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First I want to express my thanks to all of you who sent me off 2 weeks ago with such warm and protective blessings. I went to Israel armed with your love and your kvitlach and hundreds and hundreds of American bills for the poor. Your cash flowed around the country and was received with great joy and surprise by many...a family of 14 whose house had just burned down in old Yaffo, several toothless women sitting by the Kotel, orthodox immigrants in need of groceries...and many more thank you for your anonymous gifts.

What I have to share tonight is both unspeakably beautiful and unspeakably difficult. But I'm going to try anyway, to articulate the opposing yet co-existing truths that I have encountered on this visit to Israel. As you know, I went on a rabbinic mission with Rabbis for Human Rights, to rebuild a Palestinian home that had been demolished in January. Our group of 7 raised money for the home to be rebuilt in Isawiya, an Arab village within Jerusalem. We planned to spend much of the week on the construction site. In actuality, we spent one day working and due to rainy weather and then a shooting death of a Palestinian man in that town, we were not permitted to go back until the last day.

Every hour of the 7 days I was in Israel was filled with some intrigue, drama, edginess. The day I arrived was already filled with pain. Our delegation of rabbis had paid a predawn visit to an Arab family in a section of East Jerusalem called Anata. There was a report that their house was targeted for demolition that day and the rabbis came as a solidarity call. Ramadan was done. And now the bulldozers were back at work. (The government kindly abstains from their demolitions during the Arab holy month.)

So what is this issue of home demolitions? Most of us hear of home demolitions as retribution to the homes of terrorists, or as a way of routing out the troublemakers.

This is NOT what I was opposing.

Jerusalem's municipal budget this year includes 4million Shekels to demolish 170 homes. Not for terrorists but for simple people who build illegally, without permits. This is simply "law enforcement," officials say. But why are they building without permits? Because in most cases, the municiplatiy will not issue building permits to Palestinians, even if they pay, even if the family has lived for generations in Jerusalem. Again and again, we were told: Jewish Israelis also get their houses bulldozed if they build or add on without permits. Checking the statistics, however, it becomes clear that while a Jewish family's porch or add-on might be taken down by the municipality if built without a permit, no Jewish home has ever been leveled.

Nobody in the government claims that these people are dangerous or suspicious. This is not the issue. These are Palestinian families with kids and old people who are needing space to live and grow. But while Jewish Israelis are living in gorgeous bedroom communities around Jerusalme, the Arab neighborhoods still have no clear zoning plans. So permits are mostly unavailable.

When the rabbis were alerted that the Bashari home was scheduled to be taken down, they got up and went before dawn. The family shared their breakfast of pita and hummus and nana tea and chatted aimiably. Four hours later, no sign of trouble, the rabbis left. Then at 3:00, a call came in. We rushed over. Roadblocks and army protection all around; no entrance allowed. We stood at the road watching this house that had hosted us, bulldozed to nothing in 45 minutes.

The inside story, not the one that most Israelis want to talk about or even know about, is that there is great ambivalence about Jerusalem's Arab population. More than ambivalence--panic. The demographic balance of Arabs and Jews in Jerusalem is scary to Jewish Israelis. The Arab population is now at 33% and climbing. To maintain an undivided Jerusalem with a Jewish majority, the expansion of the city's non-Jewish populations has to be prevented. The government prefers that these people go elsewhere, move to Ramalah or Jericho. And the strict zoning plans and lack of zoning permits, insure that the Arab population does not grow, and more than that, that the pressure and discomfort of living in Jerusalem is intolerable and they want to leave. But if they pick up and move, even temporarily, they lose all rights to ever return. Staying and rebuilding is an act of non violent resistance. We met one family who has rebuilt four times.

We stood on the high road and and looked down to see the Bashara's 3 storey home come down. The rabbis were devastated. We called the family the next day. We wanted to make the equivalent of a shiva call. But the family did not want visitors. Only the brother, Fais, agreed to meet us.

What despair you felt to enter this little town, frozen in grief. It felt like Tisha B'Av: Fais came out and sullenly greeted us, then sat down on the remains of the house, now a dusty heap of broken stones. (I have brought a remembrance of their house tonight.) Fais was angry.

