Marking Yom HaShoah: Calendars And Memory, God And History

 The piece below appeared on the Jewish Week website on April 28, 2011

       

Rabbi Daniel Greyber

Special to the Jewish Week

The Orthodox Chief Rabbinate decided in 1949 that the Shoah (the Hebrew, literally meaning "catastrophe," that is now used for the Holocaust) should be commemorated on the 10th of Tevet, a minor fast day already established in the Jewish calendar.
In 1951, the Knesset ignored the Chief Rabbinate's decision to incorporate commemoration of the Shoah into the existing calendar of traditional Jewish days of mourning. The first Knesset proposal was to hold Yom Hashoah (Holocaust Remembrance Day) on the 14th of Nisan, the anniversary of the Warsaw ghetto uprising (April 19, 1943) but that was rejected because the 14th of Nisan is the day immediately before Passover. You might imagine that the fighters of the Warsaw ghetto drew inspiration from the Passover story in selecting the night before Pesach as the date for their rebellion. In reality, they selected April 19th because the Germans entered the ghetto that day and were determined to deport the remaining Jews of Warsaw as a gift to Hitler whose birthday was April 20th.
The Knesset finally established Yom HaShoah on the 27th of Nisan, eight days prior to Yom HaAtzma'ut, a day that runs dafka - in the face - of the traditional Jewish calendar's association of joy in the month of Nisan, and the Chief Rabbinate's decision for the 10th of Tevet two years prior. Choosing to commemorate Yom HaShoah during the month of Nisan - a month that is supposed to be filled with the joy of Passover - reflected a desire to choose a different narrative than the one that forms the basis of two thousand years of Jewish history.
It is curious to note that the official name of Yom HaShoah is Yom HaZikaron LaShoah v'HaGevurah, Remembrance Day of the Holocaust and Heroism.

The second, less known, phrase of the day's name derives from the Knesset's decision to make the day about, "a day of commemoration of the Jews who perished and for those who showed resistance and heroism" (official Knesset website - emphasis added).

What is implied in the second part of the name is an effort to re-interpret the meaning of the Shoah - an event that represents the ultimate devastation when Jews were powerless to defend themselves - into a story of both weakness and power. That the Warsaw ghetto uprising was an act of bravery and light amidst darkness and evil is indisputable, and important. But, seen in a sea of blood and slaughter, and understood in the context of six million men, women, and children who were the victims of state-sponsored, systematized murder, the uprising was significant much more for its symbolic, rather than practical, value.
The modern state of Israel chooses to remember this moment of Jewish heroism in the Shoah because the lesson Israel learns from the Shoah is that it is Jewish strength and heroism, not God, that will save the Jews.
In Israel, one hears the sirens of Yom HaShoah and Yom HaZikaron (Israel's memorial day for fallen soldiers) and sees on television stories of death and tears and sadness. The calendar creates a beginning, the utter blackness and death of the Shoah, a middle, the courage and sacrifice of those who died fighting, and an end, Yom Ha'Atzma'ut, the day of Jewish independence and freedom.
But in the competing, traditional Jewish narrative, the story continues. Yom Ha'Atzma'ut, like Yom HaShoah, runs against the grain of the traditional Jewish calendar. Yom Ha'Atzma'ut is a day of celebration that occurs in the midst of a period of mourning, the first 33 days of the Omer during which traditional Jews remember 20,000 students of Torah who perished. On Lag B'Omer, the dying came to an end and, in another few weeks, Shavuot arrives and traditional Jews celebrate standing before God at Mount Sinai to receive the Torah. The traditional Jewish narrative tells us that the freedom of Passover is not only freedom from slavery, but freedom with a purpose: to serve God.
Which narrative is "true?" Do Jews celebrate the God of history who saves from Egypt and gives the Torah at Sinai?
Or, after the Shoah, does the story end at Yom Ha'atzma'ut, having given up on a saving God and, instead, saved ourselves? The question at the heart of these competing calendars is not academic; it is critical to the Jewish future.
As the twenty-first century begins, do Jews find themselves with a state of their own, a safe haven for the first time in two thousand years, but existentially alone in the wilderness? No Jew with a modicum of knowledge of the suffering and persecution that befell Jews for thousands of years would turn away from our newfound ability to defend ourselves. We have independence, for which we should be grateful, but at what cost, and for what purpose?
On Yom Ha'Atzma'ut, I sing Hallel prayers, another liturgical statement: we officially praise God for giving us a new beginning. But as I sing to Him, I am haunted by His absence 70 years ago when we needed Him the most. Does Yom Ha'Atzma'ut lead to Sinai? Can Israel forgive God and find Him in history again?

