Category Archives: Politics

Gaza: The Arrow Cannot Be Taken Back

gaza6

“When an arrow leaves the hand of a warrior he cannot take it back.” (Mechilta of Rabbi Ishmael, Beshallach, Shirah)

From this classic Jewish teaching we learn that violence unleashes a myriad of consequences that we can neither control nor reverse. Apropos of recent events, I take this to mean many things:

…when you loose tons and tons of bombs on a small patch of land inhabited by 1.5 million people, you will invariably kill a myriad civilians.

…we cannot begin to fathom the depths of grief and loss that Israel’s actions have brought upon scores of Gazans, their families and loved ones. Indeed, even in the wake of a fragile ceasefire the death toll continues to rise. (Read this article from today’s NY Times, which documents heartbreaking scenes of victims continuing to be pulled from the rubble weeks after they were killed).

…we cannot comprehend the anger and fury Israel’s actions have inspired in Gazans, Palestinians, and the Arab world at large. Yesterday I spoke with a Palestinian American friend who told me he had never seen the Arab streets so inflamed against Israel – and in many cases, against their own governments. (The anger of Egyptian citizens toward their goverment is frightening to behold).

…it is impossible to underestimate the damage this war has done to the already tenous prospects for peace between Israel and Palestine. Most analysts seem to agree that no matter whoever might be considered the military “victor” in this war, the moderate Fatah (at present Israel’s only Palestinian peace partner) is the heaviest political casualty. Moderate Arab countries are all the queasier about supporting the peace process and the Saudis are now under fire to pull their plan from the table.

This quote from the NY Times article above sums up the tragic new reality on the ground:

In the upper middle-class neighborhood of Tal al-Hawa, Ziad Dardasawi, 40, a wood importer, was trying to process what had happened. As a supporter of Fatah, a political rival of Hamas, Mr. Dardasawi said that he despised Hamas, but that its rocket fire was no justification for Israel’s military response.

“Let’s say someone from Hamas fired a rocket — is it necessary to punish the whole neighborhood for that?” he said, standing in a stairway of his uncle’s house, where furniture had been smashed, and all the windows broken.

He drew on an analogy he thought would strike a chord: “In the U.S., when someone shoots someone, is his entire family punished?”

The Israeli actions made the situation more intractable, he said. “How can I convince my neighbors now for the option of peace? I can’t.”

He added: “Israel is breeding extremists. The feeling you get is that they just want you to leave Gaza.”

(Photo: Tyler Hicks/NY Times)

Who Am I to Criticize?

sderot

You have no idea what it is like to live here. You don’t understand what we live with every day. We are the ones who have to live with the consequences of this war. Who are you to criticize us?

In a very real way, of course, they’re are absolutely right. Though I visit Israel frequently and have spent a significant amount of time there, I have no idea what it is like to live and work and raise a family and makes one’s home in a country that is in a constant state of war against enemies within and without.

And I certainly cannot even begin to imagine what it must be like to live  in Southern Israel during this most current crisis: to try and live a life with some sense of normalcy knowing that at any moment an air-raid siren could go off and afford you and your family mere moments to await the possibility of an incoming missile.

It is true and I must acknowledge it. American Jews do not live with the traumatic reality of this conflict. It is very different to relate to the war in Gaza from the comfort of our homes a world away rather than mere kilometers from the border. At the end of the day, I do admit to my Israeli friends that I cannot and will never understand what it must be like to live there.

But as someone who has identified deeply with Israel for his entire life, someone who has dear friends and family there, I write this with utmost honesty and respect: I reject the suggestion that I have no place speaking out against Israel’s actions simply because I don’t actually live there.

Who am I to criticize? I am a Jew – one of the many millions of diaspora Jews for whom the Jewish state was created. According to the official Zionist narrative, Israel is my Jewish inheritance, my Jewish national home. As a Jew living outside of Israel, I have been given the right to receive instant citizenship if I ever decide to actually move there (something, by the way, that scores of Palestinians whose families have lived in that land for generations cannot do). If Israel purports to relate to me thus, do I not have a voice in the discussion over the actions the Jewish state takes in the name of my people?

