Netanya

There are moments in one's life when he need not describe how he is feeling- his wedding day, the birth of a child, unbearable sickness. At all these occasions, his emotions, be they extraordinarily ineffable or painfully obvious, are visible from a mile away. Inquiring would be superfluous, if not outright insulting. Such was the scene as I disembarked at Ben-Gurion International Airport in Israel on Friday. While I hadn't slept in days, I wasn't the least bit tired. Excitement was all but oozing out of my pores. It had been over three years since my last visit and not a day went by without longing to return. Judah HaLevi, the famous Jewish poet and philosopher, had already expressed my exilic sentiments almost nine centuries earlier: "My heart is in the east, and I in the uttermost west."

So, naturally, finally being back was surreal. After quickly picking up an Israeli SIM card for my phone, I immediately hailed a cab for Netanya. Shabbat was just a few hours away and public transportation had already ceased. Appearances aside, Israel's lack of "separation of church and state" and I don't always get along. Lucky for me, though, the cab driver had heard of Netanya and was willing to take me there. Two friends from NYU, Cynthia and Gal, live up there and graciously invited me for the weekend. Though my trip is technically for business -- at least that's what I told the lady at customs -- that doesn't mean I can't visit some old friends in the process.

The cab driver, Cobi, was a giant of a man. Towering in elevation and monumental in girth, he was the closest to a Wookie I've ever met. And, much like Chewbacca, he had a heart of gold. In between last-minute calls to friends and family, Cobi pointed out all the sights visible from Route 2. I'll give you the short version- lots of grass and an occasional bus stop. I arrived in Netanya with just enough time to shower, which turned out to be the best shower I've had in months. In Rwanda, the showers are either freezing or gross. Usually both. So, feeling cleaner than Kigali, I was finally ready to start Shabbat.

It was also the first time in a while I was able to pray in an actual synagogue. The locals were very friendly and welcoming, excited to have a new guest. Without fail, the two questions I always get asked in Israeli synagogues: 1) Ah, the United States. You went to Yeshiva University?, and 2) So, when are you moving to Israel? And none of my answers ever seem satisfactory. Right before I left, the gentleman behind me, whose name was also Michael, invited me to accompany him early the next morning to a Talmud class.

The class turned out to be one of my favorite parts of the weekend. It had been so long since I engaged in a deep, meaningful dialogue about Jewish traditions, and much longer since I had opened a Talmud. The text we were studying dealt with which laws apply only to Jews and which laws also apply to non-Jews, as well as how we derive and enforce these statutes. In a broader sense, the text provided a gateway for how Jews should interact with the greater world around them: using our specific traditions and customs to personally serve our Creator, while promoting justice and morality throughout all of humanity. These ideas are especially relevant for my year in Rwanda, where the JDC has tasked me with the responsibility of using my Jewish background to help heal a fractured world.

After the class, I got to speak to Michael a bit more during services (sidebar: some of my most productive conversations have taken place while others are talking to God). He showed me his damaged arm, the remnant of a suicide bombing a number of years ago. This segued smoothly into the amazing feats his children are accomplishing in elite units of the military. Seeing his face shine with pride reminded me of Anne Heyman bragging about her 500 children at Agahozo-Shalom. Finally, Michael insisted that I join him for Shabbat lunch. I'm not usually one to turn down kugel, but I already had plans with Cynthia and Gal.

On Shabbat afternoon, I walked up and down the Netanya coastline- breathing the salty air, taking in the view, and readjusting to the presence of white people. Overall, Shabbat was relaxing, exciting, and all I could have asked for.

Then early Sunday morning, I made the trip down to Jerusalem for my JDC seminar. All of the Global Jewish Service Corps members are spending the week in Israel, engaged in workshops and site visits. The seminar provides us with the opportunity to connect with one another, continue developing a sense of community, build valuable leadership skills, deepen our understanding of the JDC and issues facing the global Jewish world, reflect, and recharge. The days are packed, but each activity looks fascinating. And what better place to be than the Jewish homeland?

Anne

"All I want is to follow the advice given by Elihu, the son of Berachel of old, who said 'I will speak that I may find relief'; for there is a redemptive quality for an agitated mind in the spoken word, and a tormented soul finds peace in confessing."
- Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, Lonely Man of Faith

This is one of the most difficult pieces I’ve had to write. As some of you may have heard, the village experienced a tragedy this weekend, one which we are only beginning to comprehend. It is with a very heavy heart and a profound sense of sorrow that we learned of the untimely passing of Anne Heyman, founder and “grandmother” of the Agahozo-Shalom Youth Village.

When Sarah the Matriarch passed away, the Bible tells us, Abraham “came to eulogize Sarah, and to cry over her” (Genesis 23:2). There were two aspects to her death- one markedly collective, the other intensely personal. Sarah was a powerful force of good in an otherwise corrupt and chaotic society. She was also Abraham’s life-partner. Her passing signified both of these losses. First, that something vital was lacking in the world needed to be acknowledged. Then, and only then, could Abraham experience his personal grief.

Since its inception, Agahozo-Shalom was always cared for by its own matriarch: Anne Heyman. Her wisdom, love, spirit, and determination have made her into a role-model for everyone she encountered. My personal sorrow cannot compare to that of her family and close friends. But what was true of Sarah is true of Anne: the world just lost one its most fundamental pillars, a guiding force and beacon of hope for anyone in need.

