At last Sunday’s services, as we usually do when something terrible happens in the world, we prayed for the people of Israel and Gaza, along with Afghanistan and Ukraine. At the second service, I also included a prayer for peace, asking God to “guide with your wisdom those who take counsel for the nations of the earth … until the earth is filled with the knowledge of your love.”
And I sent some love to my friend and colleague Rabbi David Katz of Temple Beth El, a fellow contributor to this column and founder of HART (Historic Area Religions Together).
The next day I received an email from a parishioner whose father was Jewish, expressing his disappointment with the scant attention I paid to the assault on Israel, which he said had affected him more than 9/11. “Couldn’t you have been more forthright and, frankly, more emotional in specifically addressing this orgy of violence against innocents?” he wrote. “I hope you will speak more on this; I think the parish is waiting for it.”
In my soul-searching since, I’m regretting staying in bland generalities rather than naming horrible atrocities committed against fellow humans. I’m regretting not expressing my outrage and grief at the terrorizing, violating, kidnapping and murdering of men, women and children. And I’m wrestling with how to be more aware of and responsive to the feelings and needs of my Jewish neighbors at this traumatic time.
I hope it’s not too late to practice what the psychologist Robert Kegan calls attending, bearing witness to another person’s experience. I heard Kegan speak at a church conference more than 20 years ago, and his words have stayed with me ever since. Instead of offering solutions or advice or reassurance or even consolation to those in pain and distress, he said, we can offer accompaniment, presence, solidarity. When we attend to what our neighbors are going through, we let them know they are not alone.
In an email to our HART colleagues, and in his remarks at Wednesday night’s “Prayer, Song and Solidarity” gathering at the United Jewish Community of the Virginia Peninsula, Rabbi David offered a window into that experience. “For American Jews, an attack on Israelis is an attack on our family and friends,” he wrote. “It is an attack on us, the people of Israel. We are one giant family. We’re all connected; we all feel what happens to each other. My heart and soul, and the hearts and souls of the Jewish people, are under attack. It is overwhelming and upsetting and all-encompassing and very frightening.”
Appreciating the depth of this connection at a tribal, even cellular level, can be a challenge for us well-meaning friends and allies. Our lack of understanding is part of a bigger disconnect we Christians often have both with our Jewish neighbors and with the roots and realities of our own religion. When we make sweeping generalizations about differences between the Old and New Testaments, for example, or caricature first-century religious leaders as legalistic and exclusionary, we’re missing the richness of a sister faith and the complexities of our own.
In her book “The Misunderstood Jew,” which our women’s group read last fall, the New Testament scholar Amy-Jill Levine explores our intertwined histories and how misunderstandings of Jesus and Judaism continue even now to foster negative stereotypes and feed hate. We can’t allow these misunderstandings to continue. In the words of William Sloane Coffin, “the world is now too dangerous for anything but truth and too small for anything but love.”
So what can we do? I have three suggestions. First, we can listen. Now is not the time for discussing ideology, theology, history or policy with our Jewish friends and neighbors. Of course, we all have our thoughts and opinions, informed or not, about this heartbreaking war and its context. Those opinions need not and must not prevent us from calling out the inhumanity of these violent acts, and sharing our sorrow. When emotions are raw, it is a time not for debating, but for attending.
“If the politics of this is an issue for you,” Rabbi David wrote, “I invite you to consider the over 1000 innocent lives that were just taken, and to consider that these people are literally my and my people’s cousins. There are 12-14 million of us on the entire planet. Half are in Israel, and at least 1000 were just murdered. Please consider that in your hearts.”
Second, we can make tangible gestures, however small and awkward, expressing concern, deep condolence and solidarity. We can let our Jewish neighbors know that their lives matter to us, and that we have their backs.
“A few people have reached out and said that they wanted to say something to me,” Rabbi David wrote, “but they really weren’t sure what to say. It is significantly meaningful to all Jewish people right now hear from friends, to hear messages of friendship and caring, and to receive offers of support and companionship. Something simple is all we need. Many Jews feel fairly alone at the moment, and anything you can do to connect with us is meaningful. Please reach out.”
And we can pray. Since last weekend, U.S. synagogues have received threats of violence, and there was increased security for services at Temple Beth El and a vigil at William & Mary. “I am concerned for the safety of my people everywhere,” Rabbi David wrote, “and for the safety of my community here (Jewish communities everywhere are on very heightened alert). All of this hurts my heart.”
Please pray for Rabbi David and his congregation, for their friends and relatives in Israel, and for all impacted by the war. Here’s a prayer from Rabbi Rachel Barenblat:
“To our friends and family from the windswept Golan to the sands of the Arava: We hold you in our hearts. We hold your children in our hearts. Our fate is bound up in yours. And to the parents and children from Ramallah to Gaza City who also do not wish for war: We love this land with you. We pray for better with you. And we yearn for peace with you. God, with all the desperation of our hearts we plead: may it be true that peace will yet come.”
The Rev. Lisa Green is rector of St. Martin’s Episcopal Church in James City County.
