Kuma: The Story of the Jewish People

The Bible Lands Museum in Jerusalem is known for its collection of Near Eastern antiquities from the Biblical period. Yet amidst its galleries stands a startling cultural artifact of far more recent origin.

Kuma—meaning “Rise”—is a nearly ten-foot-long scroll depicting a dense, vivid, intellectually rich, and aesthetically stunning account of Jewish history. Its full title, Kuma, Mei Afatzim ve-Kankantum,” refers to the materials used to prepare ink for Torah scrolls and other sacred texts. Evoking an unfurled Torah scroll, Kuma is the high-school senior project of a brilliant young yeshiva student, artist and poet named Eitan Rosenzweig הי”ד. Staff Sgt. Rosenzweig, an Alon Shvut native and student in the Yerucham Yeshivat Hesder, served in the Givati brigade and was killed in Gaza in November 2023, at the age of 21.

Kuma weaves together Jungian theories of the unconscious, the mythologist Joseph Campbell’s concept of the heroic journey, and imagery drawn from Western art and Jewish history—some of which appear elsewhere in the Bible Lands Museum. Kuma also incorporates literary allusions to the Bible, Talmud, modern Hebrew literature, Eastern and Western general philosophy, and more. It is a work of art that one must study rather than merely observe.

The full essay can be read at Tradition Online.

Three Ways in Which Operation Rising Lion is a Lot Like Narnia

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From the deluge of fascinating news from Israel’s remarkably successful “Rising Lion” operation against the Iranian regime, one interesting tidbit relates to children’s literature, of all things. According to the Israeli newspaper Yediot Ahronot, IDF intelligence began to assemble a list of the leading scientists driving the Iranian nuclear weapon program in 2022, and their research efforts were given the secret code name “Narnia.” At 3:00 am on June 13, when the Israeli Air Force swiftly eliminated 10 of these scientists, along with striking the Natanz nuclear plant and other military targets, the operation was officially dubbed “Operation Narnia.”

a blue book with a picture of a man walking through the woods
Photo by Tim Alex on Unsplash

In describing the operation, the Jerusalem Post writes that name “reflects the operation’s improbable nature, like something out of a fantasy tale rather than a real-world event.” Indeed, it was hard to believe that the same country that suffered such devastating losses on October 7 due to intelligence failures could execute such a meticulously planned and perfectly executed military offensive. Yet there are many fantasy tales, and the name Narnia is much more than a metonym for all that is improbable or unlikely to occur. Could it be that somewhere in Israeli intelligence circles there is a fantasy geek who specifically chose this code name to evoke a specific connection with the literary world of Narnia? Perhaps. In the meantime, Israeli schools and all other activities are cancelled and we are stuck at home. So I find myself reading Narnia with some of my kids, perhaps for the third time. In our bleary-eyed and underslept state thanks to 2:00 am trips to the safe room, these are the connections that seem to emerge:

1- Narnia is Israel and Calormen is Iran

man sitting beside river painting
Photo by British Library on Unsplash

While some readers of Narnia stop at the famous first book, The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe, the later books in Lewis’ series introduce us to other lands and cultures which surround Narnia and in doing so offer pointed parallels to the geopolitics of Lewis’ own time. One of these countries is a Middle-Eastern type of desert nation called Calormen, characterized by a hodgepodge of Persian and Arabian motifs: “The Calormenes have dark faces and long beards. They wear flowing robes and orange-coloured turbans, and they are a wise, wealthy, courteous, cruel and ancient people”. Calormenes have many admirable qualities, like a rich culture of storytelling to which Lewis’ narrator is obviously sympathetic, and splendid landscaping and food. Yet while it may outshine Narnia on the material front, it lacks basic freedoms which prevents the full flourishing of its people. Everyone in the society understands their place in a rigid hierarchical structure, and all are required to slavishly try to curry favor with their vainglorious leader the Tisroc. In the capital city Tashbaan, “there is only one traffic regulation, which is that everyone who is less important has to get out of the way for everyone who is more important; unless you want a cut from a whip or punch from the butt end of a spear.” When a poor boy raised in Calormen is mistakenly identified by the Narnians as a member of their party he is smitten with these joyful, bright-eyed people who seem to live without paranoia and insecurity. Yet he can’t help but lie about his identity, as the narrator explains: “he had, you see, no idea of how noble and free-born people behave.”

