Let There Be No Doubt: I Stand With Israel

"My heart is in the East...." — Rabbi Yehudah HaLevi

It started with a picture of me and Congresswoman Rashida Tlaib.

A few years back, a longtime congregant who had served on her campaign asked me to invite her to speak at a Friday night service. I was glad to do so, but hoping to avoid the already extremely divisive issues around the Israel-Palestine conflict, I asked that she speak about domestic issues. She agreed. It was an interesting talk and she was a congenial guest. Afterward, as I often do with guest speakers, I posed for a picture with her.

That picture eventually found its way to a Facebook post labeling me anti-Israel. It felt more than a bit strange finding myself in that position. Before coming to Detroit, most people knew me as an ardent lifelong Zionist.

I was raised in a fervently Zionist family. My family's lore includes tales of a months-long 1920s visit by my great-grandparents to Jewish communities in Eretz Yisrael (the Land of Israel). Later on my grandfather and his brothers helped smuggle guns to the nascent Jewish state. My own activism kicked off in 1973 when, as an 11-year-old, I swept my neighborhood collecting for the Israel Emergency Fund on the day after the Yom Kippur attack.

As an undergrad at the University of Texas at Austin, I organized the Israel Days. Later, as Hillel director at the University of Miami, I put together one of several pilot trips that led to the establishment of Hillel's Birthright. I went on to lead several Birthright trips until the Second Intifada shut them down. Later still, as assistant executive director and Jewish educator at Miami's Alper JCC, I organized a lion's share of south Miami's Israel programming. 

I have visited Israel dozens of times. I speak fluent Hebrew. I consume Israeli media every day. Someone once joked that my JCC office looked like a branch of the Israeli consulate. 

But none of this stopped some guy on Facebook from telling the world that I am anti-Israel.

The picture of me with Cong. Tlaib was not, of course, the real genesis of his accusations, though it hit the hardest because that's how social media works. In fact, the real origins of this accusation and others like it came from a decision I made when I became the rabbi of the Birmingham Temple, now the Congregation for Humanistic Judaism of Metro Detroit.

That decision was to really open my mind for the first time to the arguments of those most critical of Israel. I did so to carry out a core value of my professed humanism, one that was perhaps best articulated by the philosopher John Stuart Mill. He wrote, "He who knows only his own side of the case knows little of that.... Nor is it enough that he should hear the opinions of adversaries from his own teachers.... He must be able to hear them from persons who actually believe them ... he must know them in their most plausible and persuasive form."

To do so meant working with people whose ideas were quite different than my own. And though I strived to provide balance by including mainstream thinkers, in the ensuing years I found myself partnering with people who were not only critical of Israel's policies, but also—for the first time in my career—even some who challenged Israel's very legitimacy as a Jewish state. With these programs taking place at a time when, like so many other American Jews, I was becoming increasingly concerned about Israel's direction, it is unsurprising that some people drew their own reasonable, if inaccurate, conclusions.

With my history of Israel activism unknown to many in Metro Detroit, I cannot entirely blame them. Lacking context, those outside of my own congregation could not consider the larger picture of my career. They did not know about my Zionist commitments and my Ahavat Yisrael (love of the people and land of Israel). In any case, until being called out as anti-Israel, it was sufficient that my closest friends and colleagues, here and in Israel, knew. Or that my daughters, each of whom enjoyed gap-year programs in Israel, knew what their father believed. If Greater Detroit's Jewish community was unaware that the local Humanistic rabbi was a committed Zionist, it did not trouble me.

And then October 7 happened. 

As for so many others, the horrors of that day have remained with me every waking moment since. I still find myself barely able to hold it together when I think of the sadistic torture and slaughter suffered by the victims, or of the never-ending terror experienced by the hostages, or of the agonizing anxiety of the hostages' families as they are consigned to limitless torment. And as I lamented this true act of genocide, this reminder of the fragility of the Jewish experience, it suddenly became very important to be clear about where I stand. 

The unequivocal answer is that I stand with Israel.

In the immediate aftermath of that day, I felt the same draw to join with the larger community that so many of us did. I attended the solidarity gathering at Shaarey Zedek, opting to sit with the crowd rather than join colleagues on the bimah. I composed a commentary in which I talked about how and why I was putting aside criticism of Israel's government at that moment because of my love for the country.

At the first Shabbat service that followed, I spoke about the shock that I and many other liberals and progressives felt when so many of the people we consider allies were justifying, excusing, or, worse, actually celebrating the attack. Before Israel had even organized its response, they were already hurling accusations of "genocide" at the IDF.

