Rabbi 360

This was a hard sermon to give, primarily because of all anger and pain and fear wrapped up with what is happening in Israel and Gaza and the region. This is less a coherent and comprehensive statement than a collection of thoughts, a cumulation of things I have been reflecting on in the past year. And even since delivering it, facts continue to change. It was also a distillation of thoughts meant for my community, rather than a universal statement, based on how I view my role in the moment–serving a particular covenantal community of mutual responsibility in the midst of the larger Jewish people.

As I have been doing this for a number of years, you might know that my Erev Rosh Hashanah talk is usually a list—recounting things I have learned about life from something that happened in my life over the course of the year. Its usually somewhat lighthearted light—as a way to not only reflect not only are we reflecting but celebrating as we ease into these holy days.

Well I have good news and bad news. Yes, I will offer the list. But I don’t know how light it will be. As we enter into this new year, we know how hard the past one has been. For this is really the first time we have come together in such large numbers since that terrible day in October when Hamas entered Israel and slaughtered, violated and kidnapped thousands of Israelis. And since that time we have been witness to the devastating response that has killed and displaced tens of thousands of Palestinians. Meanwhile the hostages continue to be held captive, starvation is settling in, families and communities remain broken, and people are at the mercy of governments who would rather maintain a cycle of aggression and violence rather than create any future of vision and peace. And now, since I even began writing this, things have escalated regionally with attacks by and on Hezbollah and an unprecedented rain of missiles fired from Iran. All these contribute to a year of indescribable pain and heartache, and now seemingly with no end in sight, that pain will only continue.

It has been a hard, hard year. A year of hurt, and a year of reflection. So on this night, as we turn the corner into a new year, I will share with you 7 things—less “lessons” and more like 7 things I have been thinking about:

Survival is a Jewish Value

There is a value in classical Jewish thought, stemming from the biblical prophets, called shearit Yisrael. Which means the “remnant of Israel” The meaning is “the remnant of Israel,” and the notion is that whatever happens, whatever hardship may befall the Jewish people, the people Yisrael, that there will always be a surviving remnant. There will always be continuity.

Interestingly the name of the first synagogue in North America, established by Portuguese Jews fleeing as refugees from Brazil to New Amsterdam, currently still in operation is called Shearith Israel. Sometimes called the “Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue.”)

Our ancient prophets, witnessing the destruction at the hands of conquering kingdoms, professed like the prophet Micah in one example: “I will assemble Jacob, all of you; I will bring together the remnant of Israel; I will make them all like sheep…,  Like a flock inside its pen—They will be noisy with people.” From the book of Micah 2:12. A hope for restoration in the wake of tragic loss.

Whether or not we are familiar with the term, shearit Yisrael, I think that we can intuit this idea. Part of what it means to be a part of the Jewish people it to be committed not only to the Jewish past, Jewish traditions, Jewish practices, Jewish culture, but to be committed to the Jewish future. It is why at the Passover Seder the youngest person asks the Four Questions, and the rest of the Seder is a response to those questions. It is why in our most sacred prayer the Shema, we say, “you must take these words commanded to you this day into your heart, and you shall teach them diligently to your children.”

Sustaining Jewish community and passing Judaism to future generations is what guarantees our survival. And when that feels threatened it generates fear. And we may be committed to different versions or visions of what that future looks like, what survival looks like, we all must be committed to and hold on to that idea that we inherit as shearit Yisrael.

And to an extent we understand this because….

Antisemitism is Endemic to the World

Antisemitism has been posited as the “world’s oldest hatred.” I’ve been thinking a lot about antisemitism recently, as I think many of us, and while we talk about it as “hatred of the Jews,” know about those traditional stereotypes about money and control and all that.  I’ve been thinking of it slightly differently. That while we engage with outward manifestations, we need to also think about the inward roots of it. That the source of Jewish hatred, the source of antisemitism comes from the ancient belief that Jews should not exist. Not that “we don’t like Jews and want to get rid of them,” but “the existence of Jews is a problem.” Jews are not supposed to exist.

This stems from the earliest days of Judaism and Christianity. Much has been said in the dialogue between Judaism and Christianity about the theological claim that the Jews killed Jesus, a claim that Christianity for the most part has disavowed. But it goes much deeper than that, how in the New Testament, the Gospels contrast Jesus and his followers with the Pharisees, the group that would eventually become the rabbis, the leaders of the Jewish community. Gospels that are still read in churches today speak of the Jews as antiquated, hypocrites, legalistic, overly concerned with the material, lacking spirituality, and failing to accept the new, true covenant. When you have a new covenant that is meant to supersede what came before, those who adhere to the old must therefore be wrong, and therefore you have a problem if they persist.

