Fasting to me was always just something you did to solidify being written into the book of life. It wasn’t something I dwelled on or gave much thought to, it was just something you did. It wasn’t until I had an odd conversation with my freshman year high school math teacher when I really started to think. I had just returned to school after observing Yom Kippur, and my classmates asked where I had been the previous day.I told them it was Yom Kippur, and I was fasting to be written into the book of life. At the time I had a Jewish teacher who overheard the conversation and responded in a deadpanned voice that he didn’t need to fast because he had no sins to fast for. This made me think, “oh so you think you’re better than I am… as well as everyone else I spent the day in synagogue with yesterday”. I assumed he meant it as a joke, but it felt dismissive. It bugged me. It also made me think about the many ways people observe Yom Kippur, and if there was a “correct” way. Am I doing it right? Are we doing it right?
In today’s haftarah from the prophet Isaiah, he challenges the idea that the ritual of fasting is the only way to bring atonement and to be written into the book of life. According to Isaiah, the fast God desires is one that gives back to others. Letting the oppressed go free, sharing food with the hungry, creating shelter and warmth for those who have none, and “when you see them naked, clothe them”. Some may interpret this as implying that the fast is the only way to accomplish those things. Fasting is there to create a space that may help open our hearts to be motivated to altruism and loving kindness. But this is only true when fasting is something we can do healthily, and when it’s paired with the proper reflection and intention. It’s hard to invest in others when you can’t invest in yourself. Don’t force yourself into an unhealthy situation by fasting, rather, create the safest space to become motivated that you can. For some, that’s fasting, for some, it’s prayer, for some, it’s meditation or learning or conversation. This morning, I want to share with you some of the grappling I’ve been doing over the past several years on a topic that I think most of us have been having some very intense and potentially complicated feelings around. Having intense and complicated conversations feels like a necessary part of this fast, for me, so I want to share it with you.
In 2017, the summer before freshman year of high school, I started attending a Jewish sleepaway camp called Moshava, or Mosh for short. Moshava was a part of “Habonim Dror”, a progressive labor zionist youth movement whose mission is to build a personal bond and commitment between North American Jewish youth and the State of Israel, and to create Jewish leaders who will actualize the principles of social justice, equality, peace and coexistence in Israel and North America. I had no clue what a lot of that meant, all I knew is that I had friends there who loved it. Throughout the summer, I remember my time being spent on social justice projects mainly centered around Tikkun Olam- repairing the world, like caring for a Baltimore community garden. We had plenty of discussions around justice, equality, peace, and Tikkun Olam in general. But Labor Zionism itself wasn’t a prevalent topic, or really something I remember talking about at all. To me this camp felt like an extension of Yavneh and my community here at Hill Havurah.
When I went with Mosh to Israel in 2019, I was told constantly about how lucky we were that there was a ceasefire. A lot of time was spent hiking and doing somewhat tourist-y things .When we met with our Israeli sister-camp, I don’t really remember any conversations with them, just that we helped build structures at their camp, and we did a self-guided hike. I remember going to the Wall, and the shuk, and I remember what a beautiful place it all was, where so many religions and ethnicities came together. I thought it was upsetting that the Old City was separated into four quadrants; that people were divided up. We never talked explicitly about Labor Zionism, or about the lives of the Palestinians on the other side of the wall. But on this trip, I finally felt fully connected in my Judaism. As prior to this trip I used to say that I was “Jew-ish.” But being in Israel, I had this feeling like this beautiful place was for everyone, where everyone could be who they are. So I was no longer “Jew-ish;” I was Jewish.
The first conversation I remember having about justice issues around Israel was with a relative a few years later, and it was talking about olive trees. I brought up tzedakah, and tzedakah boxes, and she told me that when you give money to plant olive trees in Israel, they sometimes get planted in the West Bank, on territory that should belong to Palestinians. This made me take a step back and look at what Zionism really meant, and what I wanted my “relationship” with Zionism and Israel to be. It made me wonder if I was on the right side of history. It made me re-think my Judaism, and my connection with Israel. A state that I had previously fallen in love with and helped solidify my Judaism. A place that I believe to have the potential to be a beautifully diverse state. A state I saw as a place where we were free from persecution – but is it happening in a way that aligned with the values that I’d always been taught?
Lately I’ve been wondering – what does Progressive Labor Zionism mean? If I take all that Mosh did teach me, where do those values guide me now? Looking further into what Habonim Dror defines as progressive labor zionism was an interesting thing to dive into. They believe in a world in which both peoples, Israeli and Palestinian, can, and must, exercise the right to self-determination. Shared liberation within a Progressive Labor Zionist framework calls for the following: An immediate end to the Occupation of the West Bank,and a commitment to a Two-State Solution, creating a Palestinian state alongside Israel. Recognition of the interconnectedness and interdependence of the Israeli and Palestinian struggles for safety, peace, meaningful self-determination, and justice. Freedom for all residents of the Lands, Israeli and Palestinian, from capitalism, violence, and authoritarianism. A true commitment to learning Hebrew with the goal of continuing its revival as the Jewish language, as well as deep engagement with Arabic language and culture.