Ein Din v'Ein Dayan, he said, ironically quoting from Talmud: There is no law and no justice. Take your Mother of All, Condy Rice home with you! She is not listening to us. The UN is not listening to us. Our own leaders don't come to help. What did we do wrong? I belong to no Jihad, no Hamas, no Arafat party. My house did not kill anybody.

He called to an old woman to have a young man come out. An older teen appeared, his arm bandaged and in a sling, cuts on his head. What did this kid do wrong? The soldiers, 5 or 6 of them, hit him in the head, then fell on him. He had said nothing. It was simple police brutality.

This I could not accept. This was made up, I was sure. But a German photographer named Kai who had snuck across the roadblock had witnessed it himself.

We explained that we were ashamed of this heres, this destruction,that we were grieving with him. He laughed: So what? Who will you tell these nice things? You came in the morning. The bulldozers came in the afternoon. You say you are rabbis. The village says you are spies, malshinim.

If you are really here for us, ta'amdu ba-choach! Come with 120 busses, come and stay and really help us, or don't come.

Fais was right and we all knew it. We asked for an appointment with the Mayor of Jerusalem, who is a Haredi man by the name of Uri Lupoleonsky. His office scheduled a meeting for the next day. It was clear he did not want the negative press that might come from an American rabbinic delegation criticizing his city. He listened to our gringo Hebrew. He explained the demolition policy. He explained that his hands were tied. He explained that these things were in the hands of the courts. We left unanswered, but satisfied that he had heard, that a liason had been made.

There is an enormous gulf in perceptions in Israel. What seemed clear and evident to me was dismissed as so much rubbish by Israelis. On this issue as well as on what is happening in the fields as the Arab villagers harvest their olive trees, water distribution, tax money, police brutality, and many other issues, it seems to be largely to be Americans who see and speak out about the injustices: Human rights violations. There are a few other courageous Israeli organizations: B'Tzelem, Israel Committee Against House Demolitions, Ir Amim, and some of their directors came to speak to us, to explain what is going on behind the scenes of Is. politics, to assure us that no, we were not deluded or crazy in our views. Some rolled up their sleeves and work alongside us rebuilding Achmad Mousa Dari's home in Isawiya. But these "lefties" are by far the minority.) Most did not undertand what the problem was or why we were there at all: Them? You are here to defend them? Why not us? Why not ask about what they have done to us? They are out to destroy us. They are not humans. Are you crazy to spend your energy on them?

There is a reason for this blind spot.

My take is that the vast majority of Israelis are shell shocked. You might call it a collective case of PTSD. And there is something to be said for DENIAL as a means of maintaining sanity in an intolerable environment.

While I am disappointed by this, as a psychologist I understand it. The Second Intifada, beginning in 2000, with its endless suicide bombings, and terrorist attacks, which we know now is prolifically funded by the multi national Arab governments, killed off more than Jewish citizens. It killed off the peace movement, the commitment for tolerance, the hope for coexistence in the large majority of Israeli society. I spoke to Jewish Israelis who lived in terror of leaving their homes. Of letting their kids get on the school bus. Of going to the market to buy food. So much shock every day, so many bombs going off in every corner of the country; no bustop, pizza parlor, café, discothèque, or street was safe. Living itself became unsafe.

I believe this horror went deep into the Israeli psyche. It restimulated our ancient wounds, it confirmed our ancient myth: See? This is the way the world really feels. Nothing works. We try hard to make friends with our neighbors, but even our friends are willing to blow us up. It has been true all along: they are trying to destroy us, to throw us into the sea.

The denial is great. Most Israelis will not even concede that there is an occupation going on, that there are human rights violations going on, or police brutality, and even the most blatant violations of Torah principles, like 19:34. Lo Tonu et haGer. But the foreigner who dwells with you shall be to you as one born among you, and you shall love him as yourself; for you were strangers in the land of Egypt; I am the Lord your God.

