Candlelight Vigil for Boston Bombing Victims

The Rock, Northwestern University

April 22, 2013

On July 31, 2002, my girlfriend was killed in the cafeteria bombing at Hebrew University in Jerusalem.

Even before I lost Marla in that terrorist attack, I had spent the year living in Israel, and I already was familiar with a poem by Yehuda Amichai, the first national poet of the modern State of Israel.  The poem is called “The Diameter of the Bomb”:

The diameter of the bomb was thirty centimeters
and the diameter of its effective range about seven meters,
with four dead and eleven wounded.
And around these, in a larger circle
of pain and time, two hospitals are scattered
and one graveyard. But the young woman
who was buried in the city she came from,
at a distance of more than a hundred kilometers,
enlarges the circle considerably,
and the solitary man mourning her death
at the distant shores of a country far across the sea
includes the entire world in the circle.
And I won’t even mention the crying of orphans
that reaches up to the throne of God and
beyond, making a circle with no end and no God.

After the bombing at Hebrew U, I spent the year grieving in Jerusalem, then decided to return to a place where I felt safe and comfortable, a place where my brother and his wife and three children already called home.  That place was Boston, and over the next seven years it became my adopted home.  During that time, the woman who would become my wife, Claire Sufrin, joined me in Boston, and we danced at our wedding in Newton, just a few blocks from the marathon route.  My parents also relocated to Boston, and my father is now buried there.  My brother and his family, my mom, and many dear friends are all still there.  For me, Boston is a place of joy, a place of family and friendship, a place of love.  For me and for so many others, that was shattered last Monday.  But not only if you’re from Boston, or if you’re a marathon runner.  For all Americans, for all caring human beings, this was a shattering moment.

In the Jewish tradition, the week following someone’s death is a time of intense mourning called shiva, or “shiva”.  During “shiva”, the mourners sit on low chairs, they do not bathe or shave, they forget vanity and concentrate on their loss and the person who has been taken from this realm. These mourners are visited by friends and loved ones who say to them, “Ha-Makom yinachem et-chem betoch sh’ar aveilei Tzion v’Yerushalayim”.  May the Omnipresent One comfort you among all of the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem.  Tonight, we say to those in Boston who are mourning, Ha-Makom yinachem et-chem – May the Omnipresent One comfort all of you.

At the end of shiva, Jewish law tells the mourners to get up – literally – from their low chairs and walk outside.  The mourners walk around the block, making a circle to symbolically re-enter society.  They come back into the world, but they see the world with a slightly different lens.

After coming out of this unprecedented week of terror and resilience and further terror and further resilience, of pain and suffering, of love and joy and heroism – our world is different.  We now invite the city of Boston and the people most deeply affected and hurt by this attack, those who are injured or who have suffered immeasurable loss, to come out from shiva, to re-enter the world, and to know that we will walk with them around the block, we will be here to comfort them, and we will help them to walk again and to run again.

I want to close with a psalm. 

For thousands of years, the psalms have offered a liturgy of comfort.  In the Jewish tradition, we recite psalms in moments of peril or fear, we recite psalms when we are sitting with a dead body before it is buried, and we recite psalms for those in need of healing.

One psalm in particular has often brought me a measure of comfort during times of fear and grief and pain.  It is Psalm 121, which I will read first in Hebrew, then English, and then close with a Hebrew melody from its opening lines.  I recite it here and now with the hope for the speedy and complete recovery of all those who were wounded last week in Boston.

Psalm 121

A song of ascents.

I lift my eyes to the mountains - from where will my help come?

My help will come from the Lord, Maker of heaven and earth.

He will not let your foot falter; your guardian does not slumber.

Indeed, the Guardian of Israel neither slumbers nor sleeps.

The Lord is your guardian; the Lord is your protective shade at your right hand.

The sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night.

The Lord will guard you from all evil; He will guard your soul.

The Lord will guard your going and your coming from now and for all time.

Yom HaShoah Reflection at the Rock, Northwestern University

Remarks for Holocaust Remembrance Day, April 8, 2013

I am not a Holocaust survivor, let alone even the grandchild of Holocaust survivors. 

Though I have experienced painful, even horrific loss, my personal loss is not connected (at least not directly) to the systematic extermination of millions of Jews and millions of others by the Nazi regime 70 years ago.

Still, as a caring, thinking human being, and as a committed Jew, I have felt a connection to the devastation of the Shoah since I was a little boy.

But until two months ago, I had never set foot in Poland, site of the largest Nazi death camps.  I went in the cold and gray month of February as part of a group of 50 men from the Chicago Jewish community on a weeklong educational tour.  Touring the Polish cities of Krakow, Lublin, Warsaw, our days followed a somewhat regular cycle.  In the morning we would visit the empty remnants of what had been thousand-year-old Jewish communities, and then in the afternoon we would tour the nearby sites where the people from those communities and thousands of others were murdered – Auschwitz, Birkenau, Majdanek, the Warsaw Ghetto. 

