by Rabbi Peter S. Knobel
Rosh Hashana Eve 5763 - September 6, 2002

Leshana tova tikateivu!! May you be written down for a good year!! This greeting is a particularly urgent hope this year. We pray that 5763 will be a very different year from 5762. There is no doubt that 5762 has been a strange and difficult year. The image of two airplanes piercing the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center is a recurring nightmare. The pictures of people leaping from these burning and collapsing emblems of United States invulnerability haunt my waking moments. My daily reading of the New York Times has transformed a statistic (more than three thousand dead) into stories of flesh and blood human beings. Each one has a story. Each one has a family. Each one has friends. Each one has a name and a face. The stories of heroism are deeply touching and provide a modicum of comfort, but the tragic stories of loss create a painful rend in the fabric of our personal and national life. 5762 was also the second year of the Al Akasa Intifada. Suicide bombers shattered so many lives and exploded the Middle East peace process. Watching the television shots of Orthodox Jews, gathering body parts after each terrorist attack, makes my heart ache. Hope seems to die every time another Palestinian incinerates him/herself to kill Israelis.

Two of the cities that I know best, two of the cities that I love best, New York and Jerusalem are places of pain. I can wander the streets of New York and Jerusalem for hours at a time, going no place in particular. I people watch and absorb the atmosphere. I eat Pastrami on rye with pickled tomatoes at the Carnegie Deli, although I know this drives my cardiologist to distraction, and I eat falafel at an all-you-can-eat falafel stand. You can keep eating as long as you still have pita. Over the many years of my rabbinate, it is in these cities that I have engaged in intense conversations about the meaning and relevance of Judaism. It is in these cities that questions of Jewish activism are so alive. It is through the fate of these cities that I contemplate the Jewish dream. The Western Wall and the Statue of Liberty are emblems of my firmest conviction that the Jewish dream and the American dream can be one - that they are one.

Tonight, once again, as Jews, we are asked to contend with questions of life and death. We reflect on our strengths and our weaknesses. What do we do to respond to the assaults on our safety and our dignity? My emotional response to September 11th and to the Al Aksa Intifada is profound anger. My heart cries out for revenge. The world has become "us" and 'them". We are the good guys and they are the bad guys. It is the Earps and the Clantons at the OK Corral. There is a beautiful symmetry to this type of dichotomy. The world is a simple comprehensible place. Religious, geopolitical, economic conflicts are translated into "you are for 'em' or you are against 'em'." I wish it were so simple. Sorting out this year has been terribly difficult.

I am a patriot. I am stirred by the "Star Spangled Banner." I choke up when I hear "Hatikvah." I am a partisan believer. I am proud to be a Jew and I am proud to be an American.

At the same time, my love is a critical love. It is deeply effected by belief in the possibility of a politics of value. It is profoundly influenced by the prophetic message of Judaism. "Let justice roll down like the waters and righteousness like a mighty stream!" Let us not forget that last year in the wake of September 11th when we sang God Bless America we also sang, Amar Rabbi Akiba. Amar Rabbi Akiba, veahavta lereiecha kamocha ze clal gadol baTorah. Rabbi Akiba said, "Love your neighbor as yourself, this is the great principle of the Torah."

Rosh Hashanah is a time for self-examination. We are to temper our raw emotional responses with a sober, conscious and reflective evaluative process. Each of us is called upon to do a personal heshbon hanefesh, a soul wrenching self-examination. We, as a community, are supposed to do the same. Its purpose is to effect a transformation which we call teshuva (repentance). We are supposed to become new people. This can be an arduous task and difficult, if not impossible, to do alone. But, it is the essential teaching of Judaism. It is the essential message of the High Holidays. We can change.

In preparation for tonight, I read an absorbing book, Revenge: A Story of Hope by Laura Blumenfeld. Laura's father, Rabbi David Blumenfeld was shot in the head by a Palestinian terrorist in the Old City. He was only slightly wounded and recovered fully, but his daughter Laura, became obsessed with questions about revenge. Her book is the story of her year long investigation of the concept of revenge, her own desire to seek revenge, her relationship with the shooter's family, her correspondence with the shooter Omar Kamal Al Khatib and her eventual reconciliation with him. Her book helped me think about my own reaction to September 11th and the Al Akasa Intifada. Some will consider her book naïve and sentimental, but its power lies in her ability to confront the desire for revenge and in the process, come to know the man who shot her father and his family.

She explores revenge in numerous cultures. She tells the story of Isaac ben Ovadiah whose wife is killed by a member of the same terrorist group who wounded her father. Every day he lights a candle for his deceased wife-three hundred and sixty-five candles a year. Ben Ovadiah who was the director of Arabic programming for Israel Radio played a tape for Laura. It was from the program he hosted on the day he returned to work after his period of mourning. It began with a beautiful and tender poem about his wife and concludes with a prayer. "O God, help me to be merciful and generous! If my enemy falls to the floor, do not let me take a dagger of revenge, but give me the power to help him stand up….O God, don't let me treat people as they treat me." (Revenge p. 278)

This story reminds me of a startling Talmudic passage. The Rabbis ask, Does God pray? The answer turns out to be yes, but what does God pray? The answer is extraordinary.

