“Exodus,” “Masada” and My Soul Erev Rosh HaShanah Day One

"Exodus," "Masada" and My Soul Erev Rosh HaShanah Day One Rabbi Gary S. Creditor September 28th, 2011   For nearly the past two weeks, except for sports, I have tried to ignore the media. Standing between the pain of the memories of 9/11 evoked by the tenth anniversary of that terror, and the events at the United Nations, my soul has been sorely distressed. Tonight I share a few thoughts which I first expressed last Friday night. I do not provide any answers to your questions and mine. I wish I could. I have searched for adequate words to explain this.   The two most influential books in my youth were "Exodus" by Leon Uris and the extended poem "Masada" by the Israeli poet Yitzchak Lamdan. They shaped my embrace of Zionism as part of my reading of Jewish history. In simplicity: It is us against them. This juxtaposition in extreme hostility, in extreme antagonism was understood to serve two functions: (1) it justified our existence and (2) fortified us to defend ourselves, even at all costs. This attitude is alive and well. I don't think that we corner the market on this approach. Being a child of the Cold War I well remember crouching under desks as part of air raid drills, the movies, the comic books and even advertisements for commercial products that proclaimed that it was: It is us against them. Nazi Germany, Stalinist Russia and countless times throughout history this is the way the world was portrayed: It is us against them. It is the Book of Joshua in the Bible. In a world in which I can use Google World and walk down nearly any street on the planet Earth, when stock markets rise and fall because of events far away, when Israel stands in danger of isolation, when the United States risks increased isolation and economic impact because it supports Israel at the U.N., I reflect and wonder with great consternation about our world, our posture and the books that I read.   I thought that Leon Uris was a semi-historian and that "Exodus" was this side of the Bible. Its thesis was very simple: the world didn't care what happened to the Jews, not before the Holocaust and not after; that the Holocaust proved our powerlessness and the return of the Jews to Palestine was the renaissance of our re-empowerment; that there were Ohavai Yisrael, lovers of Jews amongst the non-Jews who would help us, though they were few in number; that it was right and proper for Jews to skirt and even abrogate laws in order to save other Jews, particularly the Jews of Palestine; and, while we might not do everything right, they would always do everything wrong. We were the good guys. They were the bad guys. And this was the OK corral. There was no alternative. And we had to win.   There was no middle ground. There was no balance. There is no shading. There is no compromise. Since they wouldn't extend that to us, We wouldn't and couldn't extend that to them. It is us against them. That is our story.   I read Yitzchak Lamdan's "Masada" in the Hebrew original long before I ever saw the mountain. In fact, I was prepared to see the mountain through the eyes of his poem. Masada was the last outpost to fight against the Romans in the first great revolt that ended in 70 C.E. and included the destruction of the Second Temple and a significant dispersion of the Jews from the land of Israel. It ended any semblance of Jewish autonomy. Masada is a stark mountain created by eons of water rushing around it towards the Dead Sea, literally carving it out of the surrounding area. The sides are exceedingly steep. Even in winter it can be very warm. The summertime is excruciatingly hot. For all the eye can see North, West and South, it is barren, and to the East is the Dead Sea. When Masada fell, it was over. For Lamdan, Israel is Masada. There is no retreat, no place to go. The sea into which we would be pushed is the Dead Sea, literally. Therefore we swear: "M'tzada shaynit lo ti-pol" – "Masada Again Will Not Fall." For this reason, for decades new inductees were taken to Masada to be sworn into the Israeli Defense Forces. This was not to be service in some far off place. The army is to protect the Homeland. They are defending Masada once again, and it shall not fall, for if it does, - forget about us, the Jews of the Diaspora - they, their parents, their families and friends are doomed, forever. This is as stark as the landscape that surrounds them.   In this story there is no place for the story of Rabbi Yochanan Ben Zakkai who pleaded not to revolt and to seek a better way to deal with the Romans, even under duress. There is no contemplation of the ultimate consequences from this course of action. The lines are starkly drawn. There is no compromise. It is us against them. Victory or death! This is our story.   Perhaps this psychological posture once served us well. Perhaps it fueled generations of Jews to be faithful to Judaism, to remain part of the Jewish people, to be martyrs for the cause. Perhaps it inspired Jews to return to a wasteland called Palestine and suffer every deprivation as they and their children built it into the country you see from the plane as it lands at Ben Gurion airport. Perhaps it motivated the soldiers of the IDF to climb the Golan not once but twice, in 1967 and 1973 to stop Syrian advances down the slopes bent on destroying the entire North of Israel. Perhaps it motivated the soldiers of the IDF to offer up their lives on the Bar Lev line to slow down the Egyptian advance over the canal on Yom Kippur 1973 so that eventually they could mobilize and save Israel. Perhaps this has allowed the Israelis to clean up the body parts after countless terrorist attacks, and live.   Having lived in Israel for cumulatively over three years of my life, with a daughter who calls it 'home,' having absorbed "Exodus" into my bloodstream and stood on Masada, I understand this perfectly. From that mountain top, after learning what the world has done to us in the vulnerability of our powerlessness for 2,000 years, with Ruby having been in Jerusalem when the sirens went off on Yom Kippur 1973, after standing on the Golan, and driving that road to Eilat, I get it. I feel it.   And yet in these weeks of turmoil and anxiety, as the so-called Arab Spring truly leads into the Arab Winter, as Assad murders thousands of Syrians and the world is silent, as treaties with Turkey, Egypt and Jordan are either de facto or de jure abrogated, as the only friend on the UN Security Council is the U.S., weakened, isolated, alone, I wonder if this posture," It is us against them" still serves us, or instead, harms us.   It will be very difficult for me to say the words "The State of Palestine." But at some time you and I will need to do it. There are millions of Palestinians living cheek to jowl with Israelis, and they are not leaving. Why write the script with the same thesis? Why not force the hand of destiny? Leon Uris was not a historian. My second Bible is riddled with inaccuracies and distortions and omissions. IDF soldiers are no longer inducted on Masada. And few read the poem by that name.   For Israel's sake, for our sake, for the destiny of the Jewish people whose largest group of Jews now live in the State of Israel, for our daughter, I hope they find a different way.   I ask for nothing from God in this New Year, nothing, but for sachel, sanity, and peace.