How I Failed in my Attempt to Save Israel

Like most people, I sometimes ask myself what might have been: if only I had decided differently, had I only acted otherwise. Most of these thoughts concern my personal life, but I also look back on a national question: what would the country look like had I insisted on advancing an idea I had about fifteen years ago, when I was a young, energetic retiree. Forgive the hubris, but had I persevered, might things look different today?

I summarized the idea in a document I called Ben Zakkai. It occurred to me after a women’s Torah class taught by a female scholar; she and her students are the product of a quiet revolution within Orthodox Judaism, which enables and even encourages women to delve into the Jewish sources.

I wrote: “We discussed Rabbi Yohanan ben Zakkai, who, around the time of the destruction of the Temple, asked the Romans for Yavneh and its sages. For the first time I heard that Rabbi Akiva had criticized him for giving up Jerusalem. Neither the teacher nor any of the students thought to add that even if Akiva was right when he said it, from a historical perspective it is clear that he was wrong. Had Yohanan thought as Akiva did, there would have been no Judaism left, no one would be talking about the issue today.”

The approach in the classroom, whereby there is a religious obligation to insist on everything, while ignoring considerations such as the balance of power, that the kind of political realism embodied by ben Zakkai is illegitimate, reminded me that during the disengagement from Gaza, I heard many say that if the move were halakhically justified, rabbis would support it. True, many ruled that one must obey the state leadership, but they also held that, as a matter of principle, it is forbidden to relinquish parts of the Land.

I wrote: “The religious-national camp has great influence over the country’s political direction. Over the years, the influence of rabbis within it has grown. Rabbis whose political views are not messianist are scarcely heard. As a result, much of the public assumes this is the only legitimate rabbinic voice and follows it. The phenomenon is known as the ‘spiral of silence’: the noise grows louder precisely because of the silence of the others.”

I concluded that it is important for those who shape their positions according to Torah to hear a religious justification for moderate political views. I knew there were people with authority and standing who shared my outlook, but they usually refrained from expressing it publicly. The voices advocating for a “Greater Israel” are loud, and because there are other issues on the Orthodox-liberal agenda, they prefer to focus on those. For example, welcoming an LGBTQ couple into a community or having a woman deliver a synagogue sermon is easier than debating demography versus the sanctity of promised borders. Moreover, the outcome is certain and immediate.

I thought that in order to break the cycle in which there is only one loud halakhic voice about the territories, an organized effort was needed to bring together the other voices, which were weak and isolated. A group of rabbis and others of standing together and working systematically, through articles and public appearances, could change the discourse, or at least diversify it. Over time, a counterweight, however partial, might develop to those who see the Book of Joshua as a manual for running a state in the twenty-first century.

I believed that at its outset, such a group would need a figure of stature to lead it and attract others, as well as someone to do the practical work. I had time; I had connections in Israel and abroad. Until the project grew and employed staff, I would do what needed to be done. I approached well-known figures – rabbis, academics, others – and organizations, in Israel and some in the United States, from where influence and funding often come.

Everyone said it was an excellent idea. But they were very sorry, they couldn’t right now, because… They suggested I speak with someone else. One person who initially agreed to help behind the scenes withdrew a few days later, and was honest enough to admit that his involvement would undermine the agenda to which he was committed: the moment the future of the territories came up, all his other efforts would come to nothing. I understood him – why should he risk everything he had initiated and built for the sake of a plan that would pit him against many in his own sector? I did not decide to stop, but judging by the document buried deep in my computer, I must have given up.

From time to time, I encounter some of those I approached back then, who shared the anxiety and agreed with the path, but did not step up. I wonder whether they remember, whether they regret it. I ask myself why I did not keep trying, and what the country might look like had I found one influential person to lead a move that might have shifted reality, even a little. I also ask: is it too late? Is it still possible? Is there anyone there, anyone at all, who might try?