Fifty years ago, on the second week of October 1973, Egypt and Syria struck Israel in a surprise attack. Like today, Jews around the world gathered in synagogue on the holy day of Yom Kippur. Israel was caught completely unaware. In hours, the Israeli Air Force crumbled, planes and pilots decimated. The Yom Kippur War was truly one of the worst moments in modern Israeli history.
In the Sinai desert,[i]
as troops prepared for battle amidst
smoke, blackened tanks, and fatigues, a jeep appeared seemingly out of nowhere
with the “Poet of Rock” Leonard Cohen. In
1973, Leonard Cohen was a huge star. Just one year earlier, he had performed in
front of half a million people at the Isle of Wight festival. Cohen arrived at Hatzor, an Israeli air force
base, deep in the Sinai Desert. An ammo
crate was his stage, no back-up band or amplifier, just Cohen and his guitar playing
his hits: “Suzanne,” “So Long Marianne,” and “Bird on the Wire” for the Israeli
soldiers.
In between the concerts, Cohen began
writing a new song, “Lover, Lover, Lover.”
If you listen closely, it doesn’t sound anything like a typical love
song. He begins with, “Father, change my
name.” That makes sense when you learn that
Cohen asked the Israelis to call him not Leonard, but by his Hebrew name,
Eliezer. He also writes that a body
could serve as a “weapon” and professed the hope that “this song could be a
shield against the enemy.”
Matti Friedman, the Canadian Israeli
author of the new book, “Who by Fire: Leonard Cohen in the Sinai,” shares that
Cohen was filled with emotion while writing “Lover, Lover, Lover.” Here was one of the original verses found in
Leonard Cohen’s orange notebook:
I went down to the desert
To help my brothers fight
I knew that they weren’t
wrong
I knew that they weren’t
right
But bones must stand up
straight and walk
And blood must move
around
And men go making ugly
lines
Across the holy ground
Although Cohen never liked to define his lyrics, in one sense, this was a love song for his fellow “brothers” in Israel. He arrived to fight alongside his Jewish brothers and vowed to protect them with this song. Like so many of us, Leonard Cohen was swept up by his visit to the Holy Land.
Maybe you too have had a moment like this? Watching in 1967 as the Old City returned to Jewish hands for the first time in 2,000 years or paralyzed on that Yom Kippur day 1973 as you thought Israel was finished. Perhaps, like me, you had such optimism in the late 90’s as Yitzhak Rabin and Yasser Arafat signed the Oslo peace agreements. It could be each time you hear the singing of Hatikvah (Israel’s National Anthem), the wearing of an IDF t-shirt, or a visit to Israel: hiking up Masada or touching the ancient stones of the Western Wall.
Maybe, it was a similar moment to my
grandfather, who as he walked along the streets of Tel Aviv came across Rechov
Gordon, Gordon Street. He became
teary eyed for he always believed our family name was changed once we left Eastern
Europe. Here was proof of our connection
to our Jewish family in Israel.
Today, these moments of homecoming seem
so quaint. Leonard Cohen shared that he
was “called to his mythic home.” That’s
why he arrived amidst a dangerous war. For
most of us, this myth of the perfect Jewish country has been shattered into a
million pieces. Our relationship with
Israel, the stories we were taught, feel less like reality and more like a
myth. Perhaps, you were never taught
about the Palestinian people or learned of their struggles. Maybe your Jewish education was like sweet Kool-Aid,
always discussing falafel, camels, and the dead sea and never addressing the
challenges or stumbles of Modern Israel.
Many of us, especially our young people, walk away because these myths can
never be reconciled with reality.
Leonard Cohen also tasted reality
after he returned home from Israel. When
Cohen released Lover, Lover, Lover a few months after the Yom Kippur
war, the verse “went down to the desert to help my brothers fight” was notably
absent. We aren’t sure why Cohen removed
the verse. Perhaps, it had something to
do with this memory that he described in his manuscript:
Helicopter lands.
In the great wind soldiers rush to unload it. It is filled with wounded
men. I see their bandages and I stop
myself from crying. These are young Jews
dying. Then someone tells me that these
are Egyptian wounded. My relief amazes
me. I hate this. I hate my relief. This cannot be forgiven. This is blood on your hands.
Cohen never shared publicly that
“Lover, Lover, Lover” was written for Israelis. In fact, at a concert in France in 1976, he claims
to have written the song for, “the Egyptians and the Israelis” in that order.
Cohen steps back and removes the
connection to Israel in Lover, Lover, Lover. That change occurs after 1973. Was Cohen upset, dismayed, perhaps ashamed by
Israel’s actions?
It wasn’t just Leonard Cohen. Everything changed after the Yom Kippur War.[ii] That moment fractures Israeli society. The Labor party and the old guard of Ben
Gurion and Golda Meir comes to an end because this war feels like a defeat. Instead of focusing on the collective, we see
a splintering of Israel into many small pluralistic identities. There is the rise of the Likud party,
Mizrachi (Middle Eastern Jews), the settler movement, Ultra-Orthodoxy, LGBTQ
Jews, and even our Reform Movement. The
old Israel which stressed consensus is gone.
Today, there is no unifying identity.