Yom HaShoah will take place this year on Monday, May 2nd, 2011. Yom HaZikaron will take place on Monday, May 9th. Yom Ha'Atzma'ut will take place on Tuesday, May 10th. This was adapted from an article that appeared in the journal, Conservative Judaism, Spring 2009.

A World Upside Down

Jennifer and I were out of touch over the weekend. We returned on Sunday evening to find (in the words of megilat Esther) an “olam hafuch” – “a world upside down." Our hearts are broken by the horror of what is still unfolding in Japan, and by the horror here in Israel of the Fogel family brutally stabbed to death. My experience of the past few days has been filled with extraordinarily painful images.
Doing something highly unusual in Israeli society, the grandparents of the Fogel family gave permission to the media to publish photos of the murder scene “so that,” they said, “the world will learn the truth of what happened to their family.” Those photos are on the internet. Other pictures with faces of the Fogel parents and children – including a 3 month old infant – are on posters in the streets, on the news, in newspapers. Like you, I have watched the terrible images on TV and the internet of the earthquake, the tsunami, and the continuing danger of the nuclear power plants in Japan. As I have walked the streets of Jerusalem these past few days, I have thought about how, in the past, very few people in history lived with the visual memory of what a tsunami looks like. Video recording didn’t exist; most of those who actually saw a tsunami died moments later. A few who survived walked through the world able to convey perhaps through poetry and myth the stark reality of such calamity. It is a distinctly modern experience to walk through the world carrying with us images of such terrifying power and awful destruction.

Our challenge as Jews and human beings who live with such difficult images is to let our hearts grow, not to replace but to add to the circle of those we care about. It is understandable that, for a time, we may need to shield ourselves from the unending stream of images from a broken world, but we may retreat only for a time. Then we must continue again to give and, in doing so, to be God’s hands in the world.

I pray God gives us each the strength to return to a world so much in need. May our hearts expand, our generosity increase. And, as we read the story of Purim again, may we be granted the vision to sense God’s hidden presence and behold a better day when the world will be made right again.

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On a very different note, if you are interested in reading some thoughts on Judaism in the public square written by Rabbi Aaron Alexander and me - click here: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/rabbi-aaron-alexander/praying-on-planes_b_836102.html

Young Adults and a Movement’s Future

I have been following from afar the debate about the new Strategic Plan for United Synagogue of Conservative Judaism (USCJ).   Below are some thoughts about its implications for the movement's future.

“I know synagogues are important - they are the "bread and butter" of USCJ. But if you don't put adequate resources into the 18-30 age group there will be very few synagogues left to serve.”  That simple wisdom was offered as a comment on one of the “message boards” currently debating the draft of the Strategic Plan for USCJ.  I hope it is heeded.

About Koach, the movement’s Hillel presence, the plan says: “While the Conservative movement cannot abandon Conservative Jewish college students, it needs a more effective vehicle than the current Koach program.”  What is suggested are “highly focused interventions.”  About the Conservative Yeshiva at the Fuchsberg Center in Jerusalem, largely serving post-college young adults, the plan calls for a “an independent blue ribbon commission to undertake a complete strategic review of the Fuchsberg Center in Israel, including its relationship to USCJ.”  To be fair, the plan hasn’t yet cut either program, but Koach and the Conservative Yeshiva are on the chopping block – both of their funding could be gone in a year or two.  Yet college students and post-college young adults represent the future for a movement that sorely needs one.

 “Conservative congregations face financial stress, declining and aging membership, narrow leadership base, weak denominational commitment,” the plan acknowledges,” and a loss of meaning for many young people.”  Wouldn’t programs for college students on campus and for young adults learning in Israel be the last things you’d want to cut?  Students at the Conservative Yeshiva find deep meaning in Jewish life, possess (for the time being) a strong commitment to Conservative Judaism, and, as passionate and Jewishly knowledgeable young people, represent the future leadership of Conservative synagogues. They possess the potential to serve as a powerful link to the next generation of membership.

In reconstituting USCJ’s leadership, the plan says, “the majority of the leaders of the new USCJ should be drawn from a pool of philanthropic investors who are capable of, and motivated to, making [sic] significant investments in the new USCJ.”  Those funders will be less motivated by “highly focused interventions” than by big ideas that represent a vision for the future.  They will give larger sums for big, innovative projects; they are unlikely to invest in leaner, “focused” versions of what has not worked before.

