Gaza and the 36

Submitted by Rabbi Nathan Godleman

It is hard to know what to say when people are desperate for food; when one’s mind is crowded with images of outstretched hands and empty containers; the gaunt faces of adults and skeletal bodies of infants. It is hard to know what to say when the number of hostages in Gaza is down to fifty; when we count the dead – three fifths, as if they were still alive. It is hard to know what to say when hundreds of thousands of people are displaced, and population transfer is the chosen euphemism of Israeli government ministers. It is hard to know what to say when soldiers continue to be killed in a war that has been going on for nearly twenty-two months, with no end in sight. And it is hard to know what to say when Palestinians on the West Bank are forced off their land by violent thugs, whose Judaism is not ours, who would not recognise us as Jews; who make an idol of the land, without regard to Jewish history, ethics or the prophetic call for justice. ‘Do justly, love mercy, walk humbly with your God.’ These are not values that can be set aside. They are universally valid. Wielding power, it is crucial they are applied, if the State of Israel is to remain Jewish in any meaningful sense.

Two or three months ago, having seen a news report of a Palestinian father in Gaza, mourning his two children killed earlier that day, I wrote my thought for the week, in which I recognised his humanity and his grief. He wasn’t an actor. He didn’t talk about politics. The circumstances were almost incidental. Yet, his pain was real, and for a moment he was not the Other, he was my fellow. My late uncle used to tell a story – I don’t know its origin. One says to another: ‘Do you love me?’ ‘Yes, of course,’ is the immediate reply. ‘Then, do you feel my pain?’ Judaism is a fine balancing act between the universal and the particular. Neither can outweigh the other, lest we lose our sense of peoplehood, lest we lose our humanity. We need to feel the pain of the Other, not allow ourselves to become numb to it, for whatever reason. Within moments of my thought being sent out and read, one member of the synagogue had resigned. My recognition of the Other seems to have been too much for that individual. Nevertheless, a Judaism that is so narrow, so lacking in mercy, in confidence, is not a living faith, it is a kind of nationalism, which usurps God for its own ends. It was time for me to say something, however modest. Until then, my preoccupation had been to protect the community, avoid divisiveness, maintain as broad a base as possible, inclusive of those on the left and right, while espousing, as per the movement, a liberal form of Zionism, which I will continue to do for as long as possible. I suppose I am beginning to wonder how long it will be possible, and where this Jewish commonwealth is heading.

If it is often hard to know what to say, were all Israel prophets, we would at least intuit when the time had come to speak out. I believe that a few months ago, that moment came for thirty six of us. Lamed vav, thirty-six deputies, all representing Progressive synagogues, amounting to ten percent of those on the Board of Deputies. They spoke out against the war in Gaza, having felt a moral imperative to do so. All of them were sanctioned, with five suspended and thirty one threatened with suspension. The main charge was that they purported to speak on behalf of the Board of Deputies. The main issue for the complainants seemed to be the content of their letter. I have my own view as to the charge, based on what a reasonable person would conclude: that they spoke as deputies, not as the Board. It seems quite clear that outside pressure forced the Board of Deputies to proceed against the thirty six. Hopefully, the appeals process will untangle all the knots. If the phrase ‘diversity of voices’ is to mean anything – and it so often does not, some kind of reprieve must follow. In the meantime, the combined Conference and Assembly of Liberal and Reform rabbis and cantors had found its voice, standing by the deputies in a public statement. Why was the threshold of seventy-five percent reached so easily in support of the statement? Because, even if we differ on Gaza, or are critical of how the deputies acted in certain respects, we cannot help but support freedom of speech and of conscience, cornerstones of liberalism, religious and otherwise. A prophetic tradition has to allow for prophetic voices to be heard. Interestingly, in this case, the ‘thought leaders’ were lay deputies. They led, we, as rabbis and cantors, followed, first with a similar letter, signed by thirty one, then with overwhelming support. For it is not easy to speak out. It comes at a cost. It is far easier to say nothing, to look away, to harden one’s heart.

Thus, I have been brought to the point of signing a letter calling for an immediate ceasefire, the release of hostages and the unfettered distribution of aid to a population on the brink of famine. I am under no illusions about Hamas and their centrality in all of this. I am not a dove. I would like to see them driven out, destroyed. However, it has yet to happen, and the collateral damage is human beings, the vast majority of whom are powerless. There but for fortune go you and I, in the words of the song. Is the IDF using starvation as a weapon of war, a phrase in the latest letter? I do not know. Is the Israeli government doing everything it can to alleviate hunger? Clearly not, and it must, or it is contravening the moral law, if not international law. As both lean heavily on Judaism and the Jewish historical experience, then something is very wrong. It is not enough to secure the state and protect its citizens. As Abraham Avinu argued for the righteous of Sodom and Gomorrah, it is time for us to advocate for the innocent in Gaza. Only by doing so can we bolster Israel’s Jewish foundations. Only by doing so can we live out the Judaism of the Prophets and our founders. Justice. Mercy. Humility.