The individuals we meet in Calormen aren’t all that bad, but centuries reared in a culture where deception and obsequiousness, rather than hard work and talent, are needed to get ahead certainly takes its toll on the moral character of the society. Lewis contrasts this with Narnia, where freedom is cherished, and consequently people develop virtues like courage, honesty and kindness.

Now Narnia may be intended as a stand-in for Lewis’s own England, but in the spirit of William Blake’s “Till we have built Jerusalem / In England’s green & pleasant Land,” I believe there are some parallels with Israel too. While Israel is certainly influenced by its Middle-Eastern surroundings, it is an informal culture where people by and large have the freedom to speak their mind and determine their own destinies. Unlike nearly every other great military power in history, it never set its sight on building empire and controlling other nations. Like Narnia, it is content with merely perpetuating its own way of life within its own borders. Thus it remains a mystery why countries like Iran seek its destruction so vehemently and for so long. If it remains baffling to us, King Edmund of Narnia does offer a kind of answer. In trying to make sense of the curious urge in Calormen to wage war on Narnia, Edmund observes: “We are a little land. And little lands on the borders of a great empire were always hateful to the lords of the great empire. He longs to blot them out, gobble them up” (A Horse and His Boy, p. 68).

Israel right now is doing a lot to make Iran angry, but this anger predates airstrikes in Tehran by decades, and is rooted in the same lust for empire that C.S. Lewis observed during his own dark times. Our response must be the same as it is in the world of Narnia, to push back against Islamic expansionism through military defense, and also to cherish all of the qualities that make our culture unique and worth preserving.

2- Rising Lion

brown lion
Photo by Mika Brandt on Unsplash

When Narnians go into battle, the symbol that is displayed on their flags and shields is a lion. The lion of course is a reference to Aslan, the spiritual icon of Narnia and a Christological metaphor. The reason Jesus is associated with a lion is rooted in the Bible of course, “the lion of Judah,” and in Judaism lions are associated with kingship and sovereignty. Thus it’s also not surprising that “rising lion” is the name and symbol of the current Israeli campaign. The name “Rising Lion,” which is a translation of “Am KiLavi Yakum,” derives from the Prophet Balaam’s blessings of the People of Israel in the book of Numbers: “Behold, a people that rises like a lioness and raises itself like a lion. It does not lie down until it eats its prey and drinks the blood of the slain.” (Num. 23:24) Some unhinged Israel haters have pointed to this verse as proof of Israeli thirst for atrocities. The verse is obviously meant to be symbolic, but the truth is, lions are fearsome creatures who devour their prey. And we have learned over the past twenty months that, in order to defeat evil and restore peace and order to the world, we must be stronger and fiercer than our enemies. This does not always look nice. But that does not mean that it is not a moral posture. Here too, the Narnian parallel can be illuminating. When Susan first learns about the great lion of Narnia she is understandably scared: “Is he—quite safe?” I shall feel rather nervous about meeting a lion.” Mr. Beaver responds: “Safe? . . . Who said anything about safe? Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good. He’s the King I tell you” (The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, p. 80.)

The current IDF campaign in Iran, and even more so, the extended war against Hamas in Gaza, contains visuals that are terrible and painful to behold. But as Lewis’s narrator reminds us, “People who have not been in Narnia sometimes think that a thing cannot be good and terrible at the same time.” What lions symbolize, in the Bible, in the world of fantasy and right now, is the way in which ferocity and justice must, in certain circumstances, work hand in hand. Critics of Israel’s campaign who are supposedly driven by religious pacifism may also take note another verse in Balaam’s litany of blessings directed at the Jewish people: He crouches and lies like a lion and like a lioness; who will dare rouse him? Those who bless you shall be blessed, and those who curse you shall be cursed” (Num, 24:9)

3-Pacifism is Not a Virtue

This brings me to a final point about some of the well-meaning critics, many of them Christian, of Israel’s courageous campaign against evil and America’s supporting role in that effort. While many fairy tales end with a vague “happily ever after,” Lewis takes care to remind us at the end of the Lion, the King and the Wardrobe how the four Pevensie children, now turned kings and queens, spend their days making good laws, keeping the peace, and waging honorable battles in defense of their beloved Narnia. The first progressive in the series is their annoying cousin Eustace Clarence Scrubb, who surfaces in the Voyage of the Dawn Treader when he accidentally gets sucked into a grand voyage with Edmund and Lucy through a painting. Eustace is just awful, a bully and a stick-in-the-mud who has no use for the grand adventures of the sort for which the Pevensie children live. Eustace’s coddled upbringing has given him few opportunities to appreciate the real dangers that exist in the world, although this thankfully changes when he is turned into a dragon. The privilege of distance from danger allows him the freedom to antagonize everyone around him and avoid retribution by declaring “I’m a pacifist. I don’t believe in fighting.”