Why not create Koach co-ops on campus where Conservative Jews can replicate the energy and passion of Ramah summer communities by living, eating (kosher), praying and learning together?  Rather than compete with Hillel, as many Chabad houses do, these co-ops can partner with Hillel on campus to strengthen Conservative minyanim and foster stronger Jewish life on campus.  Similar to how Kollel and Chabad couples in the Orthodox community are dispatched to campuses and communities as role models who exemplify for college students and young adults what the next stage of engaged Jewish life can look like, graduates of the Conservative yeshiva could be paid to return to live in these co-ops.  Having obtained text and prayer skills from a year or two in yeshiva, and with the availability of internet distance learning, these graduates can continue their own learning while supporting Jewish life on campus.

Similarly, why not create kollels at Conservative synagogues where groups of yeshiva alumni can receive stipends to live together in homes or apartment buildings within walking distance of existing congregations?  Once rooted in the community, they can support the daily minyan, host Shabbat dinners (especially for new young members), teach texts about social action, organize service projects such as soup kitchens and community gardens, and form the backbone of a creative, young religious school staff?

The vitality of the Orthodox world today is largely due to young adults in their 20s and 30s, many of whom are products of the yeshiva—a place where participants worship together, live together, form a dynamic religious community, and most importantly, study together.  Conservative yeshiva alumni represent a powerful, yet untapped resource for the movement’s future.  USCJ would be wise to dream big about how to strengthen, not cut, its relationship with its yeshiva in Jerusalem.  Conservative yeshiva alumni can support the movement’s college students on campus and the revitalization of its existing synagogues.  Those synagogues should be USCJ’s bread and butter, but the raw ingredients must come from somewhere.

Witnessing Anti-Semitism

So far this week, the government of Libya has fired into crowds of pro-Democracy protesters and killed, according to some estimates, more than 320 people.  Of course the numbers could be much higher.  We don’t know because Moammar Ghadhafi has tried to impose a media blackout and shut down the internet.  Actions taken by the governments of Bahrain, Yemen, and Syria have only been slightly less brutal, to say nothing of earlier government violence by Tunisia, Egypt and Jordan against their own citizens.  Given everything that’s happening, shouldn’t those who purport to care about human rights in the world be demanding U.N. Security Council resolutions?  Why aren’t they?

Imagine what would happen if Israel did to Palestinians what these Middle East governments did to their citizens this week.  Shooting into crowds of mourners with live bullets?  Media blackouts?  Europe would be up in arms.  Secretary of State, Hillary Clinton, would summon Israel’s Ambassador to the United States, Michael Oren, into her office for reprimand, and the same Arab governments that have been brutalizing their citizens this week would be leading the charge in the United Nations for its Security Council to condemn Israel for the n^th time.  And the Security Council would listen.  The irony, of course, is that while this violence against Arabs by Arab governments was taking place, the one resolution taken up by the Security Council was against Israel’s settlements.  This resolution was urged by Palestinians who have refused to negotiate for the past two years because of the settlements, while according to the United Nation’s own resolutions, the issue of the settlements is to be resolved only through direct negotiations between Israel and the Palestinians.

In his book The Case for Israel, Alan Dershowitz wrote,

 “A good working definition of anti-Semitism is taking a trait or an action that is widespread, if not universal, and blaming only the Jews for it.  That is what Hitler and Stalin did, and that is what former Harvard University President A. Lawrence Lowell did in the 1920s when he tried to limit the number of Jews admitted to Harvard because “Jews cheat.”  When a distinguished alumnus objected on the grounds that non-Jews also cheat, Lowell replied, “You’re changing the subject.  I’m talking about Jews.”  So, too, when those who single out only the Jewish nation for criticism are asked why they don’t criticize Israel’s enemies, they respond, “You’re changing the subject.  We’re talking about the Jews.”

Too often, charges of anti-Semitism stifle legitimate criticism of Israel’s actions – that is not my intent.  Israel should be fairly criticized, but we should call a spade a spade.  Could it be that if one were to ask the U.N. Security Council or human rights organizations this week, “why are you criticizing Israel in this moment when so much violence and oppression is being perpetrated against Arab citizens by their own governments?”   that they would respond, “You’re changing the subject.  We’re talking about the Jews.”  Dare one call it anti-Semitism?

Friends - below are remarks I delivered on Shabbat last week at Beth El Synagogue in Durham, NC about the recent revolution in Egypt.

Freedom – For What Purpose?

