Rockets, refuge and retribution

The following is the text of the sermon I will give tonight at B'nai Jehudah, in my position as Rabbinic Intern.

Each day I wake up and check my phone for the news from Israel. Is this the day I need to prepare myself for a friend’s passing? How many people died overnight? Was it someone I knew? I walk through my day in a daze, unable to give work 100% of my attention, instead filled with dread and knots in my stomach, knowing my home is under fire. I find myself looking for airline tickets. I am sick with worry.

The country which I love with my entire being is under attack. My people, my neighbors, my friends are being terrorized and simultaneously engaged in this military action. The escalation has increased significantly from the kidnapping and murder of three Israeli teenagers, Gilad Shaar, Naftali Frankel, and Eyal Yifrach, to a revenge killing of Muhammed Hussein Abu-Khadir, an Arab teen, to an all out invasion into Gaza. 30 Israeli soldiers have been killed in this battle. Hundreds of innocent Arabs have been killed. The anguish I feel is all-consuming. I am plagued by questions of what to do with the bloodshed, the pain, and death.

The questions are ever-present. Our tradition says that we shall not kill, that we should protect ourselves against murder. So then, what does it mean to defend? How long can Israel sit and be bombarded with bombs before she acts, knowing there will be collateral damage in the wake? What do we do when people take a situation into their own hands, not consulting a higher power or the laws of human engagement?

In searching for these answers, I realized that this week’s Torah portion deals with just these complex ideas. It defines what רצח, murder is, tells us how to handle the bloodshed that occurs. The parsha even goes so far as to delineate what encompasses a city of refuge, who can go there and why.

Anyone who takes a life sustains some sort of punishment. The parsha specifies, for instance, that only one who murders another intentionally should be punished by a blood-avenger, or a close family member who becomes a state-appointed agent. Only certain objects or means of killing count as 1st degree murder. In Numbers 35:21, the explanation is that “if [a man] pushed [someone] in hate or hurled something at him on purpose and death resulted,” the instigator can be put to death. That insinuates that those people throwing rockets at Gaza, and those doing so from Gaza into Israel deserve punishment.

I think to myself “that cannot be right.” The idea of killing members of the Israeli army for sending rockets into Gaza doesn’t seem like a good solution to me, but nor does allowing Hamas operatives who bombard Israel with rocket fire to continue to do so. Following orders cannot be punishable by death, can it? The parsha doesn’t suggest what to do when people are dying on both sides of the conflict. It doesn’t clarify how to support Israel, while your moral compass is telling you that innocent death is wrong. Nor does it give an option for what to do when the people firing the rockets are simply following orders, not the ones making the ultimate decisions.

We, as Jews, come from a place that maintains the importance of life above all else. That claim is being threatened by the idea of a real-life situation where lives will be lost on a daily basis, on both sides of the conflict. My heart says that Israel must support herself, despite the death count, but then I hear another voice saying that any death is still death. The question then becomes, not how do we define murder, but how do we maintain our morality in this sea of death?

The Torah, as any good teacher does, offers some kind of hope and solution to this moral dilemma. This hope comes in the form of cities of refuge, ערי המקלט. The purpose of a city of refuge is to offer asylum to one who has accidentally killed another individual and is worried for his own life. He can turn to one of these six cities of refuge and be given peace of mind that he is safe and protected as long as he is within the city limits. At the time when the tribe where the murder took place is ready to prosecute, the suspected killer is taken to court and brought to justice. This is our first of two positives offered by the cities: a person gains protection until a court steps in to judge. The second positive we glean is that time is offered to let minds and hearts not directly emotionally involved in the circumstances preside over the trial.

Yet, how does this relate to modern-day Israel. The word מקלט in Hebrew means shelter, specifically air raid shelter. This is where Israelis go every time they hear the air raid siren, marking another rocket being launched at them. Therefore, Israel has a few more than six ערי-מקלט, we have thousands. These shelters literally save lives. They serve their purpose, of housing people from the barrage around them and give them sanctuary for a few minutes. Although these shelters are not necessarily used to shelter suspected killers, we see that the refuge is still imperative.

