The Project of Peoplehood

The Project of Peoplehood
Rabbi Rebecca Rosenthal

A couple of weeks ago, I went to visit my daughter at her sleepaway camp. It is a wonderful place, with all the things you would expect like swimming, sports, and friendship bracelets, and it has a beautiful Jewish soul. But, in all the emails from camp, and as I walked around with my daughter, you can see the way in which the situation in Israel and the hostages have pierced what is, ideally, a worry-free bubble. All around the space are yellow “bring them home ribbons,” and the visiting day project included painting poppies to display in camp, a symbol of the Gaza Envelope.

The camp made a decision that what is going on in Israel was important enough to bring into their no-news, joyful, safe bubble. They decided that the value of kol yisrael arevim zeh ba’zeh, all of Israel is responsible for one another, was a higher value than making sure my daughter and her peers had a summer free of the cares of the world. And they chose to look out for their Israeli counselors, who are no doubt thinking about their home, no matter how tight the bubble may be.

This is especially true because a former camper, Omer Neutra, has been held hostage in Gaza for an unfathomable 301 days. As the director said, our camp family is not whole until he is home. Even if they don’t know Omer, he is a part of them. My daughter knows his story, knows that he walked where she walks, that he played where she plays, that he slept where she sleeps. Every single one of the campers, staff, and families knows that they have a stake in what is happening in Israel right now.

And this is a lesson that is brought into sharp relief in this week’s double portion, Matot Masei. We have reached the moment when God and Moses are outlining the plans for war and conquering the land, but then something strange happens. The text tells us that each tribe will receive a portion of the land of Israel, and they will live and thrive there. However, representatives from the tribes of Reuben, Gad, and half the tribe of Menashe come to Moses and ask if they can have their tribal portions on the other side of the Jordan river, outside the boundaries of the land of Israel.

Moses is incensed. He begins by recounting all the things that God has done for the Israelites. I picture Moses’ voice getting louder and louder as he shouts at them, convinced that they are removing themselves from the community and that they are ungrateful after everything God has done.

The leaders of these tribes rush to reassure Moses that he has misunderstood. While they may want to live outside the land of Israel, to build homes for themselves and their children, they have no intention of abandoning the Israelites in battle. In fact, they offer to go into battle first, which Rashi attributes to both their bravery and their size. They say to Moses that they will not go back to their land on the other side of the Jordan until the battle is won and everyone else is settled in the Promised Land.

These are difficult parshiyot, because they certainly lend themselves to an extremist view of Jewish claims to the land of Israel. God instructs the Israelites to wipe everyone out, and then the two and a half tribes say they won’t come back until everyone has their portion of the land. You could certainly understand this as a justification for pushing out anyone who doesn’t belong in “our” land.

But I’d like to offer a different reading of this parasha. This reading also helps us understand the decisions made at my daughter’s camp. These tribes choose to live outside the boundaries of the land of Israel, but nevertheless throw their lot in with the Israelites. They say, what happens to you matters to me and we will be there in your moment of need, not only to support you from afar, but to actually go into battle with you.

Now I’m not suggesting that we should all suit up and join the Israeli army. But I am suggesting that our job as Jewish people is to feel as strongly about the project of Jewish peoplehood as these three tribes. What if we woke up every day saying to ourselves, what happens in Israel, what happens to Jews around our country and around the world matters to me, because we are part of each other? Maybe we would call our elected representatives daily and demand the release of the hostages, held captive for over 300 days. Maybe we would go to Israel, spend our money, hug our family, sing and pray and protest and volunteer. Maybe we would see that, no matter our opinions on the current Israeli government or the current war, that the destiny of 50% of the world's Jews is bound up in our destiny and ours in theirs.

The Torah tells us that the tribes did not return to their land on the other side of the Jordan until everyone was settled in the land of Israel. And we should not return to our comfortable lives on our side of the ocean until every hostage is returned, until this war comes to an end, and until all of the residents of Israel and Gaza can live in peace and security. This is going to require sacrifice on our part, some uncomfortable conversations, and some uncomfortable coalitions. But like the tribes, we have an obligation to stand in front of our community and say, kol yisrael arevim zeh ba’zeh, we are all responsible for one another.

July 31st was the 22nd anniversary of the bombing of the Hebrew University cafeteria, which killed nine people, including Marla Bennett, a childhood friend of my husband and my daughter’s namesake, who had been spending a year studying in Jerusalem. Shortly before her death Marla wrote, “But I also feel energized by the opportunity to support Israel during a difficult period. This is undoubtedly an important historic moment for both Israel and for the Jewish people. I have the privilege of reporting to my friends and family in the U.S. about the realities of living in Israel at this time and I also have the honor of being an American choosing to remain in Israel, and assist, however minimally, in Israel's triumph.”

Marla understood the importance of Israel to the Jewish people, the importance of remaining connected even when things were difficult. And her writing is just as important today as it was 22 years ago. We can honor her memory by staying in the conversation, by allowing the fears, sorrows, and joys of Israel to become our own. As a Jewish educator, Marla taught hundreds of students the importance of staying connected to Israel and to the Jewish people, even when it is hard. Especially when it is hard. Let us learn that lesson and live that lesson.