Rabbi George Gittleman: Close to Home
Contributions to the Santa Rosa Press Democrat

I was in Israel during the recent Palestinian election. Despite the sensational press coverage in this country and elsewhere, Israeli society seemed surprisingly unaffected by the Hamas victory.

Sure, the elections were of great interest, and the results are of serious concern to everyone living in the region. There was also plenty of finger-pointing and Monday-morning quarterbacking about how a terrorist organization could be poised to take the helm of the Palestinian Authority. Nevertheless, Israelis seemed underwhelmed -- as if the election results simply verified what they already knew: There is not a true partner for peace among the Palestinians at this time.

Granted, my observations are only the thoughts of an American rabbi. Although I travel regularly from Santa Rosa to Israel as a rabbinic fellow with the Shalom Hartman Institute in Jerusalem, I can't claim to be an expert in Israeli society or politics.

My thoughts, however, seem to be borne out by what's happening in Israeli politics today. Even by Israeli standards, the meteoric rise of Ariel Sharon's Kadima Party is unprecedented.

Imagine for a moment that Gen. Colin Powell (not a perfect analogy to Sharon) decided to launch a third political party as

a middle way to lead America through its current malaise.

Then, imagine that General Powell became gravely ill (God forbid) and was no longer able to lead the party. Meanwhile, despite the loss of Powell as the leader, the party was by all accounts destined to win the next presidential election, with the Democrats coming in a fairly close second and the Republicans a distant third.

This is exactly what is happening in Israel today. Kadima, even without Sharon, is garnering a majority of support of the Israeli people with Labor and Likud trailing behind.

Why did this happen? I think for many Israelis, Kadima which literally means ``going forward,'' represents just that, a way to move forward even without a peace partner among the Palestinians.

How will they progress? They will follow the policy hammered out by Sharon, which includes continued construction of a security barrier to prevent Palestinian terrorist attacks and the unilateral withdrawal of Jewish settlements from Palestinian population centers in the West Bank.

These policies are driven by two main assumptions: First, the peace process is

dead, and, second, maintaining a Jewish democracy is more important to most Israelis than holding on to territory, even if evacuating Jews from that territory threatens the very fabric of Israeli society.

Is the ascendance of Kadima progress? The answer to this question is all about perspective. Certainly, many Israelis see Kadima as a chance for normal life, free from terror and the constant threat of violence. It is difficult to imagine that Palestinians see anything positive in this approach. The security barrier is a true hardship. The Israeli unilateral withdrawal from Gaza has resulted only in more chaos and violence for most Palestinians. What possible good can result for the Palestinians from the latest unprecedented shift in Israeli politics?

Even the Hebrew prophets had a hard time predicting the future in the Middle East. I, for one, will leave the predictions to greater, wiser people than myself. It does seem, however, that the Israeli message is this: Until the Palestinians are willing to become a true partner for a real and lasting peace, the Israelis are going to do the best they can to move forward without them. How far can they go? I guess we'll have to wait and see.

When my family lights the menorah tonight in celebration of Hanukkah, we will be remembering an ancient leap of faith that resulted in a miracle -- and that brought to the world a message of hope and redemption.

Many Americans are familiar with the Jewish ritual of lighting the menorah, the nine-branched candelabra which is the focal point of Hanukkah. Few, however, know what it symbolizes. The meaning of Hanukkah is embedded in two stories: one of the triumph of right over might and the other, a miracle of light in a dark world. Both these stories are important, carrying with them ancient yet timeless messages for all peoples everywhere.

Even 2,200 years ago there was conflict in the Middle East. At that time, the Seleucid Empire was the superpower of the region. Antiochus Epiphanes ascended the Seleucid throne in 167 B.C. Unlike many of Antiochus' subjects, the Jews refused to assimilate to Hellenistic ways. Antiochus responded by persecuting the Jews, profaning their great temple in Jerusalem and outlawing all Jewish religious practices, using his many garrisons to enforce his evil decrees.

The Jews, led by the Maccabees, revolted and in spite of their small numbers, managed to defeat the vast Seleucid armies, recapturing Jerusalem and reclaiming the great temple. The foundations of that same temple can still be found on Mount Zion in Jerusalem today. The successful revolt of the Maccabees is a timeless testimony to the limits of power, especially when it is wrongly used to subjugate and persecute another people.

Even though the Maccabees' triumph is central to the Hanukkah story, Judaism downplays the military victory, focusing instead on the miracle that followed.

According to Jewish legend, at the end of the fighting, Jews returning to the great temple in Jerusalem found it in disarray. They worked tirelessly to rededicate it (Hanukkah means ``rededication''). There was only one problem; to rededicate the temple they must re-light the eternal light that stayed continually lit in its inner sanctum. There was only enough oil for one day, yet it would take eight days to produce more oil. What should they do? Their victory was incomplete without the symbol of God's eternal presence -- a flame in their holy of holy sites.

They chose to take a leap of faith, to send some light into a dark world, even if the light would eventually go out. But, so the story goes, it did not go out. Instead, it burned continuously for eight days, long enough for more oil to be pressed. A miracle of light, and a message of hope and redemption; not by might or by power, but by spirit -- faith, commitment, courage and determination -- do we triumph over evil.

It must have been tempting for those ancient Jews to glorify their military victory. Perhaps they did at first. But like their oppressors, they too fell prey to the corrupting influences of power and were eventually defeated by Rome. Thus, when the rabbis who developed the Judaism we know today memorialized Hanukkah some 2,000 years ago, they passed over the short-lived military victory for the timeless symbol of the miracle of light.

Ever wary of war, the rabbis of old rejected the glorification of bloodshed for the message of hope that a few candles burning bright in a window can offer to a world darkened by war and the fear of war.

