We are Israel: Spiritual and Moral Wrestlers - Rosh Hashanah Morning Sermon 5786

 

Long ago,[i] a man named Jacob worried about an impending attack.  An ancient enemy headed his way alongside 400 armed men.  Jacob first sent his family to safety across the Jabbok River.  As he gathered his final possessions, ready to cross the river himself, he ran out of time.  Darkness fell.  Jacob found himself alone, all by himself, when a stranger appeared.  That stranger and Jacob wrestled throughout the night.  As dawn approached, the stranger pleaded with Jacob to let him go.  He replied, “I will not let you go until you bless me.”  The stranger answered, “Your name will no longer be Jacob, but Israel, for you have wrestled with beings divine and human and have prevailed.”[ii]

Jacob is our namesake.  We are called Israel, for we Jews wrestle with the divine, with fellow human beings, and with ourselves.  As Rabbi Shai Held teaches, “To wrestle with God’s word is to ask ourselves – even and especially when it is uncomfortable – what it is that God asks of us in the present moment.”[iii]  Over the course of these High Holy Days, I seek to answer the question, “How do I be a Jew in this moment?”  Last night, I spoke about being in community.  My answer this morning: “to be a Jew is one who wrestles.” 

One person who helped me with my personal wrestling is the author, Joshua Leifer.  This summer, I read his book, “Tablets Shattered: The End of an American Jewish Century and the Future of Jewish Life.”   Leifer believes that American Jews are living in what he calls the diasporic double bind.  This means whether we like it or not, we are inescapability connected to Israel.  Leifer writes, “As long as the state of Israel exists, American Jews will find themselves pulled within its orbit.”[iv] 

He proves this point through sheer demographics.  Today, Israel is home to 7 million Jews, while 6 million live in America. By 2050, there will only be 5 million Jews in the US with over 8 million in Israel. For the first time in over 2 millennia, a majority of Jews will live in a sovereign Jewish state.  Israel has already begun to displace the United States as the focal point of World Jewry.[v]  As the war in Gaza continues, whether we like it or not, we are pulled into the orbit of Israel.

Our ancient rabbis were fascinated by Jacob’s wrestling.  They spent countless hours debating the identity of that nighttime stranger.  Did Jacob wrestle an angel?  God?  His brother Esau?  Or was it someone else?  Beresheit Rabbah,[vi] the great commentary on Genesis, teaches: “the stranger appeared to Jacob in the image of a shepherd. The stranger had sheep, just like Jacob had sheep. The stranger had camels, just like Jacob had camels. The stranger said to Jacob, ‘I’ll pass over the river, just like you will pass over the river.’”  Who was this stranger, so similar to Jacob?  It was Jacob wrestling himself.

Like Jacob, we Jews wrestle with ourselves.  As Jacob fought with himself, so to do we, American Jews and Israelis often clash with each other.  Even more difficult is the fact that the relationship between Israel and the diaspora isn’t always reciprocal.  American Jews must struggle with the reality that Israel’s actions impose a burden upon us, but we do not exert the same power over our Israeli brethren.[vii]  So what do we do?

The first option is to walk away.  More and more members of our Jewish community want nothing to do with Israel.  I’m saddened by how many wish to dissolve all ties between their Jewishness and Israel.  I’m challenged by those who see Israel only as a Goliath, as a bully.  Earlier this September, I met with a few members of our congregation who are struggling.  One member even left our synagogue because of our connection to Israel.  All shared that for them a red line had been crossed.  They were done.  The actions of the Israeli government, whether the famine in Gaza, the lack of water and necessities, the indiscriminate bombings, the ongoing occupation, or the lack of perceived effort towards a cease-fire were just too much. They were so troubled by Israel’s actions that they were unsure if they could remain a Jew.

