Rabbi Eliana's Divrei Torah

I’m just a soul whose intentions are good,
Oh, Lord, please don’t let me be misunderstood

–The Animals

“Every disagreement that is for the sake of Heaven will in the end endure, but a disagreement that is not for the sake of Heaven will not endure.” The disagreement that endures focuses on seeking truth and understanding. The one that is not for the sake of heaven is a disagreement focused on personal victory. 

Pirkei Avot 5:17

***

There is a Hassidic story about a Jew who is lost in the forest, and it is getting dark. He cannot find his way out when he suddenly runs into a fellow Jew. He asks him hopefully: “Brother, do you know the way out of here?” The other Jew responds: “I’m sorry brother, I, too, am lost and do not know the way out of this forest, but come, let us search for the way out together.”

The moral of the story is not very hard to figure out, but to err on the side of clarity: The forest represents the world that is growing darker and scarier by the minute. But even as we feel lost, we have a community. We have a tribe. A built-in extended family, so we are not alone. The only catch is that, like a family, we do not get to choose who our congregational relatives are, and we cannot make them all see eye to eye with us.

Most of you know that I have an Etsy shop and that I make tallitot by commission as a creative outlet. This summer I worked on a tallit with a lovely woman. She had a whole vision for this tallit that would be a surprise for her daughter’s bat mitzvah. And we zoomed and brainstormed and finally figured out the pattern and colors and fabrics. I did not know her before she found me on Etsy, but we got to have some lovely conversations about how she did not have a bat mitzvah herself and how meaningful it was for her to make sure her daughter has one. 

And then, seemingly out of the blue, I received a text message from her saying: I don’t know how to bring this up, but I must. I hope you did not start making the tallit. Can you please tell me where you are with regard to Israel? I do not feel that I can, in good conscience, support a business that does not hold the same opinions as mine. She didn’t say the last bit like this. She told me which stance was the acceptable one to her. I am not sharing that; it could have just as easily been the opposite opinion.

It was a tallit. It had nothing to do with Gaza. It had a lot to do with her connecting and engaging with her Jewish heritage in a joyful way. We could – we probably should – have never discussed Israel.  And still…

How often, in the course of the past year, have you made so-called “moral” decisions for yourself that barely had any effect in the world but forced you to engage with this? “Am I going to switch the radio station because this musician that just came on is supporting the wrong side?” “Should I share on Facebook the list of authors that are non grata because of their position on Israel? Should I read their books?”

It is enough to get decision fatigue: just thinking about how many moments present themselves lately where we were going about doing our everyday lives when we were “forced” to reflect on this one political-turned-moral issue. *This* specific political-turned-moral issue. It seems like the world has presented itself with a test case based on which we are all supposed to calibrate our moral compasses.  It is nearly impossible to not participate in this exercise, no matter how oppressive it feels. 

It is hard even if you are feeling called to respond to this conflict. And probably harder if you feel like what is going on in Israel has little relevance to your life and you just wish for a moment of peace in your own life, if not in the Middle East.

A person is lost in the forest. It is getting dark and he cannot find his way out when he suddenly runs into another Jew. “Brother,” he says, “do you know the way out of here?” “I’m lost too,” the other responds, “but we could potentially look for the way out of the forest together if you can just answer me this one little question about Israel first…”

***

If you asked me about this a couple of years ago, I would have probably told you that shared pain brings people together. That it is especially in times of trouble that the Jewish community excels in supporting its members, in being a pillar of strength and a healing force.  Standing together, we prove that we can weather the biggest storms, that the same winds that toss each of us around individually will not move all of us as a community. I would have probably told you that something like October 7^th would bring us together in support and mutual care.

But my experience this year has been different. 

So whereas on Rosh Hashanah I spoke with you about the inner pain. I want to speak with you today about what the events of this past year have done to our community. I want to speak to how we come together and how we support each other. 

***

The divisions that have torn at the fabric of our community this past year have not arisen from old political differences. In fact, before October 7, many of us stood on the same side of the political spectrum—advocates for justice, peace, and equality. It is not true for all communities. But at TBB, we were a community united in our general progressive worldview, and it was through that lens that we engaged with the complexities of Israel, Palestine, and the broader world. We were not uniform in our opinions, but we lived in a diversity-embracing and comfortably homogeneous lefty bubble.

