Yesterday I went out with my dear wife for a late-evening Shabbat walk.
We hadn't gone far from our house, and we already saw a fire on the other side of the road. Although it wasn't a big one, but since we were afraid the fire would spread, we realized we had to call the fire department. I went into one of the nearby houses, and help was immediately called.
And indeed, within minutes a police car arrived at the scene, and immediately after that the fire department. A crowd arrived at the area, mainly children. What's more fun than watching a fire?!
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You ask why I'm telling the story - after all, there are fires and the fire department shows up to put them out anywhere and anytime, even on Shabbat?
I live in Beit Shemesh, 150 meters from my house is 'Resido' Square - the same square that marks the seam line between my neighborhood and the beginning of the Haredi neighborhoods. The children who arrived were mostly Haredi (which is relevant to what follows).
For those who are unfamiliar or unaware, in this area, shouts of "Shaabs" are frequently heard at passing cars. Usually not from an organized demonstration, but a kind of "prove yourself, prove your colleague wrong" kind of duty.
The truth is that the calls are usually heard by individuals, and the call is not really directed at the specific car, but rather out of habit.
I assume they didn't ask the drivers of the cars to whom the "Shabbat" call was directed, but it seems hard to believe that none of these public Sabbath desecrators listened to the rebuke and repented.
It seems more likely to me that the phenomenon of these shouts only increased the blasphemy. However, everyone has the right to express their opinion and think differently from me, of course, as long as it is not violent or offensive.
Anyway, let's get back to the story: As we know, Resido Square is a kind of symbol of the difficulty of living together in Beit Shemesh, and some would argue in the entire country. After a few minutes of firefighting, a Jew in traditional Jerusalem clothing arrived, passing with his baby stroller in the square. He approached the police car, and began screaming at it and at the police officers (whose job was to keep a distance between the fire and the crowd).
He stood and screamed.
Even the other older Haredim who were there watched the incident with some bewilderment, although they did not intervene. The man continued to scream, and if I were to interpret the facial expression of his screams, I could say that they were not accompanied by love for the man. Quite the opposite, unfortunately.
After a few more minutes, the children transformed themselves into a choir to accompany the Jerusalem Hasid, joining in the chants. At this point, the police officers were acting between amused and surprised. Personally, I felt more angry and mostly sad.
I approached the Jew who was screaming and politely asked what his screaming meant, that the fire brigade had come to put out the fire.
He replied to me in a 'shaluf': "Although the firefighters really came to put out the fire to prevent danger to life, the police are desecrating Shabbat unnecessarily. There are Sabbath-breakers in the world and there are Sabbath-keepers, so you (he tells me) must join me in calling..."'
At that moment, I didn't feel like I was receiving a compliment from him for being part of the Shabbat-observing community as far as he was concerned.
I am sure that that Jew believes that by his action he is publicly sanctifying the name of God. I do not share the calculations of God, but at that moment I can say that I felt that the man was acting in a completely opposite way.
Not only did he shout, he managed to influence ultra-Orthodox children who were there to join in his shouts.
How ingratitude. How rude. Why can't you approach a police officer and explain nicely that the fire must be put out, and maybe two vehicles shouldn't have arrived (I won't go into the question of whether or not it should have. When I was a soldier, we talked to our commanders quite a bit about ongoing security operations - where the line is drawn between just an administrative trip that is prohibited on Shabbat, and an essential trip that saves lives).
I cried inside.
After I finished talking to the 'Proofer', I met a Hasidic Gur who was passing by and asked him his opinion. His answer was: "There are strange people..."'
I didn't understand the meaning of the answer and I was saddened that he didn't approach that person and express his opinion.
The lack of intervention by the surrounding ultra-Orthodox residents caused his hatred to spread to several more of Rabban's babies. Hatred is likened to a malignant disease, as hatred enters a vacuum, into places where there is a lack of morality and mutual responsibility.
Not only was I angry, I cried inside at the sight before my eyes – the unbearable ease with which hatred spreads unhindered.
In recent weeks, much has been said and written about violence against soldiers in both Beit Shemesh and Mea Shearim. Many in the Haredi community have argued to me that they (the violent/zealots/sicarios) are not representative, because they are a small minority and no one should be expected to intervene.
But when they continue to say this and do not intervene, the hatred will only continue to spread, just like the spread of the cry of "Heshabash" by that "proverb" to the children who surrounded him. And about this it is said, "All of Israel is responsible for each other.".
Yesterday, another small crack formed. A crack that joins many other cracks that form every time a Jew acts disrespectfully towards another Jew, or indeed towards another person.
So basic, so lacking.
I was taught that rebuke must come from a place of love, of mutual guarantee. That Jew did not come from there and will never get there. The man's yelling at a police officer on Saturday afternoon constitutes another episode in a power struggle, which for him is between the forces of evil and the forces of good.
We are commanded in our parsha not to deceive our brother. This does not refer to a biological brother, but to any member of the Jewish people. Our synagogue rabbi explained that the meaning of brother in this case is based on the verse in Deuteronomy, "We are sons of the Lord your God." Until we see each other as brothers, no matter what tribe or community we belong to, it will be difficult to uphold that verse that we are all sons of the Lord.