Were we to consider these cities of refuge as actual cities again, we might still be able to imagine it in today’s escalating skirmish. I know intrinsically that there is not one individual that is firing these rockets into Gaza or into Israel. Rather, many people are responsible for each rocket being sent over the wall. Many of these people are likely the unintentional killers we hear about in our parsha. The intention of their commanders may be to kill, but they personally do not wish to kill anyone. That moral dilemma and conscience weighs strong. This is where the cities of refuge come in. Those who know they have taken innocent lives may search in vain for a way to rationalize what they have done or are currently doing. They are the ones who need the cities of refuge. They need a place to put distance between themselves and their actions, to be judged by an outside party with no revenge to be had.

The Torah delineates six rules of how exactly we go about the process of negotiating a legal decision when it comes to murder. This is supposed to be about what happens when one person commits murder, detailing how the murder should be avenged, or not avenged, and how to bring resolution to the initial conflict. However, we are not told what to do when multiple deaths occur and it is not one person doing the killing, but one people against another. Nor are we given the guidelines for what to do when there are chains of command, with a Commander telling his soldiers what to do, therefore potentially changing the onus from the person doing the action to the Commanding Officer.

Perhaps, when this war is over, a conclusive solution can be reached. The International Criminal Court of the United Nations, a supposedly unbiased body, might be able to try those in the upper echelons of both Hamas leadership and the Israeli military. I don’t want to see my brothers and sisters as killers, but nor do I want to see my neighbors as killers either. I lived and worked with Arabs. I ate lunch with them everyday. I shared gossip with them. They aren’t killers either. Many of them are my friends as well. I want to see retribution, so Israel maintains her right to exist, and so I don’t feel this moral dilemma of who is responsible for these deaths.

Yet right now, there is no solution. At least not one that will leave everyone happy and all parties feeling they have gotten what they ask for/deserve. Each party is currently grieving and feels they are in the right with regard to killings in this Operation. Each party wants to gain justice. But if both sides continue to pursue justice on their own, they will continue to bring death, hatred and pain to the world. 

Unfortunately, these six rules for what to do when homicide occur do not have a timeline attached to them. They do not say exactly when we should enact the process and how to carry it out. Especially during times of war when emotions are high and anger flies faster than the rockets in the sky.

For now, we must recognize that there is no easy solution. Yet, there can be a tempering of hate and anger, a conscious effort to fill the world with more love and peace. Although naive, the more love we bring into the world, the more we counter the hate around us. We must recognize that these laws of what to do with homicide were put down for us, as the Jewish people, to bring expiation. If we acknowledge that, we can cease to take life and death matters into our own hands.

How do we bring about this tempering of hate and anger? We must reach out to our Muslim neighbors, engaging them in conversation and friendship. We can give money to Israeli organizations like OneFamily and the Reform Movement in Israel (the IMPJ) who help make life in these places of refuge a little easier. We can write our Congressmen/woman, urging them to suggest respite for both Palestinian and Israeli children caught up in this struggle. We can and must make our voices heard.

This Shabbat, may we gain peace and and understanding with our brothers and sisters. May we merit to live in a place where rockets do not rain down and hatred is not the modus operandi. May this Shabbat bring us compassion and time to consider how we can bring betterment to our broken world.

Pinchas and Protective Edge

This week's parsha, Pinchas, BaMidbar 25:10-30:1 is an odd one. It doesn't stand out as much as last week's (Parshat Balak), but it has a seemingly strange conglomeration of events and laws that occur or are prescribed to the Jewish people. We are first faced with the end of the story that ended last week's parsha: the Israelite men cohabiting with Moabite/Midianite women. Pinchas is named as the one who kills the Israelite Zimri and his Midianite woman, Cozbi. For his service, God tells Pinchas that he will always have a part of the covenant and the priesthood, because he acted for God, was jealous for God and atoned for the people.

Next comes the census. After forty years of wandering in the desert, Moses wants to know who is with him and to which tribe they ascribe. He needs the count of all men over the age of twenty in order to know how to distribute the land once the people get into the land of Israel. He counts out all the people, and when the results are compared to the first census, the numbers are pretty similar. The census may actually be a foreshadowing to what will happen next in the parsha (after a short break for women's inheritance rights), with Moses being told he will die, asking for a predecessor and having Joshua appointed. Joshua is appointed איש אשר-רוח בו, because there is spirit in him (Numbers 27:18). He is charged with the responsibility, but more importantly, he is charged with leadership. He must lead the people, them following him wherever he goes.

