Reflections from Jerusalem on a Difficult Few Weeks

Tuesday night, July 8.  My friend and I had just left his apartment building in Jerusalem when we heard the alarm siren.  We looked at each other and realized that we needed to go back into the building and search for the shelter.  When we asked a few residents of the building where the shelter was, they responded with a single Hebrew word, “אין ein.” There is no shelter in our building.  So we all stood together on the landing of one of the floors, two American rabbis, half a dozen young Israeli women and an ultra-Orthodox family with young children tugging on their mother’s dress and telling her they were scared.

Hostility and fear have risen steadily in Israel over the past weeks.  Three Israeli boys were kidnapped and murdered by Palestinian terrorists while returning from yeshiva.   A Palestinian boy was lit on fire by Israeli terrorists on his way home from morning prayers.  Rockets, fired by Hamas into the south of Israel for years, increased in frequency and distance as the IDF began its operation in Gaza.

What’s it like to be in Israel when all this is going on?  As journalist and Hartman faculty member Yossi Klein-Halevi put it, Israelis seldom have time to process events since they unfold so rapidly.  Along with our Israeli brothers and sisters, we offered condolences to the families of the Israeli boys and condemned the killings.  (My colleagues and I were among thousands who attended the funeral.)  Several days later, we offered condolences to the Palestinian family and condemned the killing.  (Hundreds of Israelis, including rabbis, went to the home of slain boy, Muhammed abu Khdeir, to offer condolences and to condemn the murder.)  And now we go about our business, making sure we are never too far from a place that is at least reasonably safe in case the rocket siren goes off again which it did, two days after the first one.

Friday morning, July 11.  Taking advantage of some quiet time as Shabbat approaches, I’m trying to gather a few thoughts about this situation. Considering the often divergent reactions to these events, I can’t help but think how much our own personalities and sensibilities affect our perception of reality.  Recent events, it seems, have intensified people’s innate perspectives across the spectrum.  Those inclined to reject the possibility of reconciliation between Israelis and Palestinians view these events as evidence for their thinking.  These include people who wish for reconciliation but doubt its likelihood and people who have profound hatred for those on the other side.  Several nights ago, in the center of Jerusalem, I witnessed a rally of Israelis shouting, “Death to the Arabs! Death to the left-wingers!”  Though it rhymes nicely in Hebrew, it is no less disconcerting.  

Those inclined to pursue opportunities for reconciliation regard recent events as evidence of the increasingly desperate need for it.   In Israel and in the US, events are being coordinated that bring together Jews and Muslims who deplore the violence and seek to acknowledge their shared humanity.   Yishai Frenkel, the uncle of one of the murdered Israeli boys, responded to the murder of the Palestinian boy with the following statement:  “Murder is murder. There is no forgiveness or justification for any murder.”  

Notwithstanding divergent perspectives, it does seem that a large swath of the Israeli political spectrum supports the incursion into Gaza.  Ofer Shelah, chair of the Knesset’s Yesh Atid party, offered his hope that the incursion would buy a few years of quiet from Hamas.  Following the murder of the Palestinian boy, but before the murderers were discovered, he said, “A country that has to deal with cruel, soulless enemies needs to keep its cool and stand determinedly for morals and justice, which are the sources of our strength.” (Jerusalem Post, 7/3/14)

Leaving aside individual perspectives and how they manifest in ideology and action, I am struck by the widespread resilience I see around me.  To be sure, many people seem shaken up by the situation.  Personally, I find it chilling to hear the siren go off.  The uncertainty that follows as people scurry for safety and await the outcome is unsettling to say the least.  But people continue to walk the streets, to eat in cafes and to buy food in preparation for Shabbat.  The sound of the second siren was matched in volume by the sound of honking on Emek Refaim, several minutes after the warning subsided. Shopping, eating, schmoozing and honking, Israelis were once again being Israeli.  Here is what I saw on my walk to the Hartman Institute the morning after the first siren went off:

Though few parts of the country have been spared, communities like Ashdod and Ashkelon, home of our sister congregation, Netzach Yisrael, continue to suffer the largest share of rocket fire from Hamas.  Terry Davis, our liaison from Netzach Yisrael, wrote movingly about trying to comfort her grandchildren as the sirens go off.

At the Hartman Institute, we have been discussing Jewish perspectives on war and peace.  As Donniel Hartman told us somewhat wryly, the organizers of this program had a feeling, when they planned for it months ago, that the topic would be relevant.  Together we have been examining ancient texts and current realities to consider the boundaries of the inevitable and the possible.  Is a "just peace," between two equals, possible or only an "imperial peace," where one side subjugates the other?  To what extent should we consider the opinions that others have of Israel’s actions?  With whom can we speak among our adversaries?  How should Israel deal with the short and long-term impact of this situation on her citizens?

Meanwhile, as Israelis grapple with the larger questions, they also find ways to manage the surreal reality of everyday life.  The following video shows Israeli children singing a song that was written to help them handle the anxiety of the rocket sirens in an age-appropriate way:

With Shabbat on the horizon, I find myself turning increasingly to prayer, as distinct from analysis and even reflection.  

I pray that the families, Israeli and Palestinian, who buried children recently will feel a small measure of comfort, though what words and gestures can bring comfort to someone who buries a child?

I pray that Israelis and Palestinians across the ideological and political spectrum will use the limited water reserve around here to water seeds of hope, rather than anger and despair.  

I pray that Israeli children and their Palestinian counterparts will sing songs that children should be singing, about princes and princesses, drippy ice cream cones and trips to the zoo. 

I pray that quiet will descend on Jerusalem and all of Israel, for all of her inhabitants.   Peace would be awesome, but let's start with quiet.

July 11, 2014