“Lo alecha ha-m'lachah ligmor”—
“It is not up to you to complete the task,
but neither are you free to desist from it.”

Parashat B’midbar
May 11, 2002

Today we began a new book of the Torah, “B’midbar,” which means, “In the Wilderness.” It’s an interesting, even exciting book, with lots of stories about the adventures of the Children of Israel during their journey to the Promised Land. The book begins on a not particularly interesting note. It begins with a census of all of the Israelites.

Note the language used (Numbers 1:2): 
Take a census of the whole Israelite community …
(Kol adat bnei yisrael) listing the names, every male, head by head.

True, it’s not entirely universal; it is a census only of able-bodied males eligible for military service—but the Torah is emphatic that, for a military census, it is to be as universal as possible.

One thing we learn from this is that, as adventurous as the journey in the Wilderness may turn out to be, it is also going to be fraught with danger. The possibility of armed struggle definitely lies ahead. 
The second thing we learn, from the universal nature of this—after all, not just certain tribes were conscripted, but all of them were—is the idea that all of the people share a common fate, and all should participate in defending the people during the struggles ahead. 

Be that as it may, Moses doesn’t go out and take the census by himself. Instead, God appoints census supervisors, one from each tribe, to take the census of that tribe. And the names of each of the census supervisors are given.  Each of the tribes counts its own members, and then those numbers are added up to give us the total number of Israelites. 

In chapter two, we’re told that the Israelites camped not wherever they wanted to, but by troops, that is, by their tribal identity: On the east were Judah, Issaschar and Zevulun. On the south were Reuben, Simeon and Gad. On the west were Ephraim, Manasseh and Benjamin and on the north were Dan, Asher and Naphtali. 

The Levites were responsible for maintaining and moving the Tabernacle which contained the Ark which contained the tablets, and so they camped in an inner ring around it. Interestingly, we’re told that not only did they camp in this formation, but they also marched this way: “Khen hanu l’digleihem, v’khen nasa-u” As they camped, so too did they march, each with his clan according to his ancestral house. What do we learn from this simple story about counting and then organizing the Israelites? What possible relevance could it have for us living today in the 21st century?

Well, today, during the first decade of the twenty-first century, we are certainly, as a people, still in the Wilderness. We are facing—and, I must say, it seems to me naïve or disingenuous to deny it—a very hostile world out there. There has been an explosion of anti-Semitism in Europe and in the Arab world, and Israel is in the greatest danger that it has faced in at least twenty, if not thirty years.

The danger that the Jewish people is facing, the danger that Israel is facing, is complicated and complicating for us as Jews. On the one hand, we’re seeing anti-Semitism, and on the other, anti-Zionism. On the one hand, we’re seeing condemnation of the Jewish state that, by all reasonable measures, is preposterous; on the other hand, we’re seeing criticism of specific policies and/or practices that reasonable people might agree are questionable.  It isn’t clear what to do. It isn’t clear what our role is. 

One reason it's not clear is that the various tactics and strategies of the struggles have become blended. Two weeks ago Amos Oz, Israel’s leading literary figure, wrote the following: Two Palestinian-Israeli wars have erupted in this region. One is the Palestinian nation’s war for its freedom from occupation and for its right to independent statehood. Any decent person ought to support this cause. The second war is waged by fanatical Islam, from Iran to Gaza and from Lebanon to Ramallah, to destroy Israel and drive the Jews out of their land. Any decent person ought to abhor this cause.

Yasser Arafat and his men are running both wars simultaneously, pretending they are one. Steven M. Cohen, an Israeli sociologist who made aliyah a few years ago points out that we Jews have focused on Israel’s struggles against terror. Much of the rest of the world, on the other hand, has focused upon Israel as a colonial powe—repressing a legitimate national liberation movement—albeit one that uses absolutely reprehensible means to advance its cause.  In focusing on Israe’s struggles against terror, most of us take it for granted that we should give Israel our full support. I hope that there’s no real question that we should stand firmly behind Israel’s right to exist.  And yet, given this blending, perhaps I shouldn’t be so confident. I was speaking to a colleague yesterday who, a few weeks ago, urged members of his congregation to attend the rally in Washington to support Israel. Several members of his congregation told him that they were offended by that: that, because of differences of views concerning Israel’s approach to settlements—and to settlers—in Judea and Samaria, the West Bank and Gaza, however you choose to identify it, the congregation should refrain from giving its unequivocal support to Israel at this time. If there is any doubt, then, let me put my position out there very clearly. I think on the issue of Israel’s right to exist, there should be no doubt. And to the extent that her enemies are waging a war to destroy her, to the extent that they are waging a war using the weapon of terror, using the weapon of the suicide bomber, we should—indeed we must—stand shoulder to shoulder with our Israeli brothers and sisters, defending them in the arena of public opinion and seeking to gain better understanding out there for Israel and what Israel represents for the Jewish people  I recently had an astounding conversation with a colleague of mine who happens to be an Episcopal priest. She told me that she was appalled by the one-sided support that several Episcopal bishops recently gave the Palestinians. She told me that she was ashamed of that, and just wanted me to know that. I really didn’t know what to say. I asked her whether others in her church thought the same way, and whether they might want to hear my perspective. She agreed that they would, and we’re trying to set up a time for us to meet and for me to speak at her church.