R. Zutra b. Tobi said in the name of Rab: (God's prayer is) 'May it be My will that My mercy may suppress My anger, and that My mercy may prevail over My [other] attributes, so that I may deal with My children in the attribute of mercy and, on their behalf, stop short of the limit of strict justice'.

The passage continues in an interesting and important way.

R. Ishmael b. Elisha says: I once entered into the innermost part [of the Sanctuary] to offer incense and (in a mystical trance) saw an angelic divine figure called Akathriel Jah, the Lord of Hosts, who was seated upon a high and exalted throne. This divine figure said to me: Ishmael, My son, bless Me! I replied: May it be Your will that Your mercy may suppress Your anger and Your mercy may prevail over Your other attributes, so that You may deal with Your children according to the attribute of mercy and may, on their behalf, (you) stop short of the limit of strict justice! And God nodded His head. The passage concludes: "Here we learn [incidentally] that the blessing of an ordinary person must not be considered lightly in your eyes". (Berachot 7a)

We learn something truly amazing, God needs our prayers. Built into the structure of the universe is the desire for payback - a strict measure for measure response. Even God must be constrained by God's own prayers and by our prayers. If God needs to pray to control his instincts and we need to pray for God, how much the more do we need to pray for ourselves, that mercy tempers strict judgment. Another Talmudic text demands our attention, quoted before Rabbi Meir and his very scholarly wife Beruria:

There were once some highwaymen in the neighborhood of R. Meir who caused him a great deal of trouble. R. Meir prayed that they should die. His wife Beruria challenged him: Is such a prayer permissible? I assume that you are interpreting a verse from the Tanakh (Let's examine a text). The verse says, Let hatta'im (het tet aleph yod mem) cease and let the wicked be no more. You read it as though it were hot'im (Sinners). No! it should be read hatta'im! (Sins). If the sins cease, there will be no more wicked men! Therefore Beruriah said, Pray for them that they should repent, and then there will be no more wicked people. He did pray for them, and they repented. (Berachot 10a)

This is too easy. Would that it would be so simple! All we would need to do is pray and the sinners would repent.

But the goal is correct. As we are reminded in the service many times, God does not desire the death of the sinner but that the sinner repent and live. Our goal is to root out sin, to transform hatred to mutual respect and eventually love.

When we are in pain, it is difficult to hear the pain of another. When the stranger is the one who inflicts pain on us, it is difficult to love the stranger. When we are in power, it is difficult to hear the cry of the powerless. Our vulnerability dampens our desire to be magnanimous. To look critically at our own behavior, seems to betray our loyalty to our family and friends who have suffered at the hand of the stranger. Collective guilt and collective punishment deprive us of the possibility of understanding the humanity of the other. Our desire for revenge overwhelms our desire for justice. Our fear confuses strength with mere military might. We frequently react to probing questions with hostility, because the answers verge on blaming the victim. Human interactions are fraught with complexity. Difference is frequently not valued. Fanatical faith in the righteousness of one's own cause blinds us to the truth and justice in the cause of the other.

The truth is that no single people hears God's voice with absolute clarity. We each possess a part of the truth and we are required to be humble in responding to the faith of another. Monotheism makes us all kin, but it has the potential to pit one version of revelation against another, in the gladiators' dance of death. In the current conflict, which involves clashes between Judaism, Islam and Christianity it is essential that each tradition acknowledge its dark side. Muslims must acknowledge: Jihad no matter that its classic interpretation, has come to mean "holy war." Jews must acknowledge: Extreme messianic Jewish religious nationalism has transformed the Palestinians from strangers dwelling within the land, to wicked Amakelites who we are required to exterminate. Christians must acknowledge: Fundamentalist Christianity sees salvation as exclusive to believers and sees the non-believer as the agent of the anti-Christ. The "Great Satan" and the "Axis of Evil" are mirror images of each other.

In the Mishnah we learn:

"Ben Zoma said, 'Who is strong? One who controls his evil inclination, his instincts". Strength is measured by our ability to control our instincts and to act in a considerate and deliberative manner.

Ben Zoma further teaches:

Who is wise? One who learns from every person. (Avot.4:1)

In this pluralistic world we must be prepared to hear and learn from each other. Truth comes in a multi-colored garment and in a polyglot of sacred texts.

September 11th and the Al Aksa Intifada have left us feeling vulnerable. The wounds we suffered are deep and festering. Our grief and our anger are powerful. We feel impotent in their wake and we want to retaliate blow for blow. Our leadership feels publicly shamed for being unprepared and unable to protect us. The peace camp in Israel feels betrayed by what it considers its own naiveté. The desire for revenge is the natural human response to shame. We must defend our honor.

But the Talmud teaches us that is a destructive way of thinking. When we diminish a person in the eyes of others, when we do not take their hurts seriously, the consequences can be immeasurable. A seemingly small matter may unleash a whirlwind.

The Talmud recounts a tragic tale to explain the destruction of Jerusalem.

