back now, Poznanski argued. America was a home for the Jewish people now and forever.
Rabbi Groh had now answered the rhetorical question that he’d posed earlier, and his congregants were with him. It was the reassurance his congregants were looking for that America still bore the promise of its founders. And just as the congregation was beginning to feel a renewed sense of comfort, Rabbi Groh began the closing he was yearning to deliver.
Today, as fear creeps closer from seemingly every direction, when the natural tendency might be to recoil and even shy away from Jewish identity, I find myself prouder than ever to count myself among the Jewish people. To wear my kippah proudly in public, knowing that its presence signals to others that I am someone who lives a life inspired by the wisdom of our tradition. Today I am prouder than ever to stand up and say that I am Jewish, that my people will prevail, that our Torah values are righteous, that the good and decent people that make up the backbone of our people will stand with us, that our brothers and sisters in Israel will be safe and secure and will continue to thrive, that those who threaten our well-being will one day be eradicated, and that our voices in unison will hold firm and not quiver as we declare in one unified and imposing declaration, Am Yisrael Chai, Am Yisrael Chai, Am Yisrael Chai! The nation of Israel lives! Amen.
Rabbi Groh knew from the nodding heads that the crowd was with him. This was a powerful moment, and he was eager to hear the reaction to his words after the service. He hoped that the passion he felt had been conveyed properly. But he would not have to wait long for a reaction. As he turned his back to the congregation and walked towards his chair, he heard clapping. He turned around and soon all three thousand congregants were on their feet. The sustained clapping grew louder and louder. Rabbi Groh nodded his head in appreciation. It was, as his proud Temple president whispered in his ear, the first time any rabbi had received a standing ovation during the High Holy Days at Temple Brit Kodesh.