I returned on Sunday from the South Bay Solidarity Mission to Israel. Nineteen members of our community, including five from Sinai, spent a packed week filled with meaningful, important encounters to bear witness, console the mourners, and comfort the sick.

A week and a half ago, we visited Hostages Square in Tel Aviv. As we were about to board our bus to return to the hotel, a voice boomed from the loudspeakers.  Earlier that day, the far right Finance Minister Bezalel Smotrich had given an interview in which he said, rather smugly, that getting the hostages back was not as important as destroying Hamas.

An impromptu protest formed of relatives of hostages, who were, understandably, incensed.

Liri Albag, eighteen years old, has been held hostage in Gaza for 147 days. Her father, Eli Albag, cried out in the most gut-wrenching, tormented, angry voice that I have ever heard.

“Let them kidnap your children!” Calling out Smotrich by name, he shouted “Let them kidnap your children and I will shout in the street, ‘It’s not the most important thing!’”

“I’m talking to all citizens of Israel — whoever thinks that the citizens, the hostages are unimportant, let them kidnap your children and then you can speak!” 

“We have suffered for 137 days, day after day, minute by minute, we don’t sleep at night,” 

Referring to the Israeli cabinet, he continued, “It will not protect you… They are abandoning us above. They are laughing at us, dragging their feet, they are not going to negotiate. I say to you citizens, take to the streets because today it is us and tomorrow it will be you.”

This may have been the most painful thing I have ever heard another person say.

As someone who follows current events fairly closely, the week long trip was an eye-opening experience nonetheless. 

We met Israelis from many different backgrounds, gaining a sense of the complicated, conflicting ways in which social, economic, religious, and political differences play out in society.

One thing that was obvious was that the language and rhetoric that surrounds us here in America is very different from that which permeates Israeli society right now.

The most dominant issue we encountered, by far, was the chatufim, the hostages. From the moment one walks down the ramp to exit Ben Gurion airport, photos of each of those still in captivity are everywhere. On the sides of buildings, on café counters, in bank windows, on t-shirts, their faces are impossible to miss.

Alongside the photos, at least in Tel Aviv, are signs, grafitti, and billboards casting blame for October 7 on the government, and Benjamin Netanyahu in particular. One huge poster visible from the Ayalon Highway, covering the entire side of a building, has a photo of Bibi and the words Attah haRosh! Attah Ashem!“You are in charge!  You are guilty!”

Along with this are calls, everywhere, for the government to resign so that new elections can be held.

Most of the Israeli voices we heard did not express much concern for the things that fill our airwaves. There were few mentions of the Palestinians, a two state solution, or even the thousands of civilian deaths in Gaza.

The closest to calls for a ceasefire occurred within the context of “Bring the hostages home at any cost.” Even when we met with Achinoam Nini, one of Israel’s most famous singers and a peace activist for the past thirty years, she did not go so far as to call for an immediate ceasefire, although she did speak passionately about the need for a Palestinian state alongside Israel and the moral obligation to empathize with all human suffering.

Antisemitism came up, but usually in the context of Israelis being concerned about all the antisemitism that we are facing in the West. 

It should not really surprise us that the issues we are dealing with here are largely absent from the Israeli discussions. This is not to justify, but to explain. Israelis are still in trauma from October 7. They freely admit it. The fate of the hostages is front and center, with photos everywhere. The 134 who are still missing have become household names. I could not imagine being able to think of anything else if my child was in captivity.

Hundreds of thousands of Israelis are currently serving as active duty soldiers or reservists. When your child or spouse or brother or sister is fighting a war, it is hard to muster much emotional energy for those on the other side of the border.

And don’t forget the tens of thousands of Israelis who are displaced from their homes around the Gaza envelope and the northern border.

This past Saturday night, the first major anti-government protest since October 7 took place in Tel Aviv. We were there for the beginning of it. Tens of thousands of Israelis filled the streets. It was clear that there were a wide range of coalitions comprising the rally, ranging from families of hostages, relatives of victims of October 7, life-long Likud members, and pro-peace activists.

The messages were simple and clear: The government is responsible for the failures of October 7. They should resign and new elections should be held. The word achshav kept coming up as a chant. Achshav! “Now!” Israeli flags were everywhere.

A few weeks ago, we read Parashat Yitro, in which God’s Presence descends upon Mt. Sinai in revelation to the children of Israel, who are encamped below.

This moment is imagined by our tradition as a wedding. So let’s run with that metaphor a bit. We would say about a newlywed couple that they are “in love.” They only have eyes for one another. They do not see each other’s faults, and their only desire is to be together. 

Now here we are in Ki Tissa, a few Torah portions later. Moses has been on top of Mt. Sinai for forty days. He has literally gone up to heaven to speak with God. Meanwhile, back down on earth, what have the Israelites done?  They have built a golden calf.

The honeymoon is over. The rest of their time through the wilderness will be frought with misunderstandings, miscommunications, and disappointments, punctuated by occasional moments of bliss. 

This is a useful metaphor for us to consider with regard to our relationship with Israel as American Jews.

