True story: It was Shavuot and I was praying for a revelation, like I always do. Last week, when the world started to blow up across the world (from where I am), I wasn’t yet ready to say anything. Instead I talked about sexual harassment and cleaning out our internal closets, which also need a voice.

But now I’m ready, and it turns out these two things are kind of connected; it was scary to bring up the subject of sexual harassment, especially when you’re involved in a case, and it’s more than a little scary to take a clear and public stance as a Jew against the status quo in the Jewish world. 

On principal, I believe in joining those who are forced to take a difficult stance on various issues, and it’s certainly no scarier than to become the first openly transgender bishop in the Evangelical Lutheran Church---or any religious institution, for that matter---which happened recently for Rev. Megan Rohrer. 

I know you understand. There’s so much vitriol. With Israel, it’s so old, but it also feels like more of the same, hostile divide we’ve been experiencing in the U.S. over the past 4-plus years; the talk is toxic and so are the actions. 

For one, I don’t want anyone calling me a self-hating Jew if I defend the rights of Palestinians. The Palestinian government is corrupt, but so is the Israeli Prime Minister, but Jews don’t have any trouble defending the rights of other Jews. Also, the whole world is watching, and there’s already enough anti-semitism to go around; we certainly don’t need more. 

I recently started using Instagram as a way to connect with other Jewish people. There’s one person I started following, but soon found their stuff to be really toxic.

I should have known, and I admit I suspected by the name on their account: “IsraelTrueStory.”

In my view, anyone who claims to hold “The Truth” about anything is dangerous, especially when it comes to complicated politics. While I don’t defend the actions or politics of Hamas, I also believe in humility. In fact, the posts on this Instagram account were full of arrogance, ridicule and condescension. Toxic. So I quickly “unfollowed.”

The thing is, we have a problem in our Holy Book, which repeats again and again that God promised us this land and that we could drive anyone out, and God would back us up. 

Such a message may feel comforting to a people who have never had a home where they could feel completely safe, from the beginnings of Christianity, through the Middle Ages and the Holocaust.

But such a message of promise and inheritance is also a toxic message. 

Of course, we don’t need the Bible to remind us that people have been taking each other’s land and homes since time immemorial. As we all know, the U.S. government did it to Native Americans in very recent history. I heard Joy Harjo, the first Native American to hold the title Poet Laureate, talking about this on Sunday.

Harjo not only talked about stolen land but also about the self-hatred that she internalized growing up with the “True Story” about Native Americans as told in the U.S. school system. 

I would venture to say that all people who come from a minority or oppressed group have at least some self-hatred, and this needs to be examined; it’s toxic to hold on to such feelings and it skews our worldviews. In an effort to be “proud,” arrogance and condescension may take over.

The Torah is pretty toxic this week, too. Maybe it always is. There’s the story of the woman, any woman, accused of cheating on her husband, who must submit to an awful, demeaning test with a Temple priest who uses a kind of crazy magic to find out if she is guilty or not. There is a terrible punishment for her if she is guilty. 

On the other hand, if the husband wrongly accused her due to a fit of jealousy, he goes unpunished. It’s like the Torah is saying he’s entitled to his arrogance—at the woman’s expense—and it’s okay to demean her.

It would be hard to deny that the disdain shown towards women in the Bible, throughout history and into the present, has led to great insecurity and a self-doubt many women hold when it comes to trusting our instincts in social situations that involve or may lead to sexual abuse or harassment. And as a woman, I have to say that I often don’t trust my instincts and often feel unsafe. 

True story: Everyone deserves to feel safe. 

The first time I visited Israel, only two years ago (and I’m in my late 50’s), I understood for the first time in my life what it meant to feel completely safe somewhere as a Jewish person, where I didn’t have to weigh whether I should reveal my Jewish identity or not. I suddenly “got this whole Israel thing.” 

(As I write these thoughts, I am also aware that Black Americans have never had the privilege of  feeling completely safe and accepted anywhere, and they don’t have the choice, like I do, to hide their identity, though there have been plenty of times when people told me I “look Jewish,” even though that doesn’t really work overall, and that’s a subject for another time.) 

I think I can safely say that Muslims and Arabs feel unsafe in Israel and in the Occupied Territories most of the time, not counting current events. Whoever started it or is continuing it, the numbers of civilian deaths on each side make it clear who has the power here.

My point is, everyone should have a home and feel safe in that home (or “house” of worship), and anyone who takes that away is violating a basic human right of another person (which is a separate issue from sending rockets or bombing).

And anyone who has ever understood what it feels like to be singled out, shunned, looked-at askew, feared or disdained for just being, should not be arrogant or condescending towards others, and these attitudes should never enter the political realm. 

But it seems to be human nature to cover up our own hurt, fear and insecurity by displaying arrogance and self-righteousness. The truth is important, don’t get me wrong, but truth is multi-layered; there is layer upon layer of hurt, fear, trauma, and insecurity that informs our way of seeing and acting in the world.

And, True Story; we need to find our way from “This Land is My Land” to “This Land is Our Land.” I’m not sure how to get there, but I think what is revealed again and again is the need to be as humble as possible, to examine the parts of ourselves that come from insecurity and pain, and to strive to let go of the arrogance of “knowing The Truth.”

In the meantime, as it says in this week’s parsha, May God bless you and protect you; May God deal kindly and graciously with you; May God lift God’s face towards you and grant you peace.”

Whoever you are.

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