Rabbi Daniel Greyber, Beth El Synagogue

Shabbat Tetzaveh, February 12, 2011 / 8 Adar I, 5771

It was with some trepidation that I decided to speak this morning about what has been unfolding in the Middle East.  We are still only beginning our journey together but I hope from the teachings and remarks I’ve shared thus far that you understand I will not primarily use this pulpit to speak about current events.  Like you, I read the New York Times and the Wall Street Journal, Ha’aretz, the Jerusalem Post  and the Jerusalem Report.  I get daily emails from JTA and Jewish Ideas Daily, I get weekly emails from The Forward.  I am constantly scanning columns and opinions to try to understand what happens in Israel as best I can.  But on foreign policy, Middle East affairs, political science and theory, there are many people in this room at least as knowledgeable, if not more, than I.  When I was ordained a rabbi almost 9 years ago, it did not make the conclusions I draw from all those websites and newspapers sacred.

On the other hand, it seemed to me that it would be almost bizarre if, having lived in Israel during the events of the past few weeks, I flew 7,000 miles and said nothing at all about what is, almost all acknowledge, a significant moment in modern history.  Why travel to Israel, why live there for a year to live and study, if only to return and act as if it was the same as living here?  So, for a few minutes this morning, I want to share with you some insights from the Torah and from living in Israel, each of which will, I hope, help us to think about and understand a bit more about the revolution that took place in Egypt.

This week, we continue the cycle of portions from now through the end of the book of Exodus that talk about the mishkan, the tent we carried with us through the desert as a meeting place between God and the Jewish people.  I want to begin by asking, “why did we build the mishkan?”  Based on the midrash (Tanhuma, Terumah #8) that “the gold of the mishkan atones for the gold of the golden calf,” Rashi argues that “there is no ‘earlier’ or ‘later’ (chronological order) in the Torah – the incident of the golden calf actually happened a considerable time before the command regarding the work of the Tabernacle was given” (Rashi on Shemot 31:18).  The idea is that once God saw the Jewish people commit the sin of the golden calf, God realized that we needed a physical structure to have a sense of the holy, and so the mishkan was a compromise to that very human impulse.  But the Spanish commentator, Nachmanides (1194-1270) disagrees (see his comment to Shemot 25:1): he says there is no need to read the Torah as being out of order.  The mishkan was part of God’s plan all along.  Why?  Because the symbolism of the mishkan parallels the events at Har Sinai – the incense of the mishkan reminds us of the smoke that surrounded Mount Sinai; the gold of the mishkan reminds us of the fire on the mountain – and that the mishkan was intended all along as the vehicle with which the Jewish people would carry forward the experience of Sinai in the desert.  We could ask ourselves – how do we carry forward our peak experiences in Jewish life?  For example, as we sit in synagogue this morning, I would encourage us to ask, how will what happens this morning make a difference in the lives we live during the rest of the week?

What is nice about Nachmanides’ interpretation – that the mishkan was part of the plan all along – is that it points back to something in the story of the Exodus we too often forget.  Let’s do a test – I want you to finish the verse for me: God tells Moshe, “Say to him [Pharoah], ‘Adonai, God of the Hebrews, has sent me to say to you,  let….” Right – “let my people go.”  But we forget the 2^nd part of the verse: “let my people go so that they may serve me” (Exodus 9:1).  What we forget is that our freedom is not a value in and of itself – it derives its very value from the fact that it is put towards the service of God.

Some things are undeniable.  First, that, as a dictator, Mubarak has denied his people freedoms and failed to build basic institutions of democracy.  Second, that the Egyptian people have suffered for 30 years since he came to power and, third, that however afraid we are of what will come, the fact that 77 million people – a population more than ¼ the size of the United States – has escaped from the rule of a totalitarian regime, is a step forward.  As Americans, as human beings, we cannot believe only we deserve to chance to live freely.  As President Obama said in his June 2009 Cairo speech quite interestingly entitled, “A New Beginning,”:

…I…have an unyielding belief that all people yearn for certain things:  the ability to speak your mind and have a say in how you are governed; confidence in the rule of law and the equal administration of justice; government that is transparent and doesn't steal from the people; the freedom to live as you choose.  These are not just American ideas; they are human rights.  And that is why we will support them everywhere.

Some have been disappointed at President Obama’s, and Israel’s response, in the face of a revolution that seems the fulfillment of the American and Jewish ideal – freedom! A friend wrote to me:  “I can't get over that the Jewish community’s response seems to be focused on, “how does it affect Israel?” Isn't what is truly important that 77 million people are freeing themselves from dictatorship?  The sense that, well democracy is good, but they hate us and we won't like the decisions they make is both hypocritical and defeatist,” he wrote.

