9/21/07

I want to thank David Altshuler and Doug Mishkin for inviting me to speak to you tonight. I am very honored by this invitation and because of that, I have wrestled, really struggled, with trying to decide what to say to you on this holy night of Yom Kippur.

This is unusual for me. In fact, the only other time that I can recall having so much difficulty in writing remarks was when I was asked to deliver a high school commencement speech a few years ago.

To help me get started back then, I conducted an informal focus group, asking a diverse group of friends, family members, and colleagues -who delivered their high school commencement speech and what did they talk about. I was actually somewhat relieved with the response, since only two people remembered who had spoken - one because the speaker was her father, and the other, although she could not remember his name, remembered that the speaker had fallen off the stage (I will try not to do that tonight).

Even more interesting, however, was that nobody could remember what the speakers had talked about. This greatly reduced the pressure I was feeling about the long lasting significance of my remarks.

I decided to try the same approach regarding tonight's remarks. But when I asked people this time about their memories of sermons given in their synagogues on Yom Kippur, I found that people did remember what was said, and could recall in some detail, sermons that had touched them in some meaningful way. It appears that those sermons that were remembered were the ones that were personal, were about things that the Rabbi or speaker felt strongly about, or were about things that connected with the listener in a personal way - gave them hope, or a sense of purpose; gave them words or ideas or tools that they could use when maneuvering through the challenges of daily life. . . quite a daunting challenge for a speaker!

And so it is appropriate that I have been asked to speak tonight about Israel - something that I care about very deeply and passionately - and, you will not find it surprising, that, as the President of a Jewish Zionist PEACE organization, I hope that I will give you a sense of hope and purpose as relates to Israel.

I should warn you that when I shared this topic with my favorite sounding board, my niece Rebecca, who is probably close to the age of most of you here tonight, she said that she really hoped that this was not going to be one more speech where a Baby Boomer urges young people to engage with Israel. And, Becca, I'm sorry to say that yes, it is. Hopefully, I can bring something new to the discussion.

There's been a lot of buzz recently about a new and troubling report by Steven M. Cohen and Ari Kelman, entitled Beyond Distancing - Young adult American Jews and their alienation from Israel. I think that the title says it all - The report goes into great depth about the growing disconnect between young Jews and Israel.

The poll that the study analyzes found that regardless of the language used to describe feelings of closeness to Israel - whether framed in language of emotional attachment, pride, excitement about, ambivalence toward, or shame about, the results are nearly uniform: In all cases, those 65 and over report the highest levels of attachment , those 50-60 exhibit higher levels of attachment than those under 50, and in almost every instance, those who are 35-49, outscore those who are under 35, on their level of attachment to Israel.

This is very sad, and frightening, for many of us, particularly for someone like myself who cares so deeply about Israel's peace, security, and survival.

Yet, when I read how the authors describe the different generational experiences with Israel, I find some of the reasons for the disconnect understandable, though no less troubling.

My parents' generation, born well before World War II, remembers the tragedy of the Holocaust, the joy of the founding of the state of Israel, and the miracle of the 1948 war of independence.

My generation, the baby boomers, have memories of the 6 Day War, the Yom Kippur War, the Entebbe Raid, the courageous signing of a peace accord by Menachem Begin and Anwar Sadat, the massacre at the Munich Olympics, and the airlifting of Jewish refugees from Ethiopia.

Most members of these generations know Israel through the prism of these experiences.

And thus, the Israel we know is the heroic, plucky underdog and a safe haven for Jews around the world.

Most of us believe, at an almost visceral level, that Israel, by its very Jewish nature, is peace-seeking, tolerant, committed to social justice, and proudly and uniquely a product and reflection of the Jewish people and Jewish values.

But for subsequent generations - meaning all of you born after 1967, meaning most of you in this room - you see Israel through a very different lens.

You know Israel not as an underdog, but as a strong military and economic power.

The military battles you remember are not the heroic ones of '48, '67, or '73, but rather the first and second Lebanon Wars and the first and second Intifadas.

You know Israel as a state that has for 40 years occupied the West Bank and Gaza Strip, ruling and controlling the lives of millions of Palestinians.

You know Israel as a state that has appeared to often coddle its most extremist elements.

You know Israel as a state that has had a difficult time reconciling its own democratic principles and its identity as a Jewish state, with the fact that 20% of its citizens are Arab.

