Is this too much to ask?

I returned to the peaceful community of Barrington on Monday, March 11, 2002, after a roller-coaster ride in Jerusalem – an experience of frightening plunges and magical highs. I was part of a delegation of about 260 Reform colleagues from North America, 40 from Israel and Europe, as well as perhaps 50 spouses who attended the 113th annual convention of the Central Conference of American Rabbis.

When I came back to my room in the Inbal Hotel on Wednesday afternoon, March 6, the light on the phone indicated that a voice message was waiting for me; it turned out to be from one of my fellow rabbis: “Hello, Jim, this is Jeff Bearman. Susie and I would love to have you join us for dinner following the Kabbalat Shabbat service at Kol HaNeshamah (at the time one of Jerusalem’s two liberal synagogues). However, you need to know that we live on the last street in Jerusalem; what this means is that there will probably be shooting. We don’t want you to be alarmed. Please let us know what you decide.”

By pure coincidence I had just been on the Bearmans’ street, Rechov HaShayish (Marble Street), about a half an hour earlier. I had seen that the rear face of the apartment building was pockmarked with bullet holes from repeated nighttime shooting from the direction of Beit Jalla, an Arab village across the valley and right next to that little town of Bethlehem. An army officer explained to our group that the Israeli government had recently provided bulletproof glass to protect Marble Street’s residents.

I immediately returned the call to the Bearmans: “Hi Susie, this is Jim Rosenberg. Of course, I’d be happy to join you for dinner on Friday evening. As far as the shooting is concerned, eyn b’ayah; it’s not a problem.” To which Susie responded most firmly: “Yesh b’ayah! There IS a problem! That’s why we are warning you.”

As it turned out, no shots were fired at the Bearmans’ townhouse apartment on that Friday evening. The reason for the relative quiet on that particular Shabbat was that an army reconnaissance drone was buzzing in circles in the starlit sky above. One of the other dinner guests happened to be a retired air force chaplain, and he explained to us that this unmanned plane was carrying electronic equipment that allowed the Israeli army personnel stationed nearby to direct lethally accurate fire against anyone foolhardy enough to start shooting at us from Beit Jalla, the Arab village.

Nevertheless, our dinner conversation was disturbed by occasional explosions which appeared to be coming from Bethlehem – “How still we see thee lie / Beneath thy deep and dreamless sleep!” In addition, it was more than a little unnerving to observe the recently patched bullet hole in the Bearmans’ living room wall. The bullet came hissing through the window one fine evening before the Israeli government had gotten around to installing the bulletproof glass. Jeffrey was sitting on his sofa reading the newspaper at the time. “All we want is some peace and quiet. Is this too much to ask?” he commented in little more than a whisper.

At our welcoming convention dinner on Tuesday evening, March 5 – now 22 years ago—Prof. David Hartman suggested that all of us were living in a time of moral ambiguity – an ambiguity reinforced by the mistrust, bitterness, and daily acts of provocation on both sides of the Arab-Israeli conflict. Ironically, the very next morning, the same day that I received that bizarre dinner invitation from the Bearmans, I witnessed the consequences of the disfigured sense of justice which some Israelis possess.

I traveled beyond the Green Line with a busload of colleagues to visit a Palestinian family whose home had been demolished by Israeli bulldozers the day before. The family was living in Issawiya, an Arab village that was incorporated into the northern reaches of the municipality of Jerusalem.

On Sunday evening it appeared that the extended family of 22 individuals met all the requirements for obtaining an official Jerusalem building permit. When the bulldozers arrived on Tuesday morning, they were told otherwise. The family asked for a few hours to disassemble their primitive new dwelling, so that they might save their meager furnishings.

The Israeli army gave them just a few minutes. The Palestinian family raised the same question I heard Jeffrey Bearman pose after the Erev Shabbat dinner: All we want is some peace and quiet. Is this too much to ask?

More than 2 millennia ago, the ancient author of the Biblical book Kohelet commented: “Ein kol chadash tachat ha-shamash. There is nothing new under the sun.” (1.9)

And so the quest for peace in the Middle East continues. Is this too much to ask?

JAMES B. ROSENBERG is a rabbi emeritus at Temple Habonim in Barrington. Contact him at rabbiemeritus@templehabonim.org.