The drive from Mount Nof in Jerusalem to Noach Jat in the Galilee is only two hours. But it could have taken two days or two weeks.
There is a profound cultural difference between the two places. Between the four murdered Jews, all of whom were born in other countries and chose the Land of Israel as their place of residence, not as a nation-state for the Jewish people, but as a center for Torah study and strict mitzvot, and a Druze whose blood was shed while fulfilling his duty and in a heroic manner, who grew up in a village to which his family has been connected for many generations.
These believe that the Torah of Israel and diligence in study are the best protection for the people of Israel, and these believe in a covenant of blood that translated into four hundred martyrs of the community who gave their lives when they placed their bodies as a living shield between the fire and the Jews. In proportional numbers, by the way, the ratio of the Druze fallen to their total number in the country is equal to sixteen thousand Israeli soldiers in relation to the Jewish population.
And yet, it's impossible not to notice that there is a lot in common between the two places. On Friday I was at the funeral home of the late Ziad Saif, and on Sunday I visited the funeral homes in Har Nof.
Both here and here, women and men sat in different rooms. Both here and here, the tradition of the fathers is a central issue in the culture. Both here and here, people feel like a minority, even persecuted in some cases, and both here and here, they live with the feeling that their unique contribution to the life of the State of Israel is not generally understood and that Israeli society is even ungrateful to them in this regard.
Haven't we proven enough?!
During the visit, voices that were not easy for Israeli ears were raised: How many times do we have to die, or in more beautiful words, until when must we cash our check to Israeli society, to convince you of our loyalty to the state and people of Israel? The mourners and their families asked.
They also wonder when they will get to see Israeli society visit the villages on a Druze holiday, and not just in the Sukkah of mourning? MK Moshe Feiglin was present during the visit, and he praised the devotion of the community. One of the family members simply asked him that the beautiful words (which Feiglin undoubtedly knows how to say) he would not forget even when he returned to the Knesset.
In the Haredi community, the immediate and natural reaction was to acknowledge Ziad and the Druze in general, for the sacrifice and courage he showed in preventing an even greater disaster. The buses of the Haredi who set out on the funeral procession were a great act of sanctification of God in the eyes of many. So was the letter from the four widows that was published ahead of Shabbat Parshat Toldot, and asked for a message of unity and brotherhood, "between one man and another, between public and public, between community and community." I could not help but be moved by the touching text, and understand that it contains great nobility of soul and acceptance of fate, which only a Haredi community knows how to contain.
We all have one destiny.
The death of the Druze policeman once again brings up one of the uncomplicated facts of life in Israeli reality: soldiers from kibbutzim, national religious, Druze, and also quite a few Haredim, give up their lives 24 hours a day, seven days a week, so that Jews can continue to pray in the synagogue on Har Nof, so that students can study in yeshivahs, and also so that citizens can visit shopping malls.
People sometimes forget, but it involves a great sacrifice, being away from home for long months, the 'exit into life' being delayed by three years or more, etc., not to mention the many who are harmed (in body or mind) to the point of literally losing their lives.
It appears that there is a process of understanding this reality on the ultra-Orthodox street, and reports of hundreds of ultra-Orthodox members joining various organizations only prove this. However, alongside this blessed partnership, more extreme factions are operating that seek to warn the ultra-Orthodox public against getting too close to the 'secular', lest the blood ties go beyond moments of disaster, like the ones we encountered last week.
But they are wrong. Very wrong. In our country, we are all bound by fate, we are all bound to each other, whether we like it or not.
While I was sitting with the sons of Rabbi Moshe Tvirsky, I described to them the waves created by their mother's letter that she would live, even far away from Mount Nof. The Israeli public, it turns out, wants the connection and seeks the closeness of hearts – not out of a desire to change but out of a desire to accept. True, the Haredi public fears the process of rapprochement, but the recent attack and the death of the Druze policeman prove: the connections exist all the time, they cannot be ignored.
The murderous attack inside the synagogue and the beheading of people who simply wanted to dedicate themselves to a life of Torah study brought the terror map to a new low. The Jewish people have always known how to rise from pain, and from it to build something new. In our case, a unique connection was created between the Haredi public and the Druze community, but on a deeper look it seems that the connection is the order of the day not only between Har Nof and Noach Jat, but between all parts of Israeli society.
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