Who am I to criticize? I am American. I am a citizen whose country, the world’s largest superpower, supports Israel with significant economic and military aid. My tax dollars thus implicate me in a very real way with Israel’s national decisions – not least of which are its military actions.  I am also the citizen of a nation whose government has essentially given Israel a blank check to take numerous measures that I believe are counter to the cause of peace, including the expropriation of Palestinian lands, destruction of homes, injustice in military courts and widespread building of settlements in occupied Palestinian territory, to name but a few.

As I have written in earlier posts, I believe Israel’s response to Hamas’ missile attacks have been disproportionate and outrageous. I believe their actions only further endanger the security of  Israelis while inflicting collective punishment and a severe humanitarian crisis upon Gazans. Indeed, just as I cannot understand what it must be like to be a citizen of Sderot, I cannot even begin to imagine what it must be like to be a Gazan citizen at the moment, living under constant air attack, with no running water or electricity and dwindling food, as hospitals fill up with wounded and corpses lie rotting in the streets because relief workers are unable to reach them.

Do I believe that Palestinians bear their share of the blame in this crisis? Absolutely. As the cliche goes, there is certainly enough blame to go around. But as a Jew and an American, I am uniquely implicated in the actions Israel takes.  We Jews and Americans must bear our share of responsibility for this crisis. How far are we willing to go to contribute to a solution?

Israel and Gaza: One Geographer’s Prediction

5

I am enormously grateful to those who’ve commented on my last two posts, which inspired the longest and liveliest conversation I’ve ever seen on this blog.  I know my that my words struck a nerve but I’m grateful to have facilitated a least a small measure of open discussion.

Speaking personally, my own anguish over this tragedy has only deepened during the past week – particularly as Israel’s ground invasion begins, the civilian death/casualty toll increases and headlines scream things at us like “Ceasefire Rejected” and “No End in Sight.”  Still and all, I seem to have retained a uniquely masochistic impulse to devour every news report and analysis that comes my way.

Amidst the myriad of articles, news reports and blog posts I have read this past week, the one that has stuck with me the longest is a five year old Jerusalem Post interview with Israeli geographer Arnon Soffer.  Soffer is widely regarded as the architect of Sharon’s disengagement plan and his insights (as morally repugnant as they are) are critical for our understanding of the actual intentions behind Israel’s pullout from Gaza.  In their tragically ironic way, I believe Soffer’s words are are profoundly important in helping us understand why it shouldn’t be such a surprise that things have now come to this.

A brief excerpt:

How will the region look the day after unilateral separation?

The Palestinians will bombard us with artillery fire – and we will have to retaliate. But at least the war will be at the fence – not in kindergartens in Tel Aviv and Haifa.

Will Israel be prepared to fight this war?

First of all, the fence is not built like the Berlin Wall. It’s a fence that we will be guarding on either side. Instead of entering Gaza, the way we did last week, we will tell the Palestinians that if a single missile is fired over the fence, we will fire 10 in response. And women and children will be killed, and houses will be destroyed. After the fifth such incident, Palestinian mothers won’t allow their husbands to shoot Kassams, because they will know what’s waiting for them.

Second of all, when 2.5 million people live in a closed-off Gaza, it’s going to be a human catastrophe. Those people will become even bigger animals than they are today, with the aid of an insane fundamentalist Islam. The pressure at the border will be awful. It’s going to be a terrible war. So, if we want to remain alive, we will have to kill and kill and kill. All day, every day.

While CNN has its cameras at the wall?

If we don’t kill, we will cease to exist. The only thing that concerns me is how to ensure that the boys and men who are going to have to do the killing will be able to return home to their families and be normal human beings.

Click below to read the entire article.