A second option is to believe that Israel can do no wrong.  Throughout our organized Jewish community, too many never question any of Israel’s actions.  Many doubt the media.  They might counter every argument about the events in Gaza with differing facts.  Many believe that Israel can do any action it pleases regardless of the consequences to innocent Palestinians.  I’m saddened that when a famine occurs in Sudan or a bombing occurs to civilians in Ukraine, we speak up.  But, when innocent Palestinians are hurting and hungry, many in our Jewish community say not a word.

There is a third option to navigate this moment: denial.  Many of us do our best to ignore what is happening in Gaza and in Israel.  We might refrain from watching the news.  We scan the headlines, but don’t learn the details of what is going on.  We pretend that what’s happening across the world has no bearing on our lives.  Denial can go both ways.  We can deny that Israel is doing anything right.  We can also deny that Israel is doing anything wrong.  We can deny Hamas’ role in this war.  We can also deny that Israel has at times acted unjustly.  I think most of us are in denial because the situation is just too complex.  It’s much easier to put our heads in the sand and to deny that anything is wrong.

Sometimes we chose one of these options and sometimes we take a little bit of this and a little bit of that.  Honestly, I believe all of these options are missing something important: wrestling.  We aren’t wrestling! 

A few weeks ago, I hosted 12 local rabbis at Bolton Street Synagogue who sat down with Shira Ben Sasson Furstenberg, the Associate Director of the New Israel Fund.  Since 1979, the New Israel Fund (NIF) has worked to strengthen civil society in Israel: supporting women, LGBTQ people, religious minorities like Reform Judaism, and Palestinians.  As you can imagine, this has been a difficult three years for NIF, from the judicial overhaul, to the immediate needs after October 7^th, to the long Gaza war. 

Shira Ben Sasson Furstenberg shared with us a recent, and shocking, Israeli poll result.  61% of Israelis do not believe there are any innocent Gazans.  61%!  That’s shocking because this includes children, babies, and the elderly.  And yet, at the same time, thousands upon thousands of new Israeli donors have donated to NIF for the sole purpose of providing food to hungry Gazans.  NIF has been able to provide three times the number of grants than before October 7^th to help Israelis and Palestinians as well as strengthen Israeli democracy.

Shira shared that what Israel needs right now is healing.  Healing for the Israeli political system, healing for the hostage families, healing for Israeli soldiers fighting in this long war, and healing for all in innocent Gazans in harm’s way.  I heard Shira’s call loud and clear.  If we’re not going to respond by walking away, or believing that Israel can do no wrong, or living in denial, our role as American Jews can help Israel heal.  We can donate to Progressive Zionist organizations, we can speak out in a loud voice at rallies, we can stay informed, and we can wrestle with the complexity of this war.  We can help our Israeli friend and family, and help ourselves be healed.

For we need healing too.  This war is tearing our Jewish community apart.  We are screaming at one another.  The temperature continues to rise with the language of violence permeating our conversations.  We are dividing ourselves into two communities. 

A few years ago, Natan Sharansky and Gil Troy wrote an article in Tablet Magazine in which they call Jews who are avowedly Anti-Zionist, “Un-Jews.” [viii]  As they write, “We call these critics “un-Jews” because they believe the only way to fulfill the Jewish mission of saving the world with Jewish values is to undo the ways most actual Jews do Jewishness. They are not ex-Jews or non-Jews, because many of them are and remain deeply involved Jewishly, despite their harsh dissent.”

This division between “Jews” and “Un-Jews” is not new.  In the Babylonian Talmud,[ix] our rabbis over fifteen-hundred years ago, called those Jews who were outside their circle Amei Haaretz which we often translate as the uneducated.  The rabbis saw Amei Haaretz as a threat because they observed Judaism and ritual practices differently than they did.  The rabbis were so worried about Amei Haaretz that they forbid one another to eat at the same table, to live in the same neighborhood, to marry one another, and even justified violence against them.  Coexistence was not possible.[x] 

