High Holy Days Amid the Ruins
by Marc H. Ellis

Less than a week after the attack on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon, Jews around the world entered into the most difficult and somber holy days of the Jewish calendar. The time between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur is known as the Days of Awe and Repentance. In the shadow of destruction and death, the timing could not be more appropriate.

Like clergy of all faiths, rabbis prepare their sermons in advance. Before these tragic events, most were preparing to speak to their congregations about the need for Jews to remain unified behind the state of Israel, especially in light of the negative publicity surrounding the continued Israeli suppression of the Al-Aksa intifada and the recently-concluded U.N. conference on racism held in South Africa.

Despite their proximity in time, the Israeli-Palestinian struggle and the Durban conference are, at least for the moment, distant in thought and emotion. All is in the shadow of the destruction and death relived endlessly on television. What, then, did the rabbis emphasize in their sermons on Yom Kippur? What lessons did they draw?

Americans now understand the violence and sorrow that terrorism leaves in its wake, known intimately by Israelis. Perhaps now America and Israel are drawn even closer together, for they hold in common the values of decency and democracy.

Some highlighted a connection between these events, for Americans now understand the violence and sorrow that terrorism leaves in its wake, known intimately by Israelis. Perhaps now America and Israel are drawn even closer together, for they hold in common the values of decency and democracy. Do we not now share the common war against the forces that threaten civilization?

Rabbis reinforced the need for Jewish and American unity in the broader arc of dramatic religious rhetoric. Contrasting the forces of good and evil, dividing humanity into the civilized and uncivilized, demanding before God that the line be drawn as to who is for life and who is for death, Muslims were called to join in this war. Rabbis emphasized that the "real" Islam is, like "authentic" Judaism, a religion of peace and justice. They called on Muslims — and Christians for that matter — to condemn terrorism as their ticket to the club of the civilized.

Yet this club is haunted by unanswered and, for the most part, unasked questions. Are the solidarity of America and Israel and the fraternity of the civilized the only lessons to be learned during these days in which images of destruction are omnipresent? Is repentance to be demanded only of the "other"? Are America and Israel innocent? Do the "real" Judaism, Islam and Christianity project civilization and righteousness and nothing else? Do "they" — violent and shadowy terrorists — only symbolize darkness and chaos?

To see the lesson of the Jewish day of atonement in a rote manner — that Jews, as victims of terrorism and disapprobation, can now support Israel and America without thought of misdeeds and culpability — is simplistic. The systematic assassination of Palestinian leaders and the invasion of Palestinian territory by Israel, using helicopter gunships built in America and funded by American taxpayers, can hardly be justified as a war for civilization.

The dichotomies of innocence and guilt, civilized and uncivilized, do not serve us well. They do not bode well for the clarion call to eliminate terrorism from the face of the earth, or raise the central question facing Jews as a people.

Terrorism that turns civilians into targets and commercial airliners into missiles deserves condemnation. But the dichotomies of innocence and guilt, civilized and uncivilized, do not serve us well. They do not bode well for the clarion call to eliminate terrorism from the face of the earth, or raise the central question facing Jews as a people. And they do not fulfill the demands of the Days of Awe and Repentance — to reflect anew, to turn away from injustice, to confess our sins as individuals, as a community and as a nation. We too are part of the cycle of violence that we condemn so easily when the burden is so dramatically placed on another people or nation.

We can condemn terrorism and still make our confession: That no matter the reasons with regard to Jewish history, what Israel has done and what Israel is doing today to Palestinians is wrong. We can question the singling out of Jews and Israel at the conference on racism and still affirm that American Jews benefit from racism towards other minority groups. We can still acknowledge that far too many Jews in America and Israel have racist attitudes toward Palestinians and Arabs in general. We can stand with America without confusing an essential American goodness with innocence.

The criticisms of Israel, Jews and America, while too broadly drawn, retain a kernel of truth. They are essential to our own "teshuvah," the turning back to the deepest sense of oneself and to God, and to "tikkun olam," the repair of a broken world. Both resonate with the demands of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.

Like our politicians and commentators who have filled the airwaves over the last weeks, only a small number of rabbis wrestled with these difficult and complex issues. In light of these tragic events, the Days of Awe and Repentance, always difficult and demanding, were made more so. Affirming one's identity as Jewish and American and thus innocent is too easy. Identifying a way forward which is self-critical and inclusive involves a confession central to the days that Jews observed so soberly.

Amid the ruins, we have little choice but to critically evaluate the direction of Jewish life. Why is it that Jews, called to confession and repentance, refuse to acknowledge that the culpability of the "other" is also our own?

Amid the ruins, we have little choice but to critically evaluate the direction of Jewish life. Why is it that Jews, called to confession and repentance, refuse to acknowledge that the culpability of the "other" is also our own? How do we celebrate the war against terrorism and turn a blind eye to the terror we inflict on other people? To the people transgressed against, the difference between hijacked commercial airplanes and Israeli helicopter gunships is academic. At that moment of impact, the lives of Americans and the lives of Palestinians are indistinguishable.

On the days after Yom Kippur, the ruins we stand among are not only those of the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. Our refusal to turn away from violence and to begin the repair of the world threaten to destroy Jewish history and tradition. These ruins are even more devastating than the ones we witness today in New York.

Marc H. Ellis is University Professor of American and Jewish Studies and Director of the Center for American and Jewish Studies at Baylor University in Waco, Texas. He can be reached by email at Marc_Ellis@baylor.edu