One of the major debates in writing the Constitution (I believe, based on wikipedia, my tourism of Philadelphia, and my 9th grade education) was over whether the number of representatives in Congress should be equal for each state or based on population.  To me, this represents the question of how to protect the rights of minority groups without sacrificing the interests of the majority.  We all know how the nail-biter turned out–a compromise that holds up 235 years later.

A few weeks ago, I saw the film “This is My Land: Hebron” at the Human Rights Watch Film Festival.  To say that I had an emotional reaction to this film is a colossal understatement.  In fact, even talking about my reaction to the film resulted in an ongoing argument with one of my closest friends.

When I think about Israel, I feel a certain sense of responsibility.  Israel is a Jewish state.  I am a Jewish woman.  On my last visit to Israel, a hotel clerk told me, “You must be so grateful that we are holding a place for you here, that you can feel safe knowing that no matter what happens to Jews in the rest of the world, you can always come home.”  What I feel is a complicated swirl of emotions.  What I felt when I watched “This Is My Land” was grief and anger and deep, deep shame.  My friend tells me that this is irrational.  I’m not a citizen of Israel, I don’t vote, and even if I did, I don’t control government policy or the hateful conduct of individuals.  So many times throughout my day, I come back to feeling powerless.  In the end, we control no one but ourselves.  And yet, I always feel I’m not doing enough even when I have no idea what to do.  How do you ensure that governments uphold the rights of all people?  Nations themselves are based on the idea that the government is responsible to a particular faction of humanity and not to all.  Time and again throughout history, nations misguidedly go to battle to protect their own.  Governments turn on people within their borders to protect themselves, their power, their identities.  Of course repeating mistakes doesn’t make them any less tragic or contemptible.

My friend, who I argued with, urged me to imagine a nation–an Israel–built not on the idea of separation, but of peaceful coexistence–a state of being that Jews and Arabs enjoyed for much of history.  I am trying to imagine this place, not as an ethereal, intangible ideal, but as a practical application of laws on the ground.  And that mental contortion makes me appreciate the brilliance of our founding fathers, despite their failings, and despite this country’s gaping, inexcusable refusal to recognize the rights of all the humanity within its borders for more than a century.  They were the architects of a system that at least has the potential to work justly if the people have the will for justice.  It is a system that has stood the test of time thus far because it has the flexibility to rise with the ethics of its citizens over the course of their slow and painful evolution.  I wish the same for Israel.  I want to believe that this is possible and that there are real ways to make it so.  Change does happen.  The intractable shifts suddenly and without explanation.  If we can hope far enough and long enough to raise our eyes to the horizon, what will we see?

For a different take on the film, go visit Chanel at Jewschool.