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We are all challenged to live fully and most impactfully in the time in which we live. We don’t get to pick that time or the duration of our lives, but we can aim to meet the crises and moral needs of our day with as much energy, spirit, and presence as we can. And, if we are lucky enough to be a leader, we can devote these qualities to witnessing and communicating these moral needs to others.
People have spoken about how Israel and the Jewish people, especially since Oct. 7, 2023, have been under threat from growing antipathy to Israel and anti-Semitism. We are at risk right now. But, as much as folks are concerned about the physical safety of Jews, I believe that we are called to a deeper question: What is at stake right now is nothing less than the moral fiber of what it means to be a Jew.
Our people knows what it means to witness our suffering and speak about it in the world. We claim “Never Again” as a birthright. And, yet, we are in danger of relinquishing this birthright. We are at risk of failing to live up to the demands of the moment—demands like compassion, justice, restraint, and peace-making; demands like deep listening, multiple perspectives, and fostering a shared humanity. These values are at the core of the Jewish project, no less so than our physical survival. They make Jewishness not only an identity for which we would die, but also one worth living for.
This was the dream of Zionism: that we might build a Jewish homeland in which Jews can thrive; and in which we can live out our age-old Jewish ideals. Israel, then, hits at a tender spot in the Jewish soul–not least my own. I have had a complicated relationship with Israel over the years, perhaps fittingly so. I was agog with the wonder of the Land when I visited as a teen. Later in my life, I struggled to understand Israel in its authenticity, without having to apply the lens of my Americanism--which felt like it would be disingenuous and self-centered. As I have grown, my relationship(s) have deepened–with Israel, with Israelis, and with communities in Israel. This is where our family dwells; it is where we come from. And, yet, Israel, even with its injustices, corruption and militarism, struggles still for its–and for our–soul, filling me with hope, pride, and tears. I feel more deeply than perhaps any other time in my life or my rabbinate, that I have a role to play in this conversation: whether through witnessing, learning, teaching, sharing, or speaking.
I am grateful to have a chance to visit Israel during this trying time. I aim to witness, assist, cry with, learn from, and wrestle with the many difficult contradictions and fears in which we find ourselves.
Since Oct. 7, I have been working from the pulpit, in the public forum, and with students in our classes at KI, to help us all thoughtfully hold the complexity and the ethical imperatives of this moment. In visiting the Land of Israel and in visiting Palestine during this time, I will stand in solidarity with our suffering people, and in solidarity against the suffering of people. I aim to complicate and deepen KI’s engagement (across the age spectrum) with this profoundly challenging moment in our Jewish narrative. I hope such an opportunity will be a boon to my leadership at KI and in the Lehigh Valley, and that it will help me continue to craft meaningful conversations about Eretz Yisrael and the meaning of Zionism and Jewish identity for our community.
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