Rabbi's Blog

Part of this was shared in a sermon for Yom Ha-Atzma’ut (Israel’s Independence Day), 2024, and also in The Scroll, Summer Edition.

Definitions

Zionism: it’s become a word with so much baggage. But simply put it means the movement for Jewish national self-realization in our historic homeland of Israel. So saying, “I’m a Zionist,” simply means that I support Israel’s existence as a nation and I feel connected to the Jewish homeland.

I'm writing this to share the story of my own evolution as a Zionist. In the 19^th Century, as Jews suffered persecution and sought better lives, not all Jews supported Zionism. For the very Orthodox, it was heresy to establish a Jewish state in Israel before the Messiah arrived. For early Reformers, there was no need for a Jewish state because our self-realization can be fulfilled wherever we live. The Holocaust made most Jews into Zionists, when it became clear that even the most enlightened countries, even our own United States, did not save Jews from genocide under the Nazis. Zionism exists to give any Jew in the world a safe haven and home.

But Zionism also has an aspirational dimension, the desire to create a society based on Jewish values. In Israel, Jews have the opportunity and responsibility to actualize and put into practice Jewish culture and ideals—and as Jews we have many different points of view on how that should be done!

My story: From Texas to the West Bank

I’m sure that there is a fading newspaper clipping of teenaged me somewhere, from 1975, standing in front of the Alamo (I'm from San Antonio), wearing a serious expression and a large button that says, “I am a Zionist” after the United Nations voted that “Zionism is Racism” in 1975. The Israel that I knew was small, beleaguered by implacable enemies, but also heroic, standing up to greater powers surrounding her. My freshman year at the University of Texas at Austin, a crack was opening in the walls of enmity, as Anwar Sadat courageously made a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and together with Menachem Begin, showed that peace can be possible.

Also during my Freshman year, a group of students from the Hillel attended the General Assembly of Jewish Federations, held that year in Dallas. The keynote speaker was Golda Meir, who had served as Israel’s first female prime minister. I listened entranced as she spoke about how she had felt the pull to go to Israel as a young woman and how she now saw young Americans coming to Israel with their backpacks because they, too, felt that pull. It seemed that she was looking right at us. The next year, everyone in our group went to Israel! This was long before birthright, and it was no 10 day trip, but a long term relationship.

Speaking of LTR’s, during that first year of college, I met a dashing non-commissioned officer in the Israeli Air Force who was training at Ft. Hood. The next year, I went off to Israel for a year abroad, secretly knowing that I intended to make Aliyah and do something practical with my life, like becoming a Hebrew poet. I studied at Bar Ilan University, graduated from Tel Aviv University, married Avraham and had our first two children. I wanted to live in Jerusalem but it was far beyond our means, so we moved to Ma’aleh Adumim, on the road to Jericho.

I didn’t move to the West Bank out of ideology, politics, or messianism, but because the government provided mortgages and other incentives for young Israelis to relocate there. However, I was somewhat right wing. I naively admired the Settler movement, and saw them as pioneers in the historic land of Israel.

Changes

A short time later, we came back to the states due to family reasons, and here we stayed, although we have made frequent visits back.  My Zionism began to change and expand when Avraham’s brother Danny became a conscientious objector. He had left home to join a kibbutz while in High School, and then fought prejudice against Moroccan Israelis to gain admission into the elite Paratroopers of the Israel Defense Forces. In the military, he pursued and captured terrorists. He served in combat in the first Lebanese war. But as the war dragged on, for the first time in Israel’s history, some began to question it. Was it a war for survival, or a military misadventure? When called back to serve in Lebanon again, Danny refused to go. Ultimately, Danny served two months in the brig, but was quickly reinstated in the army, although temporarily demoted to watching radar.  I interviewed Danny for a Jewish newspaper and was very moved by his story and the courage of his convictions, although I didn’t do anything as a result. But something inside me had started to shift.

The real turning point for me came in 1988, in the heart of Jerusalem, at Hebrew University on Mt. Scopus. I attended the Conference on Alternatives in Jewish Education and that conference marked my conversion to religious peacenik. It was the first Intifada (Palestinian uprising in territories), a time of soul-searching and questioning in the Jewish world. 

There on Mt. Scopus, another speech changed my life forever. It was given by Yehezkiel Landau, the deeply religious and idealistic founder of Netivot Shalom. He explained that this movement was much more than just “Shalom Achshav (Peace Now) with a Kippah.”  Landau said that Peace Now, the big secular peace movement, wanted a political solution, to give Israelis respite from war and to solve the often repeated problem that Israel cannot remain both Jewish and democratic and continue to control the terrorities. For that, they were willing to make territorial compromises. But the religious peace movements see the issues as moral and spiritual.

We acknowledge that the whole land of Israel is deeply sacred to us as religious Jews. But human dignity is more sacred than any land, for all human beings are created in be-Tzelem Elohim, in the image of God.

The fates of Jews and Palestinians are intertwined, he taught. We have something deeply in common; we both love the same holy land. Another phrase that he said stuck with me forever. Jews and Palestinians are even more than cousins, or even brothers. “Jews and Palestinians are like conjoined twins—joined at the heart—and the heart is Jerusalem.” So we have to learn to share even our holy city.

That day, I felt that I had heard more than a speech. I felt, “this is what it is like to hear the words of a Navi, a prophet.” From that moment on I became dedicated to peace from a religious perspective.

For a while, it seemed that this prophetic vision would be realized. With the Oslo accords, Israelis and Palestinians were on the road to peace. But at a massive pro-peace demonstration in Tel Aviv, November 4 1995, Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin was assassinated by an Israeli right-wing extremist. Later, with Arafat’s rejection of the Camp David talks led by President Clinton, the dream of peace faded.

