The Current Crisis in the Middle East and the perils
of taking sides
by Rabbi Elli Tikvah-Sarah, 05 August 2006
The crisis in the Middle East continues. We look on, with anguish,
as rockets explode on one side; bombs on the other. Two sides?
Israel on the one side; Hizbollah & Lebanon, on the other?
Which ‘side’ are you on? If the media is anything
to go by, that’s the question of the day. But it’s
not really a question – more of an assumption: There are
two sides in the conflict, and either you’re on the side
of Lebanon, or you’re on the side of Israel. Interesting,
isn’t it, that as most of the media calls us to side with
Lebanon, Hizbollah is somehow left out of the equation. In fact,
the overall media presentation is much more crude even than
this as a tabloid style predominates: Either: you’re on
the side of women and children in Lebanon; or you’re on
the side of the Israeli army machine. It’s not surprising
that when taking sides is the order of the day, and it’s
a choice between the ‘powerful’ on the one ‘side’,
and the ‘weak’ on the other, most people are, of
course, siding with the women and children in Lebanon.
If the continuing destruction and bloodshed was not bad enough,
the current conflict has also served to expose a chronic malaise
that seems to have become rampant in the heat of the media frenzy:
An impulse towards binary thinking and feeling; the impulse
to see everything in dualistic terms: Either you’re for
war; or you’re for peace; either you’re for Israel,
or you’re for Lebanon. And it’s worse, even than
this: Once you’ve taken sides, everything else falls into
place: On one side, the aggressor; on the other side, the victims.
It’s David and Goliath all over again. There is no room
in this binary universe for complexity and dissonance and contradiction.
No room to see that there are aggressors on both sides; victims
on both sides; fear on both sides.
I don’t want to take sides; I refuse to be for Israel
or for Lebanon, just as I refuse to be for Israel or for Palestine.
I am for Israel and for Lebanon and for Palestine. And more
than this, I am ‘for’ the complexity that is Israel,
the complexity that is Lebanon, the complexity that is Palestine.
There are many Israels; many Lebanons; many Palestines. As a
nation made up largely of Jewish immigrants from all over the
world, Israel is perhaps the most culturally complex society
in the region, encompassing, too, orthodox, progressive and
secular Jews, and a kaleidoscope of political allegiances, as
well as Arab Israelis, Druze and Bedouin. But Lebanon is also
complex: Don’t Christian Lebanese and secular Lebanese
and Sunni Lebanese and Shi’a Lebanese and Druze Lebanese
have different perspectives and experiences? And Palestinians,
too, cannot be easily pigeon-holed: There are Palestinian Christians
and Palestinian Muslims; there are religious Palestinians and
secular Palestinians, and Palestinians support a variety of
different political groups.
Reality is always complex. How hard it is to remember this,
and bear witness to this, as our intellectual awareness crumbles
under the massive weight of our feelings, manipulated as they
are, on a daily basis by the media. But this split between intellect
and feeling is also false. The problem is not simply, too much
emotion and too little reason. The binary impulse not only involves
a denial of complexity, it also exposes a deep lack of empathy
for the other, for those we perceive to be on the ‘other’
side. All our feelings of compassion are directed solely at
those with whom we identify, with those whom we see as the victims,
the good guys; the people like us. We need to think and to feel:
We need to think in ways that acknowledge the complexity of
reality; and we need to feel for all those involved. It’s
no good supporting Israel and caring about what happens to Israelis,
while being indifferent to the plight of Lebanon and needs and
the experiences of the Lebanese – and vice versa. It’s
no good caring about the plight of the Palestinians, while demonising
the Israelis – and vice versa.
But I recognise that there is a danger in this liberal, inclusive
approach. Not the danger of acknowledging all the parties involved
– that is essential – but the danger of ignoring
the extent to which the parties involved are themselves caught
up in the binary nightmare. It’s not just the onlookers
who are taking sides; so many of those directly involved also
find it impossible to acknowledge the humanity of the other.
Last Monday, Channel Four screened a documentary called ‘Judah
and Mohammed’ about two teenagers – a Jewish Israeli
and a Palestinian, living less than 30 kilometres apart. Filmed
by two film crews, one Israeli, one Palestinian, the portrayal
was scrupulously even-handed, as the film gave each young man
the opportunity to speak, and introduced us to their families,
their neighbourhoods, their schools. In this way we understood
where they were coming from, and why it was that as they looked
ahead, they were both preparing, in effect, to kill one another.
It made chilling viewing: Before our eyes, the essence of the
conflict between the Israelis and the Palestinians; two individuals,
each representing their particular side; two utterly opposing
narratives of the past, of the present, of the future.
It was one of the most painful films I have ever seen; a recipe
for total despair. What’s the point of all our liberal
posturing if those who are directly involved are so completely
divided? We might as well take sides, after all. No, that’s
too easy; a real cop out. The point of the film is that it shows
us both sides; two people; it does not allow us to embrace one
and reject the other; on the contrary, all I felt like doing
by the end, was challenging both one-sided sides – and
looking for another way. And there was another way, lurking;
a sub-text: The film was the product, as I said a moment ago,
of two film crews, one Palestinian; one Israeli. They filmed
separately over a period of eighteen months, but their work
was edited together. Jewish Israelis and Palestinians are divided
from one another – and the immense security fence has
only served, quite literally, to translate that division into
solid concrete – but that is not the only reality; there
are many examples of Jewish Israelis and Palestinians, meeting
with one another, and working and co-operating together –
and even becoming friends.