Then, in those early weeks following October 7, while still experiencing profound shock and grief, we discovered that the very group we had been a part of—people we marched with, worked with, and shared our deepest values with—was no longer a single, cohesive entity. Instead, we found ourselves fragmented into smaller groups, each grappling with different aspects of the tragedy, and often seeing the path forward in different ways. Some of our closest friends, who stood shoulder to shoulder with us for years in the fight for social justice, now seemed to occupy a completely different moral universe. (This, for many of us, has been an experience that replicated itself in quite a few of our social circles, within and without the Jewish community).

Jonathan Haidt, a social psychologist who studies moral decision-making, attempts in his research to answer the following question: why are good people divided on issues of religion and morality? 

He teaches that while we imagine that most of our moral reasoning is a matter of reasoning, much of our moral reasoning is actually based on intuitive, emotional responses rather than pure logic. What we feel in our gut shapes our sense of right and wrong; only then do we use reason to justify those feelings. Not the other way around. When events like October 7^th happen, they trigger deep, primal emotions, like fear, loyalty, anger, and empathy. These emotions shape our moral outlook. And because not all of us feel the same emotions at the same intensity, the emotions that take center stage for each of us personally affect our moral decision making and our moral intuition in that moment. As a result, we can experience the same event, feel the same emotions, and even though we share many of the same values, we can still find ourselves pushed into opposing camps. For example, if your brain prioritizes the value of care and liberty you might see the humanitarian crisis in Gaza and feel compelled to speak out for those suffering. Or, your brain’s go-to might be to the value of loyalty, and you might feel a moral duty to defend the people of Israel from being vilified. Even when driven by similar and deeply felt moral impulses, it can feel as though we are speaking entirely different moral languages.

But it is even more complicated than that. A big part of Heidt’s observation is that humans are groupish by nature. We naturally gravitate toward those who share our values, and then we are wired to protect our in-group from perceived threats. In times of crisis, this instinct becomes even stronger. 

Our need to defend the group to which we belong is felt more acutely in times of trouble, like now. This makes it hard to see beyond our immediate circle of agreement. 

More importantly, it blocks some of us from even wanting to understand each other because in our moments of crisis, we’re not capable of absorbing information that challenges our group affiliation. 

One of the things that hurt this year was discovering that people who supposedly care about us did not really want to understand where we are coming from. You are not fully imagining it. It is a part of our psychological make.  Some might call it closing the ranks, but closing the ranks feels like a tactic; I’m saying you might not even realize that it is happening to you AND to those around you. You don’t actively choose to be less tolerant. If asked, I am sure none of us would say that we want to be less tolerant. You might even be feeling a need to reject my claim right now. It took me quite a while to see this truth, and even longer to accept it about myself: that at *this* moment in time my ability to be more tolerant is challenged. And it grieves me. 

But the good news is that Haidt says we are not doomed to become people who don’t even want to understand each other. The big message of Haidt’s work is that we can get to a better place of understanding by practicing what he calls “moral humility.” 

The level to which we are convinced that we are seeing the world in the most moral way is pretty astounding. And when we are convinced that there is only one way to act morally, and that this way is ours, we can’t help but look down at everyone else. That is our built-in natural moral arrogance. In some cases we feel it is not worth understanding the other argument because it is flat-out wrong. I mean, if someone wanted to prove to me that Earth is flat, I would at most listen for the sake of entertaining myself, but not because I am open to actually listening. 

That is okay. Some issues are about facts. And we tell ourselves morality is too. But morality is much more nuanced and complicated, and even though we tell ourselves that our morality is fact-based. And it is. Partially. It's just not the whole story.

This does not mean we will agree with each other. We likely will still feel that the way we make moral decisions is the far better one. But at least we will be able to get past the assumption that if we are moral beings, they are not. And because I cannot afford to think of myself as not moral, I also cannot afford to accept that you might be. That is a zero sum situation.

But what if we conceded that at the base of our moral decision-making lies the same desire to be good people? 

In effect, this shift might not matter to you too much if you are running into a group of protesters outside Planned Parenthood, and you still don’t care to understand them. But we are one community – so we might actually *wish* to be able to highlight the morality of our fellows even when we don’t agree with them. And in that regard, it actually does make a difference whether you tell yourself in your heart, “that person is immoral because they support Israeli genocide” or “because they support Hammas terrorists” as opposed to telling yourself, “that person is an idiot.” (And yes, I am saying that in the long run, it is less harmful to your soul and to your community if you think of the other side as stupid rather than immoral).

One of the most hopeful things we have done as a community this year was our Israel/Palestine survey. I cannot express how grateful I am to the group of people who took on this task and who put so much time and thought into creating a survey that will give us enough information to address the real needs of actual members in our community. (150 of you took time and care to respond to this survey!)  

