Looming Uncertainties
Peter Eisenstadt
These are remarkable times for starting a new website and blog about Jews and Judaism. I’ve always liked the saying of Leopold Von Ranke, the so-called father of scientific history in 19th century Germany, that the first principle of history is that every age is equally close to God. That is no doubt true, but some age is closer to God to others.
Israel and Palestine are on a precipice, with their destinations uncertain. The power of AIPAC, the dominant force behind the Israel lobby, whose presumed invincibility was a large part of their aura, has been losing battles in Congress. A gap has emerged between Kerry and the Obama administration, and taunts by Israeli leaders that would have been absorbed by the White House a few months ago are now being slapped down. No more lecturing and hectoring by Netanyahu in the Oval Office, while his government seems to be falling apart, and surely will if there is any real progress towards an accord. (And meanwhile, Liebermann is sounding sane. )
The BDS movement, which I admire and detest in equal measure, is demonstrating that for Israel, the comfortable status quo is probably coming to an end. There is chaos in Syria, and something resembling that in Egypt—the assumptions that has governed the regions for decades; western toleration of Israel’s occupation of the territories; stable dictatorships among Israel’s near neighbors, are no more.
We are all waiting for the shoes to drop. Will there or won’t there be some sort of serious peace plan in the next few months? Will this become another footnote, another failed plan for the archives, with all the others, or the start of something big? We have heard the outlines of a deal—the removal of some settlement blocs, some sort of Israeli-NATO force in the Jordan Valley, some sort of shared sovereignty in Jerusalem, while evidently little or no give on the Palestinian right of return, but the details are of course critical. Whether you think a two state solution is still possible, or are convinced its time and window has passed, one thing is nearly universally acknowledged—this is more or less the last chance for a peaceful solution to the Israel-Palestinian problem for the foreseeable future, and if this fails, there will not be another chance or effort any time soon, maybe not in our lifetimes.
And we know, whatever happens, things will get worse before they get better. The deal, the less than half a loaf that Israel will offer, will not be acceptable to many Palestinians. And however ironclad is the protection for Israel’s security in the deal, the right wing will howl, and Israel’s internal politics will be roiled in a way it has not been seen the time of the assassination of Rabin. And those in the middle will insist that this is the best deal that possibly could be reached, and perhaps not look carefully at its flaws and problems. (We cannot repeat the mistakes of Oslo; over-optimism about a possible peace deal can be as harmful as cynicism and pessimism; we must be analytical, and not sentimental, when evaluating its pros and cons. The question ultimately is not whether a deal is the best possible deal, the only question is whether it has the chance to work.) All of these questions, and many more, will have to be addressed. All we can do is to watch and observe, be as politically active as we can through organizations like J Street or something else of your own choice, and wait, and hope.
And study. The great texts of Judaism, the Torah, Tanach, and Talmud, always repay the time invested. The authors of the great texts of Judaism were realists about human nature. They knew that nationalism, in its ancient near east equivalent, was a nasty business, with its inevitable mixture of xenophobia and idealism. Wars were inevitable. They did not, a few episodes like the parting of the Red Sea aside, expect miracles. But neither did they think that humankind was so mired in sin that constructive action towards collective goals was impossible. And they knew that the first requirement for leading a good life, a pious life, was living in a good society where laws were respected and dignity was preserved.
It is a profound misreading to think that the Jewish tradition tells anyone what to do, or how to behave, or somehow can make moral choices for you. It is a profoundly pluralist tradition, with a clamor of dissenting voices on almost every issue. We all must study and find our own way. I have recently been reading the Book of Lamentations, about the original Jewish catastrophe, and the model for all the catastrophes to come–70, 1096, 1492, 1941, and many more. Its message is sober; when humans bring destruction on themselves, the guilty and the innocent suffer equally, and the presence of God will often be impossible to find. And of course, the book of Lamentations also reminds us that there are continuities, though not the ones that Bible-toting literalists would find, between Jerusalem, c. 586 BCE, and Jerusalem, c. 2014.
The Jewish Pluralist affirms the complexity and the relevance of the Jewish heritage for gaining insight into our current dilemmas. If there is one message for me, above all, it is that individuals and nations will always stumble and make mistakes and find themselves can get into problems and situations where there seems to be no way out. But almost always, we as individuals and as citizens look hard enough, both at themselves and their supposed enemies, try hard enough to do something about it, and (though this is by means a necessity) try their best to understand the mysterious thing known as God, there is a way out.