Confessions of a Suffering Judeophile
I grew up in a Jewish community as a member of Gesu Catholic Church in the Northwest sector of Detroit and attended more Jewish bar mitzvas than Catholic confirmations. In high school and university, I studied literature, philosophy, and history including the Hebrew Scriptures by which I became knowledgeable of the stories that constitute the liberation theology of Judeo-Christianity. I especially absorbed the stories of the prophets who challenged the people to live up to the ideals of their tradition of liberation from oppression. I learned to interpret all stories in religious traditions not literally, but as artfully expressing the worldview of a community of faith that would have major influence in the progression of humanity.
When I was studying in Chicago, I had a good woman friend who invited me to her family’s Seder meal. I discovered that the ritual celebrated the liberation theology I was studying and trying to live. Later when married with children, I would celebrate the Seder with our family and often in small faith groups every year; and still we do today.
I am grateful to have had many mentors of religious and nonreligious persuasions who taught me how authoritarianism led to the totalitarianism of the 20th century. I studied the holocaust and sympathized with the flight of Jews to a homeland in Palestine where many Jews were already living in refuge.
I applied my liberation thinking to the Civil Rights struggle of Black Americans, to Vietnamese’s fight for decolonization, the fight of indigenousness peoples from American greed, and the rebellion against US supported brutal dictators in Latin America and the Philippines where the theology of liberation in the tradition of the Seder story was developed. I still affirm my commitment to non-violent resistance and rebellion.
I chose a career in teaching people how to reject victimhood by taking responsibility in their local communities. The people taught me how to be agents rather than patients when they build the power of organization, education, and self-respect. They take the democratic way of assembly, speech, social and legal change against violence: people power politics. That is still my liberation in the tradition of Judaism and of many other human traditions whether religious or non-religious.
Modern Israel, as in the history of many nations including my own, seized land, sought wealth, and amassed military technology to the detriment of Palestinians. Without the political power of assembly, organization, speech, action, and respect, Palestinians have reacted with violence. Violence and counter violence have put political leaders of Israel in a weakened and defensive position of victimhood. This has led to a perplexed citizenry, diaspora, and allies who accept a dominating authoritarian “strong-man” leadership to protect the nation’s land, wealth, and technology.
I learned that violence is sometimes necessary to survive; but I believe it can never be justified as a way of life. All violent acts are acts of oppression. Violence as a characteristic of human existence in and to the world is ultimate self-destruction.
The Israeli violent defensive reaction to Hamas may have been necessary but a sign of weakness not power. As was the reaction of war against Afghanistan and Iraq to the terror of Al Qaida by the USA. These terrorist acts of destruction and suffering were opportunities for building power with allies towards a more long-term protection of grieving citizens, and for moving humanity to a new level of growth and a justice that is the foundation of peace.
I leave more experienced statesmen to recommend how the deadly feud between Palestinians and Israeli can be resolved now that sides have been drawn and so many self-destructive mistakes have been executed out of fear, anger, and hurt pride. Israeli historian Tom Segev convinces me that Palestinians and Israelis are now in a forever war that can only be managed, not solved, for the visible future. They are caught in their respective religious traditions of victory over enemies with the support of their conflicting gods. Segev concludes: “Countless failures in the search for a solution to the conflict have given rise to a hypothesis that only a catastrophe of biblical proportions could persuade either side to rethink their delusional national creeds. The unfolding events in Israel and Gaza may suggest that both sides have not yet suffered enough. But perhaps this hypothesis is not rooted in reality, either.”
Memory is imagining our past expressed by stories that distinguish and identify us. We re-member ourselves with our ancestors in our tradition. What is called for in the here and now is imagination of the future through a story that brings our stories together. Without the hope in this unifying story, enough to elicit our shared responsibility and action, the faith of our fathers and mothers will cease to be. To honor our traditions, we must acknowledge their divisiveness, and free ourselves from our icons to pursue the Oneness in humanity and our world yet to come.
I strongly hope that Israelis and Palestinians rise together and cast off their artificial homespun national gods that require the sacrifice of others. Unless we all reject our righteous cyclical reaction of violence, we will lose the dignity of our divine power. And our descendants will lose the future that calls us forth. My hope, though tentative, lies in the characteristic of our human condition that Hannah Arendt calls “natality.” New births can achieve new beginnings and, thinking and action in concert, forgive one another.