A Little Light Amid the Darkness--I

A day of ease and joy in the middle of wartime

This will be part of an occasional series that looks at the brighter side of life here in Israel during wartime.

More than half of our students here at Shalem College have been called to duty. Others are engaged in crucial work on the home front, including many who are leading the efforts of the Jerusalem Civilian Command Center to provide food, shelter, and counseling to the refugees, and crucial medical equipment and other supplies to our soldiers. (I will have a separate post coming soon on the Command Center and the crazy way that civil society and government are responding to the military and civilian challenges of the moment.)

Bottom line: we’re out of business. Without students, there are no classes. So, until recently, our building had been more or less empty. But two weeks ago, it sprang to life. 

To start, two pre-military academies came to Jerusalem to volunteer with displaced communities and used our building as their base of operations. We brought in mattresses and we have a small gym with a shower for them to use.

Then we opened the building to our students and alumni with children to bring some joy into their lives.

Forty moms—and a couple of dads who were able to get away from their military responsibilities—spent the afternoon here. They brought their children—from newborn infants to eight-year-olds—looking for a chance to forget the tension we are all living with, but that hits these families especially hard because so many of the dads are now on reserve duty and away from home.

For the children, we had face-painting and art projects. We showed a Winnie the Pooh movie and served popcorn. We gave everybody dinner. And while volunteers played with the children, two of Shalem’s favorite teachers offered intellectual food for the parents in hour-long seminars.

The children made a mess the way only children at play can do—avocado and lasagna everywhere, art supplies and stuffed animals all over the place, spilled drinks, and scribbles from crayons on unexpected surfaces. It was beautiful. 

In the middle of this special time for our alums and their families, something extraordinary unfolded in another part of our building. 

The story begins with a very disappointed bride and groom. They had been forced to call off their wedding because the groom was called to duty. But he was suddenly given an unexpected leave for 24 hours, and he and his bride decided to throw an impromptu wedding. But where could they hold a wedding on such short notice? 

Around midnight on Tuesday, a Shalem colleague got a call from a relative of the groom. Could Shalem host a wedding at 6:30 pm the next day—a mere 18 hours away? The answer: of course.

Lights were strung in our newly renovated courtyard. A band was found. A caterer on ten hours’ notice somehow conjured up a feast for 100 guests. And the guests? Most of the ones who might have come were either still deployed in the IDF or couldn’t arrive on short notice. So guests were imported. Dozens of girls from a nearby seminary, boys from a local youth group, and remember the pre-military academy students staying in our building? They all came to dance with the bride and groom and serenade them with song. 

A bunch of us from Shalem showed up to swell the crowd. Many of us were in tears. Here was a couple with the courage to start life together in the hardest time imaginable, all the while knowing that the groom would soon be going back to war. But they and their families looked unafraid. We sang and danced and raised a glass together.

At every Jewish wedding, there is a moment in which the groom breaks a glass and the psalm is sung with the words, “If I forget thee O Jerusalem…” The idea is that even in the happiest of moments, we remember the imperfection of the world and temper our joy with a touch of sadness. As we watched these brave young people celebrate their marriage, we all realized that joy these days is all too tempered by the reality that surrounds us. We need no reminding of the imperfection of the world. And none of us are forgetting Jerusalem, our home, the ever-beating heart of the Jewish people.

And yet that moment of the broken glass had a different feel than usual. It was a moment of resolve from the groom. It was as if he said to the world: you knock us down, we get up and move forward. You can slow us down, but you cannot stop us. 

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A week ago we did the family event again. A puppet show instead of a movie, two different teachers offered a seminar, and this time 50 of our alums showed up with their children. We’re doing a third one tomorrow. Can’t wait.

And two of our students are engaged and thinking of holding their wedding in our courtyard.

Meanwhile, all of us here are asking the question, what can a college do in wartime other than hosting weddings and events for children. We’ve got some ideas. I’ll report on that in a future post.