From the Rabbi

The day I returned from my recent trip to Israel, I attended the funeral of my dear friend Dr. Richard Dackow. Richard and his wife Linda were early students of Project Genesis Interfaith and participated in one of our pilgrimages to Israel. Richard, a devout Catholic, spent most of his time there at Israeli hospitals that he said had saved his life. Considering the closeness of our friendship, the family asked that I deliver a eulogy, and I was invited to sit on the altar with the Christian clergy.

Before the procession began, I found myself alone on the altar, waiting, when suddenly I saw a woman dressed in a long white alb. Since it was a Catholic church, I assumed she was an altar server. But then I noticed a yarmulke on her head. It looked as though it had come from someone’s home yarmulke stash — a white crocheted kipa that matched her white gown, perhaps purchased at the church’s thrift shop.

But then, wait a minute, out they came, priest by priest, each wearing a yarmulke. Why were all the clergy wearing yarmulkes?  Having landed just a few hours earlier, I thought maybe I was in a twilight zone between Israel and New York, and not beholding a vision of “Richard’s Challenge.”

A while before his death, Richard had talked with his good friend Robert Goldman, a Jewish psychologist colleague and a kindred spirit, who heads the non-for-profit organization Tikkun Long Island. As I learned, Richard had suggested to Robert that perhaps his organization could declare a National Yarmulke Day, when yarmulkes would be distributed to people of all faiths to wear in solidarity with the Jewish people. It would be an “I am Spartacus movement,” Richard had said.

At Richard’s wake, Robert shared this idea with those in attendance. It was suggested that if Robert could bring yarmulkes to the funeral Mass, the clergy would wear them. Moreover, Richard’s wife Linda volunteered to place a yarmulke on Richard’s head as he lay in the casket.

Before leaving his home for the funeral, Robert searched cabinet drawers for the yarmulke stash he had amassed over the years. In fact, he was somewhat skeptical that they would actually be worn in church, but on the off chance…  But when he arrived at the church, the priest approached him and immediately asked for the yarmulkes. Robert handed over all that he had brought, and then waited, wondering what would happen, just as Miriam waited to see what would happen to her brother Moses.

To Robert’s surprise, as the clergy approached the altar, all were wearing yarmulkes. “As a Jew who has experienced much antisemitism from many in the Christian faith, this was the most healing moment my mentor could have given me,” Robert said. “He was still teaching me.”

In short, I found support from Christian clergy then, and now Muslim clergy. My friend Sheikh Ghassan Manasra from the Abrahamic Reunion flew here from Florida this week to join us at an interfaith discussion held at Peconic Landing. With the Oct. 7 attack on Israeli citizens still raw in our minds, he welcomed the opportunity to share an important message — that regardless of religious affiliation, there are lines that humanity should not cross. At a time when Israel has been charged with genocide in the International Court of Justice in The Hague for responding appropriately to the attack, at a time when Jews are moving their doorpost mezuzahs inside, we should not despair but should continue to wear our Jewishness with pride.

—Rabbi Gadi Capela

While traveling through Israel during the past two weeks, I saw unforgettable sights — pictures of the kidnapped, of course, but also a sign that reads “Beyachad Nenatzeach” (Together we will win). Togetherness may not have been one of the goals of this war, but it is a goal of the Jewish people to cohere.

For part of my time in Israel, I traveled with the Rabbinical Assembly Mission, a group of 24 Conservative rabbis from North America with goals to listen, hear, and bear witness. The days were long and intense, and it felt as though we had spent a month together, not just three days — meaningful work for a group of rabbis in the face of the devastation to the country and to its people since Oct. 7.  To support displaced families, many rabbis brought duffle bags full of supplies and gifts, cards for soldiers and to those who were hospitalized.

We met with Conservative Yeshiva and Nativ students, who are spending the year in Israel — what has it been like living as a young adult in Israel through all of this? Those who chose to stay convinced their parents they were safe, but I think their choice to stay was their deep connection to our people. We had dinners with our Masorti/Conservative colleagues in Israel from Knesset Rabbanim, and we prayed together.

On our visit to Kfar Aza, one of the devastated Kibbutzim, we were guided by Alon Futterman, a colleague’s son, who was asked to take part in rehabilitating the local community.  When I was a second grader, and we learned about the Holocaust, I remember thinking to myself that the worst of humanity had happened. What I have discovered is that it can be even worse than the Nazi’s acts. We ended the visit with a moving Azkara (memorial service), the constant sound of heavy artillery around us. Never again is now.

We continued on and visited Hamal Omer, near Beer Sheva, a private volunteer initiative to provide soldiers with a place to relax, shower, and eat non-Army food. It costs hundreds of thousands of dollars to operate daily. I kept looking around, hoping to see one of my nephews serving in the IDF. This was followed by a conversation with Rabbi Yos Fromer of Magen Avraham Congregation and also  displaced Israeli families from the Gaza Envelope region.  They had been close to Palestinians before and believed in peace, but now, they said, they can’t see how they can live together with the people of Gaza.

Our last day started with a beautiful Shacharit (morning service) at the Egalitarian Western Wall with our local colleagues and rabbinical students. In Tel Aviv, we met with Achim LaNeshek (brothers in arms), which had converted its massive underground garage used for the anti-judicial reform demonstrations to a warehouse of items to support families in need.

That day we met also with families of hostages and a survivor from the Nova party, whose best friends had been murdered. We finished the day at Kikar HaHatufim (the Kidnapped Square), where the long, empty table awaiting its guests to return from captivity was a powerful and emotional sight.  We offered prayers and songs of comfort.

The togetherness of the Israelis these days is remarkable and contagious.  We all hope it will continue.  But the togetherness shouldn’t stop there.  It should include the Jewish people as a whole, forging a symbiotic connection between Jews in Israel and the diaspora.

The perniciousness of what we heard and saw made me realize that I couldn’t have experienced it without this group of pastors. The topics we discussed in the learning sessions focused on temporary burial, and how to pray for the kidnapped — questions asked in Israel now. We value life so much; we value it wherever it is, even in the afterlife. A prayer from Psalm 142: “Listen to my cry, for I have been brought very low; save me from my pursuers, for they are too strong for me. Free me from prison, that I may praise Your name. The righteous shall glory in me for Your gracious dealings with me.”

As Rabbi Akiva taught us, when our worst nightmares come true, God then fulfills the good prophecies as well. The cover page of our program said: “A time to cry, a time to embrace, a time to love, a time to build.” In Leviticus 26, we read “…and I will give peace in the land, and you shall lie down, and none shall terrorize you. I will drive the wild beasts from the land, and neither shall the sword go through your land.” Together we will win.

May 2024 bring hope and freedom to all,

—Rabbi Gadi Capela