So what do a Sonoma County rabbi and Seabiscuit have in common? The answer actually goes back to my childhood experiences. Reading the book and seeing the film about the famous race horse brought back many memories and inspired me to reflect on how we mere mortals can realize our potential as human beings created in the divine image.

I grew up in Louisville, Ky., where horses are kings. I first climbed on a horse when I was six, and spent most of my teen-age years riding, including a short stint working thoroughbreds off the track. I come from a horse racing family.

One of my favorite outings as a child was going to the track with my father. By the time I was able to drive, I was skipping school to go to Churchill Downs when the track was running. I didn't go for the betting -- although any kid who was tall enough to see over the counter could place a wager. I went to watch the horses run. (Still, there was the time I met my Dad at a betting window. ``What are you doing here?'' he asked. ``The same thing you're doing here,'' I responded.)

There is a mystique about thoroughbred horses that seemed as natural to me as my mother's milk. For me, watching the horses run was almost holy. How could so much grace, power and beauty be captured in one living being? So, on a very personal level, the story of Seabiscuit spoke to me.

But it is not just my personal experience that makes it so moving.

In a war-torn world, it's nice to see a small miracle happen to real people.

In a world that often seems hopeless, we need true stories like Seabiscuit to remind us of the human potential in all of us. That to me is the true power of the story: its universal message of hope and redemption, the same message central to the Jewish Holy Day season.

Rosh Hashanah began Friday night, and Yom Kippur follows 10 days later. They are arguably the two most important holy days in the Jewish year. Reading the book and then watching the film, I couldn't help but think of the Holy Days -- in part because of all the sermons I had to write, but mostly because the message of Seabiscuit is the central theme of these holy of holy days.

What is that message? That there is no point of no return, that teshuvah (a turning back to our godly self) is always possible for all of us. That to me is what makes the Jewish Holy Day cycle so compelling, and the story of Seabiscuit so powerful.

Think about it. You have a nearly broken horse, a jockey abandoned at the age of 12, a lonely cowboy from another era, a wealthy man broken by the loss of his son and subsequent divorce.

On the surface, one would think there is little hope for these folk but that is not how the story ends. Instead, through hard work, a little luck, goodwill and a lot of faith, these broken-down people and this nearly broken horse became champions.

The theme of ``broken made whole'' is something we can all relate to. In truth, it is really the ``brokenness'' that we really connect with. We know what it is to hurt; we know what it is to fail. What is really tough for us to believe is that we can be champions.

And that precisely is the message of the Jewish New Year (Rosh Hashana) and Day of Atonement (Yom Kippur). Yes, we are human; yes, we make mistakes, but in our very nature is the potential for greatness.

The Talmud, a series of ancient sacred Jewish books, teaches that it would have been enough for God to make us in God's image. What a greater gift it is for us to know that God's image, a spark of the divine, rest in each and every one of us. The Jewish Holy Days tell us to recognize our ``humanness'' and face our failings but also to embrace our potential for godliness.

This is an essential message not just for Jews but for all people. Human nature's potential for godliness is a beacon of hope in a world often marred by godlessness and thus hopelessness.

How ironic that through the story of a racehorse, we learn about our potential as human beings created in the divine image.

This year, the Jewish High Holy Days fall in the midst of the first anniversary of the most heinous crime in modern American history: The attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon.

Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, began last night and is followed by Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, on Sept. 16. Almost exactly in the middle of this 10-day period is Sept. 11.

For both Jews and non-Jews the messages of the most holy days of the Jewish year have special poignancy, as we reflect on the first anniversary of 9/11.

Rosh Hashanah is the most universal of all Jewish holidays. It marks the creation of the universe, the birthday of the world and the creation of all life, including humanity.

The overriding message of Rosh Hashanah is that we all come from the same place. We are children of Adam (and Eve). We are all, regardless of our race, religion, gender, age, nationality or sexual orientation, created b'tzelem elohim, in God's image. In other words, we are ultimately one universal family sharing equally in God's blessings.

This is an important concept for those who, since 9/11, may be tempted to classify all Muslims or all people from the Middle East in the same category with the 19 terrorists.

Another important message of the High Holy Days -- especially relevant this year -- is gratitude. Gratitude, first for our lives. We could have been on one of those planes or in one of those buildings that was destroyed last Sept. 11.

Gratitude for the fact that we live in Sonoma County, one of the most beautiful places in the whole world. Gratitude also that we are all citizens of the United States, free people living in one of the most prosperous nations in the world.

A third message of Jewish High Holy Days is that the promise of the future is real -- an important idea for Jews and non-Jews alike during these times of crisis. Jewish tradition teaches that no one is beyond the point of no return. Even in the darkest of dark nights there can be found rays of hope.

In fact, a major message of these High Holy Days is that there is no point of no return, no eternal damnation. The Gates of Heaven are always open.

Even Palestinians and Israelis can learn to live together in peace. Of course, the terror and bloodshed will have to end. We must believe that peace can, and will, come.

The Talmud (the central body of Jewish teachings and traditions) says, ``No one's blood is redder than anyone else's.'' No one -- rich or poor, black or white, Arab, Israeli, Muslim, Christian or Jew, gay, lesbian or straight -- has any more claim on life, on God's blessings, than anyone else. Think about that.

Jewish tradition also teaches that our role as human beings is to work toward Tikun Olam, the ``Repair of the World.'' This is a universal ideal people everywhere can embrace. God is the lodestar of hope, of peace, of redemption. God is also our partner in the unfolding of reality. We, in affect, are the hands and feet of God, drawing God down to earth, making God's reality ours as well.

It's the Jewish New Year, but the message of unity, hope and redemption is a universal message the entire world can share in as we rise from the ashes on the first anniversary of Sept. 11.