Friday Dispatch: "Troubled Committed"
A new essay, plus some thoughts about process
Friday greetings,
If you’re a new reader, welcome! I’m so glad you’re here. And if you’ve been around these Dispatches for a hot minute, you already know that I frequently toggle between topics.
Some weeks, you’ll find explorations of the writing life and creative process; others circle around Jewish or LGBTQIA+ themes. Some posts contain new poems, personal essays, and lists of 11 things; others share announcements and details about writing groups, coaching, and other opportunities to work with me.
And friends, there are Friday mornings when I’m plumb out of words. That’s when you’re likely to encounter some pretty photos from my walks in the woods near my house.
Mostly, I try to be honest. After all, I’m not here to perform for you. I’m here to connect with you.
If there is one through-line in my work and life, it’s that I’ve never fit into any particular box. I used to struggle against this, berating myself for containing multitudes. But the truth is, boxing ourselves in has never worked. Boxes leave us contorted, sore, isolated, and probably cranky.
What I want for all of us is to stretch and take up more room with more of our whole selves.
I’m considering changing the name of my Substack to reflect this. I began calling my newsletter “Dispatches from Daily Life” at the onset of the pandemic, and I wonder if it has run its course. That said, no name epiphanies have struck, so I’m not rushing it.
This alone is a mini-teaching: most things entail a process. The only kind of box that interests in is the kind of you can play in, like a little kid. Oh, or a toolbox… In any case, stay tuned (and feel free to share suggestions).
So take your time poking around at new ideas, directions, and possibilities. Give it time. Bring your questions to the page, to the paintbrush, to the sanctuary, to a friend or fellow traveler.
Most importantly: Find ways to spend time with whatever is calling you to come closer.
*️⃣ This week, I’m sharing a new essay, “Troubled Committed,” from inside my ongoing process as an American Jew since October 7. I hope you find it useful and always welcome hearing from you.
*️⃣ One housekeeping thing: I’ve changed a few things here. All of the writing here remains free. Going forward, paid subscribers have access to a weekly open Zoom hour on Wednesdays at noon EST. This is a time to chat about any or all of the above! When you upgrade to a paid subscription, you get an 11% discount code to use for three months of coaching.
Thank you for being on the other side of the words.
Shabbat Shalom and love,
💛
Jena
I would love to support you.
➡️ If you’re a writer struggling to write, or not a writer but undergoing your own changes, having a coach at your side can be game-changing. We can meet weekly, biweekly, or monthly – your agenda, your pace. Here are the details.
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If not now, when?
“Troubled Committed”
Inside my ongoing process as an American Jew since October 7
I drew this last weekend as an expression of the pressure, reinforced by social media, to “take a stand,” often at the expense conversations and perspectives that foster learning, connection, and perhaps even glimmers of understanding and acceptance across differences. Even in this polarized time, maybe even in response to it, this is what I continue to crave and seek.
I’ve also noticed something. When it comes to where I “stand” regarding Israel, the left/right dichotomy of American politics and social justice movements leaves me completely frozen.
From a Jewish perspective, October 7 thrust me into anguish, isolation, and, perhaps paradoxically, community, all in ways I would not necessarily have predicted. From a political perspective, October 7 also ejected me from the ease of sharing a vocabulary with so many of the people and groups with whom I have felt and forged deep solidarities.
I continue to grapple with this, as I am no less “left” than in the past. And yet. I have found that my commitment to staying in solidarity with Israeli Jews creates a chasm between me and some of the Free Palestine movement.
This feels especially true when I read comments such as, “…if one Israeli scrapes their knee, the entire military is deployed,” and “the world only cares about Israeli hostages who are treated relatively well,” or posts that equate Israel with Whiteness, when a significant population of Israel is not White or even of European descent.
I try to remember, and want to believe, that these views likely arise not from antisemitism but from the pain and trauma of seeing tens of thousands of Palestinian deaths, including so many children, and the continued destruction in Gaza – a catastrophic reality that I, too, find soul-crushing. But the truth is that they land as callous and misinformed.
Needless to say, I get tongue-tied when trying to talk about any of it in an intelligible way, and every time I attempt to write something, I experience an unreasonable, self-imposed nagging to somehow touch on every aspect of this gargantuan, multifaceted reality.
Since this is not possible, the effect is that I have been writing very little. When I do write, I question what, whether, and with whom to share. I tell myself I should just steer clear of this topic and write only about other things, less loaded and difficult things. Or I spend days and days tinkering, as I have with this piece, unsure of whether to publish at all.
*
Then I read Liberal Zionism and the Troubled Committed, a 2021 piece by Donniel Hartman, president of the Hartman Institute, and so many bells went off.
Hartman writes:
“To be a Jew is to be troubled, to view one’s life, and one’s society, through an aspirational lens, always striving to be more. I’m troubled because this project is an ongoing process that requires constant revision. I’m troubled by the enduring gap between ideals and reality.”
As the months wear on of this war, I’ve grown both more troubled and more committed. There’s a lot of friction here, and at the same time, it’s that friction, the simultaneous presence of turmoil and clarity, that seems to be compelling me forward.