Continue reading

Israel and Gaza: In Search of a New Moral Calculus

59ae8b54-d4eb-11dd-b967-000077b07658

I knew my last post would generate passionate comments – and I confess that I did hesitate before posting something so patently emotional. I went ahead though, because as I read the increasingly tragic news about the Israel-Gaza conflict, I’m consciously resisting the knee-jerk impulse to paper over my emotions with dispassionate analysis. It’s becoming clear to me that our attempts to be “rational” keep us from facing the inherent irrationality of this conflict.

Of course the Qassam attacks against Southern Israel have been intolerable. Of course Hamas bears its share of responsibility for this conflict. But beyond the rhetorical “well, he started it” arguments (which could stretch well back to 1948 and beyond) there remains the central question: what will bring safety, security and ultimately peace to this tortured region? I realize there are no easy answers, but I believe to my marrow that it will not come by sending in the war planes and reducing what’s left of Gaza to rubble.

Does anyone in their right mind truly think this abject destruction will ultimately bring safety and security to Southern Israel?  In the end, Every Gazan killed equals that many more family members and friends who will now be forever enraged and inflamed against the Jewish state. If peace depends largely on cultivating moderates on the other side, what does blowing them to smithereens accomplish? Believe me, if Israel ultimately thinks their attacks will turn Gazans against Hamas, they will be sorely disappointed. If forced to choose between Israel and Hamas, who do we really think they will choose now?

But even more than the strategic considerations, I am infinitely more troubled by the deeper moral implications of Israel’s military actions. Yes, it is true that Hamas chose to end the ceasefire and yes, Israel has few good options. But it was ultimately Israel who made the decision to bombard Gaza with a massive air attack, loosing many several hundreds of bombs into densely populated city center, virtually guaranteeing widespread civilian carnage and death.

As I write these words, I can already predict the standard moral calculus: “Yes, but Hamas purposely launches Qassams into civilian areas while Israel tries to minimize civilian casualties whenever possible.”  I’m coming to realize that pat rhetorical equations like these might serve to help us sleep better at night, but they don’t change some basic unavoidable truths: that in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, the military power dynamic is heavily weighted in Israel’s favor, that Hamas’ Qassams are but peashooters against Israel’s armed might and ultimately, as traumatic as it undoubtedly is to live in Sderot, Palestinian civilian casualties vastly outnumber Israel’s. And in the end, it matters little to the loved one of a dead civilian whether or not his/her death was caused intentionally or by “collateral damage.”

From what I can tell, Israel’s response to this latest bloody go-round amounts to: “We regret if civilians are killed, but they started it and anyhow that’s what happens in war.”  I certainly understand how Israel, a nation that has been in a constant state of war and conflict since its inception might develop such a moral trope. But whatever comfort it might afford us in the short term, it will not ultimately provide us with a path to peace – only a rationalization for prolonging the bloody status quo.

That’s all for now. Thank you for your comments and please keep them coming. And let’s pray for better news tomorrow.

Pickup at Hafez’s Tomb

iran7-003

We’ve spent the last two days in Shiraz – and among other things our experience in this beautiful city gave us a still deeper into to Persia’s soul.

We’ve been told that while Esfahan is generally considered to represent Iran’s historical spirit, Shiraz reflects Iran’s cultural spirit. Indeed, while Iran is an Islamic Republic, Islam is not the only defining aspect of Iranian identity.

Among our many visits in Shiraz was a visit to Zoastrian Fire Temple. Zoastrianism was the religion of the ancient Persian empire and remained so until the Arab conquest converted Persia to Islam in the 7th century. Today, although the active Zoastrian community of Iran is extremely small (there are approximately 1,000 in the country) it continues to occupy an important place in Persian culture. All Iranians regardless of their religion identify with the traditions of Zoastrianism, which is in a sense regarded to be their “native religious culture.” The festival of Yalda, which occurs during the Winter Solstice and Noruz, the two week spring celebration of the Zoastrian New Year, are universally popular national holidays.

iran7-002

It would have been extremely interesting to dialogue with members of the Zoastrian community, but alas, we learned at the last minute that they were not available to meet us at the Temple. Still, it has been impossible for us to ignore the impact of this ancient religion upon present day Iran. The image of Ahura Mazda, the Zoastrian God, is ubiquitous throughout the country, not only at the ancient ruins of Persepolis (above), but on travel signs, office buildings and souvenir stands.

