Dear TBZ Community:
This past week, I found myself having conversations with people who think differently from me, both within and outside the Jewish community. To be fully honest, these conversations are not easy and at moments I have felt that perhaps I should give up. Better to stay silent, better to distance myself, better to just speak only with those who stand in the same place and share the same ideas as me.
The difficult times we are experiencing now are creating an even bigger chasm between people, both within our Jewish community and with our neighbors. As TBZ member Leah Hager Cohen wrote so beautifully for WBUR’s Cognoscenti,
What’s particularly devastating at this moment is that many progressive people are finding themselves at odds with folks they’ve long considered allies. This goes both ways: some find fellow liberals (including Jews) insufficiently sympathetic toward Israelis; others (including Jews) find fellow liberals insufficiently sympathetic toward Palestinians. And instead of sparking curiosity, these differences are generating grievance: a grievance premised on a zero-sum game, which says compassion for one group must constitute harm against another. A grievance that demands adherence to one story only, and whose enemy is the willingness to entertain multiple perspectives.
I see this divide happening in our broader community, and I’m seeing and hearing this happen in Israel. Social media has become a place where complicated conversations are simplified into memes and reels. If you like one or don’t like another you are judged for it. To avoid judgment, we divide and separate ourselves within our echo chambers.
I have been following the voices of people in Israel, Israeli friends and colleagues who encourage us to stand together with Arab-Israelis and Palestinians living in Israel and to not turn our backs on each other. The hatred and fear is creating more and more violence. (You can see a video of religious leaders in Israel calling to maintain respect and peace among all of Israeli society during this terrible war.) Yes, many of our basic assumptions have been broken and it can feel as if nothing will ever be the same. And at this time of confusion (and yes, some things are clear and some are definitely not… And it is ok to recognize the lack of clarity), I am making the hard choice, one that doesn’t come easily to me or to many of us, not to let fear or anger guide my next steps.
Two examples from this past week:
First, with colleagues in my interfaith clergy group, we have written a message to stand together in rejecting antisemitism, anti-Muslim hatred, and bigotry in all of its forms. Writing this message has not been easy; it has taken hours of conversations and emails and phone calls to figure out the different meanings words have to each of us. The goal of our letter has been to focus on our lives together in Brookline and, still, this process has not been easy… But I decided to stay in it and work towards having a unified message. I know the message is not perfect. And I know some will criticize me (or my Muslim friends) for the use of a word or for the lack of a word. But I am choosing to hold that imperfection. Because the other choice is worse.
Second, I had a long drive out of town and my driver happened to be Muslim. I did a lot of work and phone calls during the drive. The words Israel, Gaza, Hamas, terrorism, and so forth were words I was using out loud. At some point, I decided to speak to the driver. I asked him if he was Muslim (as I had assumed), he said yes. What came after was one of the most hopeful conversations I have had in the last two weeks. I listened, he listened. We spoke, we shared. Like every other Muslim person I have spoken with in the last few weeks, he is horrified and condemns the acts of Hamas. He was surprised to learn that some of us who call ourselves Zionist (or Progressive Zionist) believe not only in a two-state solution, but in the dignity of all human beings including a dignified life for Palestinians. He said he will now share this with others in his community. I shared about my pain, the horrors of our people, even my own story losing my mother to terrorism. The stories of my friends and families. The antisemitism that is becoming louder. He said he will pray for us, for the Jewish people, and for all humanity.
This week’s torah portion, Lech Lecha, includes in it the story of Abram (not yet named Abraham) and his nephew Lot (Genesis Chapter 13, verses 1-12). There is tension between them. Things get harder, things become complicated. In verse 6 we read:
וְלֹא־נָשָׂא אֹתָם הָאָרֶץ לָשֶׁבֶת יַחְדָּו
the land could not support them staying together
They could not be together. They could not figure it out.
What’s the solution?
וַיֹּאמֶר אַבְרָם אֶל־לוֹט אַל־נָא תְהִי מְרִיבָה בֵּינִי וּבֵינֶךָ וּבֵין רֹעַי וּבֵין רֹעֶיךָ כִּי־אֲנָשִׁים אַחִים אֲנָחְנוּ
Abram said to Lot, “Let there be no strife between you and me, between my herders and yours, for we are kin.
הֲלֹא כָל־הָאָרֶץ לְפָנֶיךָ הִפָּרֶד נָא מֵעָלָי אִם־הַשְּׂמֹאל וְאֵימִנָה וְאִם־הַיָּמִין וְאַשְׂמְאִילָה
Is not the whole land before you? Let us separate: if you go north, I will go south; and if you go south, I will go north.”
You go that way, I will go the other way. At this moment (and the story between Abraham and Lot continues in the future), their choice is to walk away.
Walking away from difficulty is sometimes easier than sitting in it. I am committed to not walking away. As hard as it gets, I can’t see another way. And this does not mean we are without boundaries, or red lines, or times when we need to be very clear about where we stand – against injustice, hatred, differentiating between right and wrong, between good and evil.
When my mother was killed in a terrorist attack in Argentina, I promised myself I would not let fear and anger guide my life, guide my choices. During these times, I find it hard to fulfill this promise. But I am not going to let the challenge, the pain, make me break that promise. Instead, at this time, I think there is no other answer for me than to recommit to this promise, to not let fear or anger guide me.
So in all of its hardship, in the hardest of the moments, I reach out, I embrace the complexity, I struggle with the conflict. I feel my anguish and fear. I am in mourning with my Israeli family and fear for the lives of the hostages. Often, I feel consumed by these very hard, painful feelings. But always, I reach for others, including those who see and feel things differently. And I invite you to do all of this with me.
May this Shabbat bring blessings and consolation to all of you and your loved ones.
May we find strength, courage, and patience, and open our hearts with generosity.
May all those who are ill find healing. And may we find joy in the midst of darkness.
May the hostages come home soon to their families and friends, and may we see peace.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rav Claudia