Sermon for Va'era

Written by Rabbi Elizabeth Tikvah Sarah Wednesday, 25 January 2006

THE HAMAS VICTORY: KEEPING THE SPIRIT OF HOPE ALIVE

What’s there to say a couple of days after Hamas won the election and became the ruling party in the Palestinian Authority? Not much. Early days. Also: It’s not very sensible to make any kind of pronouncements when still in a state of shock: What – Hamas, a militant Islamist organisation responsible for numberless murderous assaults against Israeli civilians is about to become the Palestinian government? And, the really scary reality is that we really don’t know what might happen next…

But then, haven’t we been here before? Didn’t Yassir Arafat and his PLO cohorts, the very people responsible, among other atrocities, for the massacre of eleven Israeli athletes at the Munich Olympics in 1972 – that we’ve been reminded of recently with the release of Steven Spielberg’s latest film – become partners in the Peace Process in the 1990s, and, subsequently, the government of the Palestinian Authority?

Of course, there is a difference – not simply, both, in the scale of the atrocities unleashed by Hamas and other Islamist militant groups, like Islamic Jihad, and Hezbollah, and in the emergence of the Islamist tactic of so-called ‘suicide’ bombing, but also in the ideology fuelling the attacks: Yassir Arafat’s party, Fatah, which has been in power until now, is a secular organisation, committed to establishing a secular democratic Palestinian state. The central problem of Hamas, beyond the immediate concern for the safety of the citizens of Israel, is that it is committed to a reactionary, authoritarian, patriarchal interpretation of Islam that is essentially anti-democratic – which means that the successfully conducted democratic elections in the Palestinian Authority could spell the end of a democratic future for the nascent state.

Yes, it is very scary. But does that mean that it is inevitable that our worst fears will come to pass? Definitely not. The truth is we do not know what the future holds. When, in 2000, Ariel Sharon and his entourage, swaggered onto the site of the Dome of the Rock and Al Aska Mosque on the Temple Mount in Jerusalem’s Old City, determined to drive home the message of the absolute authority of the Israeli state over the lives of the Palestinians, could we have imagined that less than five years later he would be presiding over the evacuation of Jewish settlers from the Gaza strip? And now, Ehud Olmert – the erstwhile Mayor of Jerusalem, responsible for extending Israeli domination over the eastern parts of the city, who has taken over as Acting Prime Minister following Ariel Sharon’s recent incapacitating strokes – has echoed the new message of the once-hard-liners: Israel must give up land to secure peace, and play its part in helping to establish a sovereign Palestinian state alongside Israel.

Of course, like Ariel Sharon, Ehud Olmert doesn’t want to talk to the Palestinian leadership – and, certainly, no one in the Israeli government right now is planning to talk with the leaders of Hamas – but, again, before the first Palestinian Intifada in 1987, could anyone have imagined the Israeli government of the day talking with Yassir Arafat and the PLO? And yet, within five years the talking started – and by September 1993, President Clinton facilitated that famous handshake between Israel Premier, Yitzhak Rabin and PLO Chairman, Yassir Arafat, on the Whitehouse Lawn.

Yes, we’ve been here before. And yet, of course, we really do not know what will happen next – and meanwhile the President of Iran issues his calls for Israel to be wiped off the map, while re-starting Iran’s nuclear programme. The victory of Hamas is chilling. So, how do we hold our nerve? Because, amid the nervous apprehension and uncertainty, one thing is certain: If those on both sides of the conflict, who have begun to follow the Road Map, who have started walking along the path towards a just settlement and a secure peace, falter now, lose their nerve, and abandon the mission, Hamas won’t just have won a democratic election, the way will be clear for a more deadly kind of triumph.

Last Shabbat, we began reading the second book of the Torah, Exodus. Because the central narrative of the book is so familiar, we are no longer shocked by the tale of the enslavement of our ancestors, and the genocidal policy adopted by the new Pharaoh, who ‘did not know Joseph’ (Exodus 1:8), and was so threatened by the foreign settlers in Egypt’s midst that he was determined to annihilate them. The first portion of Exodus ended with Moses’ encounter with God in the wilderness while tending the flock of his father-in-law, the priest of Midian – the famous ‘Burning Bush’ episode, when Moses experienced the presence of God telling him to return to Egypt and free the slaves (Exodus chapter 3). This week’s portion, the parashah, Va’eira, opens with the continuation of that encounter, as the Eternal One tries to persuade Moses to go on the mission: ‘I have heard the groaning of the Israelites, whom the Egyptians keep in bondage; and I have remembered My covenant’, God proclaims (Exodus 6:5) – and then goes on to declare (6:6-8):
Therefore say to the Israelites: I am the Eternal One, and I will bring you out from under the burdens of the Egyptians, and I will deliver you from their bondage, and I will redeem you with an outstretched arm, and with great judgements; / and I will take you to Me for a people; and you shall know that I am the Eternal One your God, who brought you out from under the burdens of the Egyptians. / And I will bring you to the land concerning which I lived up My hand to give it to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob, and I will give it to you for an inheritance; I am the Eternal One.

