Hear Our Voice

Hello CSK,

It’s Thursday night, Israel time. I’ve been here since Saturday afternoon and have had the incredible privilege of studying with 19 of my rabbinic and cantorial colleagues from all over North America. We’ve been here as guests of Rabbi Meir Azari, Beit Daniel (the largest Reform synagogue in Israel), and Hebrew Union College. Over the past five days, we’ve studied with remarkable scholars, influential Israeli politicians, demographers, social scientists, and the deputy mayor of Tel Aviv. We’ve delved deep into Jewish and Israeli history, all while confronting the heavy overlay of strife, worry, and concern that floods social media, newspapers, and cable news.

It is not untrue that the Israeli government needs an enema. The majority leadership is, by most measures, deeply problematic. And I’m mostly quoting the reasonable, tolerant, open-minded, and proud Zionist rabbis, scholars, and experts with whom we’ve been studying. It is also true that—no matter how you slice it—there is significant hunger in Gaza. And yes, Israeli actions
have contributed to the scarcity of access to food for a large population. At the same time, the Israel Defense Forces (IDF) remain, by many credible accounts, the most moral army in the world. That morality, however, often collides with the harsh realities of strategic policy and national defense.

Yes, there are sides in this conflict, like in any conflict. And moral choices are indeed activated in such engagements. But morality often begins with self-protection. While self-sacrifice can be understood as a moral act, that’s only in the extreme. Far too often, Israel’s and the Jewish people’s loudest critics seem to ask Jews to be both heroic and deceased. As Dara Horn’s book succinctly points out: People Love Dead Jews. That sardonic summary notwithstanding, Rabbi Hillel’s ancient wisdom still rings out: “If I’m not for myself, who will be for me? If I am only for myself, what am I? And if not now, when?”

You may choose not to believe me—that is your right. While I hope you’ll trust me, I also understand the cognitive dissonance that defines this moment. It’s hard to trust anything or anyone these days. I get it. And yet, I still hope. I desperately pray that by next fall, if not sooner, Israel will elect a new coalition of far more decent human beings—leaders who will end Hamas’
stranglehold, free the hostages, and help bring food and healing to all the suffering souls of Gaza. That is my grandest prayer.

I also pray for an agreement between Israel and the ultra-Orthodox regarding military service—one that is mutual and respectful. I pray that Abraham’s children will truly make peace, recognizing the profound benefits that come from cooperation and mutual recognition. I pray for a future where I am no longer expected to prove my care for all human beings through agonizing moral hypotheticals—where we are no longer forced into ethical games about which child to save first. These painful “thought experiments” are the product of the most cynical and dehumanizing elements in power.

I do not pretend to offer a quiver full of answers. I cannot tell you that everything isn’t relative, even morality. The Torah says that Noah was a righteous man in his generation. The rabbis point out the phrase “in his generation” to suggest that Noah’s righteousness was relative to the time and place in which he lived. Yet his actions still inspired God to place a rainbow in the sky—a promise never again to flood the world in anger. Noah wasn’t perfect, but he did pretty well. Israel isn’t perfect either—but given the neighborhood in which it resides, it’s pretty darn good.

I’m not going to craft another list of facts to defend Israel’s moral military restraint or highlight the IDF’s legal and ethical accountability systems. I won’t recite doctrine or try to sanitize reality. Mistakes have been made—some unbearable. But I will point out that 381 million people live in the Middle East, and just 8 million Jews—.02% of the population—live in Israel because
they are not allowed to live anywhere else in the region. Israel’s land mass makes up just  .002% of the entire Middle East.

And so, I write to you not to convince, but to bear witness. This experience in Israel has reminded me again that nuance, complexity, and compassion must walk hand in hand. It’s okay to feel conflicted. It’s okay to ask hard questions. But let’s do so with humility and an open heart. Let’s dare to believe that peace is possible—because believing it is the only way we will ever achieve it. May we keep learning, keep questioning, and above all, keep loving. That, I believe, is the Jewish way.

With blessings from Tel Aviv,

Rabbi Scott