Rabbi Janet Marder

April 3, 2009

Israel Impressions: April 3, 2009

“I told my relatives I was going to Israel . They said to me, ‘Why? Are you crazy? Aren’t you afraid?’ “  The woman looked around the table at her fellow travelers, members of the Beth Am group who had been her companions for the past 12 days. “I’m glad I didn’t listen to them,” she said. “I’m glad I went.”

We were gathered at a restaurant in Abu Ghosh, an Israeli Arab town just west of Jerusalem – 24 of us, having a summary conversation on the last night of our trip. Spread out on the table before us were 30 or 40 small dishes of salads, vegetables, kabobs of beef and lamb, rice, potatoes, humus and hot pita bread – a banquet rich in fragrance, color and flavor.

It was a fitting end to a journey that was, for all of us, I think, a spiritual feast. We had to open wide to take in so much; we tasted beauty, sweetness, sadness and joy, anger, amazement; pride and love; we came back bursting with experiences; sublimely nourished; chewing on impressions and ideas that would long be with us.

We got back just a week ago, right before Shabbat, wiped out after 17 hours or so on a plane. People ask us: “Are you over your jet-lag now?” Adjusting to this new time zone takes a while – but harder still is adjusting to the fact that we are here now, and Israel is 9000 miles away from us – this place that took hold of us so strongly and sank into us so fast and so deeply.

We understand, now, what it means to have a divided heart – part of you here, and part of you in a distant place. “I expected to feel like a stranger in Israel ,” said several of those on our trip. “But for some reason I didn’t. Right away I felt I was home.”

 During our 12 days in Israel we were not afraid. You don’t feel afraid when you’re riding the bus in the Galilee , driving through green hills and acres of flowers – bright yellow mustard, purple, blue and white, spectacular red poppies.

Not when you’re hiking through the nature reserve near the ancient city of Dan , standing by the city gates that date from biblical times, crossing the stream at the headwaters of the Jordan River .  You’re not afraid in the quiet cemetery on the shores of the Galilee where the poets Rachel and Naomi Shemer are buried; in the sunny kibbutz up on the Golan Heights ; in the blue-tinted medieval synagogues in Tzfat; in the fragrant all-night bakery in Tiberias, where they’re baking challah loaves for Shabbat.

You stroll in Jerusalem on a quiet Shabbat afternoon; you make a l’chayyim on the hill of Mt. Scopus where pilgrims once approached the city; you climb the stairs of the Temple that were buried for 2000 years; you walk, speechless, through Yad VaShem; you pray with a new Reform congregation in the suburbs of the city; you pray with Women of the Wall as they brave shouts and jeers, insisting on their right to worship in the place that is holy to all the Jewish people.

You watch the old craftsmen and women work at Yad Lakashish – Lifeline for the Old; you stand on the summit of Masada; you walk through the military cemetery, passing through rows and rows of simple graves marked with the names of the fallen, many of them teenagers, those who died in defense of the state of Israel.

And then you come upon a whole group of young soldiers, marching on a parade ground, not very industriously, practicing for the Independence Day celebrations. These are the protectors of the Jewish people – these beautiful boys and girls in their army pants worn low and tight and their pony tails and their rifles slung over their shoulders. One of them smiles at you mischievously and waves hello. None of the archeological wonders, astounding as they are, compares to that moment.

It is hard to describe how peaceful and safe and rooted you feel when you are in Israel . I was not afraid. But I did come back, this time, feeling worried about what’s going on there. Israelis everywhere were talking about the recent election, especially about the strong showing of Avigdor Lieberman, leader of the ultranationalist party called Yisrael Beiteinu , Israel Our Home.

Lieberman emigrated to Israel from the FSU in 1978, when he was 20 years old. After a close association with Benyamin Netanyahu of Likud, he broke with him in 1999 and founded his own right-wing party. He lives on a settlement in the West Bank . Because his party came in a strong third in the election, Lieberman is now an important player in the coalition government and was awarded the position of Foreign Minister in the Netanyahu cabinet.

He ran a controversial campaign marked by allegations of racism and demagoguery – primarily because of his campaign slogan (“Only Lieberman understands Arabic”) and his proposal to require a loyalty oath of all Israelis. Those who refuse the oath of loyalty to the Jewish state would be stripped of their citizenship rights.

In a recent interview with the Washington Post, Lieberman said that the idea of a loyalty oath should be no more objectionable than the pledge of allegiance recited by American schoolchildren. He called for mandatory national service for all Israeli citizens, including the Orthodox, and the outlawing of all Israeli political parties that support terrorist organizations. – a clear reference to the three Arab parties.

Support for Lieberman was especially strong among émigrés from the FSU, young voters (he polled very well in the mock elections held in high schools and universities) and voters who were fed up with ineffectual politicians who seemed unable to address the country’s myriad challenges. Lieberman drew on an upsurge of anger that erupted during the Lebanon and Gaza campaigns, when many Israeli Arabs (20% of the Israeli population) openly demonstrated in favor of Hezbollah and Hamas.

It is not easy, in wartime, to live among fellow citizens who not only oppose the war but vocally support the enemies sworn to destroy you. Imagine what it is like to watch Arab Israelis fly the Hezbollah flag when the government of Iran is threatening to wipe your country off the map. Imagine what it would have been like in this country during World War II had there been pro-Japanese rallies after Pearl Harbor was attacked.

One of the most troubling aspects of modern Israeli life is the profound alienation of its Arab citizens from the Jewish State. Lieberman’s words resonate with Israelis who fear and distrust the Arab minority in their midst. His slogans appeal especially to young people preparing to go into the army, and to those who yearn for clear and simple solutions to the complex problems of their time.

