ALON SHVUT, Gush Etzion: Once, when driving along Highway 60 near Hebron, I waved at a Palestinian who was standing at the side of the road. My daughter, age 7, asked me, “Abba (daddy), how do you know that man?” When I told her I didn't, she asked why then would I wave at him? I referred her to the teaching in the Ethics of Fathers, that one should, “Be first to greet every person.” My daughter is still too young to understand many things, but I believe she internalized the lesson: that I acknowledge that the pedestrian is a person. This is really the fundamental lesson that I strive to teach my children, my community, and anyone who will listen, within the context of our conflict over rights to this land. Regardless of the depth of disagreement, we cannot dehumanize the Other and must remember that the scope of morality includes them. Many people may question whether such a small gesture as a wave can possibly overpower events taking place on a national scale. But this does not concern me. As a religious person, I believe that ultimately, we are bound to act in accordance with our conscience even if we know that it is unlikely to yield progress in the utilitarian sense. Our Torah implores us, “Vehalachta Bidrachav”, “follow in God's ways”, which our rabbis interpret to mean behaving with kindness and mercy. These are character traits that we must inculcate in ourselves, for our own sake, regardless of any strategic benefit that they may or may not confer. I am not a pacifist, and I do believe in the pragmatic use of force when it is necessary for defense. But I vehemently oppose gratuitous degradation or disrespect of the other and wanton destruction of his property or religious symbols. It is against this background that I, together with a group of people from my community, Alon Shvut, joined a protest on the 5th of October against the vandalism of the Beit Fajar mosque, reported to have been perpetrated by Jews. I have always been taught that there are times when one may not be silent. Certainly, the perpetration of a hate crime in the name of our Torah is such an occasion. It is a public shaming of God's name and a disgrace to our tradition. If nothing else, how can we let our children see such an abominable act and not condemn it? What values will we be teaching them? What image will we be projecting to our Palestinian neighbors? When vandals speak loudly with their vile actions – dare we be silent? When I publicized this event within our community's public email list, responses were mixed. Some of my neighbors were supportive, while others, to my disappointment, opposed. But even the most ardent opponents of the event wrote that, “To remove all doubt, I do not condone vandalism against mosques.” These responses showed that in our community, supporting the vandalism against a mosque was simply beyond the pale of civil discourse. The primary objection that was raised by many members of our community was that this event would not be part of a reciprocal relationship. “Do we see local Palestinians protest when Jews are killed by terrorists?” they asked. I had to concede that, to the best of my knowledge, we do not. However, I refused to seize upon it as a way to somehow exempt myself from what I see as my own moral duty. For each side to wait to see the other act first is certainly no recipe for reconciliation. With this in mind, I joined other rabbis and citizens from the area in an event comprised of two components: a more formal meeting in which several senior rabbis (more senior than myself) presented the Imams of Beit Fajar with replacement Korans, followed by a rally for the general public to express our condemnation of the vandalism. There were several difficult experiences for me at this event. First, rocks were thrown at some of the Israelis who attempted to enter Beit Fajar. Second, the Palestinian speaker at our popular event used the opportunity to preach about how Israel should concede all the land the Palestinians demand, or expect continued terrorism. Unfortunately, moderate Palestinians did not attend to voice their perspectives. Finally, the press painted a distorted picture of the event, implying that every Jew who did not attend the rally (which occurred within one day's notice in the middle of a workday) could be presumed to support the burning of mosques. I had hoped for an experience in which I would meet like-minded leaders from another religion and begin to build a substantive relationship. Perhaps my expectations were too high or too idealistic, as this was far from what took place. Regardless, I think that our actions did have some practical benefit. The basic point was made that Jews object to this affront to Muslims, and I know that this point is sure to resonate with some of the Muslim public. Any account at all of this appearing in the Arabic media, as it did, is surely a positive step. We must treat the Other with respect and humanity, for our own sake and irrespective of how our gestures are received. There are many things over which we do not have control but we have full control over our own actions. Even in times of increased conflict, I will continue to wave at Palestinians passersbys. ### * Rabbi Aharon Frazer lives in Gush Etzion. He currently leads the Orach Mishor online Jewish learning program and a nonsectarian volunteer program at Soroka Hospital in Be'er Sheva. Aharon is a graduate student in Public Health at Ben Gurion University of the Negev. He is currently writing a book about moral obligations to the non-Jewish world in the Jewish tradition. This article was written for the Common Ground News Service (CGNews). Source: Common Ground News Service (CGNews), 11 November 2010, www.commongroundnews.org BM
