There’s a famous, apocryphal story about Ezer Weisman that when
he was president of Israel he invited the Grand Mufti of the Waqf, which
oversees the Temple Mount, or the Harm Al-Sharif, and the Chief Rabbi of
Israel, to his official residence in Jerusalem. While there he asked them which
of Abraham’s sons was sacrificed on the Temple Mount, The Noble Sanctuary,
Isaac or Ishmael? The Chief Rabbi naturally said Isaac, and the Grand Mufti
naturally said Ishmael, each citing their texts and their opinions, the
conversation growing ever more heated. Finally, Weizman put a stop to it and,
with a twinkle in his eye declared “you’re both wrong! It was a ram that was
sacrificed up there!”
Today we see a similar debate taking place, only now the
language is even more incendiary, and the results catastrophic. On the one hand
the Palestinian leadership is stoking rumors online that Israel seeks to
destroy the Al-Aqsa mosque and ‘Judaize’ the Temple Mount; rumors that are
leading to young men and women, in their teens and twenties, flinging
themselves with knives and guns at Israeli civilians to attempt to murder them.
These are not just Palestinians—many of these kids are Israeli Arabs, with
Israeli rights. These rumors have also led to attempts at the United Nations to
declare the Western Wall, Joseph’s tomb (which was set ablaze) and other Jewish
sites as Muslim, leading many on the Israeli right to declare that this is
proof that the Palestinians don’t want coexistence, they want murder. This has
led to Israelis buying guns to protect themselves, barring Israeli Arabs from
working in schools in some communities, erecting temporary barriers in some
neighborhoods, the mob-murder of an Eritrean immigrant in Beer Sheba, and Bibi
Netanyahu putting his entire lower half into his mouth, declaring that the
Grand Mufti of the 1930s was responsible for the Holocaust, resulting in
Germany saying “actually, that was us. Sorry.”
There are two powerful, compelling narratives going on here,
but really they’re one. And the narratives begin this week with parashat lech lecha. Avram, dwelling in
Ur, already an old man, is told by God to go to some unnamed land, the land God
will show him, and will bless him. His descendants will inherit that land and
all the families of the earth will bless themselves by him. It is an audacious
story; to uproot one’s entire life to journey to an unknown place for an
impossible blessing, but Avram does so, and thus fulfills his name, becoming
the father of many.
It is cliché at this point to note that Avraham is the
father of us and the Muslims, the kind of reference one brought up in the heady
days of the Oslo accords. But it’s cliché because it’s true. It’s a shared
narrative and a shared land. As Sarah Tuttle-Singer wrote in the Times of
Israel last week: we’re not going anywhere, and they’re not going anywhere.
Right now the World Zionist Congress is taking place. Thanks
to our efforts, 40% of the delegates are from ARZA, our American Reform Zionist
Association, who ran on a platform of moving peace forward. They are meeting
and working toward that effort now. There are voices on both sides—drowned out
by incitement—who are calling for peace and coexistence. We need to everything
we can to lift those voices up, in spite of our anger and our fear. Not Pollyanna
ideas or foolish notions that the Middle East will suddenly be Northern Europe,
but peace and prosperity on the ground nevertheless.
There was an article in Ha’aretz this week citing several
studies that pointed to how the Palestinians, Jews and Druze and Israeli
Bedouin all share common genetic ancestry; we are closest to each other. There
may not have been an Avraham as appears in the Torah, but we come from one
ancestor. We are all mishpocha. So
were Cain and Abel. So it’s up to us to decide whether we want to use our
shared story to justify harm to one another, or to uplift one another. And we
have to make that choice again and again, otherwise it won’t be a ram sacrificed,
but all of our children. Amen.
No comments:
Post a Comment