Clay from the Riverbank

Old Town Square in Prague, from a 2015 visit.

I’ve been thinking about a golem.

The legendary golem that I have in my mind is a huge creature, immensely strong but slightly awkward with only vague features. In the classic way, he has the Hebrew word emét (אֶמֶת, meaning “truth”) inscribed on his forehead. Of the numerous golems in Jewish folklore, the one on my mind is the Prague golem conjured from the clay banks of the Vltava River in Prague in the 16th century by Rabbi Judah Loew ben Bezalel. The Prague golem’s purpose was to protect the ghetto from pogroms, expulsion or slaughter by the Holy Roman Emperor. According to the legend, Rabbi Loew eventually demobilized the golem and stored his body in the attic of the still-standing Old New Synagogue in the Prague ghetto where he could be restored in the event the Jewish community again had need of his protection. Though the golem has had many different purposes in the various stories through the ages, in my imagination he is as close to a Jewish superhero as we’ve had, with my apologies to Moses.

The golem has been on my mind since early October. Following the shocking barbarism perpetrated by Hamas militants on civilian Israelis on October 7, I spent a significant amount of time explaining to well-meaning gentile friends the Palestinian-Israeli conflict, the greater issues of the place of State of Israel in the modern Middle East, the history of the modern State of Israel, how it is that an otherwise unapologetically patriotic third generation American can feel a meaningful attachment to another nation so far away from home and so different from our own, and what my personal feelings are about all of the foregoing. In truth, the process of exploring my own feelings about Israel and the events on and since October 7 has been a valuable one, including a fair bit of catharsis, inner conflict, and uncertainty in the way that thoroughgoing introspection should provide.

My feelings about the existence of the State of Israel are as simple as my feelings about the nature and actions of the Israeli government are complex. I believe the State of Isarel to be a miracle, a blessing to my people, and it is a tremendous source of pride for me as a Jew. And no, that is not an endorsement of any particular action, attitude, or policy. Since the Roman conquest of Judea, Jews have relied on the vicissitudes of non-Jewish sovereign rulers for protection, permission to conduct business, to practice our religion, to express ourselves as a people, and frequently for the continuation of our very existence. The State of Isarel exists now despite significant overt and covert attempts by its neighbors and the British Empire to kill it in the cradle in 1947 and numerous attempts to wash it into the sea over the decades, and thanks to several truly stunning military victories against what should have been overwhelming force. The fact that a modern Jewish nation doesn’t have to ask permission or depend on the whims of a non-Jewish overlord to defend itself and has done so repeatedly through the entirety of its existence is a stunning state of affairs for the Jewish people. My heart swells.

For this reason, woven so firmly through my being, I bristle when gentiles tell me or anyone else what Isarel should or shouldn’t do. For the first time in the post-diaspora world, Jews in Israel, though free to take advice from their allies and those who support them, have precisely zero need to ask anyone else’s permission to do or not do anything. When a gentile expresses dismay at the actions of the Israeli military or its political leaders, I long to tell them that their own complicity throughout history is effectively a total abdication of any right they may have had to influence policy in or by the State of Israel, and I suspect Arabs feel the same way. To be clear, again, this is not an endorsement of Israeli actions or policy; it is an expression of a visceral and cerebral desire to stop the noise from the gentile world about what the State of Israel should and shouldn’t be doing.

Any gentile who tries to explain why shouting “from the river to the sea” isn’t a grossly antisemitic action endorsing the premeditated, shockingly horrific actions of Hamas in their desire to slaughter Jews and wipe them from the earth will get a lecture from me about their own history before I turn on my heels and disregard their views as entirely worthless. I will continue to be conflicted, challenged and made uncomfortable by the actions of the Israeli state, and I will discuss all of it and work to influence it for the better and more humane among people who do not advocate for my or my people’s slaughter.

Whether or not the body of the golem actually lies in the attic of the Old New Synagogue in Prague, the idea of its presence is informative as I consider my own feelings. Someday, perhaps we will have the need to conjure him; but not today. Today we have a modern Jewish nation state that can protect itself from the most evil of wrongdoers and secure its own future. I can only hope, after so many centuries, that Israel uses that power for the good of our people and of humanity generally. As an American, I continue to have faith that I can be a Jew and also be secure in my place in this society despite the recent groundswell of antisemitism here. Here in America, in a sense, we are the golem.

As we say in synagogue, may the State of Israel be a light to the nations. And may its people, its neighbors and all humankind see the way forward to a future of peace of love.