ROBIN SOLIT
Bulletin Correspondent
The first Jewish solidarity rally reportedly ever held in Marin County took place on June 5 in oppressive heat. The doors of Congregation Rodef Sholom's sanctuary in San Rafael were flung open, letting in the heavy, moist scent of the honeysuckle growing in the courtyard.
The elders arrived early. Roma Barnes, Holocaust survivor and member of the congregation since 1964, expressed her deep concern about the violence in Israel. "What Hitler didn't finish, the Arabs will."
Anny Kaplan and Regina Heitner, both of San Rafael, came out of a sense of helplessness. "What can we do," asked Heitner, a survivor from Poland, "but show solidarity?"
Rabbi Michael Barenbaum noted that this was precisely why the meeting was convened. "We wanted to galvanize the community, to share our feelings of hope and sadness."
The community rally, which drew some 300 people from the North Bay, was also sponsored by Congregation Kol Shofar in Tiburon, the Jewish Community Relations Council, the Marin Jewish Community Center, the Jewish Community Federation's Marin region, the American Israel Public Affair Committee and Bridges to Israel.
Those who came early gathered in small groups, fanning themselves against the suffocating heat. The sun blazed down through the sanctuary's soaring stained-glass window, bouncing fragments of orange, blue and green around the room.
Ruth Ellen and Monte Toole of Mill Valley, members of Kol Shofar, were also drawn by a desire to show solidarity. "I'm not sad," said Monte Toole. "I'm angry. I think it's unfair that the world puts the Israelis and Arabs on an equal footing. They forget that Israel is a civilized society and the Palestinians are a rabble. They are living like they're back in the year 600."
Two people in their early 20s rested on a pew far at the back of the sanctuary, exuding a tender, bruised quality. Roy Gordon and Na'ama Harel, survivors of the March suicide bombing at the Moment Cafe in Jerusalem, were scheduled to speak shortly. Gordon lay with his head in Harel's lap, a tired, scruffy young man. Both were bartenders at the cafe on the night 11 people were killed.
Mikhail Haramati, a young artist from Petaluma, leaned against the wall. Sweat marked her face. "My father's Israeli," she said, "and I spent time on a kibbutz. I really wish I could help Israel. I feel bad, guilty that I'm not there, like I'm shirking a duty. I think of going in the army."
Rabbi Stacy Friedman of Rodef Sholom opened the proceedings with a prayer: "We come together in sorrow. We come together with so much pain in our hearts, to find the comfort we need, to find healing in our broken world."
Marsha Attie, accompanied by her acoustic guitar, punctuated the rally with sing-along songs, including "Shir L'Shalom," the "Song of Peace," sung by Rabin just before his assassination. The heat in the sanctuary pressed down like a fist.
Assemblywoman Carol Migden (D-S.F.) brought a shot of rage to the proceedings.
"I'm an unapologetic Zionist," she said. "It's maddening to hear the phrase suicide bombers when they are actually homicide bombers. Many Israelis don't support any kind of Palestinian state, ever. I'm 53 years old. The year of my birth was the year of the birth of Israel. Let's fight the media. Let's demand respect. Let's fight for the right of Israel to exist without contention."
As her voice rang through the sanctuary, Thomas Alterman, 9, from Marinwood, played outside in the courtyard. "I know there are suicide bombings in Israel," he said. "People are here tonight because they want to show that they care. My mom comes from Jerusalem. My parents speak of these things in Hebrew, which I don't talk, but I worry anyway that my relatives could get blown up."
Gordon, now alert, spoke in soft, halting tones about being a survivor of terror. "We are not politicians. We are not journalists. We have no agenda. We are just telling our personal stories. I want to live at the age of 24 without the threat of terror."
Israeli Consul General Yossi Amrani threw down the gauntlet to American Jews. "Where are the voices in 2002? Where is the compass to lead others to see that we are struggling for Jewish survival? When we came to our land, it was nothing but archaeological excavations. We built it. We made it a success story. We need to hear a voice. Stand up. Speak out."
The congregation listened attentively, periodically applauding his words. "Arafat is a myth, a symbol, the father of Palestinian nationalism. He is a magician. He is irrelevant, yet he is the center."
Cantor David Margules ended the rally with "Hatikvah." The hundreds who stayed through the long, hot night joined in. The prayer rose, not in joy, but in pervasive sorrow. The last note hung in the air along with the scent of honeysuckle -- as sweet and elusive as peace.