Drash Rosh Hashanah – Rabbi Allison RH Conyer

Rabbi Allison RH Conyer

ARC Chair and Senior Rabbi Temple Beth Israel, Melbourne

I Am Israel

Rosh Hashanah 5786

“How could you do this to me? To us? To him? Did my suffering mean nothing to you? Was I not a devoted wife? Did I not leave my family to follow you to G-d knows where? And for what? For you to sneak out at the crack of dawn with our only son, the heir to this so-called brit, this covenant with a god only you can see and hear…to leave My land, My home, My parents to go to some land that this G-d promised to you/us and our future generations.

Do you know what I have sacrificed to be here? And my only joy, my beautiful boy who brought me laughter, it is he who you sought to take from me without even the courtesy of a conversation.”

And so, she wept. Sarah’s tears of anguish and sorrow created a river around my mountain. What began as a test of faith for Abraham and Isaac ended in Sarah’s death.

It was in this spot, amidst the test of faith and the anguish of betrayal that my story began. To understand my story, to know my history, some say, is to gain access into the nature of holiness.[1] For, just as light can shine even brighter amidst darkness, so too, can holiness be found amidst our deepest despair, guiding us towards a brighter future.

But, alas, I am getting ahead of myself. I am both old and young, tainted and filled with promise. I watched Isaac grow old, marry Rebecca and be blessed with two sons, Esau and Jacob. I watched as deception and trickery that earned Jacob the covenantal blessing also caused him to flee for his life. I watched as Yaakov wrestled with his inner being and searched for direction in his life, gaining blessing from his struggle. He became known as Yisrael – one who wrestles with G-d and sanctified my place. From that moment on, we became eternally bound to one another – body and soul – land and people.

His children became my children – B’nei Yisrael. Jealousy and envy poisoned their hearts. I was gutted and stained by the treacherous actions of Joseph’s brothers, exiling him to my neighbour, Pharoah’s land.

I lay barren, without life, love, or hope for the continuous deceit dried up any possibility of growth. And so, there was a famine in the land.

They abandoned me for the narrow straits of my neighbour’s land to survive. But they paid a heavy price – being slaves in Egypt, forsaking their freedom and connection to me.

440 years later. I saw them coming home. My how the family had grown. Israel’s 12 sons became 12 tribes.

From across the Jordan river, I watched a great man die. Moses bravely led my children from Egyptian slavery to the banks of my river, bringing with them my heart enclosed in a sacred chest.

Joshua, then, led my children in a fierce battle, liberating me from the seven nations who had taken captive of my body. As the 12 tribes of Israel spread out, I felt body and soul reunited.

Judges, Prophets and Kings emerged from my womb crowning my cities with glory and moral complexity. I watched as a most unexpected leader, a young shepherd defeated the Philistines.  David’s victory set the course for both his present and our future.

וַיִּלְכֹּ֣ד דָּוִ֔ד אֵ֖ת מְצֻדַ֣ת צִיּ֑וֹן …

David captured the stronghold of Zion….[2]

King David established Zion, filling it with his poetry, music, espionage, and illicit love affairs, tickling my navel, renaming Zion as Jerusalem, his City of Peace, our eternal capital. From that moment, this sacred place became the umbilical cord, nourishing and sustaining b’nei Yisrael – the Children of Israel – wherever they dwelt, for all time.

While King David’s strength united the people against their enemies and expanded my territory, it was his son, Solomon who brought about a golden age of peace, wealth, and wisdom.

It was under King Solomon that the wisdom literature emerged and the Bet Ha’Mikdash – the Temple – was built, and remained for almost 400 years. And within it was placed my heart – luchot ha’brit – the tablets of the Covenant, carried from Sinai, transplanted through time from the conception of Am Yisrael – the People of Israel, giving my people life and hope from within. My fertility returned and b’nei Yisrael prospered. From my grapes they made the sacred wine. From my wheat, they baked their challah. My from olives they lit festive candles. The people and I were united, at peace, caring for one another.

My produce fed their bodies, hearts, minds, and souls, and their mitzvot took care of me, letting me rest every 7 years, and keeping the corners of my fields to feed their hungry.

After King Solomon’s death, my heart was torn as my children fought and separated. Ten of the 12 tribes moved north, renaming their Northern Kingdom, Israel, while the tribes of Judah and Benjamin ruled over the Southern Kingdom, named Judah.

I watched, helplessly, as the Northern Kingdom was conquered by the Assyrians. I watched how they tortured, punished, and deported My children to distant lands, until their existence disappeared. My “10 lost tribes of Israel” meant that 5 out of 6 of my children were gone forever. My soul was crying once again.

