Tikkun atzmi with tikkun olam

Pirkei Avot says, “We are not required to complete the work, nor are we free to desist from it.” This is a quote that educators use to inspire their students to care more deeply about justice, acts of love and kindness and, most notably, tikkun olam, repairing the world. I told my students the same when they participated in their own yom tikkun olam, and as a result, I experienced my own tikkun atzmi, repair of the self, while on an Emery/Weiner trip to Israel.

For their spring semester service project, my sixth-grade students from EWS hosted a book drive for ESRA, Israel’s largest English-speaking community network which aids the integration of olim (recent immigrants), while working toward equality in Israeli society through its education and welfare projects.

Students collected nearly 1,000 children’s books, and I had the honor of delivering those books to ESRA’s bookstore in Haifa. The “repair” effort of this amazing group of students reached halfway around the world, and closer to home.

I did not think I would make it on this trip. A few days before we boarded the plane, I was in the hospital, mourning the loss of a dream that I did not know I had: to be a biological mom.

Those who know me, know that I have two incredible children who I’ve had the privilege of adopting and raising. When I learned that I was pregnant, I was overwhelmed with excitement. My ultimate miscarriage left me shattered and destroyed in a way that seemed beyond repair. Somehow though, I boarded the plane. Afterall, the books had to make it to Israel.

Our trip began in the Gaza Envelope. We traveled to three sites: a school, a kibbutz and a memorial. All of us were poised to illustrate one harrowing and fundamental truth: where there is pain and devastation, the Jewish community will fill the darkness with hope.

We toured Nofei Ha-Bsor, a school in the south of Israel, which serves students from nearby communities. We encountered students in silly Purim costumes, dancing, singing and being what they deserved to be – children. It felt like being on my own campus, filled with life and joy, but where we were was not lost on us.

One of the students we met had been a hostage, kidnapped by Hamas on Oct. 7, 2023, and held for 50 days in Gaza. The reality of our proximity to hatred set in. We stood under a gazebo, looking out across a field, and could see the buildings of Gaza in the distance. A word immediately flashed in my mind: vulnerable.

When our group left the school, we hurt for them but carried the insistent message of hope shared by teachers and students. In those moments, I felt my personal brokenness begin to heal.

Destruction and devastation met us at the gates of Kibbutz Nir Oz – a modern-day memory site, marking tragedy. I stood in front of the Bibas home, first thinking of my own loss, then mourning for Yarden Bibas, who lost his wife, Shiri, and his boys, Ariel and Kfir.

Signs of young lives lost were everywhere on the kibbutz. We walked past abandoned strollers and toys. We saw a memorial in the dining hall with empty highchairs. Innocence and lost futures confronted us at every turn. It was a clear and stark reminder that violence, hatred and apathy are ever-present.

The world will turn a blind eye when it comes to the hatred of Jewish people, no matter their age, their gender, their beliefs – these people, these families, these babies were targeted for one reason: They were Jewish.

At the memorial for the Nova music festival massacre, we were given time to walk through, to read, to think, to pray as we saw fit. Moving through a tree-lined path, listening to the carefully placed windchimes, reading stories and looking at photographs of the people who attended the festival felt nearly spiritual.

If I stood still enough, if I was quiet enough, if I listened closely enough, I could feel the presence of the people who stood where I stood. Their stories, written by their families, narrated lives filled with joy, care, dedication to good and a desire for peace. Many of the stories shared one commonality: these people fought to protect others around them. When they were confronted by evil, they chose to risk their lives to help others. My healing continued.

We spent the rest of our week in Israel dedicated to service. We used our hands to work on the land, to help. Witnessing the impacts of our service was a physical manifestation of repair. As we all worked together to rake, move trees, restore a cemetery and farmland, I truly felt myself heal. This place, these people, this work, all of it, was restorative. Israel’s air, its community, its spirit of hope were contiguous.

The Talmud reminds us that if you save a life, you save the entire world. Every person who I encountered – students, teachers, chosen family, friends and colleagues – did that for me. We move through life, never truly knowing what those around us are going through. And without knowing it, these people saved me by helping me repair something deeply broken that I never thought could be fixed.

While the work may never be complete, when we work to repair the world together, we repair ourselves in the process.

Alyssa Weinstein-Sears is an educator at The Emery/Weiner School.