Pedaling from one Reform Synagogue to another we learned that the government does not financially support Reform congregations and therefore they need to raise money to establish a true alternative to the ultra-orthodox rabbinic authority. A problem that persists today.

Years ago I was once biking in Israel though the forests outside of Jerusalem. Wearing a bright red Jersey, emblazoned with the words “T’nuah haReformit, Reform Movement.” We were biking to raise money to support Israelis who chose Reform Judaism.

One afternoon we emerged from the forest into a clearing filled with a rainbow of flowers and paused to take a drink and eat a snack. Then we heard a most deafening rumble as a fighter jet took off from the other side of a row of trees. We had parked ourselves next to an Air Force Base. Israel can be breathtakingly beautiful, boldly patriotic, Jewishly complicated and painfully oppressive. And I will still refer to it as my homeland all at the same time. Since 1948, even before, Israel has always been somewhat of a paradox.

Yet as we attempt to dissect and understand these internal conflicts, we have always remained hopeful for a brighter future. For over two-thousand years Jews have never given up hope in having a Jewish homeland. The early Zionists codified that sentiment in Hatikvah, the national anthem, which means The Hope, It contains the verse:

עוֹד לֹא אָבְדָה תִּקְוָתֵנוּ, הַתִּקְוָה בַּת שְׁנוֹת אַלְפַּיִם…

Od lo avdah tikvatenu, Hatikvah bat shnot ’alpayim,

Our hope is not yet lost, the hope of two thousand years.

These words embody a deep yearning that Jews have been praying for since the destruction of the Second Temple 2000 years ago. A hope to re-establish Jerusalem as our home and to be a free people in our own land.

Over those two millennia Jews have experienced persecution, removal, and destruction, with some notable examples including the Crusades, the expulsion from Spain, the pogroms, and the Holocaust. Finally, after 2000 painstakingly long years of hoping and praying, we began to build a Jewish homeland in 1948. But we didn’t have Jerusalem, so we continued to hope.

We drained the malaria-filled swamps, began planting fruit trees and palm trees, and once again tasted the milk and honey flowing from her fertile soil described in the Torah. We continued to hope.

In 1967 a miracle and calamity occurred simultaneously. As the dust settled on a horrific war involving five nations, Israel had reclaimed Jerusalem. 2000 years of hope were embodied in one iconic image of men and women paratroopers standing in front of the Western Wall. We continued to hope.

We even survived the Yom Kippur War fifty-years-ago today, when Israel’s neighbors coordinated an attack on our holiest day of the year, hoping to catch Israel off guard.

עוֹד לֹא אָבְדָה תִּקְוָתֵנוּ…

Od lo avdah tikvatenu,

Through it all, we didn’t lose hope.

Hatikvah was written by Naftali Hertz Imber in 1878[1], and became a popular folk song for ardent Zionists. 50 years later “the song was officially adopted as the movement’s anthem.[2]” Like the dream to rebuild Jerusalem, Jews have always firmly held onto hope.

Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks, z”l, the past chief rabbi of the UK, teaches that Jews invented hope[3]. The Torah, he notes, is a story with a beginning but no end, containing stories about the possibility of the future. “At the heart of Judaism….is the belief in human freedom…Judaism is the voice of hope in the conversation of mankind.”

Hope, he notes, is different than optimism. “Optimism,” he writes, “is the belief that things will get better. Hope is the belief that, together, we can make things better. Optimism is a passive virtue, hope an active one. It takes no courage to be an optimist, but it takes a great deal of courage to have hope.[4]”

Even before Israel was founded, early Zionists debated whether we define ourselves by optimism or hope. Not everyone wanted to adopt Hatikvah as the national anthem. Theodor Herzl, considered to be the father of modern Zionism disliked the choice, but couldn’t find a suitable alternative. Rav Kook, the first chief rabbi of Israel, objected to the absence of God in Hativah. He proposed an alternative entitled Ha-emunah, The Faith, which speaks of a return to the land in which we will all serve God. Rav Kook’s poem was roundly rejected by the majority secular Zionist pioneers who knew that while God may have given us the tools, it is up to us to continue and ultimately finish the work of perfecting the world. The founders of Israel had the courage to choose hope over optimism.

Most Israelis have and continue to embrace action and hope. However, for much of our relationship, Israelis have asked the American Jewish community to simply have faith. Not to partner or politic, but simply to watch, wait, and donate. For decades Israelis have asked American Jews for financial and military support, but roundly rejected any attempt to influence the direction of the Jewish State.

And for decades we have been happy to oblige. Together we have perpetuated the myth that “we can’t possibly understand life in Israel unless we live there,” and therefore those in the diaspora should not criticize the Israeli people or government. Yet we are still expected to send money and pressure our government to send weapons.

As a child I was taught that Israel is perfect and, I assumed it was. I believed that evenings in Israel were like summer camp, everyone would gather for “Israeli Dancing” by singing, clapping, and moving in a circle.

I thought everyone lived in harmony, sharing the bounty harvested on the kibbutz while speaking Hebrew and espousing the highest of Jewish values. We never spoke about, nor did I think to ask about the non-Jewish population displaced in ’48, ’67 or living in Israel at the time. I knew that people, especially her neighbors, hated Israel, but I assumed the hatred was rooted in baseless antisemitism. I remember watching Rabin and Abbas shaking hands thirty years ago during the Oslo accords and thought – peace! Peace has come.

