Like the Almighty, the human mind works in mysterious ways.
Last month, while attending the community Simchat Torah gathering in the parking lot of Pikesville’s Suburban Club to celebrate the release of the remaining living hostages from Gaza, I glanced over at a table of refreshments and couldn’t help but think of Teddy Kollek.
Kollek, who passed away in 2007 at age 95, was among the last of the great Israeli statesmen. He served as mayor of Jerusalem from 1965 to 1993 and was known for his fair and evenhanded approach toward both Arab and Jewish constituents.
Only a few years before his death, Kollek spoke at a Jewish event in Baltimore. I approached him after his speech and peppered him with questions, but the old man was exhausted and asked that I come by the restaurant in his hotel the following morning and interview him over breakfast.
Naturally, I was elated, since Kollek was a legendary figure in Israeli history. I brought a copy of his autobiography, which he gladly signed. But before we started the interview, Kollek asked me to put down my pen and stared me in the eye.
He wanted to kvetch.
Kollek proceeded to rip into the local Jewish organization that presented his talk the night before.
“What kind of a group is this? They didn’t serve any food!” he said, waving his hand in the air and sounding like a cranky delicatessen customer. “Not a cookie, not a bagel, not a piece of cheese — nothing! Who ever heard of a Jewish event without any food?!”
Yes, the conflict between Arabs and Jews was still raging on after decades of bloodshed and unrest, and peace remained a remote dream. But a Jewish event without a nosh?! Now that’s a shanda!
I mean no disrespect. I write this with only love and respect for Kollek and all he achieved during his long political career. After his rant, we had a lengthy interview during which he generously offered his views on prospects for peace in the Middle East and his dreams for the future of his beloved Jerusalem.
But at the same time, the only tangible thing I really remember from that meeting was Kollek’s slam against the group that failed to spring for a plate of Oreos. As a result, I always think of Teddy whenever I see refreshments at a Jewish gathering.
At the community Simchat Torah celebration, I wondered what Kollek, always a pragmatist, might think about that particular gathering. Watching rabbis and others sing and dance with Torahs, the sense of ruach (spirit) and hope was overwhelming and contagious. It was truly a special, unique happening in the history of Jewish Baltimore.
Still, I couldn’t help but contemplate whether it was all a bit premature. The proverbial rug always gets pulled out from under us every time peace seems to be at hand. That’s how it’s been for generations.
I get it that the community needed a release, a reason to celebrate after two years of sadness, frustration and anger. Having the rest of the hostages come home was something most of us couldn’t even dream of.
But the pain of Oct. 7th will never completely go away. That’s just the hard truth. And genuine peace may still be elusive in our lifetime. I sincerely hope I’m wrong.
While at the celebration, I happily watched the festivities but didn’t allow myself to join in. Personally, it didn’t feel right for me. But I did grab a cookie and thought of Teddy Kollek while saying my own little prayer for peace.
Sincerely,
Alan Feiler, Editor-in-Chief
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