However, my heart continued to beat, as the Southern Kingdom remained intact for the next century and a half.  Until a monster emerged who would destroy that which was most holy. The Babylonian King Nebuchadnezzar seized the reign from the Assyrians, destroyed the Bet HaMikdash, and carried the remnant of My people into Babylon, leaving only the poorest behind to work on what they now called “their land”.

Eicha!

בַגּוֹיִ֗ם  אֵיכָ֣ה יָשְׁבָ֣ה בָדָ֗ד הָעִיר֙ רַבָּ֣תִי עָ֔ם הָיְתָ֖ה כְּאַלְמָנָ֑ה רַבָּ֣תִי

How?! Lonely [I sat], a city once great with people!
[I], who was great among nations, have become like a widow;
The princess among states is become a thrall.

Bitterly [I] wept in the night, my cheek wet with tears.
There [was] none to comfort me…
All of my allies have betrayed me and become my foes.

[and] Judah has gone into exile …[3]

And so, once again, I waited.

Fifty years later, Cyrus the Great, King of Persia conquered the Babylonians, and allowed My people to return. By 516 BCE, my stones were hewn, and the Second Temple was rebuilt in its original spot, the place that once caused Sarah to weep. And so, we thrived together for almost 200 years.

Then, Alexander the Great, seized me from the Persians, imposing Hellenism upon my people. A great period of gluttony, vanity, and exploitation followed – From worship of G-d TO worship of body, from houses of prayer TO gymnasiums and stadiums, from Hebrew names to Greek.

I witnessed a courageous, yet small band of rebels rise up against this tsunami of Hellenisation that was corrupting my people, tempting them to abandon their heritage and sacred practices. Judah Maccabee led the struggle, reclaiming the very heart of My being that had been defiled. The small defied the many. My Temple was cleansed, restored to light, and from that victory the Hasmonean Dynasty ruled over me.

My people reclaimed their political independence for another 127 years until the Roman Emperor Vespasian conquered me. His high taxes and punishment for practicing Judaism led to a rebellion ending again in the massacre and displacement of my people, and, ultimately, the destruction of the Second Temple.

Ravaged by war and stripped of a spiritual home, my children found themselves as wanderers once more. I, too, was given a new face, a new language and a new name. In the first century, the Romans renamed me as Syria Palestina and Jerusalem as Aelia Capitolina. My people’s city of peace was now recast as Rome’s capital, my body reshaped in their image. My children were barred from entering my Presence. The umbilical cord that bound us was nearly severed—yet fragile strands clung on. Wherever my people were, they kept me in the forefront of their mind. They turned towards me in prayer. They broke glass for me at weddings. During the festivals, they acknowledged my sheva minim – the seven gifts that grow naturally from me – wheat, barley, figs, grapes, olives, pomegranates, and dates. They continued to drink wine, eat challah and light candles, remembering me, keeping our connection alive and praying for the day they would return.

And we waited together.

400 years later, the Byzantine empire transformed me adopting Christianity as its religion and retaining their Latin name for me, Palestina Prima and Secunda. Once again, my children were at war, and my body was stained with blood over a sense of imposed dominance.

By the 7th century, the Caliphs brought Islamic rule to me for 450 years. Some imposed heavy taxes on the Christians and Jews , restricting their occupations and religious practices. Again, many of my children fled.

The 12th and 13th century brought the Crusades. Rape, pillaging, torture, forced conversions or death – never had there been such a thirst for blood and fear of difference.

All I could do was bear witness to this human shame playing out on my body, eroding my soul. My names moved between Arabic and Latin, yet my Hebrew birth name was never forgotten.

The Mamluks came next. Some of my children were granted rights to work, hold positions in government, and began to flourish once more.

Yet, by the 14th century, restrictions for both Jews and Christians tightened again dictating what they could wear, which animals they could ride, and which professions they were permitted to practice.

By the early 16th century, the Ottoman Empire took claim of me, and retained my ancient Roman name, Palestina, this time in Arabic – Filistin. During the next 400 years, my children were given semi-autonomy over their communities. They built schools and courts, increased their Jewish practices and celebrations. This was a time of great prosperity. But my children in exile were not so lucky.

In the late 19th century, a young Austro-Hungarian journalist, Theodore Hertzl, first besotted with the Promise that Europe could provide a fair and safe home for his people, but later confronted by the onslaught of latent antisemitism triggered by the Dreyfus Affair in France, where the French Jewish Army Captain, Alfred Dreyfus, was falsely accused of treason. While spectating Dreyfus’s fall from grace, the crowd spontaneously shouted: “Death to the traitor, death to the Jews”.

It was then that Herzl knew there was no safe place for Jews to be fully accepted as equals except by living, like others, on their own land.

And so, Modern Zionism was born. A new name for an ancient longing of a people to be reunited with its own land.