עוֹד לֹא אָבְדָה תִּקְוָתֵנוּ …

Od lo avdah tikvatenu

Our hope was not lost. Or so I thought.

We began to see cracks in the façade when, just two years later, Yitzhak Rabin was murdered by a fellow Jew who objected to pursuing peace with the Palestinians. But we didn’t lose hope. We thought this murderer was an outlier. Today we know that he was the symptom of a movement that has since grown in numbers and strength.

Israel’s façade cracked further as resistance to the occupation grew, illegal settlements became cities, and some settlers became violent. And the façade fell like a theatre backdrop earlier this year, revealing deep rifts within Israeli Jewish society as hundreds of thousands of people filled the streets protesting the move by the far-right government to consolidate their power.

Led by Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, the government passed a Judicial Reform Bill, preventing the supreme court from overruling laws passed in the Knesset.

This law could allow the government to limit the rights of the Queer community, the rights of Reform and Conservative Jews, erode gender equality, and lead Israel further away from peace and a future neighboring Palestinian state. It could mean that a government could narrow the law of return, so that Jewish children born to non-Jewish mothers and their children, or people converted by Reform rabbis would be denied citizenship to their own country. Our children could be denied citizenship.

Israel lacks a constitution and relies upon the supreme court to set precedent and protect the rights of all people, Jews and non-Jews, when the government fails to do so.

This week the Supreme Court, oddly enough, heard a challenge to this law that erodes their own authority. If the Supreme Court nullifies the Judicial Reform Law, the Knesset will then decide if they will accept or reject the ruling based upon the text of that very law. A uniquely Israeli paradox. In the days before the High Holy Days, when Israelis, secular or traditional usually pause for a month, Israel’s streets were again filled with tens of thousands of protestors.

The future of Israel is in jeopardy and I know that a growing number of people are beginning to lose hope. Israeli Supreme Court Justice Isaac Amit said two weeks ago, “[I am] not concerned about extreme scenarios. Democracy doesn’t die from a few strong blows; democracy dies in a series of small steps.” Israel has been taking these small steps for decades, allowing a growing number of extremists into positions of power who were formerly considered outside the pale, people who followed the same extremist views as the man, the Jew, who murdered Yitzchak Rabin. Two current Members of Knesset Itamar Ben-Gvir and Bezalel Smootrich were barred from running just a few years ago for their racist and radical ideas. Both have espoused vile, racist comments about the Palestinian people and today they wield incredible power over Palestinians as the ministers of security and finance. We cannot let Israel die through a series of small steps, we must actively hope for a better future.

For months, prominent Israeli politicians and scholars have joined the call to stop this law. Many reservists said they will refuse to show up for reserve duty, a move that could cripple Israeli Defense Forces. The high-tech industry, a source of national pride, has threatened to strike.

As we American Jews witness this tragedy, we are beginning to lose hope leading to an erosion of American Jewish support of Israel. Many are no longer willing to be optimistic that Israel itself will choose the right path – we want to act. Our fate, our ability to return to our homeland is in jeopardy.

עוֹד לֹא אָבְדָה תִּקְוָתֵנוּ

Od lo avdah tikvatenu,

Our two-thousand-year-old-hope will not be lost because we will not stand idly by.

Our tradition, our ancestors, and our children teach us not to give up. We all face obstacles: health issues, professional setbacks, challenging relationships, loneliness and grief. No matter what trials we face, we continue to have hope that we can transform our own lives for the better. We are here this morning because faith gives us the courage to hope, and hope can help us transform our world. We have sung songs of hope for the entirety of the Jewish experience, since Abraham left his father’s house, since the Israelites were slaves in Egypt, since the destruction of the Temple and since all the obstacles we have faced. We have always held onto hope.

We will hope and act, joining the calls of the protestors because we have an existential connection to the country of Israel – a bond that compels us not to give up hope. We will engage actively by giving to institutions and causes in Israel that represent our values – supporting the protestors, supporting LGBTQ rights, working toward a peaceful two-state solution, and supporting the Reform Movement in Israel. We will travel to Israel to connect or reconnect with our homeland and advocate for our values to shine.

Starting in October we will have the opportunity to engage in a series of conversations as we explore a new framework for our relationship with Israel. We will consider what it means to be a member of the Jewish people, our values and imagine new conceptual frameworks that can help sustain and grow the story of our people both in Israel and North America.[5] Using a core curriculum created by the Shalom Hartman Institute in Jerusalem, we will watch video lectures, study ancient and modern texts, and learn more about the current Israeli political crisis. We will uncover sources of hope together.

עוֹד לֹא אָבְדָה תִּקְוָתֵנוּ, הַתִּקְוָה בַּת שְׁנוֹת אַלְפַּיִם…

Od lo avdah tikvatenu, Hatikvah bat shnot ’alpayim,

Our two-thousand-year-old hope is not lost.

We won’t lose hope, not yet. For two thousand years our ancestors worked to preserve and pass along our tradition while turning their eyes to Jerusalem. We will do the same because we know that Israel is the place where we can be a free people in our own land. A land of hope.

Together we pray for peace.

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[1] https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/hatikvah/

[2] Ibid.

[3] Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, How the Jewish People Invented Hope. https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/how-the-jewish-people-invented-hope/ accessed 8/3/2020

[4] Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks, The Dignity of Difference p. 206, https://rabbisacks.org/topics/hope-vrs-optimism/

[5] https://www.hartman.org.il/program/iengage-together-and-apart/