I reminded my friend that we must remember the 2^nd half of the verse – the purpose of our freedom is the service of God.  What does that mean for us?  The Torah reminds us freedom is not an ultimate value; quite the opposite; unchecked freedom is the tyranny of the masses.  The rabbis remind us that our urges – our sexual urges, our appetites, our fantasies – should not be fulfilled, nor repressed, but rather should be harnessed towards the service of God.  In the Talmud, one who is blood thirsty should become a butcher or a mohel – that person should channel the impulse for blood to the service of God.  “Eizeh Hu Gibor?” “Who is the hero?” One who conquers the inclination, the yetzer (Pirkei Avot 4:1).  In his introduction to Pirkei Avot, Shmonei Perakim, Maimonides describes how we should engage in a repeating good behaviors continually to train ourselves towards the good.  All of Jewish life can indeed be seen as being freed from slavery in Egypt not to wander aimlessly, but to surrender our freedom in the desert and give it over to the service of God.  Dr. Walter Ackerman wrote an important essay on Jewish education entitled, “Jewish education – For what purpose?”  This Shabbat, we might ask, “Freedom – for what purpose?”

By the way, it is too easy to condescendingly look down our nose at “those people” in Egypt and say, “now that they are free, they should use their freedom well.”  It is much more difficult to ask ourselves, “to what purposes have I put my freedom?”  What do I do with each moment of my life?  Have I served God in the desert?  Or have I wandered aimlessly, letting precious moments slip away, wasting my time and money on things that don’t matter.

A long time ago in this country, the words of the Negro spiritual could be heard, quietly sung in faith and hope…

When Israel was in Egypt land
Let my people go
Oppressed so hard they could not stand
Let my people go

Our story has given hope to many peoples throughout history – as God hoped it would: “that my name be proclaimed throughout the earth” (Exodus 9:16).  One of the more interesting images of the past few weeks was seeing an Egyptian protester hold up a sign that said, “Mubarak the Pharoah has to go.”  I just wanted to ask, if Mubarak is Pharoah, who are the Jews?!  I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that’s watching protesters in Tahrir Square – which means “liberty square” – reminds us of our own story.  We had our Pharoah; they have theirs.  Just as we went into the desert, the country of Egypt is headed into the desert, into the unknown; again as before, the whole Middle East, the whole world, is watching.  To what purpose, then, will Egyptians put their freedom?

Just as there is a 2^nd half of the verse, I want to quote the next paragraph of President Obama’s speech in June 2009,

[G]overnment of the people and by the people sets a single standard for all who would hold power:  You must maintain your power through consent, not coercion; you must respect the rights of minorities, and participate with a spirit of tolerance and compromise; you must place the interests of your people and the legitimate workings of the political process above your party.  Without these ingredients, elections alone do not make true democracy

Put another way, freedom to take power from others is an imposter, a corruption, an abuse, not a use, of the law.  Unqualified support of liberty that will be exploited by terrorists feeds into the hands of thugs.  DeTocqueville wrote, “When I see the right and the ability to do everything granted to any power whatsoever, whether it is called people or king, democracy or aristocracy, whether it is exercised in monarchy or republic, I say: there is the seed of tyranny, and I seek to go live under other laws.”  An election is not a democracy.  The process that has just begun must give birth to freedom that is used towards ensuring more freedom even, and especially, for those with whom you disagree.  It must lead to freedom, not suppression; towards equality and education, not indifference and ignorance; towards peace, not war.  Today, that is our prayer.

Many of you have asked what it’s like to be in Israel right now.  I want to conclude with a story.  On Sunday morning after the revolution began, I was sitting at Mandel and started talking with a friend of mine named Tomer. I told him how it was strange that people were asking me from the United States what it was like to be in Israel because for me, it felt like more people were talking about the rain than Egypt; Egypt felt like a 10-hour flight, not a 10-hour drive.  “Not for me,” said Tomer.  Over Shabbat, we couldn’t talk about anything else.

“Why?” I asked him.