Nine years ago, Anne attended a lecture outlining the obstacles that post-genocide Rwanda faces. Moved by the stories she heard and compelled to help in any way possible, she asked the speaker what he considers to be Rwanda’s biggest challenge. In an instant he responded: the orphan situation. The genocide had torn families apart, and there were now over 820,000 orphans (about 25% of the youth population) throughout the country. In order to ensure a thriving and stable future, Rwanda needed a method to turn its vulnerable youth into socially responsible citizens. Remembering what her own people had faced in the 1950’s, Anne immediately got to work. She looked toward Yemin Orde, a successful Israeli Youth Village, as a model. Unphased by the hurdles that lay ahead, she solicited the help of a number of international organizations and devoted all of her time and energy to making her dream a reality. Anne’s work, the perfect combination of inspiration and perspiration, paid off and the Agahozo-Shalom Youth Village was built.

Over the years, the kids at the village began to look up to Anne- not just for her warmth and compassion, but for what she represented: living proof that we CAN make a difference in the world. As these kids knew all too well, their lives would not be on their current path if it wasn't for Anne’s dissatisfaction with the status quo. She had intended to create responsible, self-sufficient young adults. Yet, by inspiring these kids to grab society’s biggest problems by the horns, she accomplished so much more.

Anne’s death, too, represented much to the kids at the village. On a basic level, many of them were concerned that ASYV may be forced to shut down. Anne was more than the founder of the village; she was the face of it. Further, the lives of many of these kids had been a series of tragedies and catastrophes. Life at Agahozo-Shalom was supposed to be different. They were supposed to be safe here. And yet, here they are, forced to grapple with how someone else so beloved could be taken away. “She was a mother to all the children here,” the village director commented, “Most of them are saying, ‘God, why have you made me an orphan a second time?’”

I have only personally known Anne since September, when I began working in the Agahozo-Shalom office in Manhattan. Over the next three months, my time with her mostly consisted of ASYV’s weekly Development Meetings. Though these interactions were brief, certain moments will always stick with me. She viewed every challenge as an opportunity, not an obstacle. The word “no” just wasn't in her dictionary. On one of my first days on the job, when Anne was merely a name I heard in the office, one of my colleagues remarked, “the thing about Anne is, she makes it look easy.”

At the beginning, I was actually afraid of Anne. To me, she was this “go-getter” who I assumed would have a domineering and “in-your-face” personality. And then I met her. True, she is noticeably passionate and determined, but Anne is also your classic Jewish mother. My first few minutes with her was basically a friendly game of Jewish geography. And trust me, she’s good.

But I think what struck me most about Anne is how a pioneer and visionary, in every sense of the word, could also be so intimately involved in the lives of the students at ASYV. Any time we wanted assistance from someone at the village, she always knew which student to ask. It was as though she knew the extra-curricular activities of 500 kids! Members of an organization generally know the name of their leader, I thought, but the leader usually doesn't know the names of all the members. But then I remembered: for Anne this wasn't an organization, it was her family.

How such a tragedy could have occurred is a theological problem that has existed since the dawn of man. Of all the people in this world, was Anne Heyman really the one we could live without? Why is a place named for the Kinyarwanda word “Agahozo,” meaning “tears are dried,” forced to experience such intense sorrow? In short, is there justice in this world?

The problem of why bad things happen to good people was vexing even to Judaism’s wisest and most spiritual leaders. Kings David and Solomon pondered it; as did the prophets Habakkuk and Jeremiah. Indeed, next week’s Torah portion tells of Moses who directly saw the splendor of the Almighty, and yet begged God to explain why He does the things He does: “Inform me now as to your ways, that I may understand you… instruct me regarding your glory” (Exodus 33:13, 18).

It is, however, the book of Job that provides us with the most concrete example of the suffering of the righteous. Job was a simple family man, devoting his life to helping others and serving his Creator. He was “whole-hearted and upright; he feared the Lord and shunned evil” (Job 1:1). Even God could only brag about His most trusted servant to the other heavenly beings. And then, for almost no reason at all, Job was stripped of everything of value. He saw his wealth disappear and his friends abandon him. He experienced the most painful of illnesses and the decimation of his entire family.

As Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik observes, there are two ways to question suffering- one philosophical, the other teleological; one descriptive, and one normative. Throughout most of his experience, Job made the mistake of approaching suffering from the first vantage point. He was more concerned with explaining why such a thing could have occurred than with what he should do about it. This reaction prompted anger and avoidance from God. So long as Job spent his time contemplating reasons and motives, evil and divine justice, God reprimanded him.

This, then, is the lesson of Job: there is no answer to why such tragedies could occur. It is beyond comprehension. “Therefore have I uttered that which I understood not, things too wondrous for me, which I knew not” (Job 42:3). But that does not mean we are helpless. We may not understand tragedy, but we can grow from it. The great question of “why did this happen?” needs to be replaced by “how am I going to respond?”

This weekend, we lost one of our greatest paradigms of the power of the human spirit. Anne’s life, though short, has affected the lives of countless individuals around the world. It is up to each of us to figure out what we are going to take away from her example. For me, I will look to Anne’s spirit, generosity, and unwavering commitment. She taught me to never underestimate my abilities and instilled in me the belief that with the proper effort, I CAN make a difference. This, I hope, will stick with me as long as I live. Now I must ask: what will YOU do to ensure that Anne’s legacy lives on?

One final note. Anne’s passing also corresponded with Rwanda’s National Heroes Day, a public holiday commemorating the countless lives lost in service of the country. While Anne may not have died for Rwanda, she certainly lived for it. Indeed, the theme of this year’s holiday was “Heroism is the foundation of dignity and development.” And there is no doubt that all Anne has managed to build is a testament to that.

Anne, I do not know if you are in a better place. But I do know that wherever you are is now better for having you there.