Lewis was, indeed, critical of those who could never distinguish between a just war and pointless bloodbath. He viewed this problem as similar to an inability to distinguish good from evil. As early as 1940, Lewis delivered a lecture to the pacifist society at Oxford University entitled “Why I am Not a Pacifist,” in which he articulates, from various angles, a justification for wars that need to be fought in order to protect higher values. This does not make the realities of war any less terrible. Yet only by recognizing human necessity can one begin to improve things.

Lewis says:

To avert or postpone one particular war by wise policy, or to render one particular campaign shorter by strength and skill or less terrible by mercy to the conquered and the civilians is more useful than all the proposals for universal peace that have ever been made; just as the dentist who can stop one toothache has deserved better of humanity than all the men who think they have some scheme for producing a perfectly healthy race.

To try to fight a better war, or a shorter or more precise war in which less civilians are killed, is a noble virtue. To avoid war altogether, in all circumstances, is simply a pipe dream that, as Lewis says in the same lecture, will result in “[handing] over the state which does tolerate Pacifists to its totalitarian neighbour who does not.”

Lewis’ analysis applies perfectly to Israel’s situation in its seven front war from Gaza to Iran. The war we fight now is intended to prevent future wars, to invite peace and prosperity to this beleaguered region as well as to other parts of the world. We are not waiting for a lion to save us from “beyond the sea.” We are an “am shel ariyot,” a nation of lions, fighting our hardest on behalf of our highest values. May the current conflict and this larger war come to a speedy, victorious and decisive conclusion.

Ribbons of Hope

Last week when President Trump announced his intention to clean out and rebuild the Gaza Strip, I don’t think I was alone in feeling something I had not felt in a long time. It was not the elation of giving it to ones enemies, or the smug satisfaction of political validation.  It was a rather fragile feeling, somewhat tentative, one might even say naive. Throughout the war we have experienced crushing blows but also astounding, miraculous, successes. Yet  in these victories there is often a cyclical dynamic: we conquer territory only to withdraw weeks later, we kill terrorists only for their ranks to be replenished by a seemingly infinite supply of hateful young jihadists. Even our genuine exhilaration at the return of a few of our hostages is marred by our fear of what’s to come from from the murderous and unrepentant terrorists who are being released in turn. As always, we trust in God and our military and wish for the best, but common sense tells us that, in good measure, the problems we face today aren’t going anyway time soon. 

For real hope to blossom, we need to understand that change is on the horizon. Trump’s proposal, whether or not its likely to materialize, offers a rare vision that could potentially break the cycle in which we find ourselves. I was therefore surprised to notice a few American Rabbis and “Jewish professionals” pontificating on the matter with critical accusations of ethnic cleansing and the like. On second thought I suppose it’s not that surprising. Only someone who is not particularly starved for hope could look such a gift horse in the mouth. If Trump’s Gaza proposal leaves you ethically outraged, or even indifferent, this  simply demonstrates your own removal from the pit of despair in which Israelis find ourselves since October 7th. In the days following his announcement, I have not spoken to any Israeli, on the right or the left, who does not feel just a little bit hopeful, or at least tickled, that a world leader finally has the courage to propose a way out of our current morass. 

I don’t know if it is providence or simply an all-knowing algorithm, but last week a new song popped into my Spotify playlist called “Ribbon of Hope,” “Chut shel Tikvah,” written by the popular Israeli singer-songwriter Aaron Razel and his wife Efrat. The song was actually composed about a year ago, around the time of the first hostage release, when Razel and his wife were enjoying a beautiful day together on the Tel Aviv boardwalk. I understand those kinds of days as I’ve experienced many of them myself since October 7th. A lovely day when you have the chance to appreciate the beauty and wonder of daily life in Israel, with the sickening knowledge that all around us families are grieving, soldiers are fighting for their lives (and ours) on the battlefield and that dozens of our brethren are wasting away in the depths of Hamas torture dens. Yet this day was different, as Razel sings, there was a sense that something monumental is about to change. 

