In 1943, after more than three years of German control over
France, the Great Synagogue of Lyon continued to function.
That December 10, the Lyon Milice, the shock troops of the
Vichy government, decided to put an end to the Jewish
worship.
The shul's rabbi survived the war to tell the tale, which is
recorded in a book about Klaus Barbie, the infamous "Butcher
of Lyon" (the title, in fact, of the book, by Brendan Murphy -
Empire/Harper & Row, 1983). A member of the Milice quietly
entered the rear of the sanctuary that Friday night during
services. Armed with three hand grenades, he intended to lob
them into the crowd of standing worshipers from behind, and
to escape before the explosions. After silently opening the
door and entering the room unnoticed by anyone but the rabbi
(who stood facing the congregation), he pulled the pins.
What he saw, though, so shook him that he remained wide-eyed
and motionless for a crucial moment, and then only managed to
toss the grenades a few feet before fleeing. Several
worshipers were injured by shrapnel but none were killed.
What had so flabbergasted the Nazi was the sudden, unexpected
sight of his intended victim's faces, as the congregation, as
if on cue, turned as one on its heels to face him.
The would-be mass-murderer had entered the shul precisely at
"bo'i besholom," the last stanza of Lechoh Dodi,
when worshipers turn towards the west to welcome the
Sabbath. The account came to mind of late because it is, at
least to me, a striking reminder of something truly
fundamental yet easily forgotten. We Jews often survive on
miracles.
To be sure, we don't base our belief on them, as do some
religions. Maimonides famously wrote that the miracles
recounted in the Torah - even the parting of the Red Sea -
are demonstrations not of G-d's existence but rather of His
love for His people. We know G-d exists because of our
carefully preserved historical tradition that He communicated
with our ancestors at Mt. Sinai, an event we will soon
celebrate on Shavuos.
All the same, though, His love and His miracles underlie our
existence.
Our tradition teaches that our foremother Sarah was
biologically incapable of conceiving a child; the very
beginning of our people thus was miraculous. The perseverance
of the Jewish people over the millennia is a miracle, as is
our rebirth after countless decimations.
And recent Jewish history has been no less miraculous. When
Israel destroyed the assortment of Arab armies arrayed
against it in 1967, even hardened military men well aware of
the Israeli air force and army's skill and determination
spoke of miracles. And, in 1981, they recognized no less in
the destruction of the Iraqi nuclear plant at Osirak, signs
not only of military might but of miracle, of G-d's love.
None of which is to belittle the tremendous efforts of
Israel's military, may its members be safe and protected. But
while "this world" efforts must always be made, believing
Jews maintain a concomitant consciousness of the fact that
success and failure are determined by something considerably
more sublime. In the perspective of our religious tradition,
that something is our merit as a people -- our kindness to
one another, our prayers, our study of Torah and our
performance of mitzvos. In the end, those are the things, our
tradition teaches us, that will make all the difference.
In the Torah we read how the Jews, led by Joshua, fought the
Amalekites. When Moses held his hands high, the verse
continues, the Jews waxed victorious. "Were Moses ' hands
waging war?" asks the Mishna. The answer, it continues,
is that "when the Jews eyes [inspired by Moses' hands] were
lifted heavenward, they were militarily victorious."
In these terribly trying times for Jews, when hatred
carefully nurtured for decades has erupted in a plague of
vicious murder, and old, ugly ghosts have been stirred awake,
it behooves us to remember that fact. We all ask ourselves
what we can do on behalf of our beleaguered brothers and
sisters. There are many things, to be sure.
But at the very top of each of our lists should be things
like: prayer; with concentration and heart; charity, with
generosity and concern; Jewish observance, with care and
determination; Torah-study, with effort and commitment.
Because, unified spiritually by the expression of our common
Jewish religious heritage, we are doing something nothing
else can do: meriting a miracle.
Rabbi Avi Shafran is director of public affairs for
Agudath Israel of America.