Deborah Barer, at the Shalom Hartman Institute, connects this ancient struggle to our modern moment: “We have been operating from a sense of threat...  We have closed ranks in order to protect that which we hold most dear, and in doing so, we have framed a conversation as a dispute between us and them, between the “Jews” and the “un-Jews,” rather than as an exploration of what is and what should be, of what is possible and how to build it.”[xi]

This is such a difficult time.  It’s often much easier to divide ourselves into our different camps instead of wrestling with what is and what should be.  It seems simpler to spout out our own facts, terms, or opinions, instead of discussing together what is possible and how to build it.  For Israel is in an existential crisis.  Missiles reign down on its cities, and we’re still waiting for the hostages to come home.  And at the same time, thousands of innocent children and the elderly have been killed by Israel’s bombs, while too many Gazans are starving.  Our dream of vibrant home for the Jewish people living peacefully with her neighbors seems so far away.

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks teaches: “[The] path chosen by [Jacob] is not for the fainthearted… It is not easy to face our fears and wrestle with them, refusing to let go until we have turned them into renewed strength and blessing.”[xii]  If we believe Israel is always in the wrong, we aren’t wrestling.  If we believe that Israel is always in the right, we aren’t wrestling.  If we can’t respect and hear differing opinions, we aren’t wrestling.

We are called Israel.  It’s the name of our people and it’s the name of our land.  We are not the ones who walk away.  We are not the ones who forego our ethical responsibilities.  We are not the ones who deny what is happening.  We are the ones who wrestle.  Wrestling is not easy.  Jacob was wounded in that nighttime attack and forever after he walked with a limp.  Our wrestling is not for the fainthearted and there might be wounds.  But wrestling is what we do. We are the ones who wrestle with ideas. We are the ones who wrestle with each other.  We are the ones wrestle with ourselves.  For we are Israel: the Ones who wrestle.  Amen.

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[i] Genesis 32:24-33

[ii] Genesis 32:29

[iii] Rabbi Shai Held, “Judaism is About Love,” p. 191

[iv] “Tablets Shattered: The End of an American Jewish Century and the Future of Jewish Life,” by Joshua Leifer, p. 209

[v] “Tablets Shattered,” p. 210 - 219

[vi] Beresheit Rabbah 77:2

[vii] “Tablets Shattered,” p. 210

[viii] https://www.tabletmag.com/sections/news/articles/the-un-jews-natan-sharansky

[ix] “When Community Becomes a Zero-Sum Game: Lessons from a Troubling Talmudic Text” by Deborah Barer, in Sources: A Journal of Jewish Ideas: Summer 2025, p. 85-88

[x] “When Community Becomes a Zero-Sum Game…,” p. 87

[xi] “When Community Becomes a Zero-Sum Game…,” p. 91

[xii] Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, “Covenant and Conversation, Genesis: The Book of Beginnings,” p. 241

Letting Go of Hate - Yom Kippur Morning Sermon 5785

 

One of the highlights of this past summer was spending time with my oldest friend.  He’s a proud Jew who cares deeply about Judaism and Israel.  We’ve had lots of debates over the years!  We don’t always agree on every issue, but our discussions always feel important.  We were in the midst of an intense conversation about the current crisis in Israel, when a woman wearing a headscarf walked by.  She looked to be Muslim.  My friend turned to me and asked, “Do you think she hates us because we are Jews?”  I was surprised.  “No, of course not.”  He looked at me.  “I’m sorry, but I do.”

My friend is a compassionate and kind person who cares deeply about the world.  But, at that moment there was fear and perhaps a bit of anger.  She had said nothing and did nothing to us.  My friend didn’t know her story or her opinions, and yet, in his heart, he believed she hated us because we are Jews.  I silently asked myself: If we believe others hate us, does that mean we hate them too?

Unfortunately, this isn’t a new problem.  Throughout Jewish history, there have been many moments filled with fear of the other.  One surprising story is that of Elijah, the prophet.  You know Elijah!  We open the door for him at each Passover and provide a seat of honor when we welcome every baby into our community.  He represents… but wasn’t always such a compassionate figure in Jewish tradition. In the Bible, Elijah possessed a different type of temperament.  He was unpredictable, boiled with rage, and was filled with zeal. 

