Tisha B’Av, which commemorates the destruction of the ancient Jewish Temples, arrives tonight just as my Israeli relatives are anticipating renewed fighting with Iran. The ongoing hostilities have tested my judgement around issues of Israel’s security.
I have long been active in efforts promoting Middle East peace. Compromise and coexistence aligned with my conception of Judaism and Zionism.
Yet I was intimidated by observers who confidently insisted that “they only understand force.” My defensiveness crested with Barack Obama’s Iran deal.
The naysayers claimed that Iran was untrustworthy. I trusted in trust.
A friend called me naive. Her assessment touched something fundamental in how I related to my Jewishness.
At 66 I grew up in an era when memories of the Holocaust were still fresh. Enabling antisemites was the most shameful of sins.
In the aftermath of 10/7 I contemplated my self-doubt amid the “FREE PALESTINE” signs in my Park Slope neighborhood. Had the accommodationist tendencies Jews developed while living in Christian lands warped my perspective?
But skewed thinking runs both ways. I sensed that the vehement denunciations of diplomacy by many of my co-religionists bespoke discomfort over the history of Jewish victimhood.
A similar dynamic defines many Israelis. In Lawrence Wright’s novel “The Human Scale,” a character depicted Israel’s extremists. “They are ashamed of their history, of being lambs to the slaughter, and they must prove they are a mighty people. If you kill one Jew, they must kill a hundred of you. Or a thousand. A million, whatever the going rate.”
After Israel launched its 2004 pager attack against Hezbollah and assassinated Nasrallah, I feared for my relatives. But the terror group appeared to be crushed by the assault. Iran also seemed neutralized after American bombs supposedly obliterated their nuclear sites.
The apparent success of this aggression unnerved me. How could I have been so wrong? Was I a weak-kneed Jew, afraid of a fight?
During a recent trip to visit my Israeli relatives several soldiers were killed in Lebanon. Yet neither Hezbollah’s surprising firepower nor Iran’s resilience had lessened Israel’s faith in confrontation.
At a souvenir shop I chatted with the owner. He proudly showed me a picture of his three sons in military uniforms.
“May they always serve in peacetime,” I said.
“No peace!” The proprietor said. “We gave them land and money and they gave us 10/7. We want peace. They don’t want peace.”
A recent Jewish Policy Institute poll showed that 69% of Jewish Israelis supported the war with Iran, despite disappointment with its failure to end the nuclear threat. Prime Minister Bibi Netanyahu’s opponents have criticized him for not striking Hezbollah hard enough.
Everywhere I went there were stickers showing pictures of soldiers killed in combat. While visiting a nephew I asked about a nearby horse stable. He told me that the horses treated soldiers suffering from PTSD.
Three years of war had understandably hardened Israelis against coexistence. Nonetheless, with events having demonstrated the limitations of force, I felt confident in my belief that compromise was wiser than conflict in the post 10/7 world.
Many Israelis argue that diaspora Jews are too removed from danger to critique their country’s policies. But I wonder whether the trauma of war has skewed Israel’s collective vision. Fear and anger can be just as blinding as a reflexive avoidance of conflict.
As Israel contemplates its place in the Middle East it must do so free from the distorting power of fear, anger, shame, and self-doubt. Otherwise the tragedies of Jewish history that Tisha B’Av represents will come to define the Jewish future.
Krull is a lawyer and writer.