Following this summer’s war in Israel, I spent a great deal of time arguing with myself about whether I should speak about Israel during the Yamim Nora’im. First, I decided I needed to address the conflict because it has been so prominent in people’s minds. But I began to hear from different members of the congregation, speaking out of pain and fear and anger. Some said they could not belong to a congregation that did not support Israel more than we were, while others said they could not belong to a congregation that supported Israel as much as we were. I worried that the issue was simply too divisive. After all, what is more important to our congregation—the stands we take, or the relationships we nurture? Choosing the latter, I decided not to speak about Israel, because I preferred to address the issues in the give-and-take of conversations, not sermons. And I have planned to begin those conversations later in the year, and already begun to speak to individuals, one on one, so that I could listen to your stories, your anguish, your prayers, and you could listen to mine.

All of this is my way of telling you that I will not speak about the conflict between Israel and Hezbollah or Israel and Hamas. I am not able to convince some of you that the Israeli leadership’s approach to the war was right. And I am not able convince others of you that the Israeli leadership made mistakes. And this tears me up inside.

I am torn up inside because I love Israel, as I know you do. I grieve over the destruction of homes and schools and places of business in Haifa and Carmiel. I worry for the 1300 high school students who returned to school in Kiryat Shemona, where over half of the 48 classrooms have still not been rebuilt, and where most of the students jump when a door slams. And I pray for the kidnapped soldiers who have still not been returned to their families.

I also grieve over the massive destruction in Lebanon, the hundreds of lives, the rubble that was once a region full of towns and villages. I worry for the oil spills from a bombed refinery in Beirut and the environmental damage it continues to wreak along the coast. And I pray for all the people who were victims of a war that they did not want. So I do not want to talk about conflict.

I do want to share a story with you that gives me some hope. You may not be aware that during the war, both Arabs and Jews in Israel suffered from the rocket attacks. In some cases, the Arabs suffered more because there were no bomb shelters in their villages. But in other cases, this led to more of a sense of unity among Israel’s diverse population. At a summer camp in the town of Abu Ghosh, a group of Israeli Arabs reached out to the kids at a make-shift summer camp that had been set up with funds that came from us, from American Jews, for Jewish, Arab and Druze teenagers evacuated from the north. For many, it was the first time Jews and Arabs had spent time together. After hiking and playing and working together, one of the boys shared the most hopeful thought that we might take from this summer. One participant from Abu Ghosh, Nabil said, "It's not important if we are Jews or Arabs. We are all human beings and killing is a waste no matter who you are.”

So with that image of Arab and Druze and Jewish teens as my guide, I’m not going to talk about the conflict. But I do want to talk to you about why Israel is important to us as a congregation, so important that we are planning the first congregational trip to Israel in over thirty years.

Israel holds a special place in the hearts of many members of our congregation. We have family there—sisters, brothers, parents, children. We have friends there, who live there or are visiting for the year. Our rabbinic intern from last year, Michael Dinh-Cohen, arrived in Haifa in July and began his ulpan at the University of Haifa a day before the rockets began to fall. The ulpan was cancelled, the university was shut down, and he and his fellow-students were sent to the Hebrew University in Jerusalem to continue their studies undisturbed.

Even if we don’t have blood relatives there, we love Israel the way we love members of our family, which is to say, even when we don’t get along. We argue, we may become estranged, but we feel that pull to reconcile.

And because Israel is our family, and because many of us have never been there, and because Israelis need to hear from us, we are taking a congregational trip to Israel in February.

Our Torah and haftarah readings today remind us how long and strong our roots are in the land of Israel. We read of Abraham traveling to Beersheba and to Mount Moriah, which is Jerusalem. When we visit the land, we can see the same places, the same trees named in the Torah, the same mountains and valleys. When we hear the ancient call of the shofar, we are reminded of that place on the mountain where the ram was caught in a thicket who saved Isaac’s life.

In the haftarah, Jeremiah preaches to a people who long to return home after surviving the sword, only to be exiled to a foreign land. He writes in 586 BCE—over 2500 years ago—and we still feel that longing, many of us. And for those who have been to Israel, the vision of our people coming from the ends of the earth is truly a vision of Jews that we cannot imagine here in the West, even in our multi-racial congregation. To meet Jews in Israel is to see the faces of Ethiopians and Russians, Yemenites and Germans, Indians and Moroccans and South Africans and Iraqis. All Jews, speaking every language of the globe, but sharing a common heritage, a common Hebrew language, a common bond.

