Recalling Sbarro as we suffer fanatics in our midst

Fourteen years ago this week (on Aug 9, the 20th of Av, in 2001), in a Sbarro pizzeria on a beautiful Jerusalem afternoon, a fanatical terrorist entered with a guitar case full of explosives and, yelling that G-d is great, set off a bomb that murdered 15 Israelis, including seven children and a pregnant woman. I am here writing these words because I was sitting in the back of the pizzeria, and Hashem decided I would be spared; many others, including 130 wounded, were less fortunate.

The fanatical belief of the bomber, Iz al-Din Shuheil al-Masri, was that his truth was the only truth. He murdered innocents in pursuit of that truth and in name of his warped perception of G-d’s will.

Last week, in two events that occurred over the same weekend, once again innocent children were being murdered in the name of that same G-d and that same ever elusive truth. Only this time the murderers are Jewish. It seems no one has a copyright on fanaticism. 

An 18 month old toddler was burned alive and his parents are fighting for their lives as these words are written, and the police suspect a fringe element of Jewish terrorists; and Shira Banki, a 16-year-old girl marching in Jerusalem’s gay pride parade, was stabbed to death along with five others wounded by a Jew calling himself ultra-Orthodox and purporting to be acting in G-d’s name against the LGBT community. 

While there are certainly differences between these cases, now is not the time to focus on those differences. Rather, we must struggle with what they have in common: the challenge of overcoming bigotry, intolerance and fanaticism.

Indeed, we find ourselves in the midst of the traditional seven weeks (and seven weekly Torah portions) of comfort (the shiva de’nechemta) wherein the Jewish people attempt to find comfort after the destruction of the Temple on the Ninth of Av and the subsequent exile and destruction we faced as a people for over two millennium. The Talmud suggests that this destruction occurred because of the blind and pointless hatred (sinat chinam) which was prevalent in that generation of Jews 2,000 years ago. 

How sad that in the midst of such a powerful lesson, we are still repeating the same mistakes.

It is interesting to note, given that last week’s portion of Va’Etchanan was the first of the portions designed to comfort, and this week’s portion of Ekev is the second, that these two portions must be connected. And in fact, a cursory glance reveals an obvious connection in that last week we read the first paragraph of the Shema, and this week we read the second. 

Yet these two paragraphs could not be more different in their messages.

The first paragraph (Devarim 6: 4-9), beginning with the injunction to Love G-d with all our hearts, is about developing a deep and meaningful relationship with Hashem. The second paragraph (Devarim 11: 13-21), in contrast, is about the reward and punishment we can expect from G-d based on the relationship we embrace or neglect. 

In the first paragraph we are spoken to in the singular — “and you (individual) shall love G-d, with all your (individual) heart soul and might.” Yet in the second paragraph in this week’s portion, we are spoken to in the plural form — “And if you will hearken to my commandments … and love your (plural) G-d with all your hearts and souls…” Why the difference? 

Note that the verses regarding the mitzvah of tefillin and the teaching of our children are repeated in both paragraphs, yet they are in reverse order. In the first paragraph of the Shema the Torah tells us (6:7-8) to teach our children and speak to them, and then to tie these words as a “sign on our hand,” which is the mitzvah of tefillin. Yet in the second paragraph of the Shema, in this week’s portion (11:18-19), the mitzvah of tefillin actually precedes the mitzvah of teaching our children. Why the reverse order?

Rashi points out that when the verses tell us to teach our children in the first paragraph of the Shema it is actually referring to a teacher’s obligation to teach his students (as a teacher’s students are considered to be like his children) whereas in the second paragraph of the Shema the same verse is referring more literally to the parents’ obligation to teach his children.

Perhaps there is a message which can help us connect all these dots, beginning with what the mitzvah of tefillin is all about — what indeed does it mean that we are meant to tie the tefillin on our hands and our heads every day?

The Maharsha (Rav Shmuel Eidels of Krakow, 1555-1631 author of the chidushei halachot on the Talmud) suggests (Tractate Berachot 6a) that when we bind the tefillin to our bodies, we are attempting to demonstrate that we wish to bind ourselves to G-d (dveikut). But how does one bind one’s self to G-d? How indeed do we develop our relationship to Hashem?

Truth be told, we can learn a lot about our potential relationship with Hashem from the way we develop our relationships with our fellow human beings. One of the most important things in any healthy relationship is to figure out what the people we love really need and want from us, what is meaningful to them and what touches their hearts. Imagine you are newly married and on your first anniversary you find the perfect gift for your beloved wife. And imagine the special look on her face when she opens up the beautifully wrapped surprise and discovers … an electric power drill; probably not a happy ending.

Knowing what drives those we love and how we can be there for them is how all of our relationships grow, which is just as true of our relationship with Hashem. But how do we tap into what Hashem really wants of us? Our Torah is the recipe Hashem has given us for how we can make a difference and live a meaningful life.

Which leaves only the question of how we know we are getting it right. How do we know that the way we are interpreting G-d’s word is really true? 

Perhaps this explains the questions we raised in seeing the different perspectives of the first two paragraphs of the Shema.

The first paragraph relates to our individual perspective: deep down, we need to listen to that inner voice; we are created with an innate sense of right and wrong and tapping into that essence is really tapping into the soul that we really are. Judaism suggests that man does not have a soul; man is a soul. And to be healthy and balanced human beings we need to connect with the inner soul that is our individual connection with Hashem, and which represents the idea that we are in fact an aspect of Hashem’s will.

But Judaism also believes, as the second paragraph of Shema teaches, that we need to balance that will within the context of the community, the greater klal. Each of us, every Jew, is a part of Klal Yisrael, and we are all members of humanity. And our understanding of the will of Hashem has to be understood in the context of creating a better world, filled with love and respecting each other for and despite our differences, even when we disagree. 

Perhaps tefillin represent my individual connection with Hashem, but teaching our children and students represents the need to connect to the wider community and to the fact that we are but individual pixels in a much larger picture that we always need to see. 

Indeed the Netziv (Rav Naftali Tzvi Yehuda Berlin, 19th century rosh yeshiva of Volozhin), in his introduction to the book of Bereishit, suggests that before we can disagree with someone, we first need to respect where they are coming from. When a person is so busy seeing their own relationship with G-d that they can no longer see the image of G-d in the person in front of them, whether at an LGBT parade, in an Arab home in Dura, or in a Sbarro’s pizzeria, they are no longer spreading light, they are only burning fires.

This Shabbat as we sit down to our Shabbat tables by the light of the Shabbat candles, perhaps we can consider how we can spread a little more light, which is so much more beautiful than fighting the raging fires.

Shabbat Shalom from Jerusalem.