I didn’t realize how deeply this whole Israel/Gaza mess would make its way into my bones.

I didn’t know how isolated and alone I would feel.

I’m afraid to feel.

Afraid to express myself.

Instead, I’ve been stuffing my face since October 7th.

As if that will make me feel any better. (Tried-and-Not-True).

I think I’ve actually been depressed.

Has my silence been deafening?

But who needs another pundit?

What if, this time, I don’t want to take sides?

Everyone says I’m supposed to.

But what if taking sides is what gets us into trouble?

A part of me really wanted to go down to Washington for the Israel March.

But for what purpose?

Other than to be among my fellow Jews?

But are they? My fellows, I mean?

I thought maybe I should come as a more liberal voice.

But who would listen? Who would notice?

And who were they speaking to?

My deepest fears were realized when that evangelical pastor, John Hagee, known for making anti-semitic statements, spoke.

I knew right away, even though I’d never seen or heard of him. (Maybe my “evange-radar” is high.)

You don’t have to go any farther than Wikipedia to read about him, though it was in the news, but you can also learn more here.

Maybe this proves that Jews can’t actually spot “the enemy,” even when we try.

In the Torah during these weeks, we are in the thick of the saga of Isaac, Rebecca, Esau, Jacob, Rachel, and Leah.

Our matriarchs and patriarchs.

The lying, the cheating, the hiding, the stealing.

It might as well be a microcosm of what’s happening in the Jewish community, in Israel and Gaza…

Who can we trust?

Doesn’t history prove we can’t. Anyone. Ever.

Like Jacob and Esau.

Who is more at fault for the “stealing” of the birthright?

Is it even stolen?

Or is it given away?

And what drives their actions?

Fear?

Greed?

Hunger?

What about Jacob and his father’s innermost blessing?

Is it Rebecca or Jacob’s fault that this too, is stolen, though meant for someone else?

Or is it Isaac’s fault, for willful blindness and deafness?

Who is guilty: the one who makes the plan and carries it out?

Or the one who goes along with it?

Our sages say that Rebecca knew something Isaac did not.

Because God said Jacob should become our patriarch.

He was the righteous one.

But was he?

He didn’t start out on sure footing; he went along with his mother in her guile—and only cared about getting in trouble with God.

Where was his concern for the lives of others? For right and wrong?

And what about the years of suffering for Rachel, Leah, and Jacob?

Jacob’s father-in-law, Laban, lies and switches his daughters on the wedding night.

Does Jacob bear no responsibility?

And who suffers more: the barren one, Rachel, who is loved, or the fruitful one, Leah, who is unloved?

Is their suffering a competition, like Jews and Palestinians?

When Jacob finally takes his family, after decades of working tirelessly for his father-in-law, and runs away, Laban gets wind of it and pursues him.

“How could you do this to me??” he cries. “How could you take my family away?”

Where and how will it all end?

What all these stories teach us is that by looking only through one lens, nothing is solved.

If we only see our side of the story, then there is no other story to hear.

And the ending is not a happy one.

And maybe it’s too late for a happy ending.

Maybe we just give up on the “other side”—because they’re evil.

But that seems like the easy way out.

Calling the others “evil” is a copout.

If all we see, when trying to discuss differences in opinion—among Jews, or between Jews and others—is that another is attacking us, then maybe there is no hope.

Maybe we should all give up.

Don’t we all have that parent, or uncle, or cousin we have given up on?

But that feels like a trap.

The same trap of despair we fall into on the subject of Climate Disaster. (If you’re there, then listen to this!)

When our children and grandchildren later ask, “What did you do to stop it?” what will we say?

Will it be a proud moment?

What if all we can honestly say is, “I sided with those who denied we were killing indiscriminately”?

But everyone hates the Jews!

Is that a good enough reason?

Even more so, is it righteous?

If there is an end, if, like I heard the Israeli peace advocate Gershon Baskin say, can it end like it did for the Irish?

Can we have our “Belfast moment” where we say, “Enough! We’ve been killing each other for a hundred years. Let’s just stop.”

Weeks ago, just as the hostages had been taken by Hamas in Israel, we read of Abraham’s nephew Lot being taken hostage.

Abraham secured Lot’s freedom, but then he was worried, the Torah says.

Why?

Our ancient sages had an explanation; Abraham worried that even one person might have been harmed in the freeing of his nephew.

How much more so for us, knowing that many thousands of innocent people have indeed been harmed in the name of freeing not even a handful of hostages?

From the depths of the darkness in which we find ourselves, may we learn to look through multiple lenses.

May we learn to receive differing opinions as just that, rather than as attacks.

May we practice feeling comfortable with the discomfort of differing opinions.

Rather than stuffing down the pain, may we learn to express ourselves gently.

May all that we are stuffing down inside, trying not to feel, come out in a way that can bring healing.

May we lay down our sword and shield.

May the light of Hannukah bring all this to pass.