Perhaps most disconcerting was the outpouring of support for Hamas by individuals who had worked with me and my congregants on numerous social justice campaigns. I was aghast at the reaction of many in my own LGBTQ community. These were people who would not be tolerated by Palestinian Islamist terrorist groups if they found themselves in their midst for even five minutes, yet were now waving signs declaring themselves "Queers for Hamas."

For a few days there was little more for me to add other than words of comfort and a liturgical meditation for the hostages' safe return in our services. But it didn't take long for me to realize that Israel's response might become one of the most divisive issues in American Jewish history. As rabbi of a Humanistic Jewish synagogue, I anticipated the same would be true for my congregation.

In fulfillment of my obvious prophecy, requests for the congregation to sign on to statements either condemning or backing Israel's response were quick to arrive. I had already heard from some congregants that they were distressed by Israel's response. I shared my personal disagreement with them. But more than that, I shared my observation that the fact of our own disagreement must serve as a warning that any attempt to articulate a collective statement on Israel's response would be highly divisive. 

I urged everyone to make our commitment to the health of the congregation our paramount concern. Following the humanistic path of reasoning, I recommended dialogue. I felt that I was on solid ground. Had I not modeled this throughout my eleven years of service? Our congregational leadership wisely concurred with my recommendation. We would sign no statements. Each of us was free to advocate for our own position.

Of course, when it is the rabbi doing the advocating, it constitutes a bit of an unfair advantage. After conversations with friends and congregants of varied attitudes and positions, I felt it correct to provide some ballast for my point of view. I reached out to former U.S. representative Andy Levin, a prominent voice for a unilateral Israeli ceasefire. He graciously agreed to speak at a November service. A large crowd attended, many forgoing the Oneg Shabbat in order to engage him at length. 

In the weeks and months that followed I encouraged our leadership to continue to create opportunities for dialogue. I expressed my concerns that, having been relatively unified on so many issues—immigration, LGBTQ+ rights, reproductive choice, and so forth—our disunity could feel disconcerting to many. I reminded them that this is a natural consequence of living in community and that as long as we are engaging each other with reason, thoughtfulness, and consideration we would remain a strong congregation.

While I believe my professional response to the events of October 7 and their aftermath has been appropriately moderate, it did little to help me carry out my personal resolve to stand by Israel as fervently as I have for most of my life. The truth is, I never again want to see a picture of myself on social media falsely accusing me of being anti-Israel. It is the reason I am writing this in one of our community's prominent forums.

Before I continue I wish to make myself very clear. While some members of my congregation, possibly the majority, may agree with parts or even all of what I'm about to share, my statements do not represent the opinions of any members of the Congregation for Humanistic Judaism of Metro Detroit. These expressions of my personal reaction to October 7 are mine and mine alone. I would like to start with my thoughts about the wider Israel-Palestine conflict. 

The savagery of Hamas' attack has led me to a thorough re-evaluation of the hopes and dreams that I, like so many other people of good will, have held for so long. I no longer believe that there exists a true partner for peace on the Palestinian side. At least not for now. As a humanist who resists religious fanaticism in every form, I know it when I see it. While I am certain that many Palestinians long for peaceful coexistence, the religiously driven fanaticism and Jew-hatred of its leadership and far too many indoctrinated followers suggests that they will never accept a Jewish state. Only this can explain what they have made of Gaza. And whenever this intractable obstinacy results in violence, Israel is justified in responding. 

A friend recently reminded me that on this issue I have been consistent. In 2005, I was in Israel during the heated debate and subsequent disengagement from Gaza. I celebrated the chance for Palestinian Gazans to create a seaside paradise. However, within hours, the first rockets were launched into Israel. While the Palestinian Authority had the resources and possibly the motivation to realize Gaza's potential, Hamas and the other terrorist groups that staged their successful coup most certainly did not. My words from then echoed back to me after October 7: if Gaza escalated such attacks, they would have no one to blame for the response but themselves.

Recalling this, I stand by my words then and now. The swift Hamas takeover led to the creation of a terrorist state with hundreds of miles of tunnel fortresses, infesting Gaza's schools, hospitals, and public institutions, including those run by the United Nations. Hamas shamelessly attacked Israel from behind Palestinian civilians, turning them into martyrs. I have personally endured three rocket barrages, including one before the Iron Dome. These attacks have persisted for nearly twenty years. Those calling for a unilateral ceasefire should remember that Hamas has broken some fifteen ceasefires, culminating in its barbarous attack last October. Israel had no choice but to respond.

