I’m composing this late Thursday afternoon. And because my mother’s DNA surges in my marrow, I’d already be at the airport for our 8:30pm flight to Israel. I’d be poking around the duty-free shop looking for bargains — which, if you know anything about such places, is the one thing you won’t find. Unless you smoke.
As our tour group—the Hell or High Water team—arrived, we’d hug, greet, and decide where to eat in the E Terminal at Logan.
But now, everyone knows the conflict in the Middle East has ruined our plans. The Hell or High Water team was hit hard. And I feel it.
I love going to Israel. I love being inside that extraordinary old/new land, the one that makes me feel like I’m home. My Hebrew starts flowing. My awareness of Jewish wisdom and Jewish shortsightedness sharpens. I can’t get enough. I want to look at all the shades of Israelis — Ethiopians, Swedes, Yemenites, Russians, Anglos — all speaking Hebrew, all loving and hating and pushing and embracing each other. I’m really going to miss that.
More than that, though, what makes me saddest is that I don’t get to share Israel with our group. I don’t get to introduce the first-timers to that kaleidoscopic tumult the moment you walk into Ben Gurion. I don’t get the thrill of watching this land reveal itself through their eyes. I won’t get to walk through the Old City with them, won’t get to witness their awe at the Wall, the Dead Sea, the maktesh, Tel Aviv, Yad Vashem, or…
We plan to reschedule, but right now, I’m simply feeling the loss. The HHW team is just delayed—not deterred.
In the meantime, my key concerns revolve around understanding what this conflict will ultimately bring: Will it end in peace and reconstruction, or further destabilize the region? Will Iran move away from extremism, or intensify it? Is this Israel’s opportunity to address the Iranian nuclear threat, or could it result in even graver consequences? Wars are unpredictable, shaped by accidents, personalities, and changing fortunes. The outcomes are not set; I am left questioning, uncertain, and searching for clarity.
The deepest question I have right now concerns Americans’ appetite for this current conflict. The majority of Americans do not approve. More critically, how many of them believe that Bibi pushed Trump into it? Because if this entanglement grows costly in treasury and in American lives, the possibility of antisemitism rising on the dark wings of the historical imperative to “blame it on the Jews” becomes a specter to fear.
Sitting in my chair, far from Jerusalem, I’m staring through lenses clouded by the fog of war and the haze of the unknown. As the tech asks me at my eye doctor’s office, “Is this one better? Or is this one?” And I say to him – and to you – I can’t tell… I honestly can’t tell.
Before Shabbat 