On the cover of Yossi Klein Halevi’s, Letters to My Palestinian Neighbor, there is one small image: an olive branch. A simple, iconic indicator that this book is an overture for peace—a series of letters addressed to an imagined Palestinian “neighbor.” He had it translated into Arabic and offers the letters freely on the Internet to any Palestinian who wants to read it. The responses he has received from readers (mostly Arabs from other countries and a few Palestinians) as well as his replies can be read on his website: https://www.letterstomyneighbor.com/reader-responses/
This book is in many ways a plea for complexity. Klein Halevi wants Palestinians to understand that his thoughts and feelings (which, according to him, are consonant with the thoughts and feelings of most Israelis—a highly debatable point) are often times contradictory. Though he personally feels deep guilt over the occupation, he also has difficulty imagining Israel as a divided land. He is hoping that his neighbor can himself accept a solution of complexity—one that demands compromise. Though the geographical dreams and aspirations of each side are mutually exclusive, each side must forge ahead with the knowledge that their dreams will have to remain dreams.
I was deeply moved by Klein Halevi’s passion and deep honesty. However, I was disappointed with his dalliance with relativism. It upset me because it weakens his otherwise potent message.
The first hint of this relativism is his jarring claim (p. 56) that since Judaism is a particularistic religion (just for the Jewish people) with a universal vision (that all of humanity should come to know God) it, therefore, accepts the validity of multiple faiths. This illogical jump feels disingenuous. While I am aware that there are modern thinkers who go in this direction, I am unaware of a source in the classical texts of our tradition that says anything of the sort. (I can provide multiple sources that say the exact opposite. As a start, see both Yehuda Halevi’s Kuzari, beginning of the first book, and Rambam, most famously in The Laws of Kings and their Wars, chapter 11.) Since he seems to be following a view of rather recent vintage, he should spell that out, lest his Palestinian neighbor open up a copy of the Kuzari which was originally written in Arabic (though of the Judeo dialect).
This relativist confusion goes deeper.
He writes regarding the definition of Judaism (p. 76): “We are a story we tell ourselves about who we think we are.”
He says almost the same line in an interview from May 3, 2018 (https://www.timesofisrael.com/who-we-are-why-were-here.../): “And for me, the essence of Judaism is its story. I would define the Jews as a story we tell ourselves about who we think we are.”
He repeated the same line, almost verbatim, at the beginning of his speech at a Stand With Us event that took place in Seattle, WA on May 6, 2018 (which I attended and at which I received an advanced copy of the book—thank you very much). This is clearly an idea that he gives a lot of stock. Why is this definition of Judaism so important to him? Because this constructivist approach is at the core of his path to peace:
“We need to respect each other’s right to tell our own stories. That’s why I am writing to you, neighbor: to tell you my story, not yours. If you chose to write in response, as I hope you will, you’ll tell me your understanding of your history. I respect your right to define yourself, and I insist on the same right. That is the way to peace.” (p. 70)
On one hand this approach sounds noble. We must respect each other’s stories. We all have the right to tell our own stories. Only out of this mutual respect and honesty can a lasting peace be forged.
On the other hand, he’s saying that it all comes down to storytelling. I’d say, yes, and no. Yes, facts say nothing until we ask what story they tell. The facts can’t tell the story, only we can. And no, it’s not all about story telling—there are also facts that I would call hard truths. Hard truths are facts that are hard to fit into an interpretive frame. They’re the facts that people don’t want to see because it would too disturb their cherished story—i.e., interpretation of the world.
No matter what our stories are, Israelis must confront the hard truths of occupation and the Palestinians need to confront the hard truth that Israel’s here to stay. The first step might be respectful listening, but this is only the first step. The truly difficult step is entering a dialogue where one places one’s cherished story at risk—and these are stories that have been built up over the past 100 years, and, for that matter, the last 2000.
I believe that this might actually be what Klein Halevi is getting at. He is a man of facts and a truth teller. If anything, I would say this book is a goad of sorts to help Palestinians and Israelis rewrite their stories in a way that can incorporate hard truths. Klein Halevi is without a doubt a gifted story teller (check out Like Dreamers, a real tour de force) and he is able to present that truth in a compelling, and to my eyes, balanced manner.
What I believe is most compelling about this book is Klein Halevi’s invitation for dialogue. What will ultimately lead to a lasting peace is not just our leaders meeting with each other, but individuals learning to sit down together face-to-face and no longer be strangers, but neighbors. Neighbors can have conflicting beliefs, but ultimately can reach an understanding when they become real to each other, each with his or her own story.
I hope and pray that the good Palestinian people can see, along with the good people of Israel, a common truth. I hope we all can internalize the truth conveyed in Klein Halevi’s book—not just hear a story. His message is too important to be cast “as a story we tell ourselves about who we think we are.”
Comments