During the ninth century BCE, Elijah was a prophet of Adonai.  The rulers of Israel, King Ahab and Queen Jezebel, wished to bring a new religion, the worship of the idol Baal to the people.  Queen Jezebel persecuted the prophets of Adonai and murdered many in cold blood.  Elijah decided to act.  He brought the priests of Baal together for an old-fashioned showdown.[i]  Each side would ask their God to accept a sacrificial offering.  The prophets of Baal prayed their hardest, but nothing happened.  When it was Elijah’s turn, a fire came from the heavens and accepted his offering.

That’s all fine and good.  It’s what happens afterwards that is surprising and deeply troubling.  Elijah tells the Israelite people: “’Seize the prophets of Baal, let not even one of them get away.’  They seized them, and Elijah took them down to the Wadi Kishon and slaughtered [the 450 prophets] there.” 

Elijah flees and hides out in a cave.[ii]  Adonai appears and asks him: “Why are you here Elijah?”  He responds, “I am moved by zeal for Adonai.”  God tells him to stand on a mountaintop.  A great and mighty wind passes, but God was not in the wind.  An earthquake occurs, but God was not in the earthquake.  A fire appears, but God was not in the fire.  Finally, God appears in a soft murmuring sound.  God whispers, “Why are you here Elijah?”  Again, he responds, “I am moved by zeal for Adonai.”  And then… God fires him.  Literally, God says: “Go, find your replacement, Elisha the prophet.”  Because Elijah is a whirlwind of anger and vengeance, Adonai believes he’s not fit to be a prophet.

We’re living in a time where many possess a zealousness for their cause.  Hateful rhetoric and vitriolic statements raise the temperature to a boiling rage.  Certain politicians tell lies about Haitian immigrants, a modern blood libel.  Some leaders of the Israeli government unapologetically state their wish for a Greater Israel and the destruction of all Palestinians.  While at the encampments on college campuses, some chant “From the River to the Sea,” which whether knowingly or not, undermine Israel’s right to exist.  I’m worried that this type of rhetoric fans the flames and leads us towards the fiery actions of Elijah.

Judaism has always recognized that vitriol exists.  We can’t rid our world of hateful rhetoric, but we can do our part to keep hate in check.  In the Book of Deuteronomy, we learn: “You shall not abhor an Edomite for such is your kin.  You shall not abhor an Egyptian for you were a stranger in that land.”[iii] 

Too many times in the Torah, we are commanded to attack or destroy our enemies like the Midianites, the Moabites, and the Amalekites.  Why here are we specifically told to “not abhor” an Edomite or an Egyptian?

Our sages[iv] teach that during the time of Joseph, the Egyptians welcomed us with open arms.  While the Edomites were our kinspeople.  Their patriarch Esau was the brother of Jacob.  They’re family.

But you might be thinking - These statements are outrageous!  The Egyptians enslaved us and were our taskmasters for over 400 years; the Edomites our ancient enemies.  The Torah here teaches a valuable and sometimes very difficult lesson.  We can redefine our relationship with our perceived enemies, even our current or past enemies[RS1] .  The Egyptians could be viewed as taskmasters or those who welcome us.  The Edomites could be foe or family.  We too can reframe our  relationship with all those whom we disagree.

Perhaps there is a clue in a second interpretation to this verse: “You must not abhor an Edomite or an Egyptian.”  At the heart of Torah is the belief that each one of us is created b’tzelem Elohim, in the divine image.   Each of us is a unique individual who possesses our own beliefs, our own opinions, and our own actions. We are told to not abhor an Edomite or an Egyptian not THE Edomites or THE Egyptians.  We are to see humanity in each person.   

