"Israelis Don't Run Away"

A woman recently told me something that I have not been able to get out of my head. “Israelis don't run away.” As a long term resident of Israel, as someone who had raised a family in Israel, and who  married and Israeli man, she said that until the Gulf War, she had not felt Israeli. During the Gulf War, one day she told her husband that she would be taking their kids and returning to her home country where they would be safe.  His response, "Israelis don't run away." She could run, but her children were Israeli. As Israelis, they could not run away. She could go, but they would stay. In that moment, she chose to stay. She chose not to run away. She chose to be Israeli.
 
What does it mean that "Israeli's don't run away"? For this woman's husband, this phrase meant being brave and remaining in Israel all the while knowing the risks. His concern: if they didn't stay who would? If they ran and other Israelis ran, then where would the State of Israel be? As American Jews or Jews in the Diaspora, what does it mean to choose not to run away from Israel? For me, to run away from Israel means to relinquish support for Israel. Not running away from Israel today means that I will not run away from the reality in which I live, and I will not literally run away from Israel.   

While I propose that Diaspora Jews not run away from the reality of Israel, I do not, by any means, suggest that we dispense with critical thinking.  How can we as American and Diaspora Jews express our love and support for Israel while remaining critical of human and civil rights issues? How do we reconcile the need of Israel to protect it's people from harm and the potential and real impact of military actions on civilian lives both in the State of Israel and in Gaza?

As I try to position myself as a human being, a Jew, and as an American amidst the cacophony of voices speaking to the times at hand, I cannot help but be critical of my home country, more so than Israel. I am not one to agree with every policy of a country, that of my own or others, however, I cannot sit quietly as some Americans say that Israel is in the wrong for defending itself as siren after siren and bomb after bomb are sent from Gaza to cities all over Israel, including the one in which I live. This situation is not as simple as a peace treaty. This situation does not require a bandaid or an easy fix. It is complicated and intricately woven into history, politics, religion, and culture.

At a recent talk, Yossi Klein Halevi stated two things that I found to be profoundly true: 1) we often fail as Diasporic Jews and especially as American Jews to see that peace is far more difficult to attain post 2000 in light of the Second Intifada, 2) there is a tendency to oversimplify Israel as one thing or another, either as entirely perfect or corrupt. In a world and in societies that too often emphasize and accept political and social polarization, how can we uncover the dynamic and complicated nature of our relationship to Israel? How can we teach our children about the complicated situation in Israel while acknowledging our own struggle with the state and with the land?

I recognize that here I ask more questions than I provide answers. I do not have any real answers. I only have words, ideas, love and support. As rockets fly overhead, and as, God willing, the Iron Dome protects me, I pretend these projectiles are tornadoes so that they match their sirens of a similar pitch. I compartmentalize just as the small children in Sederot sing their "Siren Songs" and prepare themselves to take shelter.

This blog has merely been a sounding board for my thoughts and reflections on the past two weeks. It only reflects the last two weeks and leaves out a good deal of the sadness left in the wake of the deaths of the four boys; three Jewish, and one Muslim. Life in Israel has dramatically changed over the last few weeks, yet by the looks of it, in Jerusalem, life goes on as normal as ever. Jewish time keeps rolling as Tisha B'Av and Rosh Chodesh approach, as my first week of rabbinical school begins, and as I look forward to another Shabbat in Jerusalem.

Shalom and Salaam