In his book – Altneuland (Old-New Land), Herzl argued that although Jews had spent centuries striving to integrate and contribute to the progress of the nations where they lived, they were never fully accepted. He wrote:

The Jews, like other nations, are entitled to a state in accordance with… international law. For our purpose we require a homeland[4]…We need a land upon which [all] Jews will be recognized as human being[s], wishing to work and live in freedom.[5]

So, Zionism, like other nationalisms, is based on the premise that a nation without a land is like a soul without a body.

Zionism is the belief that the Jewish people, like other peoples, have a right to live on a land of their own – their homeland – Zion.

Herzl inspired others:

Ukrainian-born, Asher Ginsberg, later calling himself Ahad Ha’Am, suggested that only on the land could Jewish culture flourish, saying:

We need Israel to be our ‘national spiritual centre’, a ‘safe retreat’ not for Jews, but for Judaism…[6]

Russian-born, Aharon David Gordon argued that physical labour “connects a people to its land and to its culture” most organically. Working and building up the land will generate a fertile culture and connection for Jews. I could work with that.

Latvian-born, Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook focused on the “kedushah of Eretz Israel” saying that “A valid strengthening of Judaism… can come only from a deepened attachment to Eretz Israel.

The hope for the return to the Holy Land is …the hope for the Redemption…[7]

Whether for political, cultural, socialist, or religious reasons, my people were coming home. Keren Kaymet L’Yisrael – the Jewish National Fund was established to purchase land from those in the Ottoman Empire who then claimed ownership of me.

Finally, I was remembered. I was valued. I was more than just a piece of land to be conquered and ruled and reshaped into someone else’s image. I was acknowledged for the life force that I was. I was remembered as an integral part of the people. Eretz Yisrael and Am Yisrael were destined to be together.

From 1882 -1948, six waves of aliyot (Jewish immigration) flooded my shores, my children joining those who never left.  Each returning Jew was fleeing persecution, refused entry into other lands, or alight with socialist ideals.

The chalutzim (pioneers) were determined to create the egalitarian society they believed the world deserved. They were to awaken my dreams and became my active partners.

My body, so accustomed to bloodshed was now being nourished, my soil watered, and new possibilities were tilled. As I began to bear fruit, my soul was refreshed. The birth of the first Kibbutz, Degania Aleph in the Galilee, right next to the Kinneret, brought new energy and renewed hope.

Meanwhile, Jews and Arabs of Ottoman Palestine lived side by side, both attracting newcomers, leaving both native and migrants to coexist, with a kaleidoscope of cultures, religions, histories, narratives and politics, regularly infusing the food, architecture, music, languages, dances, poetry, philosophy, agricultural and industrial innovations and relationships. Kibbutzim grew, and so did Tel Aviv. Arab homes were both expanded and changed owners.

Then, with the fall of the Ottoman Empire, the French and the British divided me up in sections and swindled deals with the Arabs and the Jews, providing both peoples high hopes and unfulfilled promises. Tension mounted – each dealing with their feelings of betrayal and growing desire for self-determination. My children and soil trampled with passion and anger.

By 1920, the League of Nations granted Britain a Mandate, retaining and Anglicising my name to Palestine, and setting it up as a distinct political entity for its first time in history. In 1921, the British separated Transjordan from Palestine, promising the Jews a national homeland in Palestine and giving assurances for support and recognition for Arab independence.

I felt an angry undercurrent from Arab nationalists and waves of riots began to spread. In an attempt to calm these tensions, on the eve of the Nazi invasion of Poland in 1939, the British severely restricted Jewish immigration.

Yet, illegal Jewish immigration persisted not just to escape antisemitism, but to save Jewish lives. I wept for the destruction of my children in Poland and kept my arms open wide for their safety.

In 1947, the United Nations approved the Partition Plan for Palestine, dividing me into Jewish and Arab states according to the majority populations in each region, with Jerusalem under international control. Would this bring me peace?

That afternoon, five Arab armies launched a full attack intended to take all of me. But the Jewish forces miraculously prevailed. 1% of my Jewish children were now buried in my bowels. Many Arabs remained. Some left by choice. Some were forced out. Like my own landscape, all were scarred. Could my children now live in peace?

On 14th of May 1948, the Declaration of Independence was signed, and I was given my ancient name, in Hebrew – my birth language. And Medinat Yisrael, the State of Israel was officially reborn.

My people now had their third opportunity to rule over themselves, and others, in their own land.

