If you are a Jewish baby boomer, we probably have a lot in common: Fond memories of family Seders, shabbat dinners, Jewish summer camps, trips to Israel, life on a kibbutz, or studying at Hebrew University. Some of us may have dated an Israeli (not the same one), considered making aliyah, taught Hebrew School, or celebrated an adult B-Mitzvah. We may also share not-so-fond memories. Feeling shunned by our community for having divorced parents or a gay sibling or for marrying out of our tribe. Yet, we’re still here. We stayed as members of our tribe even though, at times, we may have felt like outcasts. Why?

Perhaps we remain because, as Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz once said, the Jewish people are, above all else, a family. Whether the members of our family are in Israel or the Diaspora, dead or alive, we care. 

But, when our Jewish community marginalizes or shuns any of its members, it hurts us all. So it’s imperative we pay attention when people in our tribe feel unheard. One thing I’ve learned over the years is that many of us, at one time or another, have felt left out or rejected by our bigger Jewish family. Whether it was because we were divorced, ‘still’ single, intermarried, female, gay, trans, non-binary, disabled, a convert, Mizrahi, Ladino, Bipoc, multi-faith, too old, too young, too rich, too poor, we just wanted to feel validated by our tribe.

Decades ago, a particular form of shunning became apparent to me. In the early 2000’s, I hosted a group of Jewish women at my house to hear Israeli Army Captain Rachel Persico (z”l) speak about injustices by Israelis towards Palestinians. She had first hand experience. Rachel was Israeli married to a Palestinian. After years of discrimination and harassment, she and her husband left the country. A non-Jewish social worker in the group at my house explained how abuse can repeat and spread on a national scale. But because in Rachel’s story Jews were the perpetrators, the Jewish women who attended the presentation at my house pushed back, leaving me and Rachel, who were concerned about Palestinian welfare and Israeli discrimination against Palestinians, pushed to the margins or even pushed out of the family altogether. 

I think I also speak for others when I say I have felt silenced for decades by members of our community for questioning Israel’s treatment of Palestinians and for educating others about it. I could list many examples, but instead I want to lift up those Jews who experience the agony of a divided tribal soul, an agony intensified by the contradiction between Torah’s teachings and the actions of Israelis in the name of Judaism. Borrowing from Rabbi Burt Jacobson, an apt name for those of us who recognize our role in harming and our responsibility in helping Palestinians, and who do something about it, is Spiritual Activist.

Rabbi Burt Jacobson, who started Kehilla Community Synagogue in 1984 in Oakland, CA, explains spiritual activism through the Baal Shem Tov (1698-1760). This Jewish mystic, healer and founder of Hasidic Judaism, taught that,

“the real significance of the biblical teaching, “And you shall love your neighbor as yourself,” hinges on the true meaning of the Hebrew word, “k’mo’khah.” Usually k’mo’khah has been translated “as yourself,” but the Ba’al Shem renders it “exactly like yourself.” In other words, even though we have distinct bodies, minds, and personalities, all human beings share a single spiritual essence. This obligates us to care for one another in a proactive way because we are all one.“  

We need spiritual activism to complement political activism. Both are necessary, says Rabbi Burt. For me, spiritual activism means being sensitive to the suffering of the persecuted and the persecutors. Spiritual activists recognize the dignity in each human being, and every human’s right to feel a sense of belonging and home, including Palestinians. Spiritual activists aim to end all forms of violence and begin all ways of healing so that all may experience the dignity of being human. We all deserve to be treated and to treat others with dignity.

Reparations is a tool in the spiritual activist’s toolbox. 

In 2021, as part of his spiritual activism, Rabbi Burt laid the groundwork with his congregation to start Face to Face: Jewish-Palestinian Reparations Alliance, aka F2F. He wrote, “Being a Spiritual Activist is a way for American Jews to ally with and support Palestinians in a face-to-face interpersonal way.”  (One does not need to belong to Kehilla to join the alliance.)

The face to face approach reminded me of my experience with a Palestinian in Jerusalem in 1980. Each time I went to the Hebrew University gym, the locker room attendant greeted me. Ibrahim was quiet, curious, and kind. We got to know each other during towel exchanges. When I mentioned I was looking for an onyx chess set for my father, he offered to take me to the Arab Market to find one. My Israeli Sephardic Jewish roommate strongly warned me not to go. “You cannot trust Arabs [Palestinians],” she said. But I trusted Ibrahim. Our journey into the crowded Shuk was one of my most memorable experiences. His family’s hospitality stood out. I often wish we’d kept in touch. Perhaps I felt guilty that his relatives did not enjoy the same rights in Israel as mine. So, in 2023, when I learned I could join a Jewish Reparations group that met regularly with Palestinians in the West Bank to offer allyship, the tug on my heart was a resounding yes..

Rabbi Burt describes Jewish Reparations Allyship as follows: 
• taking on the struggle of Palestinians and Israeli activists as our own.
• standing up for the Palestinians, even when we feel scared.
• using the benefits of our privilege as American Jews to aid Palestinians.
• acknowledging that while we, too, feel pain, the conversation is not about us; nonetheless, our work on behalf of the Palestinians can be healing for us as well.
• being guided by the Palestinian villagers who will be engaged on the ground in the actual work of implementing the alliance, and by our Jewish activist partners in Israel. 

Do Jewish Reparations make a difference? I’ll share a story and let you decide. 

