Years ago, Rabbi Donniel Hartman framed four quadrants in the Israel/Palestine conflict in his article Liberal Zionism and the Troubled Committed. On one axis was our commitment to Israel and its survival — a concept that we often shorthand as Zionism, but that single word seems both over and under inclusive. On the other axis was whether we were troubled. Hartman states that to be troubled is “to view one’s life, and one’s society, through an aspirational lens, always striving to be more.” To my reading, his term troubled denotes an acknowledgment of both moral complexity and moral deficiency.

I was reminded of the concept of the “troubled committed” in reading Mark Jacobs’ essay, Clashing Views Over Israel Are Causing Major Rifts in Many Jewish Families. Mark speaks heartbreakingly of the strife experienced in families where generations see Israel and its role in the world differently. He grapples with what the solution is for families that are no longer in the same place on Zionism and how these families can save themselves from being yet another “casualty of this cruel war.”

Reading Mark's piece about these familial conflicts, I tried to remember back to the last moment when I was not internally conflicted about Israel. In Hartman’s parlance, when was I last “untroubled.” The truth is, I lived through the first two decades of my life as an Untroubled Committed — uniformly in love with Israel and Zionism. While I hoped and prayed for peace, I spent neither emotion nor energy thinking about the “enduring gap between ideals and reality” that Hartman describes.

But the more I learned, the more I read, the more I studied, the more people I met outside my Jewish communal bubble, I left the camp of the Untroubled Committed and moved to the Troubled Committed. While I remained “invested in the outcome” of the Israel project, these gaps became more and more consuming. There are moments when I flash back to a discussion we had in youth group where we discussed whether we were Jewish Americans or American Jews — a discussion that was supposed to go beyond grammar to explore which of our identities were dominant. 

Now this makes me wonder — at this point I am more Troubled Committed or Committed Troubled. Is my Zionism more central to my identity or have my views of the current failures of Israel to “treat all people as created in the image of God” superceded my desire for Israel’s survival?

While I cannot claim to have experienced rifts in either my family of birth or my family by marriage, Mark’s piece brought to mind the seismic rifts in our greater Jewish family. Jacobs raises the concept of shalom bayit - peace in the home. But as he tacitly acknowledges, shalom bayit requires more than just the suppression of conflict. When one party or both suppress their views, this is just the absence of conflict. The absence of conflict is not peace. 

Prior to October 7, I unconsciously divided the world along Hartman’s axis of commitment. Within Jewish spaces, I shared space with the Troubled Committed and the Untroubled Committed. The focus was frequently on our foundational commitment to Israel — not what might be troubling us when thinking about Israel. 

But sometime over this last two years of war, the axis has slowly shifted. Instead of unconsciously dividing the world on the lines of commitment, I am more often consciously dividing the world on whether or not they are troubled. The Untroubled Committed and the Untroubled Uncommitted have begun to feel like two sides of a coin to me — sandblasting away the nuance, complexity, and heartbreak of two peoples seeking the security and self determination. While I am not one for litmus tests, I have realized I am more comfortable sharing space with those that are not committed to Zionism than with those that do not acknowledge troubles with Israel’s reality.

Mark regrettably relates the story of a child that will no longer set foot in synagogues he deems Zionist. As we approach the high holidays, I will admit to have some trepidation of hearing a sermon that deviates enough from my place as a Troubled Committed that it momentarily removes me from my connection to God.

In one congregation, a rabbi sent out an e-mail to his congregants asking two questions: 

“What do you need to hear this year from your rabbis? What do you think others need to hear from their rabbis?” 

It would be easy to say that I would like my teachers to parrot back my exact thoughts and emotions to me in their high holiday sermons. But what I really want is to know if they are troubled, why are they troubled? And if they are untroubled, why are they untroubled?

I am not interested in a tidy, sandblasted reality. I want the nuance, the concerns, the pauses, the fears. I want to know that they see the world as beautiful, ugly, and complex all at once — because, if anything, the last two years should have shattered the rose colored glasses through which we viewed our homeland and the world.

Preparing to enter this new year, I do yearn for shalom bayit. But not a shalom bayit where the anger and rage and division simmer under the surface. The shalom bayit from where we can have honest conversations and we can honestly express to each other what is in our hearts. Not a shalom bayit of agreement, but a shalom bayit of acceptance. 

Even as I write these words, they seem too much to hope for. So instead, I will have to piece together shards of those rose colored glasses and pray for peace.

Peace for Jerusalem.

Peace for Israelis.

Peace for Palestinians.

I will remember that even though peace doesn’t seem possible, I can still pray for the strength to be committed to a better future.   

L’shana tovah chaverim. L’shana tovah kehillah kedoshah.

Happy new year friends. Happy new year to this holy community.