Rabbi Cooper's Letters

June 28, 2018 /15 Tammuz 5778

Why Do We Go to Yad Vashem?

Dear Friends,

I write to you from Israel, toward the end of our 11-day synagogue trip. Like most Israel excursions, our itinerary has been rich and full. An itinerary, however, is not complete without a visit to Yad Vashem, Israel’s memorial to the Holocaust. Our visit to Yad Vashem on Monday nearly coincided with Prince William’s visit. Much of Israel was intrigued and even excited to see the first member of the Royal family to visit Israel since the State was established seventy years ago. It is possible that British royalty have been carrying a grudge against Israel over the rather unfriendly activities which preceded Britain’s exit from Israel on May 15, 1948, the day after Israel declared its statehood. But if there were hard feelings on either side, they were not evident during the Royal visit.

Why is this visit so important? For foreign dignitaries, a Yad Vashem visit provides an indispensable lesson about how and why Israel came into being. For Jews, however, I believe that a visit to Yad Vashem serves a different purpose. For Jews, Yad Vashem reminds us of who we are. To be a Jew means to internalize the history of persecution, the experience of being so hated, the resolve to survive and the tenacity never to lose hope. That lesson is taught in many ways. During this visit, I learned it from the following (translated) note, written by a mother and hidden in the daughter’s coat for her to find later. Certain of her impending death at the hands of the Nazis, this mother composed these words to share with her young daughter.

My Dear Sophia,

Do not be afraid. Although I may not be with you when you read this note, I will always be with you. Be strong. Be kind and know that, just as I am always with you, you shall always be with me. I love you.

Mother

To be a Jew means to feel the pain of a mother who has been separated from her child. To be a Jew means to internalize a sense of rejection which we felt when there was no one to help us, the sense of alienation when there was nowhere else to go.

The anguished words of this mother could have been written by any mother whose child was being taken from her. At that moment of separation, there is no difference between the anguish of the mother of a Jewish child during the Holocaust, and any other mother whose child is being wrenched from her loving arms. It was this eerie sense of familiarity with which I listened to our guide recite that mother’s words. When parents and children are forcibly separated, Jews must feel that pain.

The matter of immigration is a complex and thorny one, to say the least. As a people who are reminded on a near-daily basis of our own history of persecution, it hurts to see others facing the same. As a people whose immigration to our homeland, when the British were in power, was illegal, we can sympathize with the plight of those trying to escape persecution, with nowhere to go. We cannot and must not turn a blind eye to those children and parents who are today kept from one another, especially when that pain is inflicted in a way codified by a policy of our own country.

I have received several notes from our congregants asking if and when I would write about the US policy allowing for the separation of children from their parents, if those parents are in the US illegally. In part, my lack of response to this issue is a factor of the furious pace of our travels and the lack of opportunity to write as I lead a synagogue trip to Israel. Moreover, others have spilled a considerable amount of ink writing about this policy. Others more eloquent and articulate than I have made strong cases against this policy. To those who cherish human dignity, who stand with the oppressed, who possess a caring and compassionate soul, the images created by this policy are hard to watch and harder to reconcile with what we believe to be an American, not to mention what we believe it means to be a Jew.

Politicians and lawmakers will negotiate policies which respond to the influx of illegal immigrants. But there are certain images and issues which transcend partisanship and politics. Among those is the image of families being dismembered by our government. We learned the horrors of that scenario when, 75 years ago, our relatives were subject to similar policies.

There is no way to compare the horrors of the Holocaust to the institution of a poorly conceived and even heartless policy of our government. At the same time, we have no choice but to see the world from the perspective of our history. It is our responsibility to speak out as a People who have faced similar policies. It is, in part, why we must speak out when confronted by images which recall the pain of our past and why we must respond to the pain of those who must endure this today.

We go to Yad Vashem each time we visit Israel. We go not because we need to be reminded of our history. We go to remind us what it means to be a Jew.

More later.

Shabbat Shalom,

Neil S. Cooper, Rabbi