My time here in Israel and Palestine is finally coming to an end today, and so I begin what will probably be a long period of reflection…
My routine during the second half of my trip has been noticeably different than the first. I’ve been finding more reasons to take a taxi from my door to the Bethlehem checkpoint, and less to walk across Bethlehem to Beit Jala to catch the bus. At some point I stopped reading, and started watching TV shows that I downloaded at work during the day… not even good tv, REALITY tv. Call it what you will, but I think of this change in my actions in terms of coping.
When I first arrived here in Israel and Palestine I soaked in everything like a sponge: the sights, the smells, the words, the emotions. I wanted to feel it all, I still do, but it quickly became overwhelming. I had a bit of a breakdown. And for the first time in my life, I actually sought out a Rabbi for spiritual guidance. I felt so lost, and was daily confronted with a harsh reality: that I had never felt so disconnected from my faith as I did here in Israel, surrounded by my fellow Jews.
There are radicals on most sides of most conflicts: people whose ideology strikes the majority of us (including me) as distasteful, shameful, hateful, crazy, or even evil. I don’t seek to justify these ideologies, but I do think that it is critical to try and understand them, to try to see these people as they see themselves and construct their realities. Even the Nazi’s or suicide bombers… None of them feel that their views are crazy, they all see the world through a lens that makes sense to them given their time, context and experience. There are some who believe that any form of explanation is a justification, and refuse to acknowledge any reasons, or roots, of the evil of people such as Hitler (this is a strand of Holocaust study). But to me this is a far worse form of fatalism… if we can’t try to understand, how can we ever hope to change, or prevent it from happening again? If suicide bombers are really monsters, if we can never hope to understand how their hatred developed, then we are all doomed to feel their terror forever. It would be like saying “Aw man, that disease is really horrible so it must not have a cure, instead of researching it, lets just send all of the afflicted people to an isolated island because they are screwed” (which we actually have done in the past with leprosy). Which to me sounds stupid, and defeatist. You have to understand the pathology of the disease to cure it.
But I digress, back to my story. So I am living in the West Bank because I wanted to understand the Palestinians, their point of view is rarely heard in the Western media. I wanted to see the reality on the ground, to get a feel for the “word on the Palestinian street.” And while I have not had any direct contact with people who are truly radical, I have tried to piece together some understanding of the context of their struggles from my experiences here. To some extent I feel that I have succeeded and have definitely broadened and deepened my understanding of the complex strands of life here in the Palestinian Territories.
At the same time that I have developed this understanding of Palestinian issues, my understanding of the right wing of Israel, of nationalist, religious Jews, has become murkier than ever. Not that I ever had a great understanding. I have never been made to feel welcome by an Orthodox Jew, never had a conversation with one really, I can still remember the way that men put their heads down and quickly crossed to the other side of the street when they saw us coming in Mea She’arim in 2000, and women dumped their trash on us from second story windows. For as long as I can remember I have always felt that this brand of Orthodox Jew was a hateful bunch.
This summer has just continued to confirm and deepen my resentments against religious, nationalist Jews here in Israel. At the same time, the fact that I can understand everyone but “my own people” has troubled me deeply. I am not 100% sure of why. I realize that they are radicals. And I realize that like Christianity, or like Islam, Jewish literature and law is vast, and from its depths it is possible to draw justification for a wide range of ideologies. Even though I realize this, their actions, taken in the name of Judaism, still weigh heavily on me. Perhaps it is because they are Jewish that I cannot understand them, perhaps I am harder on them, and expect more because they are supposed to be like me… in some ways at least. But this fervent, rabid, insular ideology practiced by the Jews of Mea She’arim, the settlers of Hebron, Lieberman (the Israeli Minister of Defense), bears so little resemblance to the faith that I practice and hold dear, that I cannot see any hints of myself in them.
