D'var Torah

Rosh Hashanah D'var Torah

IIn The Art of Possibility, Rosamund Stone Zander and Benjamin Zander tell the following story:

Legend has it that an encounter took place between King Christian X of Denmark and a Nazi officer shortly after the occupation of the Danish capital in April 1940. It is said that when the king looked out the window of the palace and saw the Nazi flag with its swastika flying over the roofs of the government buildings, he called for a meeting with the commander of the occupying forces.

The King requested the flag be removed. The Nazi officer refused.

King Christian walked a few feet away and spent some moments in thought. He approached the officer once more.

“And what will you do if I send a soldier to take it down?”

“I will have him shot,” the officer replied.

“I don’t believe you will,” said the king quietly, “when you see the soldier I send.”

The officer demanded that the sovereign explain himself.

King Christian said, “I will be the solider.”

The flag came down within the day [p. 165].

Leaders who become their vision often seem uncommonly brave to the rest of us. As a conduit for carrying a vision forward, they simply don’t resist stepping into the breach with everything they have if they see that is what is called for. As Lillian Smith, an acutely perceptive white Southern civil rights activist once said, “To believe in something not yet proved and to underwrite it with our lives: it is the only way we can leave the future open.”

Abraham was one such leader who became his vision. And yet, we are all terribly bothered by the story of Akedat Yitzhak, the Binding of Isaac. While we all know how the story will turn out, each and every year we wrestle with the account of the parent prepared to sacrifice a child and of the child bound on the altar. Our emotions fluctuate between awe, horror, admiration, anger and relief – we focus on the knife and the wood, the fire and the altar, the ram caught in the thicket. The gleam of the knife raised, poised to action, and reminds us of the comment ascribed to Rabbi Moshe Leib in Martin Buber’s Tales of the Hasidim, “The way of this world is like the edge of a blade. On this side is the netherworld, and on that side is the netherworld, and the way of life lies in between.”

Historically, we Jews have walked on the edge of a blade, finding our path through history, carefully wending our way toward our vision of a society perfected under the Sovereignty of God. Heirs to Avraham Avinu, our Father Abraham, we have been raised for generations “To believe in something not yet proved and to underwrite it with our lives: it is the only way we can leave the future open.”

Why not just step away? Why not walk away from inflamed passions or cool indifference and blend into the societies in which we have chosen to live? Why not choose to take another path, avoid the demands, expectations, challenges and sacrifices demanded of us as Jews and walk away? Because we cannot. As Jews, we must assure the existence of Jews, Judaism and of a Jewish state. God, Torah and Israel remain the sacred triad of our very being. My teacher, Gerson D. Cohen, z”l, wrote: “The rabbis could no more conceive of Judaism without the land of Israel than they could have without the people of Israel.” By historic covenant we are bound to God in an eternal alliance, challenged by the demands and expectations of the Jewish people, permanently connected through our prayers, hopes, aspirations and contemporary reality to a land in which to put our Judaism to work in the service of a sovereign, independent Jewish state.

Ruth Gavison, senior fellow at the Israel Democracy Institute and Haim H. Cohn Chair in Human Rights at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, in a recently published essay to which I am deeply indebted for many of the ideas that follow [“On the Jewish Right to Sovereignty” Azure: Ideas for the Jewish Nation, Number 15 (Summer 5763/2003), pp. 70-108], argues that Israel as a state has an obligation to protect the rights of all its citizens, to treat them fairly and with respect, and to provide equally for the security and welfare of its non-Jewish minorities. Yet these demands do not require a negation of the state’s Jewish character. It is the duty of every democracy to reflect the basic preferences of the majority, so long as they do not infringe on the rights of others. In Israel’s case this means preserving the Jewish character of the state. Writes Gavison,

Zionism emerged as a response to two interrelated problems: the persecution of the Jews on the one hand, and their widespread assimilation on the other. For years, the Zionist movement claimed that only a Jewish state could ensure the safety of Jews around the world. But the Jewish people survived for two thousand years without a state and often in difficult conditions. Especially in the West, for the past several generations, Jews have enjoyed an unprecedented level of security and freedom of cultural expression. In part, this success may come from a sense of belonging Jews feel toward Israel, and the knowledge that there exists in the world a country committed to their safety.