However, the intervening story is an incredible one of women's rights, not often espoused in our Torah. We hear the daughters of Zelophahad asking for land inheritance, even though they are not sons and therefore would not normally be given inheritance (at this time, land was passed on patrilineally). God takes their plea and sets down the laws of inheritance, making land go first to a son, then to a daughter, then to the man's brother and continuing. Women get something in the end!

Lastly, we are given the laws for sacrifices, moving from daily sacrifices, toward the one for Shabbat, for Rosh Hodesh, and then for the חגים, the holidays. We are told how many of each animal to sacrifice, with what to do the sacrifice, and when in particular on that holidays. The holidays are given in order, starting with Passover.

This week, I am struck by a parallel between the census and Joshua's appointment as leader, and the current situation in Israel, named in English, Operation Protective Edge. Getting updates on my phone every time there is a siren in Israel, I am constantly bombarded with these news flashes. Each one makes the knot grow a little tighter in my stomach. I am homesick. I am desperate. I want to be back in Israel. A mentor asked why I didn't just hop on a plane, go back there. I responded that I have responsibilities, a job, things I cannot simply abandon. She suggested that if it's that important, the people will understand. In the end, I felt that as much as I have a responsibility to Israel, I also have a responsibility to things to which I have already committed myself. Yet I still find myself daily checking prices for flights to Tel Aviv.

How does that connect to the census and to Joshua. The census was taken as the people stood on the brink of entrance to the holy land. They were preparing to go in, to take their place in a land that had been their carrot, their promise for over forty years. There is no question that they knew it would not be easy or perfect, but they were going into the land. The census is our indication that this is real. Israel today also does a census, taking account of who lives within her borders and where they are. Yet, Israel must also must take into consideration the people living within her at-on-time borders, in Gaza, those who now attack her in hatred. Although not the same thing, we also needed to firmly determine who was part of the Israelite people, and who was not. That would be the indication for Joshua as to who he would take into the land.

Our census from entering the land and our census statistics from this past Israeli Independence Day are hugely different in number, and are not recorded according to tribe. But the census is a gathering of the people, forcing them to come together and share in their common identity. These past few days, we have been forced to come together as a Jewish people, to acknowledge that despite differences, we are one people and must rally behind whatever decisions our Israeli leaders make. Joshua and Moses both made unpopular decisions, but they had to be carried out. So too, must we continue to stand with Israel, understanding that we may not always agree with the decisions promulgated from the top, but that she and her citizens need our support and our prayers.

This Shabbat, as we prepare to read the counting of the people, may we also count our blessings. No matter where we are in the world. we have blessings, however big or small, and we must acknowledge them if we are to bring more love and peace into the world. May this Shabbat bring quiet to those around the world, and a calm to those who need it. May it be God's will. Amen.

Jerusalem: an inspiration

There is nothing like Jerusalem to stir up turmoil, excitement, frustration, and just engage the brain.

Thursday night, en route to the holy city, I never expected to find so much fulfillment in two days, but every fiber of me is feeling very much fulfilled and satisfied with all that has transpired.

Friday was the beginning, with an eye-opening trip with T'ruah. We visited Silwan, where Ahmed, a Palestinian facing a very real threat of eviction and house demolition, not to mention the permanent fixture of a bullet  embedded in his leg. Next, Yoni Mizrachi spoke to us about archaeological records and how the artifacts found at Ir David (which in itself possesses a controversial name) may not necessarily be from the time of the kingdom of David. Lastly and most impactful to me was the visit to Sheik-Jarra. Here, we spoke with a lovely Palestinian woman who told us of her experience with the Israeli government and Jews. This beautiful and proud woman demonstrated that she moved to her current house in 1956 and is currently under threat of eviction. Two doors down, we saw the evidence that these evictions were not fiction, but rather hard and true fact. This small neighborhood has slowly been turned into an orthodox enclave, complete with the supposed grave of Shimon haTzadik.

As we stood listening to this woman share her experience, we watched an orthodox woman walk down the street with her three young sons, covered head to toe in a black burka. Having never seen this outfit, I was taken aback and couldn't help but stare. It was explained that this was another way for woman to feel they were maintaining their modesty. To me, it felt like a step too far. We were shown houses taken over by Jews and the cameras surrounding them, in order to 'protect' the Jews. The same explanation was given about the guards provided by the housing ministry: they were simply there to protect. The fact that two people had died in the past few years could never be blamed on them (although it seemed sensible that it would be). All in all, this experience really nagged at me and made me question what I want to believe in in this country, with what I feel comfortable. Most importantly, I felt UNPREPARED TO WELCOME SHABBAT. How could I, when Jews were the persecutors and I felt partly to blamed. Even more, how could I even think of writing a d'var Torah for the week, when this dilemma was real and continued daily in these people's lives.

