"How Do I Envision Peace in the Middle East?"

Sermon by Rabbi Andreas Nachama for Germany’s central commemoration ceremony on the anniversary of October 7, 2023, at the Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial Church in Berlin—the day Hamas terrorists attacked Israel.

October 7, 2023, was a Shabbat, and in the diaspora, it marked the eve of Simchat Torah, the festival of rejoicing in the Torah. It is a very joyous holiday, during which the last verses of the Fifth Book of Moses are read, immediately followed by the first verses of the First Book of Moses, the story of creation. All Torah scrolls are removed from the ark and carried in seven joyful processions, with the children of the congregation, either through the synagogue or around it.

When my radio alarm woke me on October 7, I heard the 7 a.m. news reporting a terrorist attack on a music festival in Re’im, a location in Israel near the Gaza Strip. Over the course of the day, while the full scale of the massacre was not yet clear, it became evident that this was an unprecedented act of terror—not only at the Gaza border but also across Israel, due to the vast number of simultaneous rocket attacks.

No Simchat Torah,
no festival of rejoicing in the Torah,
no day for jubilation or celebration.

And yet, just as in the difficult times after 1933, as long as synagogues stand and a community functions, Jewish traditions must be preserved. The enemies must not be granted the power to dictate Jewish holidays. Therefore, the congregation gathered to pray and to mark the end and beginning of the Torah readings liturgically. The service was held, but it was not a celebration. All joyful elements were reduced to a minimum.

And thus began a horror that lasted for days—because nothing like this had happened since the Holocaust. By the third day, on Tuesday, we at the House of One—Imam Kadir Sanci, Pastor Gregor Hohberg, and I—had called for a prayer service for the victims. A large number of Muslims, Christians, and Jews attended, as well as additional imams and pastors, Buddhist faithful, and others. We formulated our first peace and intercessory prayer—a prayer for the murdered, the wounded, the abducted, and all the relatives affected by this massacre.

And it became clear: In Berlin, too, there were people who used this horror as an occasion for celebrations. There was also a loud silence from many. But there was also a courageous coming together of people of faith. For weeks, Berlin synagogues held such prayer services on different days of the week and, through direct contact with the relatives of hostages, presented the life stories of those abducted. And yes, people of different faiths came to pray with us—both bishops were there, as well as a representative from the Central Council of Muslims.

Relatives and friends returned from vacations or study stays in Israel. What the Chancellor of Germany experienced upon his return—having to lie flat on the tarmac due to a sudden air raid—others also recounted. Then came the reports of injured family members or friends, of children traumatized by constant air-raid alarms, and finally, the heart-wrenching testimonies of the hostage families. The entire Jewish people and the entire country were a Wailing Wall.

And yes, now 365 days have passed, and still, 101 hostages are waiting for their release.
And yes, every Shabbat, before the service, we introduce a hostage by telling their life story.
And of course, we pray for the hostages.
We pray for all victims. We pray for peace.

And in Hebrew, peace holds a special meaning: Shalom (שלום) is not just a state of peace that reaches up to a border—it is a peace that encompasses and includes those beyond the border. The heavenly tent of peace does not stop at a dividing line; it extends beyond it. When our prayers say "Shalom al Yisrael"—"Peace upon Israel"—this only works if there is also peace beyond its borders.

So how do I envision peace in the Middle East?

That the borders between Israel and its neighbors become as insignificant as those between Germany and Luxembourg.
That Gaza is again known as a bridge between Asia and Africa.
That, as in the Middle Ages, Muslims, Christians, and Jews live together.

Or, in today's terms:
That Israelis and Palestinians live as siblings. That, apart from attending synagogue, mosque, or church, religion, origin, or nationality do not play a role.

A dream? A miracle?

I think of David Ben-Gurion’s famous quote: "Anyone who does not believe in miracles in this land is not a realist."

In this sense, I am a Jewish believer and a realist! And I hope, and I pray together with all of you here.

So may it be.

Amen.