Baltimore — From afar, many American Jews are understandably asking, “How can a handful of settlers force Israel to pay such a bloody price for such a horrible occupation?”
History lessons and missed opportunities aside — by all involved — the answer is as direct as the inquiry: Jews in the West Bank and Gaza Strip are doing exactly what Jewish history commands.
They are settling the Land of Israel. That is the central goal of Zionism, which for exactly 120 years has offered many variations of combined Jewish nationalism, socialism and religion.
To the settlers’ supporters — and many others who out of ambivalence or at least partial sympathy will not criticize them — they are the new halutzim, pioneers. Indeed, the vast majority of the West Bank’s 200,000-plus Jews are not raving lunatics.
They are there for overlapping reasons — and because successive Israeli governments, from hard right to hard left, have urged them on with promises of financial incentives and security.
They are the direct philosophical descendants of legendary figures of pre-state days. One need only read newspaper accounts from then, often with the same datelines, to find remarkable parallels.
The past century, like today, tells of deadly infiltrations by Arabs, “tower and stockade” settlements set up hastily at night to create “facts on the ground” and Jewish “vigilante” self-defense groups. (Of course, internecine fighting was rife.)
It was all part of a state in the making, a valiant struggle to correct historic injustice and protect Jews from societies whose pathologies incubated unprecedented evil. So who could blame the settlers for pushing their agenda?
But that does not call for ignoring a wrestling with their ideology, albeit with sympathy. And American Jews have a role to play in this if there is truth in the rhetoric of our having a stake in both Israel’s spiritual and physical well-being.
Stronger than we know
Today, the Jewish world is uniting over Israel in ways unseen since the 1973 Yom Kippur War. We are strong enough to respectfully re-evaluate Zionism’s core goals, exploring where settlement fits in. This must be pushed beyond the narrow confines of academic circles.
Sadly, our pro-Israel organizations are overly cautious and often unskilled in pushing Israel’s complexity and diversity. But now is the time to discuss the practicalities of what Israel should be — including its borders.
I hear the cries: “Not now! Israel is at war!” It is, but the Jewish state is stronger than we in America often realize.
Today its enemies know that they can only destroy the country’s morale, and, tragically, the lives of many innocent victims of suicide bombers. But the state’s existence is firm.
Yes, the violence necessitates a thoughtful military response — including targeted assassinations. But despite the public bombast, not one Arab leader — including Palestinian Authority president Yasser Arafat — believes any combined force can wipe out Israel. (The state even has “second strike” capability if faced with nuclear attack.)
Many still want to harm the world’s only Jewish state. So its military edge must unquestionably be maintained.
But redefining Zionism must come as well. Israel does need, under the right conditions, to leave the Gaza Strip entirely and the vast majority of the West Bank.
It has already pledged to do so, an offer rejected by Arafat. But it will face the choice again. And the building of settlements by every government for three decades keeps enabling the world to question Israel’s good faith in striving for long-term peace.
Israel’s challenges in 2002 are not those of 1942, let alone 1972. And contrary to popular opinion, internal cleavages are not on the back burner and could implode. They include: secular vs. religious; Sephardi vs. Ashkenazi; veterans vs. newcomers; and Israeli Arabs vs. Jews.
So Zionism needs an overhaul. Where to meaningfully begin?
One place came in the spring with the drafting of the “Kinneret Doctrine,” supported by leaders from far right to far left. What does it mean for American Jews? Read it online at http://www.shale m.or g.il/azure/13-editors.htm.
Jews are still here in part because of their bravery in continually challenging their own philosophical grounding during crises. Dare we end that noble and successful tradition now?
Neil Rubin is senior editor of the Baltimore Jewish Times.
Face to face
By Harriet May Savitz
Special to The Chronicle
Bradley Beach, N.J. — It is important that you know these facts at the beginning, for they will become a significant part of this story. I am 69. I have psoriasis. And I am Jewish.
I was sitting on the boardwalk beneath the sun as I was told to do for my psoriasis. The winter is hard on my skin. It rebels against the heavy clothes I must wear in the cold weather. But in the spring and summer, the air, the sun and the ocean are therapy. And so I rush whenever I can, the four blocks toward the boardwalk.
As I sat on the bench sunning myself, three women walked by. They wore burkas. The only body parts exposed were their faces and hands. It was a warm day and I could not imagine wearing so much clothing beneath the baking sun.
They were chatting with each other as they pushed the strollers with little children riding in them. I recalled doing the same at their age, in their thirties, young mothers taking their children out for a walk on the boardwalk.
One of the women, so beautiful, turned my way and stared at me. For a moment, I thought, what is she thinking? Does her stare hide something? Perhaps hatred. Were our countries at war with each other’s ideals? Does she know I am Jewish?
As a child growing up during World War II, I was warned by my parents “Do not tell anyone you are Jewish.” And so I did not. But often others would know anyway and a beating would follow. I often wondered how they knew. Was there an invisible sign on my forehead?
Hiding my religion became a part of my life during the war and my childhood. Feeling that being a Jew was not a good thing also became part of my life. For many years after the war ended, I kept my religion a private matter and even felt uncomfortable when filling out employment applications. Often, I left the space marked religion empty.
And now again, the world is angry and again, being Jewish is not such a good thing in many countries. Only now I am older and I realize not all people think this way. And I realize that in this country of America, I do not have to be afraid that I will be sent away or shunned, or even worse, killed.
I pushed those feelings away as the beautiful one smiled at me. I smiled back. The women walked a bit farther, again talking to one another and looking back at me. Then all three, making the decision between them to do so, turned around and pushed their strollers in my direction.
The burka only accented the loveliness of her face as the beautiful one smiled brightly. She pointed to my arms. “You have psoriasis?” she asked.
I nodded, surprised that she should notice. “Yes, I do,” I responded.
All three women pushed up the sleeves of their burkas to show their skin. “We do too,” said the beautiful one. “We are sisters. Our grandmother has psoriasis also.”
And then they sat on the bench with me and we compared medications and creams and shampoos and what worked and what didn’t. And we laughed together about our experiences with psoriasis and the trust between us grew.
The beautiful one, who spoke more than the others, confided, “When I was a young girl of six years old, there was a war in my country. It terrified me. Soon after I had psoriasis.”
I understood, for I was about nine years old when I became terrified of war. Though the war was in another country, my cousins went to fight in it and my mother sang for the veterans who returned to hospitals, and there was rationing and blackouts and I knew what it was like to be afraid.
A half hour passed quickly and before they went on their way, one of the other sisters said “Perhaps we will see each other again.”
And I responded, “I hope so.”
Our meeting each other face to face would never make the newspapers nor television news. It would never be talked about on the radio nor would politicians analyze its meaning. And it certainly would not change the political situation of the world.
But face to face, three women in burkas and one in summer garb crossed over the barriers, buried the past and, for a moment, understood each other completely.
Harriet May Savitz is a writer living in New Jersey. The author of 20 books, including the recent “Messages from Somewhere: Inspiring Stories of Life After 60 (Little Treasures Publications), she has also contributed to “Chicken Soup for the Golden Soul.” Her book “Run, Don’t Walk” was made into an ABC Afterschool Special produced by Henry Winkler.
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