We should be doing more of this. We should be doing more of the defending of Israel from slander, from calumny, from the offensive anti-Semitic caricatures and rhetoric that are flooding the airwaves from the one-sided media coverage that passes for balanced reporting these days. We must speak out, for if we don’t who will? 

Having said that, there still remains a question: The question is, what role, if any, should we be playing in responding to Israel’s policies vis a vis the Palestinian lands/the West Bank/Judea-Samaria and Gaza? This is a question not only for ourselves as individuals, but also for us as a congregation and for our communal Jewish leadership. It’s a real question, too, for there are speakers traveling around the country, seeking forums for their views, whether they be on the left or on the right. There are fundraising appeals that seem to blur the distinction between supporting Israel, and supporting certain policies that some of us might take issue with.

What are we to do? Here the image from our Torah reading comes in handy. Not all the tribes were on the east. Some were on the west; others were on the north and still others were on the south. As long as there have been Jews, we’ve disagreed with one another. That’s a good thing. That’s an important thing. We should feel free to disagree with one another and to try to convince one another of the wisdom of our views. 

And yet, we must do so internally. It’s one thing to have a discussion with someone at kiddush following services; quite another to put an ad in the New York Times casting aspersions on the government of Israel because it disagrees with your own political perspective. It’s one thing to lobby other Jews either here or in Israel to support one particular political view; it’s quite another to lobby gentiles to do the same thing.

In Pirke Avot, our rabbis teach us that people in the public eye should: “hizharu b’divrechem!” Be careful with your words!

It’s a dangerous world out there. Not everything that we might believe we should state publicly. In the words of a dear friend and colleague, “that’s not hypocrisy, that’s sechel!” (common sense). But I’d go further: It isn’t just common sense to be circumspect at such a dangerous time; it’s also an statement of our ultimate loyalty and our unwillingness to be traitors to the cause of Jewish self-determination. 
At the end of that saying in Pirke Avot cautioning leaders to watch their words, we’re told what the consequences of failing to do so are: “We incur responsibility for exile.” Harsh words. Frightening words when we think of what the stakes are when Israel’s fate is on the line. As it’s often been said: If Israel wins a battle, it lives to defend itself against implacable foes for another day. If it loses a battle, it is wiped out for good. As George Will wrote the other day, there are only 13 million Jews in the world, 5 million of them concentrated in an embattled narrow strip of land on the eastern shore of the Mediterranean, facing hundreds of millions of enemies. Will Israel, he asks, be more durable that anti-Semitism, which has demonstrated remarkable strength in recent days? “Few things have been,” he writes.

And yet, the issues that Israelis argue about, we too should argue about: amongst ourselves and amongst our Israeli brothers and sisters. We have to admit: we aren’t there; we aren’t in the army; our kids are not in the army; and we can’t forget that. (If we do, our Israeli friends will be quick to remind us.) But that doesn’t mean that we don’t have opinions or that we don’t have the right to hold opinions. 
We owe it to the love we have for Israel to advocate within Israel and within the Jewish People, each of us personally, for it to be the kind of a state we can be proud of.

Collectively, of course, we should only do so on the basis of principles with which we, as a Conservative congregation, can all agree with. And that’s why we, as a congregation, are not going to take a stand on some of the critical political issues Israel is facing. We might advocate for recognizing conversions performed by Conservative rabbis, but we’re not going to advocate for the annexation of the West Bank nor, for that matter, for the evacuation of what are called settlements nor for unilateral separation or any other particular approach favored by one Israeli political party or another.

We can argue about it over kiddush, but when it comes to putting our stamp of approval, we should strive to focus on our solidarity with Israel and our support for its determination, through the democratic process, of what’s best for the country politically.

To conclude, here are the lessons: First, al tifrosh min ha-tsibor. We must not separate ourselves from the community. We must stand up and be counted. We are part of the camp of the Israelites. Second, we must figure out where we stand. We must, individually, find our place. We must figure out what our views are on the critical issues facing Israel today—and communicate them amongst ourselves.

Third, as we camp, so too must we march. Let’s not forget, as we walk together with the rest of our people toward the Promised Land, that at the center is what unifies us, inspires us, defines us—the wisdom and discipline of Torah.

Shabbat shalom!