Face to Face members meet regularly via Zoom with a Palestinian contact in the Hebron Hills of the West Bank. His name is Awdah. He is a Bedouin schoolteacher, age 27, and father of two. His village is only two meters from the closest settlement, separated by a barbed wire fence. On the settlers’ side, there is green grass, water, pools, electricity, schools, and freedom to move from settlement to settlement. On the villagers’ side, there is no running water, no electricity, no green grass, no pools, no freedom of movement. Soldiers in the Israel Defense Forces (IDF) demolish villagers’ cars and homes, regularly. Yet, the Palestinians remain steadfast in their desire and commitment to stay on their land. This is called Sumud.

A few months ago, Awdah told us a hopeful story. One day, a group of young boys (around age 13) stood by the fence watching some Palestinian youth play soccer. Awdah asked the settler boys if they wanted to play. They said yes. Awdah told his community, “We will not play Israelis against Palestinians and we will not keep score. We will mix up the teams and play for fun.” But first, they had to figure out a way to get the Jewish boys inside the village. They dug a hole under the fence so the Jewish settler boys could pass through. Then, they played soccer and it gave everyone hope. But, the boys’ parents found out and forbade them to come near the fence again. 

When I asked my adult daughter what this story brought to mind, the first thing she said was, The Boy in the Striped Pajamas.*  Me too, I replied.

Last week, I attended a celebration for a bride and groom of Mexican and Palestinian descent, respectively. At the feast, my husband and I were randomly joined by people we had never met: Palestinian Americans/Canadians who emigrated 50 years ago and a husband and wife from northern Michigan (not Jewish). The husband had been to the Hebron Hills, where Awdah’s village is located, in 2012, to document an event supporting fair-trade olive farming communities in the Palestinian West Bank. Just because we do not live in Israel-Palestine does not mean we won’t meet others who have been there or care deeply about what’s happening. I was relieved that I could tell those at our table about my personal involvement with a few other Jews located in California and Quebec doing reparations for Palestinians in the Hebron Hills. But, I wished I’d had the support of my local Jewish community behind me.  

Another reason for our Jewish family to listen and respond to the spiritual activists among us is the following awareness noted by Rabbi Burt:  “…as American Jews, we recognize that our tax dollars are going to support a right-wing Israeli government that is severely oppressing the Palestinians. And Israel’s irresponsible actions have increased the level of antisemitism in the U.S. and around the world, which will inevitably affect our lives in this country.” 

In addition to Israeli settlers and soldiers, we, the global Jewish community, are culpable. Every Yom Kippur (the annual Jewish holiday of atonement), we declare that we, as a community, share in the guilt of society’s inequities and that we, as a community, must make amends. Even if we cannot change the system today, we must keep trying until we do. Sumud. That’s why I joined F2F (Face to Face). 

In a recent meeting with Awdah, we learned things are getting worse. He told us, “Soldiers support settlers. Settlers use attack dogs on our Palestinian women and children, point guns at us, prevent us from tending our crops or grazing our sheep. We villagers cannot afford feed so we must now sell our livestock.” His hope was vanishing.

The next day, Awdah emailed a photo of an order from the IDF that came that morning – a document in Hebrew and Arabic that said ten homes in his village would be destroyed within two weeks. Awdah then learned that one of the homes to be demolished was his. It would not be the first time. And so, if Awdah requests donations for the villagers’ legal fees to stop home demolitions in a court system designed to make them lose, is it worth it? 

Over my lifetime, I’m glad to say our larger Jewish family has come a long way. We’ve listened better to those on the margin and we do more to make them feel they belong. Today, we have rabbis who are women, gay, intermarried, colored, and trans. After meeting with a social worker outside of her orthodox community, the first trans rabbi, Abby Stein, said, “…it was the first time I ever spoke to a professional where I felt listened to, as opposed to feeling like a problem that needed solving.” We show the marginalized they’re heard when, together, we innovate with our traditions so that everyone feels included and respected. So now, we need to ask, are we ready to include those of us who have been concerned about Palestinian lives for decades?

May Jewish communities open their ears and hearts to the spiritual activists among us and ask: How can we help those we are hurting? How can we heal ourselves? How soon can we start? Let it be now. 

To learn more about Face To Face, please visit https://kehillasynagogue.org/face-to-face/ 

1. The village in the foreground and settlers’ yellow houses in the background. 2. Rainbow over village, a sign of hope. 3. Soccer, despite the barbed wire fence around the village.

* The Boy in the Striped Pajamas is a story that takes place in WWII. A German boy named Bruno is alone during the day when his parents are busy. As he walks alone in the woods near his new home, he discovers a concentration camp. He does not know what it is or that his father is in charge of its gas chambers. Through the barbed wire fence, Bruno befriends Shmuel, a Jewish boy too young to understand what’s really going on. Bruno thinks the people in the camp, even though they look hungry, are having fun. They wear striped pajamas all day. Lonely, he longs to join them. Eventually, Bruno digs a hole under the fence to pass through to the other side. Shmuel shows him the barracks where he can get striped pajamas. Suddenly, they are rounded up with other inmates. As they enter a dark room, Bruno thinks it’s all part of a bigger adventure, a surprise. It is then that his mother realizes where her missing son has gone. She rushes to the camp to warn her husband who has already unknowingly sealed their son’s fate.

For more inspiration, please read Rabbi Burt Jacobson’s article, Face to Face with Palestinians: Spiritual Activism for Reparations Allyship