Text of sermon given by Rabbi Amy Loewenthal on Yom Kippur, when it coincided with Eid ul Adha & Hajj
"G’mar Tov,
Six year ago, I was part of a group of Muslims and Jews who met at a hotel just over the Green Line in the West Bank for an interfaith text study. We would look at the story of the Akedah, in which Abraham binds his son and prepares to sacrifice him. The Torah identifies the son as Isaac while the Qu’ran identifies the son as Ishmael. In both versions, G-D substitutes a ram to be sacrificed and so releases Abraham’s son.
Tonight, Yom Kippur will end at sundown, and the Muslim festival of Eid-ul-Adha will begin. It recalls this story and celebrates Ishmael’s release through the substitution of the ram. Muslims will share food with the poor, usually mutton, in honor of the day.
Eid-al-Adha is also the climax of a person’s Hajj—is a pilgrimage to Mecca and Madinah in Saudi Arabia, which is performed at this time of year. Hajj is a religious obligation only for those men and women who are physically and financially able to perform it once in a lifetime.
I often think about the two years I spent in Israel and all the people I met: Jews, Muslims, Christians, Druze, and secular people—of all stripes and from all across the political spectrum. I took so many photographs (including the one which is being passed around) and I gathered so many stories, which I carry with me to this day. I met people with good hearts and good intentions for the world. I came to believe that the vast majority of the citizens of the Holy Land, more than anything, simply want to provide for their families, do meaningful work, and live in peace and security.
In Pirkei Avot, Rabbi Yehoshua ben Perachia says “judge every person favorably,”—give them the benefit of the doubt. I’d like to share a story in which I was a third party, an American interloper, trying to spread ben Perachia’s idea.
One day in mid-July, after helping at an event with the Jerusalem Peacemakers organization I worked with, I strolled with a friend from the Damascus Gate to the Western Wall, and along the way I stopped to photograph sights in the Muslim Quarter, including archways and a beautiful display of pastries. I photographed some graffiti on a wall because its colors and nice details caught my eye and I wondered what the Arabic writing said.
Several weeks later I started studying Hebrew in the municipal ulpan. I was one of very few foreign students in this high-level class. Most of the other people in my class were either new olim, French and British Jews who had newly become Israeli citizens, or Arabs from east Jerusalem seeking to perfect their Hebrew skills to gain admission to the prestigious Hebrew University.
It occurred to me that I could ask one of the young women from east Jerusalem to look at my photo and translate the Arabic writing for me. A friendly young Muslim classmate agreed to do so, so I printed the photo out on paper and brought it to the class the next day. I was the first to arrive.
One by one, several of the Jewish new olim arrived in class and as each passed my desk, she noticed the photo lying there. Each was curious what the Arabic writing might say. We looked at the photo together. I pointed out that the main colors used in the writing and decoration were the national colors of the flags of a number of Arab countries and of the flag of the potential Palestinian State. I speculated that the graffiti might be some kind of statement of Arab or Palestinian pride.
And when I pointed this out, each successive Jewish student nodded and then, to a person, uniformly let out a little groan, and guessed that the writing was probably something derogatory about the Jews.
And to each Jewish student, I responded that it might very well be an expression of pride without any negativity towards Jews or anyone else. And each shrugged doubtfully at me.
Finally, the young Muslim woman came in and studied the photo. “Oh,” she said, “I get it. This is an individual’s announcement. His name is Suleman and he is saying that he just returned from making hajj in Mecca.” She pointed out the repeating image that bordered the sides—the Ka’bah, the cube-shaped building in Mecca in whose direction Muslims all over the world face to pray.
“So he painted this announcement on the wall?” I asked.
“Yes,” she replied, “he painted this news on a wall near his house because he was happy and proud of this once-in-a-lifetime achievement. He wanted to tell people that the finally had made hajj.”
The Jewish students were wrong in their gloomy prediction. They feared the worst in people, but they received a pleasant and surprising glimpse of the best. I hoped, that in my own tiny way, that I had created a modicum more understanding among these Jerusalemites.
During Rosh ha Shana, Dale Rosenberg spoke about the Akedah. She spoke powerfully and personally, about family estrangements as relates to this parasha. She ended by pointing to the passage that shows that when Abraham dies, his two sons, Isaac and Ishmael, come together to bury their father and reconcile from their past bitterness.
My prayer is that the descendants of Isaac and Ishmael in this generation or the next or the one after, can find their own path to reconciliation. Our holy day will end at sunset and our cousin’s holy day will begin. Our cousins making hajj tomorrow will be dressed in white robes, as are some of us tonight. We’re not that far apart.
As MMK said: ‘Every person and people, that feel they have something to live for, and that are bent on living that life in righteousness, are true witnesses of G-d.’
Allison Josephs comments on a Talmud passage which says “One who judges his fellow favorably will be judged favorably by Hashem.” (Shabbos 127b) But Hashem doesn’t simply judge us favorably because we judge other that way. It is thorugh our efforts to see others with an ayin tov (in a positive light) which prevents us from starting down the road of [building enmity]. How could Hashem not view such a person favorably?
As we approach the end of the eseret y’mei teshuva (ten days of repentance), may we strive to be more generous in how we view all those with whom we interact and may we merit for Hashem to do the same with us. G’mar tov.”
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My deepest gratitude to Rabbi Amy Loewenthal for allowing me to share this beautiful piece on my blog.
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