At Auschwitz, we walked through a barrack that now displays relics from the Holocaust.  In one room, an entire wall contained stacks and stacks of human hair, shorn from prisoners and ready to be converted into rope.  At Majdanek, we entered a barrack that is now a ghostly consignment area for thousands and thousands of shoes. If you have visited the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum or Yad Vashem, you may have seen exhibits of shoes and hair, on “loan” from the camps and used to illustrate the depravity of the Nazi Final Solution.

Though these displays were viscerally jarring and are seared into my memory, I find my thoughts cycling back to an empty place. 

At Majdanek, we walked through a building that housed a gas chamber where prisoners, freshly arrived from transports, were sent for immediate extermination.  The chamber is there, intact, a concrete room with a low ceiling, a ceiling streaked blue by the stains of Zyklon B, the gas used in these halls of murder.  A ridge around the doorframe of the gas chamber is now a reminder of a special seal once imported from Berlin, where the brightest engineering and scientific minds of the Nazi regime had been working not to cure disease or alleviate suffering, but rather to ensure the maximum lethality of these gas chambers.  Near the entrance was the post where two Nazi guards would watch men and women and children being suffocated, making sure that no one survived each time the door was sealed.

I stood just outside the chamber, peering into that dark, dark place, and closed my eyes, both afraid and compelled to imagine the horror that extinguished infinitely precious human life in this place.  I felt—or imagined—hands reaching out from the darkness, saw—or imagined—mouths twisted into a silent but pressing plea, asking “Why” and demanding of us, these later generations: “Do not forget”.

I am not the grandchild of Holocaust survivors.  But my wife Claire is, and our two-year-old son Jacob is the great-grandchild of Holocaust survivors. 

So, now that I am home, I ask: how do I help ensure that Jacob is safe from ever experiencing such horror?  How do I help him understand that even “normal” everyday people can be caught up in an orgy of evil and dehumanization?

How do I answer why? 

And how do I make sure that we never, ever forget?

Rosh Hashanah 5773 Remarks

Hello – my name is Michael Simon, and I’m the Executive Director of Fiedler Hillel at Northwestern University. It is my honor and pleasure to again welcome you to our High Holiday services.

* * * * * * *

I’m now in my third year at NU Hillel, and one of the big perks of living near campus is that I get to walk to work. Most of the time, this is a very pleasant experience – the view of the lake, the beautiful grounds of the campus, the smiling faces of students and townspeople (and the furrowed brows of professors) going about their day.

This is particularly true of summer in Evanston, when my walks feature warm breezes flowing off the lake, folks seated outside of bars and cafes, and a somewhat slower pace. Except, of course, for one aspect of my summer walks: (pause) construction.

After two years here, I am no longer surprised to see the tractors and piles of dirt and orange detour signs that dot campus pretty much the minute families leave after Commencement. I have become accustomed to traversing torn-up streets and passing by work sites seemingly every hundred feet.

But this summer, I was surprised by one feature of the construction – the signs posted outside of many of the projects on the NU campus that included the following prompts?

· What are we doing?

· What’s in it for you?

· When will it be completed?

So, for example, when you walk by Deering Library, you’ll see what they’re doing: the original entrance is being renovated and prepared to be reopened. And what’s in it for you: easier public access to the NU library. And when will it be completed: fall 2012 (hopefully).

This got me thinking: what if we turned those questions back to our own work? How would NU Hillel answer the prompts:

· What are we doing?

· What’s in it for you?

· And when will it be completed?

What are we doing?

Every day, NU Hillel is working to deepen Jewish identity and enrich the lives of young Jewish adults so that they can – and do – enrich the Jewish community and the world beyond. We work to create meaningful experiences that enable our students to explore their Jewish identity within the context of what it means to be human.

While we are not tearing up roads, or building a new building (thankfully, Fiedler Hillel at 629 Foster is in great condition), NU Hillel is in the midst of a different kind of construction project. We are continuing to build an excellent staff team and to develop our network of support among alumni, parents, and community members. I’m thrilled that, following a national search, we succeeded in bringing Rabbi Danya Ruttenberg to our staff. Danya has already built a reputation as one of the most dynamic and thought-provoking rabbis in the country, and I am confident that our students will be both meaningfully challenged and deeply enriched by their interactions and connections with her.

In 5772, NU Hillel enjoyed a stellar year, connecting hundreds of students to Jewish life on campus and beyond. Groups like Challah for Hunger and Shireinu A Cappella continued to thrive. Dozens of students organized our first-ever Mega-Shabbat, a campus-wide Friday night dinner held in Allison Hall that drew over 400 participants. And nearly 100 students traveled on immersion journeys to Cuba, Buenos Aires, New Orleans, and Israel.

