Note: The story of our beloved Shiri Bibas is unfolding in real time. This message was written on Friday morning around 10:30 am ET, when Shiri’s whereabouts were still unknown.
Devastating.
Gut-wrenching.
Brutal.
Unfathomable.
These and many other superlatives have filled my social media feeds over the last few days, as the infuriating and devastating saga of the Bibas family has played out.
For months we had held on to the shred of hope that the news of their death was an act of psychological warfare.
For days we clung to a sliver of that shred, that despite public declarations that they had been taken from us, we would miraculously see them reunited with their families.
Yesterday, our hearts were torn open as we saw their flag-draped coffins make their way until Israel.
Then, in an unexpected twist of fate, we learned that while Ariel’s z”l and Kfir’s z”l young bodies were returned, Shiri remains missing.
The shredding of our hearts spread into our psyches and our souls.
We have witnessed so much cruelty since October 7, not the least of which was the video of a terrified Shiri Bibas clinging to her children while being taken captive. The cruelty of the act and of the celebratory recording of it echo off each other, pounding against our humanity.
But learning of Shiri’s unknown fate takes it to a new level, a depth that was unfathomable.
Our souls cry out, “How can anyone be that cruel, that depraved, that inhumane?”
Our tradition knows that there will be times when we feel alone in our humanity, surrounded by those who seemly have no regard for their fellow human beings. In Pirkei Avot (2:5), Rabbi Hillel exhorted us, “In a place where there are no people, strive to be a person.”
His teaching is reflective of this week’s parashah, Mishpatim, which follows directly after the Ten Commandments, and begins with a series of laws that govern human interactions, like injury and damage to property, before guiding us on ways to develop our relationship with the Holy One.
Rabbi Simcha Bunin of Peshischa, a Polish rabbi from the turn of the 19th century, known for his insight into the human condition informed by Enlightenment philosophy and Hasidic teaching, wondered why Parashat Mishpatim begins with the laws between human beings, before addressing God and other considerations. His answer? Because basic human decency comes first.
In my mind, I know that Rabbi Hillel and Rabbi Simcha Bunim are right. They are guiding us toward the right and the good, challenging us to ever raise ourselves towards an ideal of seeing the divinity in each human being. It should be basic and easy to be decent.
But in the darkness of this moment, wondering if light will come in and from where, it feels immovable from its place of sadness and anger. It feels tempted to rage against the world in vengeance, and to turn that rage against anyone who doesn’t join me in it. It feels like it wants to despair.
How do I prevent myself from giving over to despair, anger, rage, and hatred?
How do we move forward when hope is shattered?
How can we celebrate Shabbat, seeking joy and holiness, when we are smothered in grief and mourning?
Since October 7, I have often told myself that continuing to live out our lives, draped in Judaism and Torah, was part of the answer. When I would acknowledge the victims, the hostages, and the soldiers who have fought since that day, I would say that their sacrifice was al Kiddush HaShem, to sanctify the Holy Name and our people…and that in return we owe it to them to enjoy the benefits of that sanctity by being joyous in our tradition. But that feels insufficient in this moment.
We need Shiri home, and all the hostages with her. We cannot heal while the wound is still open. We cannot grieve for Shiri (let there be a miracle and let her be alive) without her. We need the world, not just the Jewish world, to know the story of Shiri, Ariel, Kfir, and the grieving Yarden. We need them to learn from Simcha Bunim and Hillel, to stand up for humanity and decency before all else. Then we can seek joy and celebration. Then we can grieve, and then we can heal.
Then we can seek peace.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Greg Weisman