The Jews therefore are a problem, Jews are the other. And to the extent that Christianity and other religions have become a dominant force of influence in the world, the idea of Jews as a problem has persisted. Jews perpetual perpetual other. That we are not supposed to exist. And we have seen where this has led. Throughout our history, from ancient times until now, the Jewish people has been murdered, expelled, ghettoized, legislated against, displaced, forcibly converted, tortured, punished, taken captive so that now, right now, that most Jews live in only two places in the entire world. And we continue to be seen as a source of the world’s problems.

And we know how these ideas once deeply ingrained in society operate in ways that are not even conscious, and whether one is religious or not. Because I think all of us have confronted, and learning, and rightfully engaging in the work of unlearning racism, sexism, homophobia and transphobia, and how we consciously or unconsciously perpetuate these harms, I would like to see the same honest conversations and the work of unlearning antisemitism. Or at least an attempt to understand Judaism and Jewish identity through its own lens and not through the lens of another school of thought.

And I offer this not an excuse or rationale for anything that is happening, but a fact and an understanding. To understand where we are today, we have to understand this history and context. Which is why…

Zionism is a part of Jewish identity and Jewish history

Zionism was the movement for national Jewish liberation that developed in Europe in the late 1800s in the model of other forms of nationalism in response to rampant anti-Semitism. It is a Jewish response to modernity and the goal of Zionism at its founding was the survival and continuity of the Jewish people. There were those in the Jewish community in those early times, who opposed Zionism in its early years, but they had the same goal, the survival of the Jewish people—they just felt that survival came not through a state. And I know there are still others within the Jewish community who think that way. And the goal always has to be Jewish survival. And the historical culmination of Zionism from the 19^th century was the establishment of the State of Israel, which has been a reality for the past 76 years.

This is not to deny that the establishment of the state of Israel was not without challenge. The hope and promise for the Jewish people coincided with displacement and loss for others. We need to hold onto those multiple narratives. And we also need to hold onto the larger context, the colonial project of European powers of England and France after the fall of the Ottoman Empire, the massive refugee problem of the Jewish community post-Holocaust, the imposition of race and ethnicity onto Jewish identity, and the fact that throughout much of the 20^th century the doors to the United States were closed to Jewish immigration because of xenophobic and antisemitic quotas.

And we would also do well to remember that an ideology and a particular manifestation of that ideology are not the same thing. And that Zionism qua Zionism does not necessarily mean support for the current government, or support for this war, or support for the occupation of the West Bank and Gaza, or a lack of support for Palestinians and Palestinian national aspirations. What it does represent, despite the attempt of others to reinterpret and misuse the term—primarily as a substitute for “Israeli” or “Jewish”—is a desire for Jewish survival in the face of a world that would seek to destroy the Jewish people.

It troubles me when people, usually outside the Jewish community, preemptively claim that criticism of Israel is not antisemitic (because it might be), or when people, usually within the Jewish community, preemptively claim that any criticism of Israel is necessarily antisemitic (because it might not be). The truth lies somewhere in between. Israel is an answer to the challenge of historical antisemitism and a vehicle for Jewish survival. It must be understood in a Jewish context, as an expression of Jewish history and a present reality for the Jewish people.

“Who Will Be For Me?”

Our great sage, Rabbi Hillel, in the Talmud posited “If I am only for myself, what am I.” It is a call to Jews to think beyond ourselves and remember that our responsibility is to others and to the world. It is a call to allyship with other peoples, and it is a call to tikkun olam, to repair our broken world.

And yet we often overlook the first part of Rabbi Hillel’s dictum: “If I am not for myself, who will be for me.” In that not only is it OK to be concerned with ourselves first, but that it is necessary, both in order to to care for others, but also to recognize that we must look out for ourselves, because we can not guarantee that others will look out for us. We are responsible for our survival.

I know this past year there have been lost friendships and strained allyships because we have not felt that our safety was a priority for others, not even a concern. That I think is one of the sources of pain for many over the past year, particularly here in our community, that comes from feeling stuck as I would say a predominantly liberal Jewish community who is familially and historically connected to Israel and its people, who is able to hold the multiple narratives, who wants to see the end of hostilities and yet, in the face other movements dedicated to peace and justice that feel uncomfortable if not outright hostile to the idea of Jewish survival and continuity. And that feeling that Jewish history, context, and future is excluded from the conversation.

We want to live as and be accepted as Jews. It feels uncomfortable when we are only accepted if we think the right way, or we say the right things, or we conform to the right norms. And honestly looking over Jewish history examples of when others were looking out for us feel hard to come by. We want to work in solidarity with others on issues of social justice. And we want to know that our allies have our safety and survival at heart, because that is of preeminent concern to us. Because we have that concern. Because we must have that concern.