On top of shattering any illusions of peace I may have harbored before October 7, I have also been rocked by the rise of antisemitism masquerading as anti-Zionism. I spoke about this on a Friday night last February when it was already bad enough. Since then, I have learned from the spectacles of so-called peace protesters. I have heard their rhythmic chants to bomb Tel Aviv, kill Israeli soldiers, and globalize violent intifadas. Their claims of principled anti-Zionism are betrayed by their ongoing, often violent harassment of Jews and Jewish institutions. Their BDS "mapping projects" mark synagogues, JCCs, Hillels, Jewish schools, Federations, and other non-profit organizations as targets for protests and violence. Just last week, one purportedly pro-Palestinian campus coalition released demands to expel what they called "extremist" Zionist organizations, namely, Hillel and the Jewish Federation, from campus.

If there once existed a reasoned argument to exclude "principled" anti-Zionism from association with antisemitism, it is now passé. As a student of antisemitism, I could argue that the earliest manifestations of Christian anti-Judaism were merely the response of a tiny Christian group to the theological opposition of an older and larger Jewish sibling. However, as Christianity grew in size and power, its embryonic "principled" anti-Judaism evolved into the antisemitic Christian nightmare that our people endured for ages.

The authors of the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance (IHRA) Working Definition of Antisemitism understood this historical progression. They recognized that antisemitism is a mutating virus, capable of adapting and re-emerging in new forms. I initially rejected their statement as too much concerned with anti-Zionism, fearing that it was aimed at any criticism of Israel. Yet I now see how by linking anti-Zionism to antisemitism, they saw what I initially missed: that the so-called "principled" opposition to a core Jewish belief can grow into hardcore Jew-hatred, just as the once-"principled" opposition to Jewish religious belief did in Christendom.

In fact, the IHRA clearly states that "criticism of Israel similar to that leveled against any other country cannot be regarded as antisemitic." Yet in identifying antisemitism as the mutating virus that it is, the statement reminds us how old antisemitic practices, like accusing Jews of conspiracies or assigning them negative stereotypes, are now used to demonize Israel. Indeed, with this new outbreak of antisemitism, every evil in the world is being blamed upon "Zionism." A quick search of social media will reveal uncountable posts blaming Zionism for homophobia, misogyny, racism, colonialism, and on and on. It ignites the hateful delusions of the religious and secular alike. It flourishes in places where no Jews exist and its use of the word Zionists is simply a stand-in for Jews.

Previously, I endorsed the competing Jerusalem Declaration on Antisemitism which places its focus on protecting anti-Zionist speech rather than protecting Jews. My humanist inclination to favor speech in all circumstances figured into my reasoning. However, recent events have revealed the timely and urgent truth. I regret missing that.

At this point you might be wondering what else I regret. I never supported BDS so I have no self-doubts there. Moreover, there is virtually no substantive criticism of Israeli policies that I would wish to recant. I continue to oppose the policies of Netanyahu's government, from its reliance upon nationalist fanatics to its "Nation-State" legislation (a spit in the face of loyal Israeli Druze and others) to its plans to re-make the Israeli judiciary. I continue to stand against such settlements in the interior of the West Bank that are designed to make a future Palestinian state impossible. In spite of the considerable evidence that the Palestinians remain unready to accept Israel, the Jewish state was founded in the spirit of partitioning the land and it is in this spirit that it should conduct itself. 

Though Zionist activism once took up a great deal of my time, I also do not regret the pause I took to fulfill Mill's dictum. I would not have otherwise heard the arguments against Israel from "persons who actually believe them in their most plausible and persuasive form." I did so and I found them wanting. Since October 7 I have also found them perilous.

I decided to share this with the wider Jewish world so that those who, based on my tolerance for differences of opinion, were unclear about my positions might better understand my fundamental commitments to Israel and my love for the Jewish people. This is certainly the most personal thing I have written about my own Jewish identity or struggles in a very long time. I do so now as a proud Jew, heir to a legacy of proud Jews and I do so as the father and grandfather to two generations of proud and involved Jews. I believe that to say this is of preeminent importance at a time when our tiny people is under attack from so many quarters.

I have been asked how, lacking a belief in God, I deem myself worthy of being called a Jew. I answer with ease. While I may not believe in God, I fervently believe in the Jewish people. Am Yisrael Chai.