Hear Our Voice

To the People I Love

Some of you have suggested that I am naïve—perhaps willfully so. Others have told me I don’t truly understand Israelis, or that I’ve grown too “tribal.” Some have even gone so far as to imply that, by aligning myself too closely with the State of Israel, I’m complicit in something genocidal.

These are heavy times. These are heavy words.

And I know that for some of you, there’s a real disconnect between the rabbi you think you know and what you’ve heard me saying or seen me writing—especially since October 7, 2023. You know me as a rabbi who teaches peace, love, and friendship. You know that I believe in the value of interfaith dialogue. And if you’ve studied with me even once, you’ve likely heard me
say—probably more than once—that one of Judaism’s most powerful teachings is this: No one person, no one group, can hold THE Truth, capital T. Divine revelation always carries mystery, and something is always lost in translation. Humility is the built-in requirement for seeking God.

I’ve been deeply shaped by Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, who embraced Judaism’s uniqueness while celebrating the holiness in humanity’s diversity. He taught that every person carries within them a divine spark, but that spark finds expression in beautifully varied religious traditions. These traditions are all sacred—as long as they honor the dignity and safety of others.

The Torah teaches that every person is created b’tzelem Elohim—in God’s image. None of us is exactly the same, and that’s not a flaw. That’s the plan. This sacred Image is the source of our humanity, and its diverse expression is part of the divine blueprint. But here’s the challenge: sometimes we insist our uniqueness must be adopted by others. And sometimes we discover that
our uniqueness is experienced by others as a threat. And this, I believe, is where the spiritual rubber meets the road.

So let me ask: Why can’t we all just get along?

I still believe we can. At the very least, we must try. And while the answer may sound overly simplistic or idealistic, it begins with cooperation, mutual respect, and yes—some good therapy to manage the internal “gremlins” that wake up when someone else’s truth feels threatening to our own.

But those gremlins are persistent. They show up in our marriages, our boardrooms, our neighborhoods, our politics. And yes—they show up in global conflicts.

Which brings us to the question I hear so often: Why can’t Israelis and Palestinians get along?But maybe before we ask that, we need to ask: Why can’t we get along with our own siblings, neighbors, former friends, or that person we’ve been sparring with on Facebook for years?

The difference, of course, is scale. In Israel and Gaza, the number of people involved, and the tools of destruction at their disposal, make the stakes unimaginably high. The heartbreak in Gaza—the hunger, the death, the despair—is real. And while some insist that Israel’s withdrawal from Gaza would solve everything, I do not believe the solution lies there. Everything I’ve studied, read, and observed tells me this: lasting peace will only come through a fundamental restructuring of the power dynamics in the region.

Some say Israel has finally gone too far. Others insist that war is always tragic and ugly. I don’t
pretend to have the answers. But I do know this: many—on both sides—have lost the plot.

And I’m struggling.

Tomorrow, I leave for Israel to attend a rabbinic conference. I go searching for clarity, for deeper understanding, and for something meaningful to bring back to you.

Pray with me. Walk with me. Let’s keep the conversation open.

With love,
Rabbi Scott Hausman-Weiss