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Thoughts from the Border of Gaza: Commentary on Parashat Ki Tavo 5784
By Ezra Kiers, Hebrew Seminary Rabbinical Student
On Tuesday, September 10, I went to the border of Gaza. At the border, I met with a man who survived 30 hours of live ammunition in his home while his neighbors were murdered and kidnapped in Kibbutz Kfar Aza. On Wednesday, I heard the testimonies of a Bedouin Arab bus driver who saved dozens of Jews at the Nova Festival, Israeli teachers who are now helping traumatized displaced children reintegrate into school, and a religious Muslim Palestinian activist who advocates for the rights of women in her own community and for peace with Israelis. I met the brother of two hostages who are still in captivity and I watched as their friends and family celebrated their 27th birthday at the twins’ home, which is now barely more than rubble and ash.
Last week I traveled to Israel with the iCenter, an Israel education organization based out of Chicago. In four days, we thirty-five Jewish educators from around the world bore witness to the firsthand trauma that has been flooding news outlets and social media for nearly a year. Amid the confusion, pain, optimism, and hope, I couldn’t help but ask, “How did we get here? How did human beings allow this to happen?” I understand the historical context of the geopolitics, but what I can’t comprehend is on a Jewish level, on a human level, how so many people can either endorse such violence or turn a blind eye.
Turning to the Torah for answers—often an endeavor that leads to more questions—Parashat Ki Tavo felt both unhelpful and enraging. As B’nei Yisrael prepared to enter the Promised Land, Moshe urged them, “Now, if you listen, you will hear the voice of יהוה your god to observe and do all of the mitzvot that I command you today, יהוה your god will put you above all of the nations of the Earth” (Deuteronomy 28:1, my translation). Now, I’m not one to take the Torah literally; Rav Yehudah taught us some 1700 years ago, “One who translates a verse literally is a liar, since he distorts the meaning of the text” (Babylonian Talmud, Kiddushin 49a; Koren-Steinsaltz translation). Still, I can understand why someone would want to take Moses literally. As a historically disenfranchised people, the promise of being uplifted sounds pretty decent. “Above the other nations” though? That’s where things can start to get tricky. Is our goal to live autonomously and out from under the threat of antisemitism, or is our goal to be better than everybody else? Though a fascinating question in its own right, this also isn’t the end of the story.
Throughout the parashah, Moshe explains that if the Israelites don’t obey all of the mitzvot, יהוה will institute a series of curses (Deuteronomy 28:15). One such curse reads, “Cursed be the one who subverts the rights of the stranger, the fatherless, and the widow” (Deuteronomy 27:19, JPS translation). Well, phew! If you’re a literal Torah kind of person, you can pat yourself on the back for this one. As the sage Ibn Ezra puts it, these people are “powerless,” so as long as we treat strangers, orphans, and widows fairly, we’re good, right? Unfortunately, it gets further complicated the more we read. What does it look like for us to be cursed, should we mess up or choose not to do one of the mitzvot? According to Deuteronomy 28:16, “You will be cursed in the city and cursed in the country” (my translation). The parashah further explains, “All these curses shall befall you; they shall pursue you and overtake you until you are wiped out, because you did not heed יהוה your God and keep the commandments and laws enjoined upon you” (Deuteronomy 28:45, JPS translation). This is where a literal interpretation of the Torah becomes not only scary but tangibly dangerous.
When tragedy strikes, what do we do? What should we do? Should we blame each other because not all Jews keep kosher and some work on Shabbat? Should we turn inward and blame ourselves for accidentally forgetting not to mix wool with linen (prohibited in Deuteronomy 22:11)? Should we blame יהוה and take no accountability at all? To me, these options are all terrible. These choices make no sense. I’m pretty sure that war being waged all over the globe has very little to do with Jews’ adherence to the laws of the Torah. However, even if some among us do treat people unfairly or intentionally cause harm to others, does that mean that our entire people deserve to be wiped out?
These are questions that I’d like to say I have the answers to, but I think these questions present more complications than any answer can neatly resolve. Standing at the border of Gaza, I gazed into the heart of so much trauma that has befallen people of all shapes, sizes, colors, and national origins. At that moment, the polarization of this tragedy struck me; there are strangers, orphans, and widows on all sides of this conflict. There are parents unable to bury their children, and babies left to cry without the comfort of their guardians. Though I’ve always thought it, it hit me more intensely than ever before as I stood under the desert sun: it’s not about “us” and “them.” It’s about compassion for human suffering, and growing our capacity to stop seeing a “them,” whoever “they” are. Though I don’t believe that war and devastation are curses that יהוה has sent upon us, I do believe that we might be able to learn from this moment as if they were.
When we see the world as “us” vs. “them,” the only logical outcomes are disenfranchisement, oppression, and pain. When we can hold empathy for those whose lives differ from our own, when we can see those lives as having just as much value as ours, we allow for the possibility of a kinder and more just outcome. As stated in Pirkei Avot 4:2, “one commandment leads to another commandment, and [one] transgression leads to another transgression” (Rabbi Dr. Joshua Kulp’s translation). Having compassion for and being kind to a stranger won’t end a war that’s perpetuated by forces out of our control. Still, it can help to minimize the devastation felt by innocent people, no matter which side of a border they stand on.
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