Three or four years ago, our community in Princeton had difficulty finding a babysitter for the last days of Pesach. Pesach coincided with Easter that year and our usual babysitters for Shabbat morning were all celebrating one of the two holidays. We realized that a Muslim student would be the ideal babysitter and that is how we met Nadirah, a Palestinian-American who from that Pesach morning, worked as a regular babysitter for the Orthodox minyan over a period of years. She bonded quickly with our children and she also sometimes watched our children at home – we left our boys with her when Sophie was born. We all completely trusted her with our children, but I had always been reluctant to discuss politics with her. Perhaps I was afraid of what she would tell me.
I was truly moved to see a post that she wrote on Facebook earlier this week. She wrote:
“There’s something powerful about recognizing someone on the other side’s humanity and I often feel, despite people’s claims that they do, that it does not happen but that we tell ourselves that we are. I also recognize it’s a difficult thing to do. I try and I don’t know if I’m successful (and probably never will), but despite any hypocrisy on my part, I urge my friends to think critically about the people living in the Gaza Strip and Israel alike and their humanity, and subsequently, why they may believe and do the things they do, no matter what those things are.”
Rabbi Yosef Blau, a revered teacher at Yeshiva University said something similar a few years ago when he marveled at the way he had been a Zionist all his life, in fact he was president of the Religious Zionists of America for a period of years, and yet he had never spoken to a Palestinian until just a few years ago.
I don’t think Rabbi Blau is unusual in this regard. If anything, modern social-media and the algorithms that govern its operation, create what has been called “self-generated personalized propaganda. wherein our clicks and likes and friendships create an information delivery system designed to show us exactly what we want to see. It can now be quantified that supporters of Israel and supporters of the Palestinians during this recent round of fighting in Gaza were reading completely different accounts of what was occurring from completely different news sources. There is no ability to respond to the perspective of the other side – since there is no basic encounter with the other’s perspective.
This week’s Torah portion, and indeed all of Sefer Devarim is devoted to preparations for the conquest and settling of Eretz Yisrael. How do we prepare spiritually for this conquest? How do we ensure success? How should we think about that impending conquest? These questions course through the parsha and course throughout the entire book.
In that context, the Torah emphasizes – three times in three consecutive verses read earlier this morning that we must not slip into the error of assuming that our victories in Eretz Yisrael are something that we deserve.
אַל תּ ֹאמַ ר בִּ לְ בָבְ ך בַּהֲד ֹף ה א-ֱלהֶיך א ֹתָ ם מִ לְּ פָנֶיך לֵאמ ֹר בְּ צִ דְ קָ תִ י הֱבִ יאַנִי ה לָרֶ שֶׁ ת אֶ ת הָאָרֶ ץ הַזּ ֹאת וּבְ רִ שְׁ עַת הַגּוֹיִם הָאֵ לֶּה ה מוֹרִ ישָׁ ם מִ פָּנֶיך
“Do not say – al tomar,” when God has pushed aside the Canaanites before you that God has brought me to inherit the land because of my own righteousness. Nor should you say that God has disposed the Canaanites because of their wickedness.”
We are told not to assume, not even in our hearts “ְָבלִבָבְ“ that our victory is because we are righteous. And we are told that we must not assume, not even in our hearts “בלִבָבְ” that our victory is because our enemies are wicked.
לא בְ צִ דְ קָ תְ ך וּבְ י ֹשֶׁ ר לְ בָבְ ך אַתָּ ה בָא לָרֶ שֶׁ ת אֶ ת אַרְ צָם כִּ י בְּ רִ שְׁ עַת הַגּוֹיִם הָאֵ לֶּה ה׳ א-ֱלהֶיך מוֹרִ ישָׁ ם מִ פָּנֶיך וּלְ מַ עַן הָקִ ים אֶ ת הַדָּ בָר אֲשֶׁ ר נִשְׁ בַּע ה׳ לַאֲב ֹתֶ יך לְ אַבְ רָ הָם לְ יִצְ חָק וּלְ יַעֲק ֹב
“It is not because of your righteousness nor the straightness of your heart that you are on the threshold of inheriting their land. It is because of the wickedness of these nations that the Lord your God is displacing them before you so that God can uphold that which God swore to your fathers, to Avraham, to Yitzhak, and to Yaakov.”
