Several weeks ago I studied in Israel at the Shalom Hartman Institute; and I heard the sirens as rockets were fired at cities throughout the country.
Each time a siren sounded, we quickly searched for shelter. I heard this siren four times during the week I was in Israel. Each time I was lucky enough to be inside a building with a shelter.
And yet each time I walked outside, I learned to take a thorough look around me with each step, determining where I would run if the siren went off. I calculated that I would leave the street, head for the building ahead, or behind a wall close by or inside a nearby store or restaurant.
We could hear the bang of a missile intercepting the rocket. And after emerging from the shelter, we would look into the sky for evidence.
We would smell the explosives and see the streaks of smoke where the Israeli missiles had intercepted the rocket. I had a sense of just how powerful the Iron Dome system of defense is that protects the people of Israel.
I began to imagine the Israel Defense Force soldiers on guard throughout the day and night, watching for a rocket and pouncing into action.
Several times I imagined I heard the start of a siren. And the sound of a car backfiring reminded me of the bang of the rocket blasted from the sky.
I had just a taste of the tense, uncertain time in Israel today. Others, who live there, do not have the opportunity that I did to leave and take a physical break from the intensity of war.
It is in our nature as Jews to pray for peace. We imagine peace every time we say our daily prayers.
And yet, it could occur to a person that we each have our own narrative of peace. We may be praying for peace, but peace does not look the same to each person.
We pray for a type of utopian peace in prayers such as Shalom Rav: “Grant lasting peace unto Israel Thy people…Blessed are You, O Lord, who blessed Thy people Israel with peace.”
We pray for a transformed world of peace for our people, a perfect peace where we will no longer suffer war. These prayers promote a sense of wholeness, an aspirational hope that causes us immense comfort every day.
In our Torah we read about an imperial peace that comes from victory over another people. We read:
“When you approach a town to attack it, you shall offer it terms of peace. If it responds peaceably and lets you in, all the people present there shall serve you at forced labor. And if it does not surrender to you, but would join battle with you, you shall lay siege to it.” These are the verses of Deuteronomy 20:10-18 from the Torah portion Shoftim, which we will read on the Sabbath of Aug. 30.
Torah also teaches us about a peace of justice, peace that comes when we, who have been wronged, are able to make things right for us again.
On the Sabbath of Aug. 2 in the Torah portion Dvarim (Deuteronomy 1:1-3:22), we will read: “‘Let me pass through your country. I will keep strictly to the highway, turning off neither to the right nor to the left’… But King Sihon of Heshbon refused to let us pass through…And the Lord said to me ‘… Begin the occupation; take possession of his land’” (2:27-31).
We understand this narrative of peace to be one of trying, at the start, to coexist, and realizing that it is simply not possible. For our own survival, our own sense of peace, we must take control of the land.
Our tradition teaches of one more peace, a realistic peace. It is a peace of those who are tattered and worn, old and tired and who are finally granted a return to Jerusalem.
The prophet, Zechariah says: “There shall yet be old men and women… each with staff in hand because of their great age… Though it will seem impossible to the remnant of this people in those days, shall it also be impossible to Me? I will rescue My people from the lands of the east and from the lands of the west, and I will bring them home to dwell in Jerusalem” (Zechariah 8:1-9).
This vision of peace might seem impossible to us, but it can become a reality — a peace of a shared society, of people living peacefully in Jerusalem at last.
It may be messy. It may be difficult. But I pray that it is possible.
As I write this, the action continues in Gaza. We hope for a speedy and safe return of our soldiers and families.
We hope that this very moment brings us the opportunity for the beginning of new relationships and a new start to real peace. May it be so.
I thank Rabbi Donniel Hartman, president of the Shalom Hartman Institute, for teaching me these texts.
Andrea Steinberger is the rabbi at the Hillel at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, located in The Barbara Hochberg Center for Jewish Student Life.
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