“Well,” he explained, “my dad and his friends fought a lot of wars in the Sinai.  They were telling me about all the campaigns and the people who died; they remember.  It’s all they can talk about right now…the idea of going back…”

Tomer reminded me again that all our freedom was paid for by those who sacrificed before; but it’s too easy sometimes to think about, even to thank, “those people,” nameless, anonymous ancestors.  In Israel, such a large part of the population was, or will be, a soldier.  What that means is that when Israelis watch the TV and see 77 million Egyptians free, when they hear the Muslim Brotherhood threaten to tear up the peace treaty signed 30 years ago, they watch and wonder with more than a passing interest about what Egyptians will do with their freedom in the desert?  Freedom, to what end, they wonder?

For Tomer and his family, the news is not anonymous.  It was their family who fought and died for peace in the Sinai, and it will be theirs, God forbid, if it is necessary to fight again. They remember the Sinai and what happened there, as should we.  For them, the news is personal, as it should always be for us.  Today, that too is my prayer.

Rains and Revolutions

A number of people have asked me what it’s like to be in Israel while a revolution is going on next door.  My answer is, “it’s raining.”

When it rains in the Middle East, it’s a pain – I got soaked walking to Mandel this morning – but everybody is happy about it because we need rain.  One of the special things about the land of Israel is the fragile, quite direct connection between rainfall and the health of the land.  Rain is seen as a divine blessing:

“And it shall come to pass, if you shall give heed diligently to my commandments which I command you this day, to love the Lord your God, and to serve him with all your heart and with all your soul, That I will give you the rain of your land in its due season, the first rain and the latter rain, that you may gather in your grain, and your wine, and your oil. And I will send grass in your fields for your cattle, that you may eat and be full. Take heed to yourselves, that your heart be not deceived, and you turn aside, and serve other gods, and worship them; And then the Lord’s anger be kindled against you, and he closed the skies, that there should be no rain, and that the land yield not her fruit; and lest you perish quickly from off the good land which the Lord gives you.” (Devarim 11:14-17)

So rain is a pain, but it puts everyone in a good mood, like a collective sigh of relief.  And that’s what people seem to be thinking about, while a revolution is going on next door.

Of course, I, and others, are also thinking about the revolution in Egypt.  One contemplates the idea that a country of 77 million people – more than 10x Israel’s population – could, if the Muslim Brotherhood takes power, tear up its peace treaty with Israel signed 30 years ago.  The demilitarization of the Sinai peninsula was a condition of the peace treaty with Egypt but an Egyptian government run by the Muslim Brotherhood would likely channel arms to Gaza rather than trying to prevent smuggling (to read more fun scenarios, go to http://www.spiegel.de/international/world/0,1518,742186,00.html) leaving Israel to fight an Egyptian sponsored Hamas on its southern front in Gaza along with a well-armed Hezbollah-lead, Iranian sponsored Lebanon in the north.  One reads these scenarios with more, shall we say, focus, when you can get in a car and drive to these places in a few hours.  As a young Israeli friend of mine who worked for me at Ramah wrote on his facebook page yesterday, “I will support any candidate in Egypt who guarantees I will not have reserve duty in the next year.”  Gallows humor…hah hah.

But the truth is that while all this is going on a 10-hour drive away (4 hours from Jerusalem to Eilat, 6 across the Sinai peninsula to Cairo), I realize that most of the information I’m getting is the same information you are getting – from the internet (except, of course, if you’re in Cairo where Mubarak has cut off internet access).  Except, where I am, it’s raining like it is in Cairo, and I wonder if rain can effect a revolution.

As I walked to Mandel this morning, I wondered whether fewer people, perhaps just enough fewer people, would show up to protest this morning because it’s raining, and for whatever reason, one just doesn’t picture a revolution in the rain.  And whether the next few days – the rain and storms are supposed to intensify in this region for the next few days – possibly snow in Jerusalem on Tuesday! -  whether in these next few days, while Mubarak’s army couldn’t quell a revolution, rain just might.

To be clear, I’m not necessarily hoping that the revolution stops.   While I don’t look forward to the results of a future election ( to get a sense of how most Egyptians, or at least those who support the Muslim Brotherhood, may feel about Israel, see the passage from the Spiegel article quoted above)

A recent incident involving the vice governor of the Sinai Peninsula reveals how many Egyptians think about Israel. After a shark attack off the coast, the official said that it could not be ruled out that the deadly fish had been released by Israeli intelligence to harm Egypt's tourism industry. After the bloody attack on a church in Alexandria on Jan. 1, a spokesman for Egypt's Muslim Brotherhood speculated that Israel could be responsible for the attack, with the intention of sowing discord between Christians and Muslims.

