This past year, I often encountered security details near synagogues in various cities in Europe and Morocco. I spoke to the guards in Hebrew, showed a Canadian or US passport, and usually gained entry.
I was reminded of a story of a rabbi, lost in thought. He took a left when the path split. Instead of nearing home, he approached a military outpost. A deep voice in the dark, called out: Who are you and what are you doing here? The rabbi realized his mistake. After answering the guard’s question, he asked, “How much are you paid to stand here every day?” “Three zlotas” replied the soldier. The rabbi responded, “I will pay you twice as much to stand in front of my door and ask me the same question every single day”.
Who are you and what are you doing here? is a question worth considering today and everyday. Take a moment, contemplate the question. What are you doing here?
Maybe your answer is, “I am at Beth Tzedec, sitting with my family, thinking about my life”. Or perhaps your answer is, "I’m stuck in synagogue, going through the motions”. Perhaps you are thinking, “I am enjoying the melodies and feeling part of community”. It might be, “I am thinking about the challenges of the past year, financial, health, family. I am praying that the coming year will be better”. Or, "I am not really sure what I am doing here." Not such a simple question. What are you doing here? In the synagogue. Over these next ten days? And even of greater consequence: What are you doing here, at this moment of your life?
Just three weeks ago, I asked myself these same questions while in Israel. Our Torah reading today and yesterday tells us a bit about the Path of Abraham. It was full of challenges, but ultimately it was also full of promise and blessing. Earlier this year, Father Damian Macpherson, Imam Abdul Hai Patel, the Rev. Dr. Karen Hamilton, Judy Csillag and I, who have worked together in interfaith activities for many years, decided to bring others along that path.
I know it sounds a bit like a joke. “A rabbi, a priest, a minister and an imam walk into” but it was a serious effort to bring fifty-six Jews, Christians and Muslims from Canada (Lewis Mitz also brought two friends from Ireland) to see the complexity of three religions and two nations trying to live together in one land. The oldest member of our group was an 85 year old Indo-Canadian of deep Catholic faith. The youngest were five students from Marc Garneau Collegiate, brought by their Principal, Ricky Goldenberg, to explore a new model for inter-group relations for their Toronto high school.
We deliberately sought out conflicting narratives. We brought Jews to Jenin, where a few years ago the Israeli-Palestinian conflict made this one of the most deadly of cities, to listen to the regional governor from the Palestinian Authority. Then we took Muslims and Christians over the “green line” to Gush Etzion, the mother of all post-1967 settlements, to meet the mayor of this community. We went to Bethlehem, mentioned in our haftarah today, where a wall divides the city. In Hebron, the City of Abraham, we entered the Tomb of the Ancestors from separate Muslim and Jewish entrances. In each of those places, the questions “who am I and what am I doing here?” were constantly present.
We brought Canadian Muslims in niqabs to a kibbutz founded by survivors of the Holocaust and spoke with Israeli Muslims in hijabs on the streets of Nazareth and Jerusalem. We met with East Jerusalem residents and learned of the differences between them, Arab citizens of Israel, and residents of the Palestinian territories. In Haifa we learned how co-existence there differs from Jewish-Arab relations in Jerusalem or the Galilee. And in a Catholic school that teaches Christian and Muslim students to live together, we met with a proud member of the Druze community who serves in the government of the State of Israel.
We reflected about the life and death of Jesus in the Church of the Nativity, on the Mount of the Beatitudes, and in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. In Capernaum we learned of the role of the ancient synagogue in giving birth to both the church and mosque. At Yad Vashem, I escorted Muslims and Christians though the museum and memorial prior to meeting a childhood friend of Anne Frank who told of her Holocaust survival and the death of her best friend.
It was a pilgrimage of deep faith. We celebrated the baptismal reaffirmation of Christians in the Jordan River, danced at the Western Wall for Shabbat, and walked the Via Dolorosa as a mixed multitude. Along with Muslim pilgrims, we went up to Haram al-Sharif, where they prayed in the al-Aqsa Mosque. Although Jews are prohibited from public or private prayer there, Norman Bacal quietly offered the Priestly blessing in Hebrew. Later, when Father Damian sought to do so in English, we were stopped by the guards of the Waqf.
The politics and polarities of security and human dignity were constantly with us. We passed through some check-points with ease and were stopped at another for two hours. We met with a Palestinian-American whose husband was killed in a disputed altercation with Israeli police in 2009 and a seventh-generation Jewish Israeli whose daughter was blown up in a terrorist attack on a pedestrian mall.
Who am I and what am I doing here? I am a Jewish loyalist, trying to help people develop a broader perspective about Israel and Palestine. I wanted Jews to see things that they ordinarily avoid and I wanted Christians and Muslims to witness Israel through Jewish eyes.
What did we learn? That the Holy Land breeds intensity. That simplistic ideas such as boycotts break down in the face of real people buying, selling and consuming each others’ products. That the Biblical ideal of hospitality is still operative. That each religion has truth-claims which we ignore at our own peril. That each national group feels its cause is just. That the security barrier that protects Israelis – whether in the form of a wall or a fence –challenges the personal dignity of Palestinians. That despite the political disagreements, most people find ways to live with each other.
Who am I and what am I doing here? We also discovered something about ourselves as Canadians. Not just because we sang “Oh, Canada” as we raised a flag while cruising the Sea of Galilee. Because wherever we travelled, people wanted to know how life in Canada enabled us to imagine the possibility of Jews, Muslims and Christians travelling together to learn about, with and from each other.