"Israeli Arabs don't support the state and yet they receive money and a seat in the Knesset," said one 11^th grader interviewed in Ha’aretz.  "….Someone who doesn't declare his loyalty to the state, who has no patriotism, should have his citizenship taken away. Anyone who's against the operation in Gaza , for example -- that's a kind of disloyalty. Anyone who burns the flag, that's disloyalty. The military operation was for the sake of the country, after we kept quiet for eight years, so now they don't support it?"

"There was a demonstration by Israeli Arabs during Operation Cast Lead," said another 11th-grader. "It's such chutzpah: You live in this country and you don't support it? Let them go to Hamas."

We can understand such sentiments, perhaps, knowing the pressures that give rise to them. History demonstrates that calls for loyalty oaths frequently arise in time of war or social tension, when fear of external enemies and internal dissent is heightened. Our own country has a long and not-so-distinguished tradition of demanding loyalty oaths, dating back at least to the Civil War, especially intense during World War II and the years of the Cold War.

The  American Supreme Court began striking down loyalty oaths in the 1960s, but the California state constitution still requires one of all state employees – in fact, a Quaker professor at Cal State East Bay was fired last year for her refusal to sign such an oath.

The most common loyalty oath that continues to be uttered in the United States is the pledge of allegiance, though a landmark Supreme Court decision of 1943 clearly asserts the right of students to opt out of saying the pledge, based on their freedom of speech.

If our own country – large, powerful, and surrounded by friendly neighbors – has felt threatened enough to demand loyalty oaths of its citizens and outlaw Communist party membership in past years, we can understand why some Israelis have responded to the call to require loyalty oaths from Arab citizens and eradicate political parties hostile to the Jewish state.

We can understand such sentiments, but we also know that it is perilous for democracies to give in to them. Democracies rest on the freedom of dissenting minorities to engage in political speech that may challenge the most cherished beliefs of the majority. A fundamental principle of democracy is that civil rights do not depend on the fulfillment of any duty, such as military service or a declaration of loyalty; they are the inherent right of every citizen. Israel , unfortunately, lacks a Bill of Rights that would enshrine these principles, though efforts are underway to develop a written constitution that would contain such provisions.

There are many Israelis sensitive to the threat that Avigdor Lieberman represents. An editorial in Ha’aretz (Feb.4, 2009) entitled “Reject Lieberman” asserted that “he is aiming his propaganda straight at society's nucleus of fear and weakness, fanning nationalist sentiments and using a minority as a punching bag.”

In this country, too, some Jewish leaders have not hesitated to sound the alarm. In an op-ed published in the Forward (Feb.18. 2009), Rabbi Eric Yoffie, President of the Union for Reform Judaism, wrote:” [Lieberman’s] major policy proposal was a loyalty oath clearly intended to disenfranchise Israel ’s Arab citizens and turn them into residents without rights. It was an outrageous, abominable, hate-filled campaign, brimming with incitement that, if left unchecked, could lead Israel to the gates of hell.”

We can take some comfort from the lively debate around the significance of Lieberman; it reminds us that Israel remains a robust democracy supported by a free and open press. Members of our Beth Am group saw a large protest demonstration in front of the Prime Minister’s office and chatted with Israelis of all political stripes who uttered vigorous condemnations of the government. This, too, was reassuring.

But it’s clear that Israel is at a crossroads now, and the strength of her democratic institutions is by no means assured. The words of Israeli Education Minister Yuli Tamir continue to haunt me. “Lieberman’s growing strength indicates that there is deep confusion [in Israel ] about everything related to democratic values,” she said. “….in the Israeli context, these values are perceived as leftist” [Ha’aretz, Feb.7, 2009 “Lieberman's anti-Arab ideology wins over Israel 's teens” by Yotam Feldman].

Do you see how disturbing that is? Democratic values are gradually being identified with the secular left, rather than being seen as the shared inheritance of all Israelis.

We heard similar concerns when we visited the Leo Baeck Education Center in Haifa , a beautiful school, sponsored by the Progressive Movement that is one of Israel ’s premier institutions of learning, serving many hundreds of students from nursery school through high school.

There Reform Rabbi Ofek Meir told us that he and his colleagues teach their students a fundamental lesson: that democratic, humanitarian values such as tolerance, pluralism, equal rights, and respect for all people are Jewish values. Most Israelis, he said, do not identify such values with Judaism. A rigid intolerant Orthodox establishment has given them a very different image of what Judaism stands for. So the Leo Baeck Center works to raise up a generation of young Israelis committed to democracy and the highest Jewish ideals.

Rabbi Ofek took us into a second grade classroom. We watched the affectionate and gentle way he addressed these young children, and the lively way they responded to him. He sat and played his guitar while the children sang for us the words of Hannah Senesh, gracefully accompanying themselves in sign language: “Eli, Eli – O Lord my God, I pray that these things never end: the sand and the sea, the rush of the waters, the crash of the heavens, the prayer of the heart.”

We were enchanted by the children. They made us smile. They made us weep. They made us hope – not only because children are always a source of hope, but because these children represent our dreams of the kind of Israel we all want to see.

We came back from our journey last week bursting with experiences; richly nourished; chewing on impressions and ideas that will long be with us. We came back cherishing images of a fascinating country still young, still struggling to find its way in a perilous environment; still committed to democracy and peace despite all the forces that threaten to destroy these precious gifts.

Eli, Eli , shehlo yigamer l’olam – Lord, my God, I pray that these things never end in our Jewish State. And I will do my part to make sure that they survive.