But both of these biblical stories also demonstrate that our attachment is fraught with pain and difficulty. The story of Isaac, bound on the altar on the top of Mount Moriah, plants the first painful seeds of our connection to the land and the complexity of that connection. Our attachment came at the expense of Isaac’s older brother, Ishmael, about whom we read yesterday. In an interesting twist, the Quran records the identical story of the Akedah, only in that version, Ishmael dreams that Abraham has bound him. Isaac and Ishmael continue to vie for the same piece of earth.

And Jeremiah’s story reminds us that this little sliver of mountains, seashore and farmland has been the battleground for one empire after another, marching through on its way to the east or to the west. Despite the name Yerushalayim, which can be understood to mean “city of peace”, this is a country that has only known peace in the lull between conquests. This is the legacy of our sweet, ancient, troubled homeland.

To go to Israel is to try to understand the complexity of life there. As we created the itinerary for our ten-day visit, we were determined to make it a unique experience, unlike any other tour you might take. Not only would we take in the usual must-see tourist sites, including the Dead Sea and Masada, and four days in Jerusalem. Not only would we criss-cross the country from Eilat in the south to Tsfat and Haifa in the north. Not only would we include activities for families with children as well as adults. What makes our trip different is the people we will meet, the off-the-beaten track experiences we have planned, and the opportunity to see Israel through a Reconstructionist lens.

Here are some highlights:

Who has heard of the Arava Institute for Environmental Studies?
Located in the southern Arava Desert at Kibbutz Ketura, the Arava Institute brings together Jordanians, Palestinians and Israelis who live and study together as they solve the region’s environmental challenges. At the Arava Institute, “the idea that nature knows no political borders is more than a belief. It is a fact, a curriculum, and a way of life.” We will spend our first Shabbat at Kibbutz Ketura and participate with our families in a desert ecology project at the Arava Institute.

Are you aware that Boston has a sister-city relationship with Haifa, a bustling port city more like Boston than Jerusalem? We plan to spend a night and visit Neve Yosef, a neighborhood of Ethiopian Jews, see first-hand the success of the community center in this low-income area, and enjoy home hospitality with our Haifa partners. We will get a chance to speak directly with those whose homes, schools and businesses were attacked this past summer, and to learn what makes the multi-cultural city of Haifa so special.

Everywhere we go, we will be learning about the ancient and modern history of Israel, as we visit the Tomb of Maimonides, the mystical city of Tsfat, and tour the brand-new Holocaust Museum at Yad VaShem. We will also connect with Israelis who are doing the kind of hopeful work that we wish were happening, but don’t always see in the paper. We will meet with analysts who can speak about both the Israeli and the Palestinian narratives. We will study with teachers who work for recognition of liberal Judaism in Israeli life and culture. And most important, we will be there with our community, learning more about one another, about our own stories of learning about and caring about Israel, and we will bring home a group that will be stronger, more connected and more educated than when we leave.

About a dozen people have already shared our enthusiasm for this trip and we hope to bring more. If finances are an issue, we will make some scholarships available, and I invite anyone who is not going to help make it possible for others to go. Please talk to me, or talk to Claudia Harris or Susan Kalish, our dedicated organizers. Even if you aren’t sure, come and ask questions. This is an opportunity for our congregation to learn together, whether you join us in Israel or not.

We are taking a congregational trip to Israel with a message of hope. For those who cannot go, we represent the hope that our congregation may be a model for an engagement with Israel that takes a wider view, for support for Israel that embraces the dissonance between Israel’s reality and what we want Israel to be. For those who are fortunate to go with us, we represent the hope that through our direct contact we might support those in Israel who live with the same anguish that we do, and assist those who are working for the values, like coexistence and cooperation for all of Israel’s citizens and peace with her neighbors who seek peace. To send a congregational trip to Israel proclaims that we, as a congregation, care about the Jewish people everywhere, even when it’s hard, even when it hurts, even when we disagree. We live by the rabbinic saying, Kol yisrael areveim ze laze—all Jews are responsible for one another.

We find hope in words of the prophet Jeremiah:
Thus said the Lord: Restrain your voice from weeping, your eyes from shedding tears; for there is a reward for your labor—declares the Lord: they shall return from the enemy’s land. And there is hope for your future—declares the Lord: your children shall return to their country.

I lift up a fervent prayer today for our children to return, and that this trip becomes a reality, and I hope that you will find a way to come with us on this life-affirming journey. And most of all, I pray that we may yet be present for the prophet’s vision of peace in the land to become a reality, bimheira v’yameinu—soon and in our own lifetime.