An interesting anecdote in this regard: when we were at Mofid University in Qom, one young student of Islam proudly showed me his Ahura Mazda necklace, and told me this image was an important part of his history. When I asked if any of his clerical teachers objected, he emphatically shook his head. “It is an important part of our history,” he said. To be sure, more than one person has told us that the Islamic regime is lenient about such things because it understands the importance role Zoastrianism plays in the cultural life of Persia

Another central aspect of the Iranian collective soul, of course, is their poetry. Iranians are justifiably proud of their literary tradition; every Iranian child is read Ferdowsi’s epic “Shahnameh” as well as national poets such as Hafez, Saadi and Rumi.  The more time we spend here, the more I realize we can never underestimate the depth of pride that Iranians have in their national/cultural traditions. It is a modern-day nation can literally experience its own history back across thousands and thousands of years. And though they have been dominated by countless empires over the centuries, they have never surrendered their unique connection their culture, their heritage, their history, their language.

This is something that is very difficult for Americans in particular to grasp – our national history goes back little more than 200 years and most of us ultimately originate from somewhere else. While we study American history, our connection to it is nowhere near as profound at that of Iranians to theirs’.  At the same time, for most Americans, Iran is just another Islamic nation in the Middle East. However, you have only to spend a small amount of time here to understand that this country is much, much more.

I’m sure this sounds like a cliché, but it’s true: in order to understand Iranians, you must understand their poetry. Or at the very least, to their deep connection to their poetry that truly sings in their soul. For example, among the most important cultural landmarks in Iran are the tombs of their poets, which serve as almost quasi-sacred sites. Last night we went to two of the most important in Shiraz: the Tomb of Saadi and of Hafez. I’m still at bit mind-blown by our experience at Hafez’s tomb in particular (top pic), which was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. It’s an immensely popular site for Iranians, particularly young Iranian young people, whose idea of a great evening is to visit Hafez’s tomb and read his spiritually passionate poems of wine, longing and romance (see below). It’s also something of a romantic hot spot, where young people can mingle, meet and (I imagine) maybe even get lucky…

iran7-0041

We’ve heard that the social atmosphere in Shiraz is a bit looser than in other Iranian cities, and that the regime’s “Morality Police” tend to let things go there a bit more easily. And apparently the Tomb of Hafez is one of the few places in Iran where young people of the opposite sex can mingle together publically without few of official harassment.

This certainly seemed to be the case last night. Throngs gathered near and around the crypt, reading poems, laughing and chatting. We spent a fair amount of time meeting and talking to folks and wouldn’t you know it, inevitably someone from our group got hit upon. Sarah Bassin reported later that a young man approached her, asked her where she was from, told her about how bad his marriage was, then proclaimed to her: “Your face is delicious.”

After teasing Sarah mercilessly about her quintessentially Persian encounter, we all agreed that our brief sojourn at Hafez’s tomb was unexpectedly and deeply moving. I’d say there is much we Americans can learn from a culture as profound as this one.

Understanding Iran, Facing our Fears: A Sermon for Yom Kippur

At Yom Kippur services yesterday, I announced to my congregation that I will be traveling to Iran on an interfaith peace delegation next month. I devoted the majority of my remarks to our current conflict with Iran, and why I have been so deeply frustrated with our government’s and the Jewish community’s response to this crisis.

Click below to read the entire text of my sermon:

Continue reading

Demanding Justice in Postville

I spent an incredible day yesterday in Postville, Iowa, where an interfaith mobilization of nearly 1,500 people prayed, marched, sang and testified in solidarity with the 390 immigrant Agriprocessor workers arrested in the May 12 raid. I’m still processing the experience the morning after – suffice to say this action provided a powerful ray of light in the midst of the ongoing tragedy that is Postville.

