Hope For Life

Rabbi Howard Apothaker joyously examines the power of hope

Elie Wiesel, the Nobel Peace Prize author, came upon a remarkable find in Breslov, Poland. Over the entrance to the oldest synagogue in the city, he discovered a sign that had uplifted the Jewish ghetto dwellers 150 years ago. The simple words of this lasting sign became an immortal moral challenge many years later during the Holocaust, when no future at all was discernible to its potential victims. It was a compelling cry: ALAS! DON'T GIVE UP!

Each morning when I awake, I swing my legs off the side of the bed and utter a prayer of hope that I may be blessed with vision and strength to make the world a little better place. I set my heart and my mind on "forward" with the idea that, for better or for worse, I will make a difference today. It is in my heart to hope and in my head and hands to decide on just what kind of difference it shall be. Hope is the resource I have to live through the day. Hope is what I summon to make an impact; my head and hands are instruments for its embodiment. I cannot imagine life without such hope.

It was a Thursday evening in the fall of 1977. Classes were ending at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem. But something was odd. The normal stream of students to the bus station was not flowing. People were standing around chattering, "He's coming—yes, already on Saturday night." And I soon understood that President Anwar Sadat of Egypt was to visit Israel that night and make an offer of mutual recognition and peace. And I stood, and I walked to a private place, and I cried. "If you desire it sufficiently, it is not a dream," said Theodor Herzl, author of the 1896 publication The Jewish State. Decades of hope and the fulfillment of a dream. I cannot imagine life without such hope.

After the destruction of the ancient temple in Jerusalem, during one of the darkest times in Jewish history, Zechariah called the Israelites asirei hatikvah, "the prisoners of hope." If fact, David Ben-Gurion, the first prime minister of modern Israel, once said that in his country if you don't believe in miracles, you're not a realist. Even as individuals, said an ancient Jewish sage, "as our hope goes, so goes our heart."

As a Rabbi I witness daily the hardship of life. I see our members suffer untold cruelty, despair, and pain, yet I continue to marvel at the power of hope even in the darkest moments.

Last summer, I had the honor of visiting with a member of the congregation who had anywhere from two to eight weeks to live. We talked, shared, and cried together with her family, and then her daughter handed me a gift: a hand-painted shirt made for her mother. Written in bold, dynamic colors was the word "HOPE." This wonderful woman and her family had a choice: Spend the last few weeks, looking squarely at reality, thereby losing hope and becoming bitter and fatalistic, or, knowing full well the circumstances, continue to hope in tomorrow and the power of love.

In 1948, during the midst of the post-Holocaust turbulence, Simon Rawidowicz published a great retort to pessimism in an essay called "The Ever-Dying People." In the face of that tremendous loss, during that very same year, the State of Israel was born and Ha-Tikvah, "The Hope," was chosen among all the songs of the Jewish people as the National Anthem of the newly created State of Israel. I cannot imagine life without such hope.

Scripture reports that Abraham tried to save the Biblical City of Sodom from destruction. This lone champion picketed the brothels, argued with the cheaters, and reprimanded scoffers and liars. One day, a child approached Abraham and asked, "Why have you been trying all these years to bring this unlistening people of this wicked city to repentance?" Undaunted in spirit, he retorted, "In the beginning I protested so I might change them. I failed in that task. But now I protest so they won't change me."

I cannot imagine life without it. We hope despite it all. We love despite it all. We dream despite it all. We build despite it all. Our yearnings may not change our future, but to lose them dissipates our well-being. Hope heartens. Hope heightens. Hope heals.

Howard Apothaker thanks G-d for his wellness every single day. He trains other people to do so at Temple Beth Shalom in New Albany, Ohio.