Even though the results of the survey are not yet published, and even though I have not seen the results, I know there is one trend that emerges, and that is that the overwhelming majority of people in this community are willing to go out of their comfort zone to ensure that the people with whom they disagree at TBB also get the support they need from us. In other words, we don’t all agree about Israel, but we are in deep agreement that this community is precious. We are in deep agreement that keeping us together is not going to happen without labor and commitment and willingness to experience discomfort. And we are in deep agreement that it is worth it. (Kvetching about the specifics notwithstanding…)

So can we get there?

Part of the problem we are facing is that because this issue has been presented as a matter of either being a moral person or being a person who is not moral, we have not just been asserting our own values but also doubting and denying the morality of those with whom we disagree. And they doubted and denied our morality in return. 

As a result, we all feel somewhat gaslighted by some people we care about. On the one hand, our own sense of morality is sharpened and strengthened: our conviction is strong. On the other hand, our sense of identity also feels very threatened. We feel called to defend it, as if this is not a discussion of events we are connected to, but rather a litmus test for who we actually are. 

And let me say this again (feel free to correct me later if I am wrong): nearly all members of our congregation consider themselves progressive Jews (including progressive non-Jewish partners of progressive Jews). The gaps in our views do not stem from big differences in worldviews. They stem from different visceral reactions to a very specific set of events and are amplified by our need to be part of a peer group that affirms our own sense of purpose and morality. 

We should acknowledge and respect this truth. To get there we need to allow for spaces where people can heal among those who share their experiences and emotions. Not everyone feels safe enough right now to speak their minds in mixed company. For some of us, the emotional wounds are too fresh, and the fear of being misunderstood is too strong. But one thing we should not fear is creating spaces for specific groups to form, where people can speak openly about their experiences and feelings.

These groups are about helping people mend their sense of being moral people. Many of us are struggling with feelings of guilt, confusion, and alienation. Before we can engage in broader communal discussions, we need to feel secure in our own positions, to know that we are not alone in our feelings. This is especially true in a year where there has been so much moral gaslighting, where people have felt invalidated or dismissed for their views. We must create space for individuals to feel validated and rebuild their sense of moral integrity.

These spaces are not about fostering further division, but about allowing people to express themselves safely and honestly. Whether it’s a group focused on the need to come together in support of the Israeli left, a group about the Jewish importance of supporting Palestinian self-determination, or a group about dealing with a sense of betrayal by fellow Jews who support the Palestinian right to self-determination—these are all valid, necessary spaces for healing. This is similar to the consciousness-raising groups of early feminism, where women would meet other women to speak freely among themselves, validating each other’s experiences before engaging with the wider world.

And this is not just about healing, it is also about understanding.  We must understand the need to give each other the space within our Jewish community to continue in whatever activism calls to each of us. For all of us, it is a moral imperative. For all of us, the path we are moved towards is important and integral to who we are as Jews. 

We cannot expect each other to remain silent on our moral convictions in order to remain part of our community. When we require that all spaces are open to the full diversity of opinions, we are all making concessions in order to be together, which is admirable, but we also don’t have any places where we can bring our whole identity. That is something we all need acutely right now. It is something that some of us can only find in Jewish community right now. And it is something that people seek elsewhere if they must, simply because they need it so much to survive these times. For our mental wellbeing, we need to bring agency to our pain in the form that feels right to us. 

Let us allow for such spaces to exist. This means that there might be affinity groups within TBB that wish to have their own mini listservs and gatherings for activism around Israel and Palestine. We should let each other have that. And we should also continue our work of bringing our community together around the parts of this conflict that spill over and collectively affect a shift in our status in the world (yes, that is clean language for antisemitism). 

***

A man is lost in the forest when he runs into another Jew. “Brother, “ he says. “How do you feel about Israel and do you know the way out of the forest?  Actually, cancel that. Do you just know the way out of this forest?” He responds: “I’m afraid I’ve been lost in this forest for a while, too. I could really use some companionship. It would be lovely to search for the way out together.” This coming year, let’s be like these guys. Don’t be someone who can’t see the forest for the trees.

Even if the person next to you does not agree with you about Israel, they agree with you that community is important—that this is your home, too. They likely agree with you about reproductive rights and gun control and will likely vote the same as you in the elections. The person next to you likely shares quite a few of your Jewish likes and dislikes, your thirst for knowledge, and your desire to be a good person.  You’d make excellent road companions. And even if not, we are family and family simply has to put up with each other, especially on the holidays.

There likely is a long road ahead, but hold on tight and let us get through this together. 

Gut Yontif.