Today would have been my late father’s 72nd birthday. In his memory I post an article by a friend who grew up much as I did. [I added the explanatory text in brackets]:
The Bris [Circumcision of male Jews on their 8th day of life]
Miriam Karp, Cincinnati OH USA
July 17, 2006A tiny little head, cradled in his father’s arms.
The proud chain, pushing over each other in anxious warmth, to take pictures of the new young father with his son, and enjoy the nachas [pride in children] Parents, grandparents, great-grandparents, and extended family and friends welcoming this lad into his unbroken heritage of glory, agony and destiny, the bris [covenant] of Avraham Avienu [Our Father Abraham].
Their smiles, wrinkled faces and melange of accents tell the story of the weary and hopeful Jewish people. Great-grandma mentions her first years in Communist Russia and young childhood in a DP [displaced persons] camp. Zeide [grandpa] is from Israel, and chuckles at some of the American ways.
A group of Sephardim [Jews with heritage from Southern Europe, North Africa, Muslim and Arab lands] from France, Egypt and Morocco, relaxing on the patio, break out the melodic sounds of their birthplaces.
Underlying the joy is worry. Every Jewish heart beats a little faster. The beautiful homes and bountiful spread are an illusion, a shell. We know Cincinnati is a way station, where we’ve all ended up for various reasons. The troubles push away the surface reality of our lives here. It is our land and our family, that precious little nothing of a stretch of land, over there, across the vast ocean.
My boy-man, my big 22-year-old son, left our home early this morning. He’s making aliyah, going up, moving home to Israel to pursue his dreams and build his life. “He’s going now?� friends ask. “Aren’t you worried?� For some reason I’m not, not any more than I always am. Somehow it feels better to have a part of me right there, in the eye of the storm.
My life is torn between the day-to-day tasks, reciting Tehillim-psalms and frequent Internet checks on the matzav, the situation.
Driving the kids to camp, I check the news, not that I trust their biased distortions but to keep pulse. “The missiles used in yesterday’s attack on Haifa come from Iran. Iran is estimated to support Hizbullah with $10 to 20 million dollars a month.� Iran, the rogue state, the frothing hyena the whole world is tiptoeing around and unsure what to do about. Why is Israel the address, always in the center of it all? It’s not fair! Hasn’t anyone looked on the map and seen how ridiculously little Israel is? Why can’t someone else take the fire for once?
My eyes fill with tears, and all I can see is that sweet baby’s head. All we want is to live in peace and enjoy our families, celebrate our holidays. What did we ever do to anyone? Why can’t they just give us our little strip of land and leave us alone?
Such a people. The Palestinians dance with a dead Israeli soldier’s leg, as we agonize over whether we have the right to tiptoe around their innocent civilians to remove the lethal missiles pointed at us.
But that’s it. Hitler knew it. He blamed the Jews for burdening the world with conscience. We can’t sit quietly in the corner and enjoy the treasures we received at Sinai. Being a light unto the nations, being inextricably intertwined with the destiny of the world, means yes, we are in the limelight and the center and have to stand and lead the way. And shine.
Little boy, this is your destiny. Shine.
Copyright Miriam Karp, Cincinnati OH USA