How can we continue to pray amid war and atrocity? - opinion

In the aftermath of the horrific Simchat Torah massacres that shook our community to its core, one question resounds more poignantly than ever: How can we continue to pray? This existential inquiry transcends religious boundaries and delves into the depths of faith, resilience, and human nature.

Recently, I had the opportunity to engage with someone who posed this question, specifically in reference to the Ashrei prayer, a cherished and foundational component of Jewish worship. In this exploration, we navigate the complex journey of faith, finding solace, and understanding in the midst of tragedy.

The Ashrei prayer, a sublime gem within Jewish liturgy, serves as a lyrical ode to the greatness of God. Its opening words, “Ashrei yoshvei veitecha,” convey the idea that “Happy are those who dwell in Your house.” This prayer, often recited thrice daily, resonates with themes of divine providence, compassion, and the care God extends to all of His creations. It is a poetic affirmation of faith, embodying our belief in God’s benevolence.

Yet, after the horrifying events of the Simchat Torah massacres, how can we continue to recite these verses with sincerity? How can we extol a God who listens to the calls of His people and provides for His creations when confronted with such unspeakable violence?

Rabbi Sacks once wrote, “Faith is not certainty; it is the courage to live with uncertainty.” In times of darkness, uncertainty can shroud our faith, and our prayers may feel like whispers in the void.

First and, perhaps, most crucially, we must acknowledge the legitimacy of doubting our faith in times of such profound darkness. The Talmud Bavli, in Masechet Yoma 69b, reminds us that even great prophets like Jeremiah and Daniel struggled to offer praise to God when His ways were not readily apparent to them. This ancient text highlights the human capacity to question, to wrestle with faith, and to grapple with the enigma of suffering.

Three responses to tragedy

IN THE wake of unfathomable tragedy, three potential primary responses emerge.

The first, and most extreme, is to cast aside faith entirely, as Richard Rubenstein did when he declared, “God died at Auschwitz.” It is possible that some will echo this sentiment and say that God died on Simchat Torah. These individuals, in their pain and disillusionment, may reject their faith entirely, unable to reconcile it with the cruelty of the world. None can blame them.

On the opposite end of the spectrum is a stance characterized by unwavering faith, echoing the words of the Rambam, “I believe with complete faith...” These individuals refuse to entertain any doubt, and while their conviction is admirable and enviable, it is a path that proves challenging for many, especially in times of great sorrow.

Amid these extremes, a middle ground emerges – a space where many within our community currently reside. In this middle ground, we are “hanging on in there.” It is the recognition that after 3,500 years of our people’s history, none of us wishes to be the one who lets it all slip away. We find ourselves struggling, like a person adrift at sea, grasping for something, anything, to hold onto in order to survive, to retain our faith.

In this precarious middle ground, we find solace in the realization that God never promised us a free ride. Life, as demonstrated by the Simchat Torah massacres, is fraught with challenges, pain, and suffering. It is a world that tests the limits of our faith and calls upon us to search for meaning and purpose, even when it seems most elusive.

Rather than directing our anger and frustration toward God or others, this perspective urges us to turn the mirror inward, examining our own behavior and choices over the past twelve months. It compels us to ask whether we have truly acted as a united people, bound by love and compassion for one another. The unfortunate truth is that we have not always lived up to this ideal.

The atrocities of Simchat Torah

THE ATROCITIES of Simchat Torah, because they are so devastating, are now forcing us to reevaluate our priorities and our actions. In a way, they are compelling us to come together as a community with an intensity not seen in the past five decades. The pain and suffering we have endured demand that we mend the rifts within our community, reinforcing the bonds of love, respect, and compassion that should unite us.

In the face of profound tragedy, it is legitimate to question our faith, just as great prophets once did. It is human to grapple with doubt and despair in the wake of suffering. But it is also a testament to our resilience that we find ourselves in this middle ground, desperately clinging to our faith, our heritage, and our community. We acknowledge that our path is fraught with challenges, but we draw strength from the knowledge that our people have endured for millennia, and we are determined not to be the ones who let go.

Ultimately, faith is a journey, and during times of darkness, our faith may evolve and deepen. We continue to recite Ashrei not as an act of blind obedience, but as a declaration of hope. We call upon God, even when it seems that the heavens are silent, because prayer is a source of strength and healing. Our faith is not a shield against tragedy but a wellspring of courage, enabling us to live with uncertainty and to find light in the midst of darkness.

As we navigate this challenging path, let us remember that the Simchat Torah massacres have not broken our community; rather, they have the potential to strengthen our bonds and our commitment to love and support one another. In these trying times, we hold onto our faith and one another, determined to emerge from the darkness, still calling out to God, still believing in a better world.

The writer, a rabbi, lives in Ramat Poleg, Netanya, and is a co-founder of Techelet – Inspiring Judaism.