It’s also no small part of why I am choosing to travel to Israel to participate in the Rabbinic Torah Seminar at the Shalom Hartman Institute in Jerusalem this summer. The program theme is Israel Tomorrow. It feels thorny, divisive, and urgent, not only for Israel but for diaspora Jews, as well.
In a word, I am worried about us, from within and from without. I am trying to locate myself in a broader history of American Jews, not to mention the question of the future.
*
Further jarring me are many co-existing truths and colliding thoughts. To name a few:
I cannot bring myself to abandon Israel, because to do so is to abandon myself and my people. Israelis are suffering and deserving of empathy and care. People are not their governments.
I cannot bring myself to look away from the failures of Israel to live up to its democratic aspirations any more than I’ve been willing to look away from our country’s systemic injustices because to do so would undermine my Jewish values.
I cannot look away from the loss of life and humanitarian crisis in Gaza.
I don’t want to shut down to any of it.
Add to this the dissonance of reading about a local, Jewish anti-Israel protestor saying, “Antisemitism is an issue, but it’s not an emergency.”
This past weekend alone, neo-Nazis marched in Nashville holding signs that say, “Jews Love Genocide” and “the ADL protects pedophiles,” and graffiti in Oakland called for “Death to Israel” and wrote “Hamas” inside of a red heart shape. Attendees at City Council meetings discussing ceasefire resolutions in numerous American cities have espoused rabid denial of sexual violence Hamas perpetrated on October 7.
Finally, the degree to which Hamas has been uplifted and celebrated by so many anti-Israel protestors makes it very hard to parse out legitimate criticism of Israeli policies. As I’ve expressed before, there is no world in which I will ever deem Hamas to be a legitimate resistance movement.
*
Dehumanization is dehumanization. No matter who is perpetrating it, it will only lead to more violence, death, destruction, displacement, and trauma – for both peoples.
*
As an American Jew, who am I to even write about this?
As an American Jew, I must write about this.
I have a right to be in a process about this. So do you. One that perhaps never arrives someplace definitive. One that will possibly exist for as long as there are Jews. This feels at once disheartening and hopeful.
*
Last week’s parasha (Torah portion) commences with God giving instructions for building the mishkan, or sanctuary.
When everything is chaos, where do we find shelter?
When your neighbors want you dead, where do you find shelter?
When your home has been burned to the ground or bombed to rubble, where do you find shelter?
How do we balance protecting our sanity with staying connected to and responsible for the collective? Is the collective my fellow Jews or is the collective my fellow humans? Are these intrinsically separate? What are the implications of that, both Jewishly and politically? How do I/we not shut down or close ranks? Is closing ranks always “bad”?
*
In all of this longing for answers, I see my smallness juxtaposed with an inexorable need to move ever closer to these bewildering questions.
Instead of answers, I have this:
I am troubled. I am committed. I am troubled. I am committed.
Hartman offers four other categories of American Jews in terms of how we relate to Israel. In addition to “troubled committed,” one might be “untroubled committed,” “troubled uncommitted,” or “untroubled uncommitted.”
Reading about this framework opened something up for me in a big way, especially in terms of how I might more skillfully and empathetically relate to and understand those who identify with different categories, even if/when we disagree.
I am a connector at heart, so this is always my underlying goal.
My intention continues to be not only to deepen my learning but also to develop a greater ability to hold (and hold space for) incredibly challenging questions and conversations about Israel and Judaism during a painful time full of trauma and uncertainty.
To this end, I’m including excerpts and links below of pieces that each offer a different perspective. I sincerely hope some or all of them bring you more lenses through which to consider this moment.
“This is the moment we’re in. A voice of rightwing nationalism, disguising itself as a voice of benign Jewish fulfillment, has been whispering in our ears, guiding us on paths that are ever more treacherous, more damaging, and more difficult to pull back from. We have abandoned our compass and yielded to the reassurances and guidance of a voice that experience should tell us not to trust. The Parable of the Toyota in the Gully reminds us that we each have a moral compass. We cannot afford to abandon it.”
Read: Report Back from Israel, and the Parable of the Toyota In The Gulley by Rabbi Irwin Keller
“Indifference—and even more so, hostility—toward the Jewish pain of October 7 is not just an abstract injustice for many Jews. Rather, it is a negation of our personal mourning. Rising antisemitism pours salt into our collective wound. We cannot expect everyone to understand the complexity of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, but many Jews did hope to receive more basic human compassion during a moment of personal and communal mourning. Jews everywhere with such expectations have been disappointed.”
Read: Watching War: This Moment in the History of Israel-Diaspora Relations by professor Geoffrey Levin
“When I set out to make this film I wanted to fill a void. I found that while a lot has been written on the hostage families, and many have done sit down interviews as well, I have seen very few films that even attempt to drop you in their shoes. That let you get even a glimpse of what it feels like to be a family with a loved one held hostage. I think it's an important perspective and I hope you do as well.”
Watch: 12 Hours: A Hostage Family Protest by filmmaker Eli Katzoff
“I am him too.”
Read: Why I Cannot Speak in Full Sentences by poet Moriel Rothman-Zecher, with illustration by Meirav Ong
Love you fellow Schwartz, fellow Jew ❤️
I am grateful that you keep finding the words. And sharing them. Thank you brave friend.