The White House by Night

The Jerusalem synagogue massacre teaches us who is sacred to us and how to protect what is important to us.

President Obama seated in the Oval Office folds his cuffs, grips his elbows, and places his forearms on his thighs encased in his majestic blue and white striped suit.  His head bowed, Obama winces at the realization that five rabbis in Jerusalem slaughtered in a synagogue earlier in the day by armed men can no longer speak.  A candle light vigil outside the White House led by a Russian Orthodox Jewish woman concludes with the recitation of a psalm.  She grasps the Tanakh and her voice travels, as if across an ocean, “Where does my help come from?”

First Lady Michelle Obama cups the back of her husband’s head where a kippah would be.  The peaceful demonstration of compassion seals the soul in an arctic embrace as the night sky freezes in the form of a pool of black letters condensed in a text.  The candles blown out by the wind return us to a Shakespearean dilemma that Shabbat resolves in peace.  You do not extinguish Shabbos candles.  You bless the light and accept its illumination.  The day begins when the sun sets and in the darkness, a natural light offers a warmth artificiality imitates.  Tonight we remember those who pray and invite a way of life where a door opens to receive hope, even from a stranger.  Inclusivity frames the entrance of every house of worship.  We must prepare our hearts to greet those who struggle with a text.  Brief conflicts refine the questions we ask and the ways we protect who is sacred to us.