With the addition of Rabbi Ruttenberg and the continuing development of our staff and student leadership, we will do even more in 5773 to inspire every Jewish student to make a meaningful and enduring commitment to Jewish life.

What’s in it for you?

At a time when we hear constant laments about young Jews being disconnected, NU Hillel is demonstrating that Judaism is relevant and vital, and our students and alumni are providing leadership and creativity to both the Jewish community and the world at large.

If you’re a student, what’s in it for you is opportunity. At Hillel, we work relentlessly to open every path, window, and door for our students to make a connection that strengthens their particular Jewish identity in the context of being a universal human. Whether you’re interested in journalism, spirituality, tikkun olam, Israel, environmentalism, or the arts, Hillel has something to offer you. And if we don’t yet have something you’re looking for, we’ll help you create it – that’s how the Jewish Theater Ensemble came to be over a decade ago, and how Challah for Hunger began two years ago. Our next big initiative? That’s up to you!

If you’re a parent, an alum, a community member, or just someone who is interested in Jewish life, what’s in it for you is a glimpse of the Jewish future. College campuses in general, and Northwestern in particular, is a place where young people are exploring who they are and who they would like to become, both individually and as a community. For our Jewish students, it is a place to build a unique pluralistic community for themselves away from home, to pursue tzedek through action, to engage with Israel, and to explore traditional texts and themes through a modern lens.

The construction project we’re undertaking is a scale model of the Jewish future. The structure that we are building at Northwestern is important – we want to have a rich, vibrant, and meaningful Jewish community at 629 Foster Street and throughout campus. But what’s more important is the portable toolkit we’re providing each student who connects with Hillel. It’s portable so that, as these students become young alumni, they can bring an understanding of Jewish community, a commitment to Jewish peoplehood, a relationship with Israel, and an excitement about Jewish life to the families they will create and the communities of which they will become a part.

When will it be completed?

As it is written in Pirkei Avot (the Ethics of our Fathers 2:21): Lo Alecha Ha-m’lacha Ligmor, v’lo atah ben-choreen le-hibatel mimenah – It is not your responsibility to complete the task, but neither are you free to desist from it.

So this is one way in which our construction project differs a bit from Deering Library and some of the others you see on campus – there is no completion date. (Actually, some of the ones on campus may share that aspect)

But, connected to that, there’s another way our project differs from ones like Deering – ours is a project in which everybody can – and should – participate. Ours is not a construction site with a high fence and a sign outside, where we walk around and peer in and, sometimes, awkwardly try to avoid walking on wet cement or falling on an uneven ripped-up pavement. There are no hard hats or special gear required, because this is a project for all of us.

We need excellent, invested students to continually push us to elevate Hillel’s programming and activities. We need those who are not as connected to become more connected and to develop ways to make Judaism come alive for their peers and friends.

And we need parents, alumni, and friends like you to support our efforts. All of this great work costs over $1 million per year, and we receive almost no direct funding from the University. We are grateful for the support of our Board of Directors, the Jewish Federation of Chicago, and other generous donors. Your contributions are the bricks and mortar that lay the foundation for our efforts and provide us with the shovels and power tools (and the bagels and cream cheese) that enable us to reach hundreds of current students and to continue to engage alumni in connections to Jewish life. We are deeply grateful for every contribution that helps us to create positive, hopeful ways to affirm our Judaism, and we thank you for making an extra effort in the coming year to partner with us as we engage more students than ever before and as we continue to enliven Jewish life at Northwestern and beyond.

But while we need your funding, we also need your participation. In my letter in the “Return Again” brochure that many of you are holding, I say that during the high holidays NU Hillel becomes an intergenerational community of students, parents, faculty, staff, visitors, and seekers from Evanston and beyond. What would it mean for this intergenerational community to continue throughout the year? How can you become more connected to our events, our programming, and – most importantly – our students? I invite you to share your ideas, suggestions, and your time and energy in making this as vibrant a community as it can be.

As I close, I want to thank the generous donors who have helped to make these High Holidays such a beautiful event (and in particular Judy and Abel Friedman, for the wonderful flowers that adorn this stage and for all that you both do to support Jewish life at Northwestern). I want to thank all of the Hillel staff members, student staff and volunteers, ushers, security personnel, and community volunteers who make these High Holidays possible. An extra special thank-you to Rabbi Danya Ruttenberg and Operations Manager Rachael Swetin for their tireless work and able leadership in coordinating the High Holidays this year. And a special shout-out to Mickey Cartagena, our custodian, who once again did a lot of the literal heavy lifting to bring books and other items to our High Holiday service locations.

On behalf of my wife Claire and our son Jacob (who is celebrating his second High Holidays!), and on behalf of NU Hillel: Shana tova u’metuka – may each and every one of you have a sweet, healthy, and happy New Year.