I love the book of Deuteronomy. When I read the fifth and final book of the Torah, I imagine Moses as the old professor. I even have the exact image of one of my instructors from college that shapes my mental image: tweed coat with elbow patches, white socks with orange Crocs, even the white beard to bring it all together. Even as the Israelites stand tantalizingly close to the Land of Israel, poised to see God’s promise fulfilled and becoming a sovereign nation in their land, Moses the professor decides to stop. Just before moments of achievement and fulfillment, he seems to say, is a time to stop and remind ourselves of our purpose and what is expected of us as a nation in our new, old home.
The entirety of the book of Devarim - “the words” in Hebrew - is a series of what we might call “last lectures” that Moses delivers to the entire Israelite nation. Through its 34 chapters, Moses will retell the story of the Exodus and go over, in great detail, the commandments and expectations laid out by God for the Jewish People. The Israelites, after all they have experienced over the last forty years, are nearly ready to embark on the new challenge of sovereignty and self-actualization. Moses gives them their charge as they prepare to do so.
This coming Shabbat is one of the special Shabbatot we observe each year. Called Shabbat Chazon, it is the third of the three Shabbatot between the fast of the 17th of Tammuz and the 9th of Av. The name, chazon, is taken from the week’s haftarah, the first words of the first chapter of the book of Isaiah: chazon Yishayahu - the prophecies of Isaiah. This portion was chosen because Isaiah is a prophet of rebuke. Like Moses, he does not pull punches when he sees moral failings among Jewish people. As will be read in synagogues all over the world this Shabbat, Isaiah prophesied:
“Your rulers are rogues
And cronies of thieves,
Every one avid for presents
And greedy for gifts;
They do not judge the case of the orphan,
And the widow’s cause never reaches them.” (Isaiah 1:23)
The prophets message, as I mentioned in last week’s sermon, sets the expectation of moral behavior extremely high. Righteous behavior, for the prophets, is the means by which humans connected to God and to their fellow humans.
As rumors swirl about a ceasefire and hostage deal, as we try not to allow our hopes to rise that this war might be coming to some sort of pause, so that our hopes will not be dashed once again, I found my thoughts going often to the war. Not the strategic questions nor the political analysis, rather the destruction, the human carnage and cost, the horrible price exacted from so many human beings in a war.
I know that, logically, war can and must be waged. Even our Jewish tradition is far from pacifist, stressing that there are just wars, a milchemet mitzvah, wars waged in defense. I logically know that the war being fought is one that is waged for a just reason. No state should have to live with a terror organization, established on the ideology of exterminating that country, on its borders. Hamas’ governance has brought terrible repression for so many under its rule. It threatens Palestinians and Israelis alike and must be stopped. d
Israel has waged that war for more than ten months now. Hamas is a shadow of what it once was. While not obliterated, there is, according to some analysts, a chance that another organization or authority could be poised to take control in the Gaza strip. In excruciatingly difficult circumstances, the Israeli army has achieved impressive military gains against the organization, seriously limiting their ability to wage any sort of meaningful war effort.
And while the war is just and the military gains are many, war has also done what war does. There are so many dead, wounded and dying as a result - Israelis and Palestinians alike. There has been so much material destruction - in Israel and, in particular, the Gaza strip. The hostages still languish in captivity, so many remain still unreachable through military action.
I hold so much conflicting information, feel so many conflicting emotions regarding the right path forward at this moment. I know that any ceasefire reached now would likely leave the pre-war status quo altered, yet not fundamentally changed with what remains of Hamas desperate to hold onto its control of the Strip, not to mention the status quo of an Iranian backed threat to Israel’s borders. And, I know that a world without Hamas is a fundamentally better one, and I know that just removing Hamas does not necessarily assure a better life for Israelis and Palestinians. I know that there are people dying every day, some of them terrorists, others innocent - some of them soldiers, so many of them are children dressed up in soldier's uniforms. While I know while we fight, that if Hamas had not wanted this war there would not be one - I also know, in this conflict, there is no war to end all wars, that the peaceful future that I know most Israelis seek and I believe most Palestinians and Arabs want will not ultimately be created through bloodshed.
I am carrying so much. We are all carrying so much. The world, in the best of times, but particularly in the darkest days piles upon us pain and sorrow - sometimes so heavy that it seems hard to bear. In these times of darkness, the prophetic voice in the Jewish tradition serves as a guidepost. As Rabbi Heschel wrote:
“The more deeply immersed I became in the thinking of the prophets, the more powerfully it became clear to me what the lives of the Prophets sought to convey: that morally speaking, there is no limit to the concern one must feel for the suffering of human beings, that indifference to evil is worse than evil itself, that in a free society, some are guilty, but all are responsible.”
This message is particularly prescient for this Shabbat, Shabbat Chazon. While in the context of the haftarah chazon means ‘prophecy’, it can also mean vision. The prophetic vision that Heschel describes, that demands an endless care for the suffering of others, is this chazon, this vision for a future that seems so unlikely as this war churns on. Even as we hold so much fear and despair when we think about what comes next, how the future will look, we have a guide in our prophets. We have a blueprint. If we can push ourselves every day to open our hearts, to empathize with the pain of others even when they are the other side of a conflict, to fight against apathy and indifference, and to see the humanity that exists in every single human being.
It feels far away from where we sit now, but it is ours to create in this world if we dare to try.
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