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.

---

[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

When does the night end? - Erev Rosh Hashanah Sermon 5786

 

Some of us are night owls – we like to stay up way too late!  Some of us are early risers – we wake up way too early!  And some of us are both – worrying about the state of world - we don’t seem to sleep at all! 

Long ago,[i] there was a Beit Midrash – a House of Study, far from here.  The students of that Beit Midrash loved Torah so much, that they never went to sleep.  They studied throughout the night until the early morning hours. 

Just as the sun would rise, they would gather together to recite their morning prayers.  The students were tired after their nightly studies.  They wished to recite their prayers as soon as the day began, so that they could go to bed.  There was only one problem!  The students weren’t sure when the night officially ended, and the day began.  Don’t forget this was a long time ago.  Our zealous students didn’t possess Apple Watches, iPhones, or even old school digital clocks.  They were truly perplexed.  They had no good answer.  So, they approached their beloved rabbi. 

“Rabbi,” they asked.  “When does the night end and the day begin?”

The esteemed rabbi, as do all good teachers, turned the question back to the students!   “Great question!  Go outside during the darkest hours of the night and pay very close attention to changes in our world.  Come back to me with your answer.

Early the next morning, the Know-it-All arrived first before anyone else had gathered. “Rabbi, I was wandering amongst our village when I saw a house in the distance.  When I recognized that it was indeed my house and not the house of my neighbor, that was when the night ends and the day begins.”

The rabbi turned towards the student and with shake of the head, said: “No Bubele, that is not quite right.”

A second, very studious student approached their teacher.  “Rabbi, as it was getting lighter outside, I wandered near my farm, when I saw an animal in the distance.  When I could see whether it was a sheep, a horse, or a cow, that is the moment that the night ends and the day begins.”

The rabbi gave a forced smile and with a slight look of sadness, said, “No Motek, that is not quite right.”

The rabbi’s youngest student, one who loved being outside timidly approached their teacher.  “Rabbi, as I wandered amongst the beautiful flowers, I began to make out all the vibrant colors: the reds, the blues, and the yellows.  I believe this is the moment that the night ends and the day begins.”

As tears streamed down the rabbi’s face, the rabbi said, “No Habibi, that is not quite right.”

Student after student shared their answer with the rabbi… the rabbi became sadder and sadder.  Finally, the rabbi turned towards all the students and became visibility angry.  “Beloved Ones, you don’t understand!  You divide your home from your neighbor’s home; one animal from another; one color from all the others.  Our world is already filled with too much division and separation.  Do you need to divide us even further?  Isn’t our world broken enough?  Is that what Judaism is about?”

The students turned to look towards their rabbi.  Then rabbi, please, tell us the answer!  “How do we know when the night ends and the day begins?”

The rabbi gently looked at each of the students.  “The answer is simple.  When you look into the face of the stranger beside you, one who is so different from you, and you realize that this person is your brother, your sister, your beloved sibling, then and only then has the day begun.  Until that time comes, it will always be night.”

It is so wonderful to gather with you all in our beautiful meadow as we welcome the New Year 5786!  As always, we pray that this New Year will be a time of health, happiness, joy, and peace for us all.  Yet, even amongst these hopes and dreams, a feeling of darkness, sadness, fear, and trepidation seemingly permeate our lives and our world.  On this New Year, may the shofar awaken us, and our world, from our slumber.

You know, as do I, that our society is more fragmented from one another than ever before.  We divide ourselves into different camps: “us” and “them.”  Even scarier, in 2025, we are more separated from human contact than ever before.   Study upon study has shown that because of technology, social media, new work environments, and the comforts of home, we are isolating ourselves from one another.  We are lonelier and more unhappy.  We seemingly lack the tools on how best to build strong and deep relationships. 

Over the course of these High Holy Days, I seek to answer the same question in different ways: “How do I be a Jew in this moment?”  My answer tonight: “to be a Jew is to be in community.”  Our esteemed rabbi shared a poignant, yet simple lesson.  The dark night will only end when we are in one another’s presence and recognize in each other, our humanity.

Luckily, our Jewish tradition provides us with the tools to make that a reality.  As Dr. Erica Brown teaches, “The biblical expression “panim el panim,” face-to-face, is used in the Hebrew Bible multiple times to suggest the highest level of intimacy in communication.”[ii]  Ancestors like Jacob and Esther, prophets like Moses, Miriam, and Ezekiel, turn towards the Holy One and one another, during challenging times.  These face-to-face encounters strengthen our relationships.[iii]  Jacob, seeing his brother for the first time in decades, shares in awe, “to see your face is like seeing the face of God”[iv]  Panim el Panim, face to face encounters, remind us of our deep connection to humanity, divinity, and morality.