The problem of assimilation presents Israel with a different challenge. Israel offers the possibility of a richer Jewish life than could ever be found in the diaspora, and not merely because Israel is the only country with a Jewish majority. The public culture of the state is Jewish, the language of the country is Hebrew, national holidays commemorate Jewish religious festivals and historical events, and the national discourse is permeated with concern for the fate of the Jews. In addition state lands, immigration, and the defense of the civilian population are all in the hands of a Jewish government. In just half a century, Israel has become home to the strongest Jewish community in the world—a role that is likely to become even more pronounced in the years ahead, as assimilation and emigration gradually reduce the power and influence of Jewish communities in the diaspora.

For observant Jews—even those who are opposed to Zionism—the advantages of a Jewish state are obvious. Certainly anyone who has practiced an observant lifestyle in both Israel and the diaspora knows how much easier it is in the Jewish state.

A less obvious, but arguably greater advantage of a Jewish state is the cultural reinforcement it offers to secular Jews, whose Jewish identities are more fluid and generally lack the internal safeguards possessed by their observant counterparts. For only in Israel, with its Jewish public culture, can Jewish identity be taken for granted as the default option, and the cultivation of any other identity requires a special effort—the kind of effort all to familiar to diaspora Jews, who must struggle to maintain their links to Judaism.

In addition to offering Jews a safe haven from the forces of assimilation, a Jewish state offers the possibility of an exceptionally vibrant secular Jewish life. Since the rise of the Zionist movement, the Jewish people has witnessed the creation, in Hebrew, of countless new works of literature, poetry, and philosophy, whose wellsprings of inspiration are Jewish beliefs, customs, and history. This immense creative activity benefits Jews everywhere, for it offers wide new possibilities for a Jewish identity that is not dependent on halacha, or Jewish law.

For Jews, in both Israel and the diaspora, the loss of the Jewish state would mean the loss of all these advantages. Without a Jewish state, the Jews would revert to the status of a cultural minority everywhere. And as we know from history, the return of the Jews to minority status would likely mean the constant fear of a resurgent anti-Semitism, persecution, and even genocide—as well as the need to dedicate even more resources to staving off assimilation. I do not feel that I am being overly dramatic, then, concludes Gavison, if I say that forgoing a state is, for the Jewish people, akin to national suicide.

The benefits of Israel for Jews are mirrored by the price exacted from its Arab citizens. In a Jewish state, Arab citizens lack the ability to control their own public domain. The national language and culture are not their own. Their personal and cultural security are dependent on the goodwill and competence of a rule they perceive of as alien. All these are harder for Arabs to accept since they used to be a majority in the land, and have become a minority despite the fact that they remained on their land. The Jewish state is an enterprise in which the Arabs are not equal partners, in which their interests are placed below those of a different national group—most of whom are newcomers to the land, and many of whom are not even living in the country.

Israel faces significant internal and external challenges. Economic disparity, the haves and the have-nots increasingly divide Israeli society, and conflicts between Jews and non-Jew, secular and religious, Left and Right. And yet, the Jewish state is, in many ways, a major success—especially if we consider the circumstances under which it must contend. In terms of democracy, Israel is far ahead of its neighbors, and far ahead of where it was in its early years. Israel’s economy and its scientific achievements place it among the world’s most developed countries. Israel boasts an open, self-critical society with considerable political freedom, and its rule of law and judicial independence rival those of the healthiest democracies. And all of this without the benefit of rich natural resources. Israel has not yet achieved a stable peace with many of its neighbors. Such an agreement should remain a goal, recognizing and remembering that such an agreement does not depend on Israel alone. Looking back and ahead, Israel has much to offer its citizens, both Jews and Arabs.

Israel is the state of the Jewish people. It needs to take the necessary steps to preserve this status in the future. As Gavison points out, this is no small aspiration:

The history of the land of Israel is strewn with the remains of many peoples and cultures. Israel’s Jewish majority need not apologize for seeking to retain the Jewish identity of the state, but it must recognize the rights of Palestinians living between the Mediterranean and the Jordan. This includes their right to express their own unique identity both through an independent state of their own alongside Israel, and as a minority within the Jewish state. This issue cannot be wished away, it must be confronted and addressed.