I also don’t quite know how to answer Egyptians in America or in Cairo who are angry that the United States government has spent $2 billion per year propping up a ruthless, corrupt dictator who has oppressed his own people.  I liked the ends (a stable peace treaty with Israel and a reliable partner in working with the Palestinians to try and bring about a peace agreement) but those who argue against trying to achieve just ends with immoral means may be being proved right by the revolution underway.  Faced with years of civil strife, the people of Iraq are hanging on to a fragile democracy, suffering through funeral bombings (http://www.google.com/hostednews/ukpress/article/ALeqM5jv7R5zNSwI-0_c0d1cSssM1TiZlQ?docId=N0399591296141220058A – one becomes numb to the news…bombing a funeral? The depths of humanity…it happened just days ago).  The people of Iraq continue to suffer such horrible things because they still remember the alternative was living in a totalitarian dictatorship.  People in Gaza were given an election a few years ago.  They chose Hamas and got a war with Israel, international isolation, and its population suffers horrible living conditions as much from the actions of its own government as it does from an Israeli imposed blockade.  If the revolution in Egypt leads to fair elections in a few months, one hopes, prays, the people of Egypt will choose differently.  In the meantime, the rain continues to fall.

Nietzsche, Hanukkah & Israel Moments

Academic readings create strange intersections with life in Israel.  A few days ago, I read the first section of Nietzsche's "The Genealogy of Morals," for one of my courses at Mandel.  Where do morals come from according to Nietzsche?  He argues that good didn't used to mean "morally good," it just meant you were part of the strong, privileged class and "bad" didn't mean "morally bad," it just meant you were part of the weak, lower class.  So where did our idea of the "moral” come from?  You guessed it: the Jews.  But Nietzsche is no fan of Jewish (or Christian) morality:

Human history would be too fatuous for anything were it not for the cleverness imported into it by the weak…the Jews, that priestly nation which eventually realized that the one method of effecting satisfaction on its enemies and tyrants was by means of a radical transvaluation of values, which was at the same time an act of the cleverest revenge…It was the Jews who, in opposition to the aristocratic equation, dared with a terrifying logic to suggest the contrary equation, namely, “the wretched are alone the good; the poor, the weak, the lowly, are alone the good…It was, in fact, with the Jews that the revolt of the slaves begins in the sphere of morals; that revolt which has behind it a history of two millennia, and which at the present day has only moved out of our sight, because it – has achieved victory.”

When I read this passage, a part of me said to myself, “guilty as charged.”  While I disagree with Nietzsche’s characterization that we suggested that “the wretched alone are the good,” that is far preferable to an ethics, if one can call it that, in which the only good is those who are strong, those who win.

For the next eight days, Jews around the world will include the following passage in every Amidah (prayer) and every Birkat Hamazon (Grace After Meals) for Hanukkah:

We thank You also for the miraculous deeds and for the redemption and for the mighty deeds and the saving acts wrought by You, as well as for the wars which You waged for our ancestors in ancient days at this season. In the days of the Hasmonean, Mattathias, son of Johanan the high priest, and his sons, when the iniquitous Greco-Syrian kingdom rose up against Your people Israel, to make them forget Your Torah and to turn them away from the ordinances of Your will, You in your abundant mercy rose up for them in the time of their trouble, pled their cause, executed judgment, avenged their wrong, and delivered the strong into the hands of the weak, the many into the hands of few, the impure into the hands of the pure, the wicked into the hands of the righteous, and insolent ones into the hands of those occupied with Your Torah. Both unto Yourself did you make a great and holy name in Your world, and unto Your people did You achieve a great deliverance and redemption. Therefore Your children entered the sanctuary of Your house, cleansed Your temple, purified Your sanctuary, kindled lights in Your holy courts, and appointed these eight days of Hanukkah in order to give thanks and praises unto Your holy name

One could argue that the very meaning of Hanukkah is the victory of the weak – the Jews – over the strong – the Greeks, the Romans and a host of others in Jewish history who once oppressed us but now are gone.  But celebrating Hanukkah – and reading Nietzsche – in Israel is complicated.

Reading Nietzsche in Israel is complicated because scholars acknowledge that Nietzsche was read by, and influenced, the thought of Theodore Herzl and early Zionist poets Saul Tchernichovsky and Zalman Schneur.  Zionism constituted a break with one strand of rabbinic tradition that required waiting for the messiah to re-establish Jewish sovereignty in the land of Israel.  By leaving Jewish tradition, and weakness, behind, Zionism moved forward (strongly) with the work that was necessary to build a state.  But strength is not only useful in building a State; it can be helpful governing one too.  Later in “The Genealogy of Morals,” Nietzsche writes about the virtue of forgetfulness.