I come from a family that is not very religious, in an area with few Jews, but for some inexplicable reason I have always felt close to my faith. Many people understand America’s Jewish Reform movement as the “non-observant” Jews. And I can’t blame them, because this is the way that many have observed in the Reform movement. But for those who take the time to dig deeper, the reform movement is a true ideology. It is the essence of Judaism. It is a branch of Judaism that tries to strip away the layers of centuries of rabbinic code, spun like a web around the Torah, to protect and maintain the Jewish identity during centuries in exile. These strict and at times quirky interpretations served an important purpose, and somehow the Jewish people did not assimilate, they survived intact in Diaspora: in the corners of Latin America in Eastern Europe, isolated, in ghettos, their attire exposed them as different, their dietary and Sabbath laws ensured that they could not live outside the communities, their faith turned inward. It was an amazing feat that in many ways I admire.
Today things are different, and the Reform movement recognizes that many of the practices that developed during this time served a purpose indeed, but they are not what Judaism is about, and are not necessary to observe Judaism. The American Reform movement peels back these layers, focusing on the laws at the heart of Judaism, not the isolationist code of East Europe. It is for this reason that Reform Jews appear to many to be less observant, because we believe that many of the customs of Orthodox Jews are holdovers from a different time, and the core concepts of Judaism can be practiced in full accord with a modern, integrated life.
Anyways, this is where I am coming from, and the ideology of many of the Jews here has struck me as particularly hateful. In their actions I really cannot see many of the ideals that lie at the core of my own faith: Where are the acts of kindness and mitzvot? The sanctity of every life? The pursuit of justice? Where I seek even a dim reflection of my own values, my roots, I see none. Many people here have elevated the value of land over that of human life in a way that strikes me as sacrilegious. How can this be Judaism? And if it is, then what am I? I cannot relate to this, nor do I want to. And yet these people have power here, and in many ways their actions are the actions of Israel. I see echoes of their extremism and paranoia even in mainstream society. I feel that it is for this reason that I have been so bewildered, so unable to understand.
I have been told that because I am Jewish, these people, the “religious nationalist crazies” if you will (my own terminology), love me. That when they go out of their way to tell me that Arabs are all liars, they are doing it because they care about me and feel that I really need to understand, it is for my own good. The settlers are there to reclaim all of Judea and Samaria for me, so that all of the Jewish people can be together in the Holy Land. If this is the case, then my message to these people is: thanks but no thanks, I want no part in your hatred.
But I know that regardless of what I want, I will always be tied to them in some way. As a Jew, I will always bear some of the burden of the actions of my fellow Jews, take some of the responsibility for their sins. Call it a birthright, if you will. Because of this, my thoughts of my future path have been changing recently. Just last quarter I wrote my big paper for my conflict resolution course on nonviolent strategies in the Palestinian Territories, and firmly believed that this is where I would be able to effect the most change. Now my focus has been shifting to the Israelis. I still do not feel that I have an adequate understanding of many of the motives and beliefs in Israel, and yet this is where the power lies, where the status quo is maintained.
So as I mentioned, in the middle of my crisis of faith earlier in the summer, I went to the Rabbi seeking words of wisdom, understanding, something that would make me feel better: immediate satisfaction. And as I sat in the Rabbi’s office with tears streaming down my face, I began to realize that no such words were coming. The pain that I felt, the anger, the grievance, the doubt… that was all very real, and it was there because the situation called for it. He could not say anything to change that. As long as the situation persists, there will be no words to assuage this pain. But in talking to the Rabbi I did realize that many people went through similar struggles upon coming to Israel; the Rabbi called it the “Israel syndrome”.
And although I gained no immediate satisfaction there in the Rabbi’s office, I have not cried since that day. I guess I gained some small comfort, or strength, in knowing that I was not alone in my internal struggles to maintain my own faith in the face of such painful contradictions. One thing the Rabbi said towards the end of our conversation has stayed with me, and echoed more loudly as the days pass. He said that while everything I said was true, my concerns were justified, and that he had no answers, he also said that the situation was ripe for opportunities for people like us, do-gooders, peacemakers, humanitarians, who want to make a difference. For him and many others here, it was addictive. And I can see why.
Thank you to those of you who have followed my blog this summer, hopefully you have gotten something out of it.
With that, Israel, I bid you farewell. L’shanah, haba’a b’Yerushalayim.