The hope that the Jews of Israel will become more culturally homogenous is the stuff of fantasy. Israel will never be either wholly secular or wholly religious, wholly East or wholly West. Notes Gavison, Israel will never be a Western European country, nor will it be a typical Levantine one. But the tensions that arise from these various dualities are hardly to Israel’s detriment: The strength of Israeli society is derived from the combination its elements. Israel must struggle to protect the unique combination of cultures, traditions, and identities that make up the Jewish state. Every group should feel at home, and no one group should be capable of imposing its ways on others. Upholding this principle will serve the ends of the majority and safeguard the uniqueness of the minorities.

Rabbi Tarfon reminded us nearly two thousand years ago, “It is not for us to finish the work,” lo alaynu ha-melakha l’gmor (Avot 2:21). Writes Gavison,

Our generation is not responsible for establishing a Jewish state; rather, we are responsible for preserving it for future generations, and fore ensuring that it is passed on to our children as a worthy inheritance. This means recognizing the diversity of Israel’s citizenry and the complexity of living together. Our generation needs to channel this diversity to good ends, even when one group’s aspirations do not line up perfectly with those of the state as a whole. The key to success will be in our ability to walk carefully on the edge of the sword and to preserve the delicate balance between what unites us and what makes us different.

“To believe in something not yet proved and to underwrite it with our lives: it is the only way we can leave the future open.”

Just before Rosh Hashanah began in Jerusalem last Friday, a just-turned 23-year old, sent the following e-mail:

Shalom from Jerusalem. I remember vividly, how excited I was this past Passover when we read L’Shanah HaBa’a BiYerushalayim and knew that it would be true. This Yom Kippur, as well, after Ne’ilah, we will say the phrase, Next Year in Jerusalem. But what does that truly mean? To us in the States, we often say it simply in passing, having just heard the final Shofar blast and looking forward to the end of the fast. As I stand here in Israel, I look at this line as a prayer, one that is shared by many of us in Israel today. We hope and pray that next year there will still be a Jerusalem in which to spend these High Holy Days.

How many of you in this room can still remember a time when there was no unified Jerusalem? Some of you may remember a time when there was not a Jewish homeland at all. I fear for the future of the Jewish state, and Jerusalem its capital, not because of Yasser Arafat, but because too many of us have committed the sin of neglect: neglecting to speak up for Israel in our schools and workplaces, neglecting to support Israel’s businesses and needy, and worst of all, neglecting our opportunities to go and experience the land.

On these High Holy Days, while we ask forgiveness from God for all of our sins, let us also remember that we must do our part as well in order to truly atone for our sins. The final stage of repentance is pledging never to commit the sin again, and in this case, not allowing another year to go by without our continued support. As opposed to simply saying, “L’shanah HaBa’a biYerushalayim,” and praying for God to enable that to happen, let us call out, Next Year in Jerusalem, and truly mean it not only because it is God’s will but ours as well. Let us not allow Israel to stand alone in her time of need. Let is not only stand with Israel, but stand in Israel as well.

If you question the feasibility of such an option, let us always remember the timeless words of Theodore Herzl, Im Tirzu Ain Zo Aggadah, “If you will it, it is no dream.” I will be here until May, and if you do decide to come and visit, dinner’s on me. L’Shanah Tova and I look forward to seeing all of you real soon.

Eytan

And so,

We pray for Israel,
Both the mystic ideal of our ancestors’ dreams,
And the living miracle, here and now,
Built of heart, muscle, and steel.

May this little country, so great, endure,
Surviving the relentless, age-old hate,
And the rumblings that warn of war.

May Israel continue to embrace our homeless
And bind the ingathered firmly into one people.

May we always dare to hope
That in our day, the tragic isolation will end,
That all the displaced, Arab and Jew,
Will be rooted again,
That Israel and her neighbors will touch hands in peace.
And let us all say, Amen.

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