OPINION: Texas synagogue standoff reflects sad realities
Less than 48 hours after the Texas synagogue hostage situation ended, nearly 30 members of my congregation and I gathered in Urfer Family Park in Sarasota. We had rented the pavilion to hold an outdoor celebration of a minor Jewish holiday, known as the Birthday of the Trees.
We have been cautious about publicizing our synagogue; we usually only use our initials, KH, rather than our full name, Congregation Kol HaNeshama. The signs that directed people to the pavilion bore our initials, and except for a few of us wearing kipas – the Hebrew word for "yarmulkes" – and the Hebrew prayers we sang occasionally, there was little to identify us as a group of Jews.
This was by design. Over the past few years most synagogues have taken increasingly greater security precautions as antisemitic attacks across our nation have both persisted and increased. This has been especially true since the attack and murders of 11 Jewish congregants in the Tree of Life synagogue complex in Pittsburgh on Oct. 27, 2018.
Although the horror in Texas ended with all hostages escaping alive, the 11-hour standoff was traumatic and harrowing as we waited in shock and prayer. I cannot begin to imagine how the rabbi and the three other hostages felt – or how their families and fellow congregants felt.
On Monday in Sarasota it was a beautiful, windy afternoon. School was out for Martin Luther King Jr. Day. Children were clambering over the playground equipment as their parents watched. A bicycle sported a “Happy Birthday” balloon. A tiny boy on an even tinier scooter sped by.
As we met Rich – one of our security guards – hovered nearby. Rich is not a big guy, but with his serious demeanor, heavy vest, clearly visible gun and various other accoutrements of a well-prepared guard, he is a daunting presence.
While leading the service, I watched out of the corner of my eye as a steady stream of people approached him. During a lull I wandered over and asked Rich if they were inquiring about what we were doing.
“No,” Rich replied. “They want to know why I’m here.”
Rich said that when he informed each person that he was protecting a Jewish group, the response was always the same – a sad nod, shake of the head and comments along the lines of “I feel for them” and “I’m sorry you have to be here.”
I’m sorry that he had to be there, too. I'm sorry that our small synagogue has to pay for security guards every time we meet. I'm sorry that people are afraid to be openly Jewish. I'm sorry that houses of worship are locking their front doors and worshippers are slipping in the side door instead.
I have often comforted myself by believing that we are less of a target because we are a small congregation that doesn’t even own a building. But Congregation Beth Israel in Colleyville is one of the smallest in its community. The reality is that size doesn’t matter. We are all potential targets.
Am I frightened? Of course. I’d be a fool not to be.
Am I going to stop being a synagogue rabbi? Absolutely not. I am proud to lead my congregation in joyous and meaningful observance of Judaism, even as we navigate the double threat of COVID and antisemitism.
I can’t control the outside influences that sometimes seem to loom on all sides. All I can control is how I respond and what I communicate to the people in my congregation. They’re frightened, too. But, like me, they continue to show up, continue to be proudly and joyously Jewish – and continue to do their utmost to make the world a better place for everyone.
Rabbi Jennifer Singer is the spiritual leader of Congregation Kol HaNeshama in Sarasota. She is the immediate past president of the Sarasota Manatee Rabbinical Association.
This article originally appeared on Sarasota Herald-Tribune: Texas synagogue standoff reflects realities for Jewish congregations