That’s hard in our black and white society.  Too many can’t distinguish between Prime Minister Netanyahu’s policies and the Israelis who protest after each Shabbat at Hostage Square.  Too many can’t differentiate between a Hamas terrorist and a Palestinian civilian. Too many can’t separate a college student who feels passionate about the suffering of Palestinians and one who has bought into antisemitic rhetoric.  I pray that we take a step back and don’t jump to conclusions about a person’s beliefs.   I sincerely believe that the only way to mitigate our feelings of distrust and fear is by breaking down barriers and learning more about who we each are as individuals.

Our great sage, Hillel, takes this a step further, in his most famous statement: “That which is hateful to you do not do to another; that is the entire Torah, the rest commentary.  Now Go and Learn!”[v]  Other religions often downplay Hillel’s interpretation of the Golden Rule and believe that his double negative is pessimistic.  “Where’s the love?” they ask.  We know there can’t always be love.  Not every political position is worthy of empathy.  There are views that are beyond the pale. Too many of us this past year have encountered antisemitism and hateful rhetoric.  We can’t ignore these comments, we must speak out.  But, we can act differently when we encounter malice.  We might want to fight fire with fire.  We might want to stew in anger.  Hillel reminds us that we must not mirror their hate or fan the flames of distrust.   

That’s not always easy.  When we’re hurt or harmed, we often just want to lash out!   Rabbi Sharon Brous in her new book, The Amen Effect,[vi] shares a different approach on how to face hate. A few years ago, a Shock Jock who had an incredible reach became an unapologetic purveyor of racism, misogyny, homophobia, and ableism.  He felt he was permitted to speak freely and share a long list of perceived grievances.  After he published an inflammatory piece targeting transgender people, Rabbi Brous recognized that his rhetoric could lead to harassment, violence, discrimination, and even criminalization of transgender friends and family members.

She reached out and asked for a one-on-one meeting.  When they met in person, she told him that his words broke her heart and endangered the safety of her congregants and people that she loved.  Unfortunately, that meeting didn’t change anything.  His writing still fuels racism and anti-trans hatred today.

Rabbi Sharon Brous summed it up this way: “Even though the meeting was a failure, it didn’t feel like a waste of time.  It was the effort to try and puncture even one layer of the thick residue of hate around his heart.”[vii]

Rabbi Brous could have hated the Shock Jock for his vicious words and actions.  She could have upped the ante, pouring more hate on his hate, enflaming tensions, but she didn’t.  Instead, she did the difficult work of sitting down and talking.  She hoped that by sharing her views, it would change his ugly rhetoric.  It didn’t work that time, but every conversation is a possibility.  Every discussion is a moment of action.  Every meeting can puncture a small residue of hate in their hearts.  That is the power of a conversation because we aren’t screaming into the void.  These days, we do too much screaming and not enough talking. 

By putting herself out there, Rabbi Brous also changed herself.  When we step up for what’s right, when we speak up for our values, when we stand alongside our community and our loved ones, we too change for the better.  We reaffirm who we are and what we believe.  We open our hearts to bring more justice and love into this world.

Long ago, Elijah was unpredictable and boiled with rage.  He boarded a fiery chariot and flew to the very Heavens.  That should have been his end, but our sages gave him a second act.  Over time, in their stories, Elijah learns and grows.[viii]  His zeal for the enemy disappears and transforms into an undying support for the downtrodden.  Elijah appears in every generation.  His greatest miracle is the opening of hearts and the transformation of how people act towards one another.  Each Passover, we welcome him into our homes, not because of his zeal, but because he will herald the coming of the Messianic time.  He reminds us that even when hate and fear are seemingly everywhere, we must not close our hearts from the world.

My friend and I have known each other for a long time.  We’ve had many enriching and challenging discussions and I’m sure there will be many in the future!  Our conversation this summer is still with me.  I hear his worries and his fears, but once again, I answer “No” to his question. I won’t assume that  every person hates us because we are Jews.  And perhaps I’m putting words in his mouth, but, “No, I don’t believe we are justified to hate others, even if they do hate us.” 