We are emphatically told a second time that our victory is not because we are righteous. And it’s not because we were fighting enemies who were wicked. Indeed, the Canaanites were quite wicked, but that alone isn’t a sufficient justification or explanation for our victory. Only the additional element of a Divine promise to Avraham, Yitzhak, and Yaakov can explain our presence in Eretz Yisrael.
And then, yet again, for a third time, we are told:
וְיָדַ עְ תָּ כִּ י לא בְ צִ דְ קָ תְ ך ה׳ א-ֱלהֶיך נ ֹתֵ ן לְ ך אֶ ת הָאָרֶ ץ הַטּוֹבָה הַזּ ֹאת לְ רִ שְׁ תָּ הּ כִּ י עַם קְ שֵׁ ה ע ֹרֶ ף אָתָּ ה
“And you shall know that it is not because of your righteousness that God has given you this good land as an inheritance for you are a stick-necked people.”
Moshe then goes on for verse after verse to give a litany of the crimes and misdemeanors of the 40 years in the desert. When Moshe finally concludes this sad history, an entire chapter later, there can be no question that we are not righteous and could not possibly deserve Eretz Yisrael because of our righteousness.
Much of the public discourse about the Israeli Palestinian conflict is strident, is binary, and displays little capacity for self-reflection or for growth.
I wonder whether some of this stridency and our tendency to portray things in black and white is, paradoxically, because of a lack of confidence in our Zionism. Because of a lack of confidence in our Zionism, we have a need to portray ourselves as entirely and perfectly righteous. Because of a lack of confidence in our connection to Eretz Yisrael, we have a need to portray our opponents as though they are moral monsters.
But our connection to Eretz Yisrael is so much deeper. It doesn’t depend on us always being right “lo b’tzidkatkha” and it doesn’t depends on the others being wicked “lo birishat ha-goyim.” Eretz Yisrael is the homeland of the Jewish people and we’ve exercised sovereignty there for the past three generations. Healthy nations are able to debate their future, confront their challenges, and engage in the difficult but necessary process of internal improvements without resorting to a manichean worldview where children of light battle children of darkness.
In contrast, the Torah emphasizes, in later in Parashat Ekev, that God doesn’t take bribes, God cannot be fooled, and so our endurance and flourishing as a nation depends on a sober assessment of reality, and the had work of cultivating a community dedicated to Torah and mitzvot. And, in the context of the Torah’s vision of a community dedicated towards Torah and Mitzvot, it is precisely our ability to empathize with, to act with justice towards, and to even cultivate love for the stranger that is emphasized.
כִּ י ה׳ א-ֱלהֵיכֶם הוּא א-ֱלהֵי הָאֱ להִ ים וַאֲד ֹנֵי הָאֲד ֹנִים הָאֵ ל הַגָּד ֹל הַגִּבּ ֹר וְהַנּוֹרָ א אֲשֶׁ ר לא יִשָּ ּא פָנִים וְלא יִקַּ ח שׁ ֹחַד. ע ֹשֶׂ ה מִ שְׁ פַּט יָתוֹם וְאַלְ מָ נָה וְא ֹהֵב גֵּר לָתֶ ת לוֹ לֶחֶם וְשִׂ מְ לָה
…וַאֲהַבְ תֶּ ם אֶ ת הַגֵּר כִּ י גֵרִ ים הֱיִיתֶ ם בְּ אֶ רֶ ץ מִ צְ רָ יִם
“For the Lord your God…the great and mighty and awesome God does not show favor nor take bribes. Act with justice towards the orphan and widow, and love the stranger, give him bread and clothing. And you shall love the stranger for you were strangers in the Land of Egypt.”
Here, as elsewhere in the Torah, our slavery in Egypt is meant to cultivate sympathy for other vulnerable people and to build the capacity to empathize with those who are different. Our communities need that capacity for sympathy and empathy. Indeed, all humanity needs to expand our capacity for empathy and sympathy.
In his masterpiece “September 1st, 1939,” reflecting on the start of the Second World War, poet W.H. Auden writes:
I and the public know
What all schoolchildren learn,
Those to whom evil is done
Do evil in return.
Hunger allows no choice
To the citizen or the police;
We must love one another or die.
Rabbi David Wolkenfeld 