Rabbi Hillel is the Way Forward to Peace

When we approach these High Holidays, we know that while we look back to the past, we do so not because we live there but because we need to learn from it. We can’t live in the past, we don’t live in the past. The past informs our future as we do our own work of self-reflection, seeing the ways we have strayed in the past year and committing to get back on path in the coming year.

And as so individually so too writ large. We can not undo the past, but we can use what we know to make a different future.

I firmly believe that the future of the Jewish people in Israel is tied up with the future of the Palestinian people. What I truly believe is needed, to sustain that Jewish survival, is a new path forward of mutual recognition and aid. If we believe in the future of the Jewish people, then we need to recognize not only our own suffering, but others’ as well. I do not see a military solution. We need a different way, to work to the halting of missiles, the release of the hostages, a ceasefire deal, a commitment to justice and a lasting peace, and a mutual recognition of the right to exist.

I say this not despite Jewish safety and security, but because of it. We want Jewish survival for ourselves. And that means we must want survival for others. And, what is also necessary, is that we need others to want it for us.

If Peace Requires Mutual Recognition, then Let’s Start at Home

If survival of the Jewish people is a Jewish value, then we can also commit to perpetuating the people in a place we have control, right here. If antisemitism is a movement to deny Jewish existence, then the response is to exist.

We at TBH have not been untouched by what is happening thousands of miles away. I have seen these issues played out here. I have felt your pain, witnessed your anger and your sorrow.

I have also felt here a tremendous vibrancy. I remind myself that people come to this place for many different reasons—to engage, and also to escape. People come for spirituality, for justice, for learning, for fun, for friendships. To enliven the wide diversity of Jewish identity and expression.

If we talk of Jewish continuity and survival, we must realize that despite our sometimes hopelessness and helplessness, we do have an opportunity and obligation, to ensure the survival of this community. We are a unique congregation: we do not serve an ideology, we serve a geography. We strive to be a big tent. That was the vision of our founders, that is the vision that drew me and keeps me here at this congregation.

And it is a vision that sustains us now, and yet can be challenging at times, because that’s what diversity is.  For a congregation like ours can not be any one thing. I know it is important to feel a sense of belonging, and that means seeing yourself reflected in the community. At the same time, each of us must take a leap of faith in presenting ourselves and committing to the community—in showing up—so as to contribute to that vitality and diversity.

It isn’t easy. I know it takes a commitment to be in community with those who have different views, and it has pained me knowing that this past year has created strain and tension in our community. And my hope, as a covenantal community—a community bound together by shared values, a shared past, and a shared future—we are able to weather that strain. It takes trust. It takes compassion. It takes humility.

My friend Rabbi Laurie Zimmerman presents a frame of justice-curiosity-empathy for communities. In our shared commitment to justice, can we be curious about another’s views? And can we then empathize with where they are coming from? And from that we then also treat each other appropriately, with respect?

We can be in community with those who don’t think like we do. However, we must want to be.

Let Us Own the Difficulty

In our corner of the Jewish world the pain has been palpable, we have all gone through it, including myself. We have been going through this together. Throughout this time I have tried to think about what my role is in all of this, what it means to be a Jewish community after October 7, ultimately thinking that I am here to serve as your rabbi, as your guide, as your pastor as it were. To help guide you and us through this difficult time. And I have tried, all while dealing with my own pain.

And while I have been deeply pained by the events in Israel and Palestine, in the Middle East, part of my pain comes from knowing not only could I not ease your pain, but that in some cases I was the source of your pain—by something said or unsaid, done or not done. And I may have said something or not said something tonight that upset you. It feels really challenging to speak on this tonight.

You may want me to say exactly what you want to hear, to affirm your own position. That is giving me a lot of power over you. You may want this community to do exactly what you want it to do. That is limiting the congregation, it is making it in your own image, an idol.  

I want you to find meaningful ways to engage on these issues as activist. And I want us to examine and understand the promise and the limits of this Jewish community. And I want us to know that we are all, together, bound to the Jewish past, committed to the Jewish future, and in relationship with one another as members of the Jewish people.

The term Israel predates the modern state by millennia. It is all over this book, and I find it interesting at times to need to explain that while the idea of land and sovereignty is ancient, this book does not reference a modern state. The modern state adopted the ancient word because it is the term that we have called ourselves since the Torah. When our ancestor Jacob physically wrestled with an angel, he was blessed with the new name Yisrael, Israel, one who wrestles with God.

I feel proud to have this as my Hebrew name. Harav Yisrael David ben Aharon v’Chaya.

So we wrestle. We wrestle. With God, with each other. With the totality of the Jewish people wherever they live. With Israel, with the Diaspora. With our history and our identity. Against those who seek to do us harm, and for our own existence. To create a better world for all its inhabitants.

So let us wrestle.

And work.

And change.

And hope.

And pray.

And survive.