Becoming a Peace activist

During the second, and much more violent Intifada that began in 2000, my two oldest daughters were living in Israel, and I also spent time there. As a mother, I was heartbroken by the loss of life on both sides. During those tumultuous times I forged a partnership with Nadir, who was born one day before me, just outside of Nablus, on the West Bank. I’m a rabbi, he’s an Imam who has a day job as an engineer. Mostly, Nadir is a Tzadik. Although he grew up seeing Israelis as the enemy and occupiers, he also saw another side of Israel when his father was treated at an Israeli hospital. Whenever we had a gathering, he prayed for the safety and well-being of people on both sides, in fact, his vision enlarged to understand that we are not on one side or the other, rather we are all together on the side of peace.

With the help of Libby and the late Len Traubman of San Mateo, CA, we started a Palestinian-Jewish living room dialogue. It wasn’t always easy, because there was a lot of tension, anger, and fear on both sides. Plus, many members of both our communities opposed what we were doing, seeing it as a kind of  “fraternizing with the enemy.” Among our many activities was bringing the first group of Palestinians to speak at CAJE, the Conference on Alternatives in Jewish Education. One of our members, Mohammed, was invited to speak at the closing session. He surprised 1700 assembled Jewish educators by explaining that he didn’t hear about the Holocaust until he was 28 years old, and then he spent two years studying to be sure it was true. He said, “I simply didn't want to believe it, because then I'd have to see the Jew as a victim, like myself. And human, like me. I'd have to change my whole way of thinking about you. . .Instead of wasting our time apart, dehumanizing one another, we must start coming together like this, understanding each other's stories and histories. I'm learning yours, and all I ask is that you hear mine."

Through our dialogue, we turned former enemies into personal friends, changed some hearts, and created a ripple effect among our own family and friends around the world. I know that my own five children were very impacted by being raised in this atmosphere. Some of our kids have made their life’s work in pursuit of human rights and peace.

The New Anti-Zionism

As the years went by and peace stayed out of reach, Israel has faced a new and formidable foe, in the court of public opinion. A new generation grew up with very different perspectives about Israel. Progressive activists and students questioned not only Israeli control of the Palestinian territories, but Israel’s very founding as a Jewish state, depicting Israel as a foreign colonial power rather than the return of a native people to its homeland.  Protestors have ignored (or are ignorant of) Israel’s numerous peacemaking offers over the decades, and constantly portrayed its self-defense as aggression. It is disturbing that Israel has been singled out, while violence and human rights violations that abound in the region are completely ignored. This made it high difficult for Jewish leaders to criticize Israel constructively when others were ready to tear it to shreds. We spent our time defending Israel’s right to exist, when we would rather be building bridges for peace.

October 7

Now we have entered an even more difficult time. First, as I wrote in a previous blog, Israel was rocked by many protests over the judicial changes sought by the most right-wing government in its history. Then, almost a year ago, on October 7, 2023, Hamas terrorists launched a massive attack on Israel, murdering many civilians and taking many hostages, many of whom, heartbreakingly, remain captive after ten months.  While Israel got a lot of support from American leadership, it was especially painful that some former social justice allies around the world showed a complete lack of empathy or even belief for the terrorism, murder and assault experienced by Israeli civilians. 

 Hundreds of Israeli soldiers have given their lives and thousands of Palestinians, including many civilians, have been killed and injured in the ensuring war. Israel has been attacked from by Hezbollah, by the Houthis, and both of these as emissaries of Iran, and as I write this post, the country is tense, anticipating another attack. Israel and Zionism have unfortunately become social and political flash points, with anti-Zionism sometimes become a cover for antisemitism. 

A liberal Zionist 

Liberal Zionism, the type I grew to embrace, has been derided by extremists on the right and the left.  Yet I'm still a liberal Zionist: believing in a two state solution, perhaps with a unique confederation - but that's a discussion for another day. It should be obvious that you can be for Jewish self-determination and safety while still caring about the lives and dignity of Palestinians. It should be obvious that you can love a country and its people deeply even if you strongly disagree with its current government. And as Yehezkiel Landau taught me, it  should be obvious that you can feel a tie to the land of Israel without being an ultra-nationalist.  

I'm very worried for family and friends in Israel and for the effects of the continued war on Jews around the world. I am heartbroken for all the terrible suffering endured by both Israelis and by Palestinians now and throughout the years. I don’t want to see future generations continue to suffer a never-ending cycle of violence and enmity. As one of Avraham’s brothers told us between running to his bomb shelter in Ashdod in the summer of 2014, “This conflict cannot be settled on the battlefield. It can only be settled around the negotiating table. There are many people like me in Israel who feel the same way, far more than you think.” 

Israel is the start-up nation, a leader in medicine, scholarship, and high-tech. The Jewish people are resilient and creative. I believe that together we can meet the challenge of peacemaking. I know it’s not just up to us, of course, but that doesn’t excuse giving up.  To paraphrase the first Prime Minister of Israel, David Ben-Gurion,: when it comes to Israel, the dreamer is the only realist. 

Over the past 40 years of personal wanderings, I have grown as a Zionist. I believe that my journey, while unique, has mirrored many of the developments of the Jewish people. I have moved from hawk to dove, from religious settler to religious peacenik. My youthful naiveté has gone, but I still nurture a spark of idealism. Israel’s national anthem is “HaTikvah,” the hope. To be a Jew, to be a Zionist, must mean to live with hope. And even more, to work tirelessly to make our hopes and dreams come true.