That same week, I also organized a mission that brought a select group of North American rabbis to look at the rapidly changing scenario in Israel and the Palestinian lands. We used The Media Line, a respected, independent news agency, to open special doors. In advance, I consulted with Irwin Cotler to solicit advice on how best to present my concerns.
In Jerusalem, the group met with key members of government, high-level military spokespersons, and economic leaders to review the rapidly morphing situation. We travelled into Ramallah as official guests of the Prime Minister of the Palestinian Authority, Salam Fayyad, who provided security officers as our escorts. Again, we met with high-level ministers and advisors and key Palestinian entrepreneurs.
Who am I and what am I doing here? We were rabbis, independent of any organization, with varying religious and political perspectives, present to listen, to learn and to lend support to Israel.
What did we hear? Both sides acknowledged that security co-ordination between Israel and the Palestinian Authority has resulted in the dismantling of many roadblocks. Each side felt that the Palestinians had worked hard to develop a law-based, civil society, something I initially reported to you two years ago.
The replies to questions about the Palestinian approach to the UN were remarkably similar in both cities, but the emphases were markedly different. Palestinians repeated that nothing will change on the ground, but it would enhance national self-respect so that Palestine and Israel will speak as equals. Israelis stated that nothing will change on the ground, but it was a unilateral, provocative act that could create negative unintended consequences and would initiate much political and legal trouble.
The two leadership groups shared uncertainty about the future and agreed that a new UN status would enable the Palestinians to use international law to attack Israel. One of the Palestinian leaders was quite blunt - going to the UN was a form of non-violent resistance. The Palestinians claimed that the UN option “complements efforts to resume peace talks,” and would “push” the Israeli government return to the Road Map process. However, the Israelis insisted that the Palestinians had used the settlement issue as a red herring, wasting two and a half years that would have brought them closer to peace and independence.
Palestinians spoke of the importance of the unity of their people, but in the next breath disclosed their desire to remove Hamas from the scene. A Palestinian banker – originally from Gaza, now associated with Mr Abbas - told us that he no longer goes back home, both because the Israelis make it difficult and because he is fearful of being kidnapped and held hostage.
The palpable sense of frustration left me with questions about productive next steps. Each side understands the context from radically different perspectives. The Israeli administration views the establishment of a state in the West Bank as a necessary concession -- giving up what they see as historic and strategic Jewish territory. The Palestinians see that as no concession at all. Palestinians see the loss of return to former Arab villages and cities as a critical concession, but the Israelis see that as basic. The Palestinian narrative expresses a sense of victimization and a desperate desire to regain honour while the Israeli presentations speak of history and security.The Palestinians find it hard to close the deal while the Israelis want a quit claim.
In our reading today, Abraham and Isaac proceed up to Moriah along with two unnamed young people. Near the end of their journey: "On the third day Abraham looked up and saw the place from afar" A midrash offers the following comment: As they approached the place and saw it in the distance, Avraham asked Yitzhak, “What do you see? Do you see what I see?" And Yitzhak answered, "I see a beautiful, majestic mountain, and the cloud of glory hovers over it." He then asked his two young servants, "Do you see anything?" They answered, "We see nothing but a wasteland." Avraham said, "Remain here with the donkeys." (Genesis 22:4, Tanhuma, Vayera 23)
Only if one can have a vision is it possible to ascend to Moriah. Only if the Israelis and Palestinians can see something together might it be possible to make progress.
We all know of the successes of the Israeli business community. Notwithstanding the social protests that were part of the Israeli scene all summer, Israeli entrepreneurs are driving ahead, filled with all sorts of innovative ideas. One feels a constant sense of opportunity in what has been called a “start up nation”.
The same was true on the Palestinian side. Ramallah is a boom town. We met with people in venture capital, auto sales, construction and the restaurant industry. The Palestinian business community had a different tone from their political leadership. They were not dwelling in the past, stuck in pain and suffering. They seemed to be confronting present challenges, while imagining, planning, and building for the future. We visited the early stages of a the first Palestinian planned city, Rawabi; it is a clear statement of hope.
The politicians seemed weary and frustrated, while the entrepreneurs were energized. They want a stable political situation so that they can move ahead in commerce. They're building for the future, and it's a future that involves learning from Israeli examples and living alongside the Jewish State.
Who am I and what am I doing here? I am a rabbi, visiting Israel and Palestine to more clearly understand the conflict and to explore whether there were ways of bridging the gaps. I saw that on a political level the chasm is great, but that on a functional level the two sides can find ways to acknowledge one another and work together.
The Path of Abraham and the Rabbinic mission each left me feeling a bit anxious, a bit uncertain. I suppose that when we are asked who are you and what are you doing here? we are a bit beyond our comfort zone. Nonetheless, I hope that you will begin to consider these questions in the context of your own lives.
With each group, I felt that citizen diplomacy was an important way to explore what might be possible for Jews, Muslims and Christians, for Palestinians and Israelis, for all of us who love the Land promised to Avraham and Sarah. This is not a “tale of two cities”, but a complex, multi-dimensional narrative affected by religion, nationalism, history and geography. This is a challenging time whose outcome is not clear, but it is imperative that we look for ways to encourage people to talk with one another, visit each other, and do business together. The politics may take time to get resolved, but there is much that we can do on the ground to build better relationships in Israel, Palestine and even in Canada.
The two young servants had to remain with the donkeys because they had no vision. We must be like Avraham and Yitzhaq. Even though we don’t know how it will end, Avraham’s promise beckons us forward with hope. Then when we are asked, Who are you and what are you doing here? we can respond, “Hinnenee. I am following the path of Avraham and doing my best for the promise left to his descendants”.