It happened that a Jerusalemite once gave a dinner and instructed his servant, 'Go and bring me my friend Kamza'; but the servant went and invited Bar Kamza who was his enemy. Bar Kamza entered and sat among the invited. When the host came in and found him among the guests, he said to him, 'You are my enemy, and yet you sit in my house! Get up and leave my house!' Bar Kamza answered, 'Do not put me to shame, and I will pay you the cost of what I eat.' He said to him, 'You Get Out, You will not recline at the meal!' Bar Kamza said to him, 'Do not put me to shame, and I will sit without eating or drinking anything'; but he replied, 'You Get Out, You will not recline at the meal!' Bar Kamza pleaded, 'I will pay the cost of the whole meal'; but the host said, 'Get Out, Go away!' R. Zechariah b. Eucolus, who was present, could have prevented [the host from treating the man in this manner] but he did not intervene. Bar Kamza at once left the house, and said to himself, 'They feast and sit in luxury; I will go and inform against them.' What did he do? He went to the Roman governor and said, 'The sacrifices which you send to the Jews to offer in the Temple they eat themselves and substitute [inferior animals] on the altar.' The governor reprimanded him; but Bar Kamza went to him a second time and said, 'All the sacrifices which you send to the Jews to offer, they eat themselves and substitute [inferior animals] on the altar; if you do not believe me, send an officer and see that I am not a liar.' While Bar Kamza and the officer were on the journey the officer fell asleep, and during the night Bar Kamza secretly made all the animals blemished. When the priest saw [that they were blemished] he substituted others for them. The king's messenger asked him, 'Why do you not offer these animals which I brought? 'The Priest replied, 'I will do so to-morrow.' The officer came on the third day but the priest had not offered them. He sent a message to the king, 'What the Jew told you is true.' The king immediately attacked the Temple and destroyed it. Hence the popular saying: ' Because of the difference between [the names] Kamza and Bar Kamza the Temple was destroyed. (Midrash Rabbah - Lamentations IV: 3)

This is a sophisticated and revealing narrative. The story begins with a simple confusion-a mix up of similar names. The host in his anger, refuses the opportunity to mitigate the circumstance. He humiliates his unintended guest. But perhaps even worse Rabbi Zechariah who had the credibility to intervene, did not. He stood by and allowed Bar Kamza to be shamed. "Silence is the sin of all good people." In Talmudic tradition, the public shaming of a person, is the equivalent of shedding blood. Bar Kamza is so angry that he denounces the community to the Roman governor who responds by destroying the Temple and Jerusalem.

How does it all get started? The origin of the great feuds is buried in myth. They are carried from generation to generation. The struggle between Jews and Arabs is mired in the story of the conflict between Ishmael and Isaac. Actually it is more properly located in conflict between Hagar and Sarah. The clash between Islam and the Christian West is rooted in the Crusades. The current situation has become the clash of the Titians. It is mythic and biblical. The forces of light are arrayed against the forces of darkness. The desire for a measure for measure response, is deeply ingrained in the human psyche. Revenge promotes group solidarity and patriotism. But at what cost?

I believe with every fiber of my being that the United States has a right and a duty to defend itself and to protect us from harm. I believe that Israel has the same right and the same duty. I believe that we have real and vicious enemies. However, the complex mixture of religion, politics, economics and culture does not lead to simplistic solutions. We must examine the real and imagined grievances that have propelled us into a cycle of violence and terrorism. By force of arms alone we cannot win a war on terrorism. Yes! We must bring to justice those who have committed these unspeakable crimes.

But we must ask a profound and difficult question. How do we change the hearts of enemies into friends? The fanatic enemies of peace will not be deterred by reason. But the use of arms alone will not root out hatred. Only when we walk in another person's footsteps, only when we know the heart of the stranger only then will we come to know the other as our neighbor, as our brother and as our sister.

We are constructing memorials to commemorate September 11th and to the victims of the Al Aksa Intifada. What kind of memorials will we build to remember the dead and maimed? Will they be designed only to remind us of the perfidy of the deed? Or will they be built to capture the human worth of the victims? Will they inspire us to pause and reflect on the causes of hatred and enmity or merely to justify ourselves? Will they inspire us to light memorial candles of understanding and compassion or stimulate us to light explosive fuses of revenge?

Long years of hatred are not erased easily. The blood of the innocent cries out from the grave. It is hard to hear anything but a cry for vengeance. But I believe we can hear a different cry. They say: "Let us not have died in vain. Let our blood be the end of trading blood for blood." My eyes are red with tears of mourning for the dead and maimed and bereaved. My heart is broken and my soul is seared with grief.

We pray that 5763 will be different than 5762. O God, Help us to become like the disciples of Aaron seeking peace and pursuing it. Teach us how to love our neighbor, to embrace the stranger and transform our enemies into our partners in tikkun olam (perfecting the world). Inspire our leaders with vision and morality. O God of Love and Mercy, Open our eyes to see that all human beings are created in Your image. May 5763 be a year of shalom where the powerful and wealthy will lift up the powerless and the poor. May it be a year when all the children of Adam and Eve will recognize that this shrinking globe is Your shared gift to all of us.

Amen.