I was so proud to provide the landscape for the signing of this incredible document. Finally, after 2000 years, not only have my children returned home, but they chose to live on me in harmony with all of its residents and aside all its neighbours. There was no plan to exploit, pillage, torture, convert, slay, or expel any of the people living on the land. They committed to provide a safe haven and home for Jews who wished to return for any reason.  As written in the Declaration of Independence:

THE STATE OF ISRAEL … will be based on freedom, justice and peace as envisaged by the prophets of Israel; it will ensure complete equality of social and political rights to all its inhabitants irrespective of religion, race or sex; it will guarantee freedom of religion, conscience, language, education and culture; it will safeguard the Holy Places of all religions…

The Declaration continued to appeal to the Arab inhabitants of the land, to remain and preserve peace, working together in the upbuilding of the State. And to their neighbouring Arab countries, the Declaration offered peace and cooperation, working together for the advancement of the entire Middle East. To the United Nations, it asked for acceptance into the community of Nations. And to the Jews in the Diaspora, it asked that they support the Jews in Eretz Yisrael … “to stand by them in the great struggle for the realization of the age-old dream – the redemption of Israel…”

After the establishment of the State, the Jews called themselves Israelis. The Arabs who remained in the new State as citizens called themselves Israeli-Arabs. And the Arabs who did not accept Israeli citizenship called themselves Palestinians.

Following the Arab-Israeli War of Independence, more than 850,000 Jews from Arab lands were flooding my shores, as they had been expelled from the lands on which their families had lived for centuries.[8] But they were coming home.

In the past 77 years, since the establishment of the State, Israel has fought 12 wars, 2 Intifadas (Palestinian Uprisings),[9] been victim to terrorism through air hijacking, knife attacks, suicide bombers, rockets, missiles, and drones. Israel has continued to fight its enemies on 7 fronts: Gaza, West Bank, Lebanon, Syria, Yemen, Iran, along with modern day blood libels spread on social media. This is all we hear now. This is what is shaping the understanding of the next generation of Jews. Israel has also established peace with Egypt, Jordan, Bahrain, United Arab Emirates, Morrocco and Sudan, with the promise of more to come.

There is much more to the Jewish people’s connection to Eretz Yisrael, for our bond transcends politics and time.

Our Zionism is grounded in a desire to reunite body and soul – land and people. Our story also does not require someone else’s story to be diminished.

Our story has “Not just two sides, but many stories and cultures interlinked… holding multiple identities and narratives in this holy land,”[10] as stated by British historian, Simon Sebag Montefiore in his book, Jerusalem, The Biography. He asserted that:

“[Israel] defies sense, practical politics and strategy, existing in the realm of ravenous passions and invincible emotions, impermeable to reason… So much destruction, conquering, and repurposing [the land] – layer upon layer –  borrowing or stealing from the past to claim ownership over it…The struggle for dominance and truth merely intensifies the cities holiness for others…

As expressed by the Israeli poet, Yehuda Amichai:

… She is not simply a place but a living presence, breathing steadily as she prepares for the next chapter in the timeless race of history.[11]

And so, like Sarah at the beginning of our story and the story we are about to read in the Torah this morning, we’ve waited a long time to fulfill our dream. We have suffered, been humiliated, disappointed, and defeated. We have also been devoted and hopeful. We have cried and we have rejoiced together.

Today, this Rosh Hashanah, this Day of Remembrance, let us remember our story, understand and reaffirm our connection to EretzYisrael. Let us not sacrifice our land, our identity, our dignity, our integrity, our sense of self and belonging. Let us not shy away from our commitment to our Zionism, nor walk away from the conversation because it is too hard.

For Israel’s story is our story.  What happens in Israel is always reflected within us, her children, her people. The way people see Israel reflects the way people see us whether we like it or not. Whether we define ourselves as religious or Zionistic, Israel is a reflection of who we are and how we are seen.

So, best to know who we are and fight to ensure we are seen on OUR terms. We must accept Israel’s fallibilities, as we do our own, for no person, people, government or land is without blemish , or never deserving of criticism.

And yet, these Days of Awe call us to return to our source, to change what is wrong and strive to maintain all that is good in our land, our People, and our lives. Never forget who we are and where we came from. Never forget our responsibility in shaping our future. We are Israel – Am Yisrael Chai!

[1] Montefiore, Simon Sebag. Jerusalem: the biography. Knopf, 2011.
[2] II Samuel 5:7
[3] Lamentations 1:1-3
[4] Herzl, Theodore. (1896) “The Jewish Question.” The Jewish State.
[5] Hertzl, T. (1898) The Return to the Homeland will Commence Soon.
[6] Ginsberg, A. (1891) An Open Letter to My Brethren in the Spirit. 
[7] Rav Kuk from ‘The Land of Israel’

[8] https://www.worldjewishcongress.org/en/news/the-expulsion-of-jews-from-arab-countries-and-iran–an-untold-history
[9] https://www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/israel-s-wars-and-operations#google_vignette
[10] Montefiore, Simon Sebag. Jerusalem: the biography. Knopf, 2011, p. xxix.
[11] Amichai, Yehuda . (1988). Poems of Jerusalem and Love Poems, “From Jerusalem 1967”, pp. 49-63