My parents and grandparents’ generations were around when Israel came into being in 1948 and in its early years. The Holocaust was a recent memory and the need for a Jewish homeland was clear. The exciting, miraculous fact of its existence, the ingathering of the exiles, and the pioneering Jews taking charge of their own destiny after 2,000 years as an opressed minority in the Diaspora was a source of pride.

After 1967, with another miraculous victory over its enemies in the Six Day War, Israel could do no wrong. 1967, by the way, is when Jews in America began to feel comfortable wearing Kippot out in public.

The 1973 Yom Kippur war began to chip away at this image of invincibility. Israel was shown to be vulnerable. This is when things started to get more complicated in the relationship. I was born in this post-1973 generation.  

Beginning with the war in Lebanon, which lasted nearly 30 years, and the first Intifada, Israel was now in a position in which it was unquestioningly the stronger military power. It was occupying land and was responsible for the Palestinians, who were not citizens of the state.  It now had to deal with a challenge that Jews had not faced for more than two thousand years: How do we use our power Jewishly?

Let’s come back to the marriage metaphor. Up until 1973, American Jews were in the honeymoon phase. We were “in-love” with Israel. The agreement was that we would buy trees through JNF, purchase Israel bonds on the High Holidays, and take pride in this growing, thriving, Jewish nation. And we would feel more safe and secure about our place in the Diaspora.

My generation began to develop a different relationship with Israel. Let’s call it “marriage.” The honeymoon is over. We are committed to each other, but we are starting to see the faults.

In the early 1990’s there was tremendous hope that the Oslo Accords would finally bring peace. Most American Jews were ecstatic, and the majority of Israelis were cautiously supportive.

The assassination of Yitzchak Rabin in 1995 by a right wing Jewish terrorist, followed by a string of terrorist attacks by Hamas, shattered that hope. This led to the third phase, comprised of young American Jews who claim that the Israel they know is not in alignment with the Jewish values they have been taught in our synagogues, Jewish schools, and summer camps.

Those of us from earlier generations can complain until we are blue in the face, but let’s consider for a moment that for someone who was born in the last thirty years, the only Israel they have experienced is one which has waged a near constant series of assymetrical wars.

They have seen ultra religious factions in Israel flexing their muscles in ways designed to deliberately suppress the liberal movements that they grew up in. They have seen a constant expansion of Jewish settlements in the West Bank, making the prospect of a two state solution seem more and more unlikely.

When it comes to Israel, what we are hearing from many young American Jews is simply “I want a divorce.”

This is tragic and frustrating. But if we, from the Honeymoon and Marriage generations, are to perform our duty of teaching our children of the Divorce generation, we have got to recognize where many of them actually are, and what they have experienced.

Congregation Sinai’s mission is to connect Jews to Judaism, each other, Israel, and the world.

What does it mean to be connected to Israel?

At the very least, it means recognizing that, as the home for half of the world’s Jews, our fates are connected in extremely tangible ways. Like it or not, what happens in Israel socially, religiously, and politically, impacts Judaism everywhere.

The current Israeli government is comprised of quite a few figures who embody what many of the anti-Zionists of the world say about Israel. Figures, like Smotrich, whose stated goal is to transform Israel into something resembling a messianic theocracy with all non-Jews holding a form of second class citizenship.

These are the people whose statements were brought by South Africa to the International Court of Justice in the Hague in its case accusing Israel of genocide.

The reality is, these extremists are extremely unpopular for most Israelis also. They are not, in fact, representative, but because of the particular nature of the Israeli political system, they enjoy a lot of power and influence right now. 

If their vision is realized in the Jewish homeland, the results for us here in the Diaspora will be terrifying. As one of our speakers claimed, the future of Judaism itself is at stake.

And so, it matters to us.

Lately, (and I myself am guilty of this) we have been using the expression kol Yisrael arevim zeh lazeh.  “All of Israel are responsible for one another.” We use this expression to describe the sense of deep connection we feel with our Jewish brothers and sisters around the world, particularly when they are under attack.

But the original use of this expression in the Talmud (BT Shevuot 39a) is a little different. If a Jew is about to sin, and I fail to intervene to steer them correctly, then my fate will be tied to their fate. We will all suffer the consequences of their wrong behavior. This expression is really about communal responsibility. I have to act.

We are being encouraged, by Israelis, to get involved in a more substantive way than we have been. Many of the people with whom we met begged us to be involved. What we saw is that there is tremendous diversity in what it means to be pro-Israel, to be a Zionist.

At its most basic level, Zionism is the belief that Jews should be able to determine our own destiny, and this can only happen if Jews are living in the Jewish homeland. Think about the final words of Hatikva – Lihyot am chofshi be’artzeinu: Eretz Tzion virushalim – To be a free nation in our land: the land of Zion and Jerusalem.

The conviction that we should be able to self identify and self actualize as a nation is the essence of Zionism.  The rest is commentary.

We have to participate in that commentary, not only for our own sake, but also for our children’s sake, and for the sake of Judaism itself.