Some brief background for those who still need it: on May 12, US Immigration and Customs Enforcement raided the Agriprocessors kosher meat packing plant. It was the largest single-site workplace raid in US history, resulting in the detainment of 390 employees (out of a total of 968). Ninety were subsequently released (many with GPS ankle bracelets) – the remaining 300 have convicted as criminals on felony charges.

This is the first time that criminal charges were used as a deportation tactic in an immigrant raid. Most of the detained workers were sentenced to five months in prison for engaging in identity theft, in addition to being charged with committing a civil offense for living in the US illegally. According to the terms of their sentence, they are to be deported after serving their time. (Agriprocessors has not been charged, although there have been widespread and growing charges of worker abuse at the plant).

Yesterday’s demonstration was organized to show solidarity with the Agriprocessor workers and their families and to shine a bright light on our profoundly broken immigration policy. This action brought together an unprecedented coalition of activists and was organized by Postville’s St. Bridget’s Catholic Church, Jewish Community Action (St. Paul, MN), the Jewish Coucil on Urban Affairs (Chicago), and the Office for College Ministries at Luther College (Decorah, IA).

Marchers came from throughout the Midwest – largely from Iowa, Minneapolis/St. Paul and Chicago. I joined two full tour buses organized by JCUA for the five hour ride. As we arrived, the scale of the action quickly became evident – throngs were simply pouring into Postville from every direction. I was honored to participate in an interfaith service at St. Bridget’s (below) – the Catholic church that initially provided refuge for families of the detained and has been the base of operations for the crisis response team.

After the service, we began our march. (That’s me with JRC members Leon and Sue Fink and Gonzalo and Tina Escobar below). Our first stop was the Agriprocessor’s plant which was adorned, horrifyingly enough, with a menorah, a Jewish star, and a banner that read “Agriprocessors: A Great Place to Work!” Needless to say, I was heartened by the strong Jewish presence at the demonstration, which provided Postville with a very different face of the Jewish community.

Our march also stopped at large playground that has remained largely empty since the raid. (The Postville school system has been decimated since employee children have either moved away with their families or are living in fear in their homes). In one of the many emotional high points of the day, a group of employee children (below) recited this piece, which was inspired by the poem “I Am A Jew” (from the classic collection “I Never Saw Another Butterfly”):

We are Latinos and will be Latinos forever.
Even if they should try to separate our families
never will we submit.
We will always fight for our people
on our honor.
We will never be ashamed of them
we give our word.

We are proud of our people,
how dignified they are.
Even though we are supressed,
we will always come back to life.

Our march then took us into downtown Postville, where we encountered the inevitable counter demonstrators. As you can see from the pix below, their signs ranged from the more than mildly offensive to the outright repulsive. (We quickly learned, however, that these fine citizens were not locals. I want to take pains to note that we were largely received with respect and appreciation by the citizens of Postville).

During the final rally, the skies opened up with a thunderstorm, so we moved back into St. Bridget’s. By far, the most moving part of this gathering were the personal testimonies of Agriprocessor workers and their families. One young boy, whose mother is currently imprisoned in Leavenworth, KS, spoke eloquently about his family and their plight, while choking back tears.

As painful as it is, I believe it is so essential for us to bear witness to stories such as these. They are critical reminders that the immigration debate in our country is not about abstract policy, but real people whose lives are literally being torn apart by structural violence. At the end of the day, this really is the crux of the issue. All the rest, as the ubiquitous Rabbi Hillel once said, is mere commentary.

Still, yesterday was a proud day for us all. And I can’t help but hope that this newly emboldened coalition will now take the struggle to the next level.

I’ll close with the picture below. Take a close look – I think it says it all. (The mother with the ankle bracelet is Maria Garcia, an ex-Agriprocessor employee originally from San Luis Potasi, Mexico. That’s her son Anthony holding the American flag…)