What is more, the complex reality of both Israeli and Palestinian
existence means that, even on the ground, allegiances are not
so straightforward. On Thursday evening, I was the guest speaker
at a screening of ‘Walk on Water’, a film made by
the gay Israeli film director, Eyton Fox, organised by the Brighton
International Film Society, in conjunction with Brighton Pride.
The film explores issues of masculinity and machismo, the impact
of the past on the present, and the collision between liberal
and absolutist mind-sets, as a Mossad agent, whose mother was
a refugee from Berlin, goes ‘undercover’ and becomes
a tour-guide for a gay German from Berlin, whose grandfather
was a Nazi.
Time does not permit me to explore the film in detail. One thread,
which in some ways was quite tangential to the main narrative,
spoke volumes. When they go to a restaurant in Tel Aviv, the
gay German meets a Palestinian waiter, who invites him to a
gay bar. They then spend the night together – and in the
morning, the Israeli tour-guide reluctantly gives the Palestinian
a lift – almost home – via a stop in Jerusalem.
What was the Palestinian doing in Tel Aviv? He had a job there
– but that was not all: He came to Tel Aviv to express
his gay identity. It is not possible to live openly as a gay
Palestinian in the Palestinian territories. So, to escape homophobic
persecution, gay Palestinians take refuge in Israel.
That doesn’t mean that the whole of Israel is safe for
lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgendered people – but
there are safe places, most notably, the city of Tel Aviv, and
the Open House, in Jerusalem, a place, which, as its name suggests,
is open to everyone, Israeli and Palestinian, regardless of
religion, ethnicity, gender and sexual orientation. Today is
Brighton Pride, and tomorrow World Pride begins in Jerusalem.
Although the current crisis has meant that the Pride March,
scheduled to take place on August 10th has been postponed because
those forces that would be providing security for the marchers
are occupied elsewhere, World Pride activities – including
a film festival, literary events, exhibitions, shows, and an
interreligious conference, involving Jews Christians and Muslims
– are going ahead as planned.
Where does the Jerusalem of the Open House and World Pride fit
in with the media presentations of Israel, and of the conflicts
raging between Israeli forces and Hizbollah, and, between Israel
and Hamas and Islamic Jihad in Gaza? It doesn’t. The challenge
for all of us is to try and acknowledge the incongruence, so
that we do not fall into the trap of reducing reality to simple
binary formulations.
This week’s parashah, Va’etchanan, is arguably,
one of the most important portions in the Torah, including as
it does, both a reiteration of the Ten Commandments, in Deuteronomy,
chapter 5, and the text of what became the first paragraph of
the Sh’ma, in chapter 6. There is much one can say about
the Sh’ma. In the context of my theme today, the first
verse, says it all: Sh’ma! Yisrael: Adonai Eloheinu; Adonai
Echad – ‘Listen! Israel: The Eternal is our God;
the Eternal God is One’ (6:4). Our God is not a Jewish
God. There isn’t a Jewish God and a Christian God and
a Muslim God: Our God is the One God – and the One God
encompasses everything and everyone – and all peoples;
each people is a people of the Eternal One; each human being
– as we read in Genesis chapter 1 (:27) – is an
image of the One God. That doesn’t mean that humanity
is singular; on the contrary, it means that the One embraces
diversity and difference.
A few days ago, it was Tishah B’Av, the ninth day of the
month of Av, when Jews commemorate the destruction of Jerusalem,
first by the Babylonians in 586 BCE, and then again, by the
Romans in 70CE, as well as all the subsequent destructions of
our people down the ages. The Sabbath following Tishah B’Av,
that is, this Shabbat, is known as ‘The Sabbath of Comfort’
– Shabbat Nachamu, recalling the first words of today’s
Haftarah, when the second Isaiah exhorts the people exiled in
Babylonia to ‘take comfort’ now that their time
of captivity has ended (Isaiah 40:1-26).
There is no comfort for us today because the time for comfort
and consolation has not yet arrived. It isn’t simply that
we don’t know how long the current crisis between Israel
and Hizbollah will last; we don’t know when, if ever,
Israelis and Palestinians will reach a just settlement of their
differences; we don’t know when, if ever, all the nations
of the region will live in peace. But there is one thing we
do know, especially, as far as the conflict between Israelis
and Palestinians is concerned: There will never be a just peace
without compromise; without the protagonists letting go of their
mutually exclusive, narratives about the past, and the present,
and the hoped for future; without them beginning to acknowledge
the justice of each other’s cause, and finding a way,
through a process of negotiation, of accommodating the claims
of both peoples to the land.
So, what can we do – the onlookers? When Jews for Justice
for Palestinians asked me for a quotation last year to include
in their literature, there was only one thing I could come up
with to offset the impulse to support one side and vilify the
other: “The Torah teaches: ‘Justice, justice, you
shall pursue’ (Deuteronomy 16:20). To secure a lasting
settlement to the conflict between Palestinians and Israelis
so they can live in peace and security, thrive side by side,
and co-operate together, Jews today are obligated to pursue
justice on behalf of both peoples.” May we all resist
the pressure to take sides and reduce the complexity of the
various conflicts in the Middle East to a set of binary oppositions.
We may all be onlookers, but let us not be bystanders. As we
witness the continuing conflagration, and make choices about
what to do with our money and our time, let us acknowledge the
needs of both the Lebanese and the Israelis, and pursue justice
on behalf of both the Israelis and the Palestinians. And let
us say: Amen.
Rabbi Elizabeth Tikvah Sarah
Brighton & Hove Progressive Synagogue – Adat Shalom
Verei’ut
5th August 2006 – 11th Av 5766
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