In looking at the parsha, I found an answer. Rivka is struggling with her pregnancy and asks God what is happening. God's explanation focuses on the two nations within, and what will become of each. God's answer, in Genesis 25:23, provides an example, but one that we shouldn't necessarily utilize: Two nations are in thy womb, And two peoples shall be separated from thy bowels; And the one people shall be stronger than the other people; And the elder shall serve the younger. This answer almost gave me chills, it was so easy to interpret in a way that was against the Palestinian population. Yet these two warring nations must live together, must be in the same place. And that is not the circumstances in this country of Israel. Rather, the Palestinians are continually forcibly evicted from their homes and told to go elsewhere, without compensation.

Nothing about this experience is fair or right, but recognizing the oddity that I was able to find at least something in the text, for this week, that relates to this tragedy was heartening (and scary). Because if I can find an explanation in support of the Palestinians, so can the orthodox find a parek against these people. That's the part I struggle with the most: knowing that there is always another verse, another explanation from the opposite direction. Fortunately, I at least know how I feel and that truth must be told. That is the purpose of this week's drash.

This evening, walking home from a viewing of the woman of the wall documentary with a rabbi whom I had just met a few hours previously, I was recounting my experience to her and she made a comment that really made me think. She assessed that not only is the struggle Rivka experiences in her womb representative of two sons and two nations, but the dilemma we each feel inside of us. We feel the push and pull of what is right and wrong, what we believe in and what we don't. So more importantly, we must remember the internal struggle and allow our hearts to remind us what is right, what wrong, and for what we simply need to ask for more information!

The labors of my harvest

Last Friday I participated in olive picking with a group called Rabbi's for Human Rights. The following is my reflection on the work we did and what it means, especially with regard to the past week's Torah portion, parshat Noach.

While my parents were here, we went on a 20 km hike. At the very end, the Israel trail traverses many groves of fruit trees. We passed some trees which smelled absolutely incredible and I wanted to figure out what they were. I wanted to know what kind of citrus was bring grown here and if it was ripe. One particular piece had a pinkish-orangish tint and I picked that one. Opening that fruit, someone working in the grove next to me shouted out at me. Although I wasn't sure what he said, I knew he wasn't happy. Walking away, I continued eating and enjoyed the wonderful grapefruit.

About a week later, I was in an olive field, picking olives with Palestinian farmers in the west bank. Instead of being uncomfortable, I felt at home. The people we were working with were picking right next to us, with people from very different places peacefully standing next to each other. There was no negativity towards us, no hostility, only strength from them and passion of the work they themselves were engaged in.

However, I realized, in the de-briefing from our trip, that to take fruit from another persons tree is something discussed in the mishna. One masechet says that you can take the figs that fall from the ground, but to take from another's tree is forbidden. The fruit of those trees is their hard work and their profit, what will bring them profit and support them. Yet, there I was, standing in an olive field, picking dozens upon dozens of olives of another persons tree. This time, it was for good, on behalf of someone else. I was not doing something wrong. I was helping but balance back in the world.
The wrong was there, it seems to follow closely in many places of the world. There are the soldiers who won't let people into their own fields, or only allow them in for a very short time. There are the people in the town or settlement or village a few miles away who come in the middle of the night and steal olives or burn trees past the point of salvage. There are natural causes that don't allow the trees to prosper for that year. Whatever the reason, the olive harvest does not always look so positive, laid-back, and community building.

The olive, the representation of land that the dove brought back to Noah after the flood. The ideal of peace that now girds our minds and our hearts, hoping to see peace and connection between divergent peoples. The light and source of light for many centuries. The food source and cooking staple that still resonates in our kitchens. That piece of fruit, one of the seven species that make up Israel and demonstrates the growth that can be found here, represented connection to a people not that different from those on the other side of the border. The Palestinian harvesters were our friends for a few hours, wanting to show us their lives and how they lived, that they weren't much different than us. The olive formed that connection and the oil that flows from them will hopefully one day flow freely between the borders and allow a shared community to be fostered.