I know this is not an easy time to be a Jew.  We are scared and worried.  I believe firmly in my heart that there is a different path than hate or fear.  We have little ability to upend the political leadership in Iran, Gaza, or even in Israel.  We are unable to change every person’s perspective, especially those who harbor antisemitism in their hearts. But we do have the power to focus on our own emotions and our own actions.  We can locate the sliver of humanity in each person.  We can live by Hillel’s maxim “that which is hateful to you do not do to another.”  We can speak up for our values, our community, and never back down.  We can live our days filled not with fear or retribution, but with justice and love. It might be naïve, but I believe this is the only path forward, to make our community safe, and to bring peace to us all.  Amen.

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[i] I Kings 18

[ii] I Kings 19

[iii] Deuteronomy 23:8

[iv] See Rashi and Chizkuni’s commentary on Deuteronomy 23:8

[v] Babylonian Talmud, Shabbat 31a

[vi] The Amen Effect by Sharon Brous, p. 166-168

[vii] The Amen Effect, p. 168

[viii] Becoming Elijah: Prophet of Transformation by Daniel C Matt, pp. 148-151

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Side by Side: Holding Multiple Truths, Rosh Hashanah Morning Sermon - 5785

 

At the very beginning of the Torah, before creation even began, the world was tohu v’vohu, complete and utter chaos.  Over the last few days, it feels as if we are living through a similar whirlwind.  I want to name the fear, the worry, and the tears that I and many of you are feeling.  May our siblings in Israel be comforted.  May they be protected by a Sukkat Shalom in this New Year. May peace come quickly to Israel, Gaza, and the entire Middle East.

Since today is the Birthday of the World, I think it’s fitting that we dig into the creation story.[i] Most know this story well, so please help me.  The world according to the Torah was created in how many days? …  Seven.  On the first day, God created light and …. Darkness.  God than divided the waters. Up above, the heavens and down below the … seas.  Afterwards, land and vegetation.  Sun, moon, and … stars.  God creates birds, fish, and animals.  God creates, men, women, people, at the same time, and shapes them B’tzelem Elohim, in the Divine Image. 

You know the story, except… there is a second creation story which is completely and totally different.  This story has no timeline; no seven days.  Creation begins not with light and darkness, but with the birth of a single human being named Adam.  Adam is lonely so God creates animals.  Adam remains lonely, so God puts Adam to sleep, takes one of his ribs, and makes Eve. 

We have two stories with completely different timelines, unique ordering of creation, and distinct views of gender.  Two stories, both in the Torah, literally side-by-side: Genesis chapter one and two.  And… they don’t seem compatible.  They don’t seem to work well together. 

As you know, there is often difference of opinion in our Jewish tradition.  There are countless biblical, rabbinic, and even current examples.  This has been especially true in our community since October 7.  Each of us, in our own way, has grieved the brutality of the Hamas attack and its aftermath.  I want to share with you two very difficult conversations that I had last November.  These meetings challenged me, and they might be hard for you to hear as well.

It was late in the afternoon when I sat down with a member of our community.  Right away, I could sense her anger.  Just weeks earlier, Israel had entered Gaza.  She was furious at Israel’s reprisal and horrified by our Jewish community’s support.  “Israel is killing innocent people, bombing hospitals and schools.  We need a ceasefire.  How can we back Israel’s actions?”

I said goodbye to her.  Not long after, a second person walked in and immediately began to cry.  She was consumed by the crisis.  She doomscrolled, late into the evening, reading about the young Israelis who were murdered at the Nova Music Festival, the women who were raped by Hamas terrorists, and the hostages who were forcibly removed from their families.  “I’m so sad,” she said.  “I can’t help it.  I just want them dead.”  