Over the last few decades, the third spaces, the places outside of home and work, where we gather have been decimated. As Robert Putnam has taught us: very few of us these days are part of a bowling league, attend regular civic meetings, or make sure to be present at a movie’s opening night.  And yet, you are here!  I want to lift up that you put life on hold, perhaps even had a little bit of stress getting everything and everyone together, to be here.  This evening, you’ll meet old and new friends, you’ll eat, pray, study Torah, and build community. 

More than ever, we need strong and vibrant communities.  We know that the best way to combat loneliness and isolation is to be together face to face.  And I believe, that one of the most important mitzvot, commandments in our Jewish tradition is Kedoshim Tehiyu, “You Shall Be Holy,”[v] for our rabbis teach that to live a holy and sacred life, we must be together in community.[vi]  Whether at Bolton Street Synagogue, your community pool, your neighborhood, your school, or your community gatherings, we Jews must do our part to strengthen community.  That only happens when we leave our homes, when we gather in person, when we see each other panim el panim, face-to-face.  We also must do our part to visit those that are homebound, who are sick, who can’t be with us in person, to make sure they see a smiling face.  

But what happens when we lose sight of each other’s faces?  In the Torah, we learn of a phrase called Hester Panim[vii] – when God’s face is hidden from view.  The theologian Martin Buber adapted this idea in his masterpiece “The Eclipse of God.”  As Buber writes: “When history appears to be empty of God, … it is difficult for an individual and even more, for a people, to understand themselves as addressed by God. … During such times the world seems to be irretrievably abandoned to the forces of tyranny.”[viii]

Now, I know that many of us grapple with our beliefs around God and divinity.  That’s ok!  What I ask is that you interpret Buber through his words of warning.  Buber was writing after the horrors of the Holocaust, but his ideas are unfortunately very timely.

At this moment, we watch the rise of authoritarianism, tyranny, and violence in our own country and throughout the world.  When we hear politicians and leaders speak about fellow members of society as pests or animals, that is Hester Panim – our faces being hidden from one another.  When ICE agents hide their faces with masks, leading to a lack of accountability or anonymity, that is Hester Panim – our faces being hidden from one another.  When online bloggers disguise their true identities, when we aren’t sure if it’s a person, a BOT, or AI, that is Hester Panim – our faces being hidden from one another.

 It is precisely at these moments that Martin Buber called an eclipse, when we lose sight of each other’s humanity.  We know what happens when the stranger, the outlier, or the minority is no longer seen as a human being.  Our Jewish history serves as a stark reminder that when society is unable or unwilling to see one another’s faces, we let the forces of tyranny win.

So what must we do?  How can we lift-up one another’s humanity?  Rabbi Rami Shapiro teaches, “Whenever you see another… you can recite this line to yourself: ‘I see this face as an expression of God’s Face.’”  Perhaps you will change the wording of this prayer.  I urge you to make your own.  But think of the impact!  Each time we look into the face of another, we see their humanity and divinity.  Multiple times a day, we can do our part, to bring a bit of light into the dark night surrounding us.[ix]

There is so much danger when we are hidden from one another, so let’s take off our masks and open our hearts.  This New Year, let us truly see each other and do our best to be seen. This New Year, let us hold one another accountable, including our government, for their misdeeds.    This New Year, let us recognize that the stranger, the immigrant, those who look, act, speak, or love differently from us are our brothers, our sisters, our beloved siblings.  This New Year, let us prioritize our time, to be in community, gathering panim el panim, face-to-face, to end this dark night and bring on the morning light.  

---

[i] An old Chasidic story.  This version is based upon “Day and Night” by Rabbi Ed Feinstein, found in “Capturing the Moon” p. 54

[ii] Erica Brown, “Seeing Ruth’s Face” – May 27, 2020 - https://ejewishphilanthropy.com/seeing-ruths-face/

[iii] Genesis 32:31, Exodus 33:11, Deuteronomy 34:10, Ezekiel 20:35

[iv] Genesis 33:10

[v] Leviticus 19:1

[vi] Me’or VaShemesh-Parashat Kedoshim, R. Kalonymos Kalman Epstein

[vii] Deuteronomy 31:18; Babylonian Talmud, Hullin 139b

[viii] Martin Buber, “Eclipse of God” – Chapter 16

[ix] Rabbi Rami Shapiro, “Seeing the Face of God” – September 3, 2022 - https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/seeing-the-face-of-god/

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.

---

[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