All of which has meant that the experiences through which your generation knows Israel are much more complex, politically, and morally, than those of prior generations.

This is part of the reason why this disconnect, which for many of us is saddening and troubling, is nonetheless understandable.

We have to acknowledge that love and concern for Israel is not genetic - it's not something passed down through our Jewish DNA. If love for Israel is to be passed on, from generation to generation, - mi-dor le-dor - it must be done so consciously, with intention, deliberation, and reflection.

Your grandparents and great grandparents would be awed at what this tiny state and its people have achieved.

In the span of only 60 years, Israelis have built a thriving society, with a vibrant, productive economy.

Israel is a world leader in technology, arts, sciences, and academia.

It is a nation of innovators, inventors, and entrepreneurs; philosophers, poets, and jurists; tradespeople, and artists.

It has built a powerful, modern military.

I take particular pride in the ethical and moral achievements of Israel.

The way the Israeli Supreme Court guards the rule of law.

The way that groups like our Israeli sister organization, Peace Now, Shalom Acshav, have been able to challenge government policies and practices in the Israeli courts and achieve real victories.

I am proud of the very real culture of accountability that exists in Israel - like the ongoing Winograd commission, an official government commission of inquiry into the actions of the government and military during the recent Lebanon war.

It is hard to imagine that kind of offcial inquiry, with real systemic consequences, existing in the US or anywhere else.

But I fear that your grandparents and great grandparents - including the founders of Israel - might be dismayed as well to see those ways that we've strayed from its founding principles, as stated in the Proclamation of the Establishment of the State of Israel, issued on May 14, 1948:

The state of Israel will:

foster the development of the country for the benefit of all of its inhabitants;

it will be based on freedom, justice and peace as envisaged by the prophets of Israel;

it will ensure complete equality of social and political rights to all its inhabitants irrespective of religion, race, or sex;

it will safeguard the Holy Places of all religions;

and it will be faithful to the principles of the Charter of the United Nations.

In becoming more than a dream, but a nation of this world, Israel, to some extent understandably, has fallen short of the vision of these founding principles.

There is the growing gap between the rich and the poor in this once-egalitarian society - today the gap in Israel is second only to that of the U.S. among industrialized nations. And one out of every three children in Israel lives in poverty.

There is the growing disaffection of Arab citizens of Israel, who are systematically discriminated against in terms of resources, public services, and opportunity; who enjoy much lower incomes, poorer health, higher infant mortality rates, and shorter life expectancies than their Jewish compatriots.

There is the continued occupation of the West Bank and the still unrealized peace with the Palestinians.

On Yom Kippur, we, as Jews, do not only repent. We seek atonement. We seek remedy, or TIKKUN. And it is such TIKKUN that I would like to urge you to be part of when it comes to your connection to Israel.

I ask you to visit Israel, meet its people, experience first hand the vibrancy of the country and its citizens; the complexities, contradictions, and challenges that define its present circumstances. Meet with young people, activists, who devote themselves to social justice and the cause of peace. Stand with them in demonstrations.

As I said earlier, the experience of knowing Israel today, and loving Israel, is far more complex than it was for my generation or my parents' generation.

Knowing Israel today means embracing this complexity, becoming part of it and taking part in the effort to heal what needs to be healed within it.

I ask you to broaden your definition of being pro-Israel.

Pro-Israel is more than feeling a detached or abstract attachment to a place you have never been and don't really care about, just because you are Jewish.

Pro-Israel is NOT about being a relentless cheer-leader, someone who views Israel as a place inhabited not by real people but by symbols of Jewish pride and empowerment.

Pro-Israel is NOT about defending Israel, right or wrong (or right or right, as some would have it), or stifling debate or criticism.

Pro-Israel is about knowing Israel, seeing it as it is, with all its warts and dimples.

It is loving Israel enough to work to help Israel measure up to the vision of peace, justice, reconciliation and tolerance that its founders expressed in their Proclamation of Independence.

Pro-Israel means being unafraid to vocally defend those values and the principles of the founders.

Pro-Israel means being as outraged by the insinuation that we are less Jewish or love Israel less if we speak out against those policies we think are damaging to Israel, as we are outraged by the insinuation that we do not love our country if we criticize the war in Iraq.

Pro-Israel means recognizing that Israel's real, longterm security will come at the negotiating table and not only on the battlefield;

Pro-Israel means to believe in the vision of a secure Israel living side by side in peace with her neighbors.

