Periodically I look around Jerusalem and try to understand what it must look like from an outsider’s perspective. My neighborhood specifically, Nachalaot, offers a plethora of diversity. Black cloaked chassidim pass the colorful hippies and hipsters on the street. Secular students head for a beer in the same direction that the religious students walk towards to pray, while other religious students try to figure out where they can catch a service that is quick enough to allow them to catch up to their beer-swilling friend. I take it for granted that there is such a variety here, but every once in a while I peel my eyes open and am amazed.
Clothing to me does not make the man, but often times I take things to a higher level and try to understand the true differences between us. For some reason I seem to understand people who wear heavy layers of clothing in the summer out of a religious belief more than I can people who dress like me but hurly their heavy layers of religious beliefs at others.
Recently, one of my campers from two summers ago emailed me to ask me about my experiences and feelings with regards to the disengagement of 2005- a topic that was and still is very confusing for me. That was a summer that found me caught in a conflict between a belief in the inherent holiness of Israel’s land and a desire for peace and security for the Jewish people. As I recounted to my chanicha, for me a Jewish soul was more holy than the Jewish land, which is why I was not completely against the disengagement. To be clear, I was not for the disengagement either, especially because it involved uprooting fellow Jews from their homes, something that infracted upon my previously mentioned belief of caring for others. Nonetheless, as the rabbis who would become my roshei yeshiva would tell their students serving in the army at the time, I believed then that (theoretically speaking) I would not disobey orders. If told to do so, with a heavy heart I would remove Jews from their homes.
The hitnatkut took place over six years ago already and in many ways my view has changed. Hindsight, as we all know, is 20-20 (or 6-6 in Israel), and it has affected my stance. Last year during a car-ride that I had hitched from Latrun to Jerusalem, the drivers routinely asked me a bit about myself. When I mentioned that I was in a Hesder yeshiva (a program that combines yeshiva learning with army service) they asked me what the “hesder” (Hebrew for arrangement) was- would I or would I not participate in pinuiim. My answer was no, but my hesitation revealed that I had not completely accepted my new answer. They warned me that those few seconds of thought would be my undoing if faced with such a situation, and that a Jew should never uproot another Jew.
Yesterday’s events in the Efraim territories have once again caused me to question my stance. Personally I do not think I could participate as a soldier in removing someone from their home. I also cringe at the thought of giving up land. It failed in the past, and yes, I believe that we have a claim to Israel and should be living in all of her nooks and crannies. For me it is hard to point fingers in this situation. Truth be told I wouldn’t mind letting whoever wants to camp out on a hilltop do so (provided they understand the security risk that they put themselves in). It hurts to hear about another evacuation.
But the behavior of the noar gvaot, the hilltop youth, hurts more. At the end of the day, unity as a people takes priority and demands sacrifice. Five families do not compare to the communities that were destroyed in Gush Katif. We elect our leadership and grant them executive decisions. If the majority of the people chose a leader who takes a stance that I don’t agree with, then I will yell and protest, but when the day comes, I will not fight them. A holy land without a united people is worth nothing.
Noa Mandelbaum, an expert in special needs education, once taught me that we all have eyes, brains, and hearts. The difference between a good teacher and a bad teacher is in knowing how to use them. One who knows how to look around, analyze a situation, and understand the emotional intensity of a situation is the one who will be able to give the proper response. I see and feel anger all around me. Not just with regards to the debate over land rights and security, but in debates about other religious issues (the most prominent being those of women’s rights and modesty laws in Judaism).
Back in 2005 we feared that the disengagement would lead to civil war. We were granted about five year of quiet, possibly out of the shock and trauma of that summer, but the fear and frustration that were planted in the Gush Katif uprooting have begun to sprout into hate. Jewish soldiers have been attacked with rocks, Molotov cocktails, and the rest of the DIY arsenal, and forced to counter-attack fellow Jews. Religion, what should be the bond of the Jewish people, has once more become the ironic source of rift. The dati leumi (“Modern Orthodox”) world is tearing at her seams- and this is only one faction of the religious world in Israel!
The easy path is to protest the protesters, funneling all of the aggravation that they are causing us back at them. Justice is served and all of the injured, be it physically or egotistically, are avenged. Our challenge is to analyze the dynamics of the struggle and keep our emotions in check; to add thought to sight and emotion. Stay cool, boy. There is a big picture that we must be mindful of; a nation whose survival and being revolve around unity.
Living with people whose opinions are far more radical than yours is much more difficult than living with people who dress in a different fashion. Should we let rioters walk? Absolutely not! But at the same time, these are people whose roots, both physically and spiritually, are the same as everyone’s, and both sides are hurting. Few of us will actually stand face to face with a protester from the other camp, whatever side it may be, but every day we battle them in our discussions with friends. How we describe them and relate to them in words is what paints our vision of reality. Demeaning them in thought and speech will eventually result in a tangible hate, something that we just cannot afford.
This week’s parasha (weekly torah portion) deals with the first Jewish family to be torn apart by anger and frustration. Both Joseph’s slandering and his brothers’ jealousy and hate were guilty in causing the rift that lead the first Israelis into Egypt, the original diaspora. Years later it is our responsibility to fix their mistakes.
