Stand For Peace
Like any compassionate human, I am distraught and saddened by the escalating violence, terror, destruction, and death taking place in parts of Israel and Gaza.
But do not ask me to “stand with Israel.” And do not ask me to “stand with Palestine.” I cannot; I will not.
I stand with the people of every nationality, religion, or ethnicity who live in fear for their lives and livelihoods, who worry about how to protect themselves, their families and their children. I stand with the Israelis and the Palestinians who are forced to wonder under what arbitrary moment they may find themselves in mortal danger–merely for being Palestinian or Israel; merely for living–and, especially, with those who, in the face of such terror, are brave enough to resist the temptation to view the conflict in Manichean terms.
The blame for the present debacle falls squarely and evenly on the governing bodies on both sides, in Palestine and in Israel. Sitting in synagogue this morning, listening to my compassionate, erudite, and peace-loving rabbi carefully choose his words and frame his remarks on the subject, it occurred to me that perhaps the best framework for articulating my views is one that follows the traditional form of the Al Cheyt confessional said by many Jews on Yom Kippur. It might go something like this:
For the sins we have committed before You by believing that there is no partner for peace.
And for the sins we have committed before You by refusing to pursue peace before war.
For the sins we have committed before You by exercising power.
And for the sins we have committed before You by believing that power and might make right.
For the sins we have committed before You by those who should know better.
And for the sins we have committed before You by those who never had the chance to learn.
For the sins we have committed before You by using doublespeak, to speak of peace while engaging in war.
And for the sins we have committed before You by equating peace only with victory.
For the sins we have committed before You under duress and willingly.
And for the sins we have committed before You through having a hard heart.
For the sins we have committed before You by instilling fear in the hearts of the innocent.
And for the sins we have committed before You by mistaking aggression for bravery.
For the sins we have committed before You by using fear, oppression, and repression as a tool of politics.
And for the sins we have committed before You by cloaking theocracy in democracy.
For the sins we have committed before You in thinking a Jewish life is worth more than a Muslim one.
And for the sins we have committed before You in thinking that a Muslim life is worth more than a Jewish one.
I am an American, and a Jew. As an American, I “stand with” my country, but part of my standing with it is also standing up to it: speaking out when I believe it is wrong, and when the actions taken by my government do not represent my views or my values.
That I am Jewish does not mean that I am an Israeli. Nor does it mean that I can support or “stand with” Israel–especially when its actions betray the values of the Judaism we allegedly share.
And I cannot stand with Palestine, despite my deep sympathies for their plight and an unwavering belief in the right to Palestinian statehood. But the government(s) of Hamas and Fatah are complicit, along with the Israelis, in de-prioritizing peace and in stoking the embers of a conflict that periodically flares up, at great cost to the Palestinian people.
Instead, I say that now is the time for Palestinians and Israelis–the people, not the nations–to stand with each other and demand a cessation of hostilities. To demand change.
Perhaps the place to start is by atoning for their mistakes, and asking for forgiveness from each other as a first step in rebuilding a comprehensive and meaningful process for peace.
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