Pro-Israel means telling the truth.

It means bringing the debate that is so robust and vibrant and productive in Israel - and so rarely heard in the United States - to the American Jewish community, including school campuses and synagogues.

It means discussing our problems and concerns as a community - a community that in many ways stretches across the Atlantic and the Mediterranean, a community of Jews in Israel and in the Diaspora, who care about each other and for each other.

Your generation , thank God, is uniquely qualified to be a part of this community. You are still idealistic; you are committing your time and energy to issues of social justice and good stewardship of this world; you have expanded the definitions of community, the mechanisms to create them and the communications to maintain them. You are the most aware and informed generation, receiving information 24/7, from a myriad of electronic sources, and thus, you cannot be lied to, nor hidden from.

Yom Kippur is the holiest of our holy days.

On Yom Kippur, we ask God to forgive our sins.

We put our hands on our hearts and recite the "vidui," the Yom Kippur confessional prayer, consisting of a list of sins for which we are asking God's forgiveness.

Depending on where you go to services, you may be accustomed to the shorter or the longer version of this list.

But regardless, the wonder of this confessional, is that these petitions to God are made in the first-person PLURAL.

It is not "I" who asks forgiveness, it is "we" who ask forgiveness.

And for all the sins that we enumerate, we ask God to forgive us, to pardon us, to grant us atonement.

Of course, we are not all guilty of every transgression, or even most of them.

Certainly, if we each look into our hearts, each of us knows we are guilty of some things on the list.

I, personally, have always and particularly, since attending services in my chubby childhood, acknowledged the sin that we have committed in gluttony. And if my mother, who this past week celebrated her 92nd birthday, were here, she would give me one of her remarkable looks, fondly referred to in my family as THE LOOK , when we ask forgiveness for the sin which we have committed in disrespecting our parents. But I digress . . .

The point is that the prayer is less about our personal actions and more about our community.

As Rabbi Eliahu states in the mishna, "Kol Yisrael arevim zeh la'zeh." -- All of Israel is responsible for one another.

I believe that this sentiment was best captured on, of all places, the Daily Kos, this week. I want to quote from directly from a blogger, who wrote about Yom Kippur and the confessional prayer:

"We are obligated to each other.

We must care for each other.

When one of us needs help, we're all obligated to do what we can to help.

And when one of us screws up, we all screw up.

Insofar as it is our duty to ensure that every member of our community adheres to a certain code of ethical behavior, when one of us fails, it is partly because the rest of us failed to exercise the necessary and proper oversight . . .

We believe that personal responsibility is fundamental to good citizenship.

But it's not enough. . .

Every action each of us takes has an effect on the people around us, for good or for ill.

Personal responsibility therefore demands that we worry about the welfare of our neighbors and we prevent them from getting into trouble."

The conclusion this wise blogger draws from this is that it is the Jewish sense of community and communal responsibility that makes most Jews liberals (he is, of course, writing in the Daily Kos).

Which may be true, but not relevant to my remarks.

The conclusion that I draw from all of this is that it is the Jewish sense of community and communal responsibility that makes us truly pro-Israel.

It is what makes us feel a responsibility to help Israel when it is in trouble.

It is what makes us care about what Israel does and how its actions affect others.

It is what obligates us to speak out and try to change Israel's policies and practices if we know they are harmful to itself or others.

It is what gives us the strength to love Israel for both its strengths and weaknesses, and gladly commit ourselves to work to make it a better place for now and for future generations.

I want to close with a call to action. I want to recall the words of David Grossman, one of Israel's greatest writers and thinkers, a man who perhaps more than any other Israeli has captured the spirit of the nation's yearning for peace. David's son Uri, who while serving as a combat soldier, was killed last summer in Lebanon, his tragic death taking place only days before the ceasefire took effect. A few months later, speaking at the memorial service for Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin, David closed his remarks with the following words, which I leave you with tonight:

"From where I stand at this moment, I request, I call out to all those listening -

to young people who came back from the war, who know that they are the ones who will have to pay the price of the next war;

to Jewish and Arab citizens,

to the people of the right and the people of the left:

Stop for a moment.

Look over the edge of the abyss, and consider how close we are to losing what we have created here.

Ask yourselves if the time has not arrived for us to come to our senses, to break out of our paralysis,

to demand for ourselves, finally, the lives that we deserve to live."

I urge you to join them in this Tikkun.