I understand that when you are living in such terror, all you can think about it is: Get it to stop. At all costs. Who cares what the UN says, or the High Court of The Hague? Let them live here and see how well they would handle their kids getting blown up day after day. This is why the Separation Barrier went up with barely any popular dissent. And it has indeed minimized infiltration of terror greatly. Who cares or wants to know what goes on the other side of it?

Our lives as American Jews, in contrast, are amazingly luxurious. Whether or not we are awake to it, we are free, comfortable and secure relative to our brothers and sisters in Israel. So we need to be extremely careful not to criticize those who have been traumatized, terrorized, lost their sons and daughters, and friends.

At the same time, I believe we have a sacred mandate. Because we have not been blinded by terror and resulting hatred, we must speak the truth as we see it. (We must carry the voice of the Prophets who spoke of justice. What the Torah says about affording CHOK ECHAD, one standard, one law for our people and for the foreigner alike.)

Because even if we disregard the demoralization that is occurring, even if we disregard the breech of our ancient ethical heritage, our present policies in Israel, (such as home demolitions and the vastly disparate standard of living between Arab and Jewish citizens of Israel is extremely dangerous. At the simplest level of our own security, we are planting seeds of our own destruction with the indignities that are going on daily. What is fomenting behind the Separation Barrier, is truly dangerous to our future existence.

One snapshot said it all: As we stood listening to Fais, grieving, a circle of young boys congregated around him. At first sheepish, checking out the scene to see if it was safe to come out, they did so, one by one, taking their places on the rubble around the grieving man.

Then something astonishing happened. One by one, each of these 10 or 12 boys, roughly, 6 to 12 years old, pulled out of their jackets and pants a pistol, an oozie, a handgun with its accompanying ammunition. These were of course, toys. Kids fooling around. Grinning, firing, comparing. A common scene.

But all of a sudden I reared back. The picture playing itself out in front of my eyes suddenly hit me as surreal, hyper real; it was a glimpse into the future.

Behind the stooped over Fais, stood a generation of Arab adults, not politically commissioned, simply trying to live life, to take care of their elders and feed their kids. The adults bowed over in hopelessness, loss, impotence. And behind them, the next generation takes its place. Depression is not an option. Nor will they be beaten down. They are already in active training. Now they wield guns of plastic. In a few years, it will be metal.

Their mission clear.

It is a rare Israeli who can see that there is a cycle of hatred that is being sewn again and again, who wants to see beyond the Separation Barrier, to see what is fomenting on the other side. We who have not been traumatized, who understand that withholding a person's dignity breeds violence, we must do what we can.

And then there is a thing called Grace. Sometimes there are healings that happen that are simply a mystery and defies our understanding. This I experienced too, I am happy and surprised to report. My mother who many of you know has been extremely unforgiving of my wayward past, was inexplicably kind to me and open and loving to me. For the first time in 30 years, we had a loving meeting.

Miracles happen.

We have to work for peace. We have to pray for healing. We have to do everything in our power. And sometimes, peace and healing arrive by the Grace of God.

Sunday morning, my last day, I entered the Old City as the 9:00 Church bells clanged from all directions in a powerful cacophony. I wasn't sure of the route and so I followed behind a man who was clearly on his way to the Wall, already wrapped in talit and tephilin holding a book of Psalms up to his face and chanting as he walked. Without ever looking at me directly, he would motion to me with little nods of his head at every corner, as if to say: we are going to the same place, just follow me.

No matter what kind of Jew you are, no matter your politics or persuasion, it is hard to approach the Wailing Wall, the golden Dome of the Al Aksa mosque gleaming from the hill above, without feeling something.

I am always awash with tears. As if a multitude of lifetimes are colliding, then melting into one wave of love nd yearning.

On my last day in Israel I got to the Wailing Wall, I waited my turn among the young women and crones shuckeling and weeping at the stones and when my turn came, I kissed each little kvittle you sent with me, and tucked it into its crevice in the cracks of the Wall. Your prayers have taken their place like among the hundreds, no, thousands of prayers from around the world.

May Hashem, the Source of Peace & Transformation receive every prayer that you sent to Jerusalem and may each one flower and turn into goodness. And may the work of our hands, here, in Israel, for the Sudan and for all the distress wherever it is be blessed with the mysterious power of Grace.

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