For us in America, our relationship begins to change as well. For many of us starting in the 1990’s, the blind love and obedience many of us felt for Israel evaporates. It’s hard to focus on puppy love when policies enacted by the Israeli government are deeply distressing to us. And it’s only gotten worse. In recent months, Prime Minister Netanyahu and his coalition work diligently to dismantle democracy and erode the separation of powers between the Knesset (Israel’s parliament) and the Supreme Court. The government continues to mistreat Israeli Arabs as well as those Palestinians living under occupation. Ultranationalists sit in prominent government positions and openly attack minorities. While Ultra-Orthodox Jews gain more political power and work to turn Israel into a theocracy. It is troubling to say the least. It seems easier to walk away, to turn our back. As the myth is shattered, many American Jews say good riddance, rather than create a new story.
And yet, Israelis are not walking
away. In Israel, a revolution is happening
in the streets. Over the last year,
hundreds of thousands of Israelis gathered in protest each Saturday evening
blocking traffic, protesting in public squares, to lambast the actions of the
Israeli government. It is believed that
more than 1/3 of all of Israel’s citizens have marched in the streets; a large
and very vocal group of Israelis are fed-up with the direction of the country.
Rabbi Gilad Kariv, an Israeli Reform
rabbi and member of the Labor Party in the Knesset, stresses that Israelis are
marching in the streets to protect both Israel’s fragile democracy AND Israeli pluralistic
Judaism. As he shares, the two major
symbols of the protestors are the Israeli flag and the Israeli Declaration of Independence. The Israeli Flag symbolizes the hope for a Modern
Zionism that encompasses all in our Jewish community. While the Israeli Declaration of Independence
represents Israeli democracy and the protection of all, including Arabs, who
call Israel home.
Rabbi Naamah Kelman, Dean of the Hebrew Union College, Jerusalem campus, recently shared that the Israeli Reform Movement has been critical to these rallies. We were the first religious group to sign on to the protests. The 130 Israeli Reform Rabbis and the 54 Reform synagogues in Israel have been at the center of organizing and training the protestors. For years, our Reform leaders in Israel have been in the trenches, speaking out against injustice and prophetic Judaism, and now this work is finally bearing fruit.
There are so many stories! Yali Levanon, a 17-year-old, who is currently in mechinah, a pre-army program run by the Reform Movement, who is galvanizing thousands of Israelis to speak out for LGBTQ+ rights. Or a Reform synagogue in Petach Tikvah that works with the local school district to bring pluralistic Jewish voices into the classroom. Or Rabbi Yael Vurgan, a roaming Reform rabbi, who visits ten small communities in the Negev near the Gaza strip and brings together Bedouin and Christian Arabs fostering unity and connection. We have allies in Israel who fight the occupation, raise their voices against the mistreatment of minorities, and work to protect Israel’s fragile democracy.
Rabbi Talia Avnon-Benveniste reminds us that “Israel is not one story, but many stories. Our goal is to bring together many narratives, many stories, in order to understand the many truths of Israel.” Yes, there are great challenges in Israel. Yes, we often disagree profoundly with the Israeli government’s actions. But that is only one narrative, one story. Many of us were fed a myth when we were younger. We must not move from one myth to another. Israel is complex, a country with lots of problems who makes lots of mistakes (just like the United States). We must bring the shattered pieces of the prior myth together to create a new narrative, a new story.
Leonard Cohen seemed to walk away
from Israel. For many years, he lived in
a Buddhist monastery, separated from the outside world and his Judaism. In 2009, Cohen planned a concert tour around
the world with the final stop in Israel.
Over 50,000 people attended that concert in Tel Aviv, to welcome Cohen
back home.
It was a similar day to today, late September, between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. The soccer stadium was filled with all Israeli society: Jews and Arabs, secular and Orthodox, young and old. Cohen dedicated the singing of Hallelujah, his most famous song, to those who lost children on both sides of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. The proceeds from the concert went to a fund he created for reconciliation, tolerance, and peace, for both Israeli and Palestinian organizations. At the end of his performance, Leonard Cohen blessed those 50,000 people with words of Birkat Cohenim, the Priestly Benediction, in Hebrew.
Over the course of his life, Cohen reframed his connection to Israel by creating a new story which encompassed all that makes up Israel: the good and the bad, the challenges and the successes. He brought his full self, lifting up the values and beliefs he vowed Israel should become.
Today, a revolution is happening in Israel. One group that is most visible at these protests are the veterans from the Yom Kippur War. They stand with signs that say: “Fighters from Yom Kippur 1973 battle for the character of the state.” Long ago, they fought to save Israel from enemies abroad, now they fight the enemies within. They fight for democracy, pluralism, and Israel’s Jewish soul.
Fifty years ago, on a similar Yom Kippur day, the American Jewish community was glued to their radios, terrified that Israel would be decimated by its enemies. We didn’t take Israel for granted. We didn’t remain complacent. Fifty years later, too many of us are ready to walk away. The myth has been shattered and many of us say, “good riddance.”
May we take the shards of a broken
myth and reframe them into a new narrative, the many stories that make up
Israel. May we engage with Israel at a
deeper level: read the newspaper, be informed, attend lectures, and learn more
about what is happening. May we take
action: to support the Israeli Reform Movement, to donate to progressive
organizations in Israel, to deepen relationship with Israelis, and to attend a
rally here in America alongside our Israeli siblings. We almost lost Israel in
1973, we don’t want to lose Israel today.
Amen.
[i]
This sermon is based upon the writings and recordings by Matti Friedman. Some of the resources for this sermon were
based upon “Who by Fire: Leonard Cohen in the Sinai”
https://www.tabletmag.com/sections/arts-letters/articles/leonard-cohen-songs-yom-kippur-war
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