After she left, I tried to gather my thoughts.  I’ve had so many conversations this past year, but these meetings stick with me precisely because they occurred so near each other.  Two unique beliefs about the conflict, and so different from one another.  This sermon is an attempt to make sense of those conversations.  This morning, I’ll be speaking about our relationship with the Palestinians.  I know that Iran is on the minds of many of us, but that will be a topic for another sermon. 

Let’s look back at our creation stories.  How does our Jewish tradition navigate two stories in dissonance?  One answer: focus on the good parts!  You might laugh, but we do this all the time.   Take those who are more Fundamentalist in their beliefs.  They focus on the seven days of creation from the first story.  But many of them believe in a man’s role in a patriarchal society.  They lift-up the second story’s belief that Eve was created from Adam’s rib; that women are lesser than men.

You will never hear that here!  In a Reform synagogue, we lift-up the first creation story.  We believe that all of us, no matter our gender identity, were formed at the same time, B’tzelem Elohim, in the Divine Image.

This is what we do when two stories clash with each other.  We chose the truth that feels at home with our identities and our values.  We pick the narrative that makes the most sense to us, that connects to our history, and which highlights our understanding of the world.

As a Jewish community, it’s important for us to know and share our story, especially around Israel.  There are few people who tell our story with more empathy and compassion than Yossi Klein Halevi.  This summer during my sabbatical, I read his 2019 book, “Letters to My Palestinian Neighbor.”  Over the course of these ten letters, he shares the importance of Israel to Jewish consciousness, not just now, but over the course of our long history,[ii] reminds the reader that Zionism drives Jewish life today because half the Jewish people live in Israel,[iii] and shares that unlike groups like the Crusaders, Israelis are here to stay.  This is our homeland.[iv]

I was especially moved by Klein Halevi’s vulnerability.  He writes movingly about the existential challenges he faced serving in the army during the first intifada.[v]  He felt great pain as the Israeli army encountered young Arab boys throwing stones.  He didn’t shy away from the occupation and recognized the humiliation it brings to the Palestinian people.

Yossi Klein Halevi reminds us that our Jewish story, in the diaspora and in Israel, is historical, valid, and authentic.  Many of us are often so troubled by the Israeli government’s actions that we shy away from our story or limit its significance.   Our story is true.  We must not minimize our history or Israel’s right to exist.

But this is not the only story.  This summer, I also read Rashid Khalidi’s 2020 book, “The Hundred Years’ War on Palestine.”  Let me tell you, this was not an easy read.  Khalidi, a professor at Columbia University, is part of a long line of diplomats and Palestinian leaders.  In this book, Khalidi defines six different wars against his people beginning in 1917 and ending in 2014.  How challenging as a Jew and a Zionist to read history through his eyes.  I was troubled that the Balfour Declaration in 1917 as well as Israel’s Independence in 1948 were viewed as acts of war.  Most surprisingly, not one page was written about the Yom Kippur War.  I came to realize that for Khalidi the Yom Kippur War had no bearing on Palestinian history.  For him, this was a skirmish between Israel and Egypt.

These two books, by Yossi Klein Halevi and Rashid Khalidi, gave me heartache!  The Torah provides us with the wisdom that multiple stories with unique perspectives can exist together.  But still I was stuck.  I needed support from a chevrutah, a rabbinic colleague and good friend.

This summer, the two of us spent four days together delving into the Israeli – Palestinian Crisis.  We studied five books together, but spent most of our discussing, “Side by Side: Parallel Histories of Israel-Palestine” written by a group of Israeli and Palestinian academics in 2012.  Their dream was to develop a single bridging narrative about the Middle East.  Unfortunately, it was too difficult to come to consensus on the facts or the history. [vi]  Instead, they decided to write two separate histories.  The left side of the book is written by Israelis.  The right side of the book by Palestinians.  Two histories, literally side by side.

I would dive into the Jewish perspective, and it was everything that I was taught as a child and an adult.  But, when I turned to the Palestinian narrative, I was dumbfounded.  How could the same historical events be understood in a completely different manner?