The song has a kind of 1960s, folksy feel, amplified by harmonica interludes by the famous Israeli musician Ehud Banai. Although it owes a debt to peace anthems from the past, there’s a difference here, a respect for the necessity of war and also, I think, a kind of underlying ambiguity that is not necessarily apparent on first listen. 

Two allusions here may be familiar to listeners. One is the “ribbon of hope,” which likely references the Book of Joshua’s story of the harlot Rachav, who saves the Israelite spies in Jericho and hangs a red string from her window. Interestingly, in Joshua the Hebrew word tikvah means cord – but hints at the hope that Rachav and her family can ultimately be saved from the wicked society on whose edge they dwell.   The ribbon in the song also is reminiscent of the yellow ribbon that has morphed into the ubiquitous symbol of the Israeli hostages imprisoned by Hamas. 

The phrase “captured child,” is a translation of “tinok shenishba,” a Rabbinic term that refers to a Jew who was kidnapped by gentiles as a child and as a result cannot be Halakhically held responsible for his lack of Jewish observance. It could be that the Razels chose “tinok shenishba,” just for its associations with innocence and captivity, though I wonder if something else is being suggested here. The term “captured child” is used in Rabbinic literature in reference to sin, it allows us to relieve responsibility from adults who simply don’t know better.  

Perhaps some of the implication here is that a certain kind of hope is indeed naive, and perhaps even wrong. We hope and pray for the safe release of our hostages, even if we know that under the current parameters it comes at a cost that is unforgivable. We dream of an end to the war, even if we know that ending it prematurely means passing on the baton to the next generation, that is to our own children and grandchildren. Yellow ribbons have become mixed symbols in our divisive national context. We all long for the return of our hostages alive and in good health. But the cars that sport yellow ribbons often have washed out anti-Bibi bumper stickers as well. Hostage Square is just around the corner from Kaplan Street, and despite many many fine efforts to steer things differently, the Hostages and Missing Families Forum is hopelessly politicized and pointed often in the precise direction of its potential allies. 

Finding shared sources of hope and consolation in this environment can be challenging. Which perhaps is why the Razels chose to newly rededicate the song to Agam Berger, a 19 year old observation soldier and gifted violinist who was released in a recent prisoner exchange. Reports about Agam have captivated the Israeli public since they filtered out after the first hostage deal, how she refused to eat unkosher meat or clean or cook for her captors on Shabbat, how she lovingly braided the hair of female hostages before they were released, even though she was forced to remain. Her first message to the world upon her release (in exchange for 50 craven terrorists) was “I chose the path of faith and in the path of faith I returned.” 

Amidst all the protests, uproar at the Knesset, burning trashcans on the Ayalon, we are presented with the image of one brave young woman clinging to her faith, using it to hold up herself and others, and in doing so uplifting her nation as well. This also is a version of hope because it presents us with another path. If the hostage crisis has been used as yet another wedge to pointlessly drive us apart, perhaps the purity and heroism of these individuals can also help us find a way to move forward together.  

The new addition of the song includes an added stanza that honors Agam. The line “who is this coming up from the desert” is a quote from the Song of Songs, and can just as easily be applied to the Jewish people leaving their Egyptian captivity. In the song it also refers to Agam:

Both Agam the person and also the sparkling water imagery with which she is associated,  adds the presence of something refreshing and new. A new shot at national unity, at spiritual consciousness, and for her and her family, a new chance at life – it is not a coincidence that the Hebrew words mikvah and tikvah are related. And now, “on the horizon/ are days of hope/the waves whisper their faith.” 

Personally I don’t know anything about what the coming years, months, or even days will bring. None of us do. But we can be grateful for the mere chance to  be a teeny bit closer to breaking away from a rotten paradigm that has brought so much bloodshed and destruction – toward something new, “rising up from the desert.” Maybe things won’t exactly pan out in the way that the American president, and all of us, dream (there may also be some differences there). As for me, I’m still going to cling to ribbons of hope. 

Between Heroism and Grief: One Day in October

It was an honor to review Koren Press’s outstanding new book One Day in October for the Jerusalem Post Magazine this past week. While the book is not necessarily “literary” in nature, it is brilliantly written and edited, and moved me in a way that few books have. This piece is actually an abbreviated version of a longer review essay that will hopefully appear in the Jerusalem Report in the coming weeks. Grateful to be part of this “עם של אריות,” “nation of lions,” whose incredible bravery continues to exhibit itself each and every day.