The very next verse tells us that Moses returned to Egypt and passed on the message. But did they listen? Could they listen? Imagine that you were an Israelite slave, and a man – whom you last saw, killing an Egyptian taskmaster – has returned after a long-absence from who-knows-where, and is telling you that an invisible Being is going to liberate you from your very visible, very real oppressors, and bring you to your own land; would you believe him? Imagine that you have been a slave not just for part of your life, but for the whole of your life; imagine that your parents and grandparents and great grandparents – that everyone for generation after generation – has been slaves; would you believe him? The Israelites’ response to the messenger with his purple prose promises is very telling (6:9):
Moses spoke in this way to the Israelites, but they didn’t listen to Moses because of shortness of spirit and hard servitude.
Va-y-da-beir Moshe kein el--b-ney Yis-ra-el, v-lo sha-m-u el--Moshe, mi-ko-tzer ru-ach, u-mei-a-vo-dah ka-shah.

The 11th century French commentator, Rashi – Rabbi Shlomoh Yitzhaki – the foremost medieval Jewish exegete, gave this interpretation of the verse: Because of the weariness of their work the people refused to be comforted. But the terse text tells us something more – as Rashi demonstrates in his explanation of the reference to the slaves’ ‘shortness of spirit’: When a person is full of anguish, their breath comes in short gasps. Here, Rashi not only reminds us that the word ruach means both ‘spirit’ and ‘wind’ or ‘breath’, but also points to something else: Ruach is both very elusive and very powerful: What is and where is the spirit? Our breath – imperceptible or rasping or panting or gasping is one of the chief signs that we are alive – and when it stops, we are dead. We can feel the wind, but we cannot see it; it can sooth us or cool us or chill us – or even, kill us.

Interestingly, ruach can also signify the sacred: The Torah tells us that chief craftsman of the Tabernacle, B’tzalel, was filled with ‘the spirit of God’ – ruach Elohim (Exodus 31:3); and in the tale of the Garden of Eden, we read that after the first woman and man ate of the forbidden tree, ‘they heard the voice of God walking in the garden toward the cool of the day’ – Va-yish-m-u et--kol Adonai E-lo-him mit-ha-leich ba-gan l-ru-ach ha-yom (Genesis 3:8a). How does a voice walk? The first woman and man heard and felt the early evening breeze rustling the trees of the garden. An ordinary every-day experience – but it was an extraordinary moment of revelation: having eaten from the forbidden tree, their eyes were now open; they were aware not only of themselves, but of being in God’s presence.

So, what has all this got to do with the slaves inability to listen to Moses’ message from God, mikotzer ruach – ‘because of shortness of spirit’ – and what has that ‘shortness of spirit’ got to do with our trepidation following the election victory of Hamas in the Palestinian Authority? As I’ve said on other occasions, perhaps the most important imperative in the Torah is Sh’ma! – the imperative to ‘Listen!’ (Deuteronomy 6:4). Our readiness to listen is what connects us with our ancestors in the desert, who became a people when they started to listen to an Ineffable Voice in that terrifying, barren wilderness, even though they didn’t know where they were or where they were going. Our parashah today tells us that Moses delivered his message of liberation to the slaves, V-lo sha-m-u el--Moshe, ‘but they didn’t listen to Moses’ (Exodus 6:9). How did the slaves who were unable to listen become the people who broke their chains and heard the voice of God? We can find a clue in the Garden of Eden: The first woman and man heard the voice of God when they transgressed the boundaries that locked them in an eternal childhood.

Of course, there are real deadly dangers in the aftermath of the Hamas victory. Feeling terrified and trapped by our fear, our spirits crushed by decades of conflict and violence, of course it’s hard to listen to voices of hope. But can we find another way? Another response – that will lead us out of the current oppressive stalemate? The slaves found another way. The cynic would argue that they were simply persuaded by all those nasty plagues. But maybe, like the first woman and man, they actually decided that they wanted to take the risk to be free. If we feel we’re not capable of the same reckless courage, and if those directly involved in the conflict feel hesitant and fearful, may we – and they – at least, begin to realise that the only chance there is of a future in which the two peoples live side by side in peace, is to keep the spirit of hope alive. And let us say: Amen.

Rabbi Elizabeth Tikvah Sarah
Brighton & Hove Progressive Synagogue – Adat Shalom Verei’ut
28th January 2006/28th Tevet 5766