A significant part of my self-concept is (and has been for a long time) my sense of myself as a critical thinker. I’m curious about the world around me and seek out knowledge from various sources, representing many different viewpoints and perspectives. I like to look at things from a variety of angles, turning them around and around to understand them more deeply. I don’t take things at face value and tend not to put people or ideas up on pedestals. For me, there are no sacred cows. Questioning and challenging my beliefs and values helps me own them more authentically. 

This aspect of my personality, in part, is certainly due to my natural disposition. But it is also at least in part a result of how I was educated. Even my religious education was undertaken with an eye toward independent inquiry and intellectual honesty. I learned to ask hard questions of our sacred texts, to notice places in our tradition that conflicted with contemporary values, and not to be satisfied with apologetics that sought to downplay the complicated stuff.

I feel blessed to have encountered Judaism from this perspective from the very beginning. As I became more invested in my religious life and sought out more and deeper learning, it was natural for me to assimilate doubt into my belief system. Wrestling with difficult truths did not threaten my religious convictions; rather, it is essential to my approach to Judaism. 

There have been other times that I have drawn our attention to pieces of Torah that do not cast our tradition in a positive light, at least not by today’s standards.  The very end of this week’s parashah, VaEtḥanan, is another such passage. Deuteronomy Chapter 7 opens with the following words: “When the LORD your God brings you to the land that you are about to enter and possess, and dislodges many nations before you—the Hittites, Girgashites, Amorites, Canaanites, Perizzites, Hivites, and Jebusites, seven nations much larger than you— 

and…delivers them to you and you defeat them, you must doom them to destruction: grant them no terms and give them no quarter.” (Deuteronomy 7:1-2)

The Torah – not just here, but from Genesis onward – is very clear: in order to inhabit the land and make it our own, we must wipe out the people living there. Now, if you read the rest of Tanakh, you know that this goal of total eradication never was accomplished. The Israelites lived among the other peoples already in the land, even as they established a nation and a kingdom there. But the instruction to wipe out the other peoples entirely is neither repealed nor rewritten. 

This is not a comfortable piece of our tradition to look at closely, especially in the context of current events. In the immediate aftermath of the brutal and calamitous attacks of October 7, 2023, Israel’s war with Gaza was a military response with a just goal - the defeat and removal of a terrorist organization that both subjugated their own people and sought out Israel’s utter destruction, and the return of the hostages to their families and homes. 

Now, nearly 2 years later, the same war is looking more and more like a contemporary example of Parashat VaEtḥanan’s demands, not only to other nations and institutions that are skeptical of Zionism and Israel (at best), but also to people within Israel, to people whose love of Israel cannot be questioned. The list of those who seek an end to the war has grown exponentially in recent weeks and months. In addition to those who have been protesting the Israeli government from the beginning, we are hearing from hostage families, former elected officials, former military and intelligence leaders, academics, and religious leaders. Opposition to the war comes from both a place of compassion for the thousands and thousands of innocents who have lost their homes and their lives, who are desperate and hungry and from a place of wanting Israel to live up to her highest ideals, to put the focus back on the hostages, and to stop contemplating annexation. Those who oppose the war are not only trying to save Gaza, they are trying to save Israel. 

Recently, over one thousand rabbis signed a letter that was sent to Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu – I am proud to have been one of them. The letter, acknowledging the grave humanitarian crisis in Gaza as well as Israel’s role in perpetuating it, says the following:

“In the name of the moral reputation not just of Israel, but of Judaism itself, the Judaism to which our lives are devoted,

We call upon the Prime Minister and the Government of Israel

To respect all innocent life;

To stop at once the use and threat of starvation as a weapon of war;

To allow extensive humanitarian aid, under international supervision, while guarding against control or theft by Hamas;

To work urgently by all routes possible to bring home all the hostages and end the fighting; To use the forces of law and order to end settler violence on the West Bank and vigorously investigate and prosecute settlers who harass and assault Palestinians;

To open channels of dialogue together with international partners to lead toward a just settlement, ensuring security for Israel, dignity and hope for Palestinians, and a viable peaceful future for all the region.”

I encourage you to read the full text of the letter, which you can find here. 

I am a Zionist. But in keeping with my approach to all parts of my Jewish identity, I am not an unquestioning one. Israel has never been a perfect nation, and certainly does not have a perfect government. Part of my love for Israel comes from my belief that I can and should lift my voice when I see injustice perpetrated by the Jewish state. My commitment to Israel is not threatened by acknowledging the reality I see before me. It is strengthened by doing what I can, when and where I can, to advocate for turning that reality around. 

May we be blessed to see that change take place in the coming days.

Shabbat shalom.