“An inability to take seriously for any length of time their enemies, their disasters, their misdeeds – that is the sign of the full strong natures who possess a superfluity of moulding plastic force, that heals completely and produces forgetfulness…it is only in characters like these that we see the possibility (supposing, of course, that there is such a possibility in the world) of the real “love of one’s enemies.”

As one reads this passage in modern day Israel and thinks about our relationship with the Palestinians and our other efforts towards reconciliation with the Arab world, it is possible to hear Nietzsche’s statements as counsel for how to move forward in the world of nations. Could it be that we would do well to have confidence – not overconfidence, but confidence – enough in our own strength to strengthen those with whom we want to make peace, and for both of us to forget a bit of the past wrongs that haunt us?

Celebrating Hanukkah in Israel is complicated because in the Hanukkah drama, we were weak, God delivered us and the story ends there.  But here, it was secular Zionists who built the country. (I believe God’s hand played a role in the history of the founding of modern Israel but I have to be honest about the fact that the Zionists who built the country would likely protest that reading of history and certainly did not share that theology).  Here in Israel, the story of Hanukkah continues where the history leaves off.  At the end of the Hanukkah story, we are strong, as we are now.  The question is: what then?  Is a strong Jew an oxymoron?  Living in Israel, it is clear that a fundamental question of our era is: how does a Jew exercise power? 

With Nietzsche in my mind and Hanukkah on the horizon, we set out for our latest Tuesday afternoon tiyul to the Memorial site and the Armored Corps museum in Latrun.  All of our Tuesday tiyulim have been great but our three boys would tell you that the chance to see and climb on the world’s largest collection of tanks (in a museum) was amongst the best.  Here are some photos of the boys on the Merkava Mark 4 tank J

Now here is a quintessential Israel moment.  It is a quiet afternoon at Latrun.  It is not tourist season so many of these attractions have few visitors.  We pay the fee and the woman at the register tells us to wait for a minute while she calls for someone who will show us around in English.  Great – our own personal guide! Courtesy of the public relations department of the IDF.  The young man approaches and greets us when, after a moment, he says, “your face is very familiar.  Where are you from?”

“We’ve been in Los Angeles for the last 13 years,” I tell him.

“Wait, Camp Ramah?” he asks.  “Rabbi Dan??!!”

It turns out that Ethan, now Eitan, was a camper at Camp Ramah in California for two years – tzophim (entering 9^th grade) and machon (entering 10^th grade) – before his family picked up and made aliyah in 2004.

Eitan did a great job showing us around. He beamed with pride at the Merkava Mark IV – “the best tank on the face of the planet, made almost entirely in Israel.”  The kids asked him, “Can we get in the tank?”

“Only when you join the army,” he said, making that plug for aliyah that is just part of the vocabulary here.

I ask Jen, “how would you feel if they made aliyah and joined the army? Or joined the American army?”

“It’s an admirable and selfless path.  I’d be proud,” she said, as we walked with Eitan amongst the tanks.  I would worry if they were in the army, not only for their safety, but also for the ethical choices they would face as part of their service, in both the American and Israeli armies.  But I would be very proud, as I am of Eitan and the many other Ramahniks who have made aliyah and serve in the IDF, because their strength makes possible a great light in the world: Israel, Hanukkah, the continuing story of the Jewish people in our homeland.

The main purpose of the Hanukkah candles from the perspective of Jewish law is pirsuma d’nisa – to publicize the miracle (that’s why Chabad puts up big Hanukkiot in very public areas).  But one question we should ask about Hanukkah – what is the point of publicizing our miracle?  Is it to proclaim to the world: “They lost.  We won!”  If that’s the point, it just seems like bragging, bad sportsmanship.  Is it to proclaim, as Nietzsche argues, “the weak, the lowly, alone are good” – as if those without power are unassailable and those with power are unredeemable?

No.  The light of Hanukkah – the purpose of Jewish power – is to proclaim to the weak, the few, the pure, the righteous, those who love God – you are not alone.  Do not lose hope.  God, and we, are with you.  And to proclaim to ourselves, and the strong, that the purpose of our strength is defense on behalf of goodness.  Our light illumines the night, proclaims hope to despair, shines a beacon to dark corners.

Just a few hours ago, we ate sufganyot (doughnuts cooked in oil to remember the light) and spun dreidels, and I showed my sons candles burning all over the city – in windows, at the top of stair cases, on street corners.   Light shines from Jerusalem.  Happy Hanukkah.