Here’s just a handful of examples: In the 1920’s was it an “Arab mob” or an “Arab uprising?”[vii]  Did the Jews settle upon “abandoned land” or “confiscated land?”[viii]  Was it a War of Independence or a Nakba, a catastrophe?  Was the Six Day War in 1967 provoked by Egypt or was Israel the aggressor pining to take over more Palestinian land?[ix]  Who was at fault during the 1990’s peace process, Israel or Arafat?

It wasn’t just me who was challenged by this book.  An Israeli teacher, Rachel, who used “Side by Side” as a textbook in her classroom, summed it up this way:

“When I saw the narrative of the other side, first I was angry and frustrated at how different it was from ours.  I felt it was not based on facts but on stories and emotions.  Later, I learned to cognitively accept the difference, but still felt that our narrative was superior to theirs.  Only recently did I learn to see the logic behind their narrative and even to emotionally feel empathy to what they went through.  If this took me four years, imagine what it will take the pupils or their parents.”[x]

The writers of “Side by Side” believe that the first step in comprehending another narrative is mourning. At this moment, we are raw.  Many of us are angry and unwilling to hear a differing perspective.  This week, we commemorate the yahrtzeit of October 7.  We must mourn.  We mourn the loss of life, the terror, and the fragility of Israeli society.  As the uncertainty continues, we might be mourning for a long time to come.  It took Rachel four years. How long could it take us?

I know this will be painful, but there is work ahead for us to do.   Yossi Klein Halevi believes that the main obstacle to peace is the inability to hear each other’s stories.  That’s why he offered his book in Arabic for free downloading.[xi]  While Rashid Khalidi shares this message, “The irony is that, like all peoples, Palestinians assume that their nationalism is pure and historically rooted while denying the same of Israeli Jews.”[xii]  Mutual acceptance is the only path forward and must be based on complete equal rights and national rights.[xiii]  

As we begin this New Year, our world is tohu v’voho, complete and utter chaos.  There is real fear of a war with Iran.  We pray with all of our hearts for Israel’s safety and security.  At the same time, we must not forget that there is a land where two peoples live, with two stories, and two truths.  Even in the midst of a larger Middle East conflict, even as we sit in sorrow and anger, we must be willing to inch towards peace with the Palestinian people.  Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday soon.

May we learn from Israeli and Palestinian authors.  May we talk to those who differ in their perspective from us.  May we share our story and feel proud and confident in our narrative.  May we do our best to hold multiple truths.  May we always work to write a new story of hope, peace, and mutual understanding.  A story of two states, Jewish and Arab, Israel and Palestine.  A story where the hostages come home, where children can be safe, and laughter can be heard in the streets of Tel Aviv and Gaza City. Ken Yehi Ratzon.  May it be so, Amen.

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[i] In appreciation to Rabbi Marci Jacobs, whose essay in “Am Yisrael Chai: Essays, Poems, and Prayers,” edited by Rabbi Menachem Creditor, pp. 266-274, helped center the story of creation as one of the centering texts of this sermon.  Her beautiful essay guides the reader through narratives that are in conflict with one another.

[ii] “Letter to My Palestinian Neighbor,” by Yossi Klein Halevi, p 34

[iii] “Letters,” p. 43

[iv] “Letters,” p. 69

[v] “Letters,” p. 108-109

[vi] “Side by Side Parallel Histories of Israel-Palestine,” edited by Sami Adwan, Dan Bar-On, Eyal Naveh, and Peace and Research Institute in the Middle East (Prime), p. X

[vii] “Side by Side,” pp. 32-33

[viii] “Side by Side,” pp. 51

[ix] “Side by Side,” p. 191

[x] “Side by Side,” p. xiv

[xi] “Letters,” p. xi

[xii] The Hundred Years’ War on Palestine: A History of Settler Colonialism and Resistance, 1917-2017,” by Rashid Khalidi, p. 246

[xiii] “The Hundred Years’ War on Palestine,”  pp. 245-246