I found a recent zine, written by young people from Mosh in the past couple of years, on this very topic. I wish this had existed when I was a camper – but I’m really grateful to be able to read it now. In the introduction, it reads, “Zionism is many things for us—a source of inspiration, a historical legacy, a vision for a just society, an answer to antisemitism, a connection point with Jews around the world. Zionism is a deep idea, but sometimes it is sharp and bright. It seizes us with both hands, reaching up out of the pages of our own journals and shaking us by the shoulders: Wake up! Zionism is a wide river, with many different people living on its shores, floating their dreams and their sorrows downstream on rafts of every possible design. Can we survive these currents? Channel them? We are the people that crossed a river. Yet Zionism can feel out of our hands—whether because we see Israeli leadership do horrible things in its name, or because we are told by other leftists that it is a form of racism. So it becomes a question: is Zionism ours? What does it look like when it is? How can we imagine it? Art, writing, and reflection give us the tools to explore our relationships to Zionism outside of the realm of a political debate. We created this zine to give ourselves a voice. We hope these pages fill you with different and perhaps contradictory emotions, that you will agree and disagree with what’s written, and that you will in turn be inspired to write your page in the story of our people.” I’m moved by this honest, sensitive, and multi-faceted exploration. When I think about it, this way of thinking has been with me all along.
After October 7th, I sat in a conversation between my grandfather and my father. On both sides of my family we have heavy ties that connect us to Israel. My grandfather moved to Israel after leaving China before the Japanese invaded, and had spent some of his childhood there. He also shared that he believes in a two-state solution. He said that we all deserve to live in a place where we’re free from persecution. I was taken aback, as I assumed that his strong ties to Israel led him to feel strongly in one way or another, but not in multiple directions. Instead, his childhood experiences taught him to empathize with people in general – Israeli and Palestinian. He also made me realize that you can be pro-Israel, but not support the current Israeli government. I was grateful for that lesson, too. Around the same time, a friend of mine was studying abroad in Tel Aviv. Through social media I saw that he was going to several protests against the Israeli government and their excessive use of force and violence against innocent lives. Seeing these posts furthered my understanding of what my grandfather had been teaching me. It was a reminder that you can be pro-Israel and pro-Palestine; you can love Israel but not a particular government or set of policies there, just like you can love the USA but not support a specific administration.
In Bereishit, our creation story in the Torah, it says that humans were created B’tzelem Elohim, meaning in the image of god. This doesn’t mean we must be perfect. This means that we are working towards making sure everyone is valued equally – and valued extremely highly. We have to care about peoples’ safety, dignity, and livelihood, and we have to work towards a world where everyone’s safety, dignity, and livelihood is valued and protected. If we were all created in the image of Hashem, god, then shouldn’t we be caring about our fellow human – regardless of any dividing factors? Dividing people creates toxicity and hatred. No one is born with hatred, they are taught it. To have a meaningful and fulfilling fast, as Isaiah said, we mustn’t beat ourselves down, we must build each other up. My math teacher who said that he didn’t need to fast because he hadn’t sinned – even if that’s true, which is impossible, I feel like he completely missed the point by making it all about himself. Fasting isn’t about fixing a list of things we did wrong, it’s about doing personal work that helps you realize what wrongs you’re involved with, doing yourself, or just a bystander to.
The idea is that on Yom Kippur, we aren’t being asked to fix everything about ourselves all at once, in that 25 hour fast. We’re being asked to take steps in the right direction. We’re being asked to continue our learning, and to make this not a one-time thing. We want to be dedicated to the belief that people really are created b’tzelem elohim, and that we are going to behave accordingly. How can we take the steps to do this? Mitzvahs come in all shapes and sizes, no matter how small they matter. Donating, volunteering your time, advocating for those who can’t, educating yourself on things that you may not know, opening your hearts and minds to the unknown, carrying yourself and approaching a situation with kindness and love.
In the very beginning of our haftarah today, Isaiah says this: “Build up, build up a highway! Clear a road! Remove all obstacles from the road of My people!” I hope that we’re able to do that, as a Jewish people and as people in general. Remove the obstacles between us and justice, between us and peace, between us and happiness, between us and our Judaism. When we shut out other people’s humanity, whether they’re Israeli or Palestinian, that’s an obstacle. When we shut out our own humanity, including the fact that we’re imperfect and need to make atonement, that’s an obstacle. I hope this year we can live by the values we most believe in, all of Btzelem Elohim, created in the divine image, doing the best that we can to live up to it, and to see it in one another. For then we will have truly atoned, and have brought light and strength into this life.
G’mar chatimah tovah!