Responding to Rabbi Ross Singer’s Reflections

Clal’s Stand and See Fellowship seeks to cultivate nuanced and sophisticated religious leadership for America — leadership that can stand up for six words, regardless of the policies for which they advocate or the conclusions they reach: It’s more complicated than we know. The Stand and See Fellowship brings hundreds of Christian seminarians and ordained clergy to Israel and the Palestinian Authority, where they learn with a Jewish Israeli guide, a Christian educator, and a Clal rabbi.  Our trips are not designed to prove a particular politics, and certainly not to identify on which side God stands.  Sadly, that kind of trip for clergy — both Christian and Jewish — is more the norm than the exception.  We are that exception, inviting both those already in, and those preparing for, Christian leadership to take a personal journey through a theological lens to deepen their faith and widen their perspective. 

Our trips are not the typical interfaith experience, either. They are not designed to seek commonalities, but instead to search for firsthand experiences and intellectual-spiritual tools that nurture ways to live in the dignity of our differences. That requires great stewardship — the kind provided by the three great minds whose words you are about to read:  Rabbi Ross Singer, Rev. Dr. Brian Maguire, and Rev. Jill Harman. All are leader-educators on our trips, and their conversation gives a rich taste of the kinds of conversations into which all our participants are welcomed, as they travel the land.

When Ross originally published a version of his piece, I knew that we needed more, and we needed commentary from Christian colleagues.  Brian and Jill have graciously written responses to form a series – a conversation, really. Each author writes with passionate commitment to their particular faith and genuine curiosity about the other’s.  Each writes recognizing the interconnectedness we share, even in the midst of legitimate division.  Each is self-reflective about their own vulnerabilities, using them as sources of compassion.  That, in my experience, is how religious leaders can lead best, and why it is an honor to share the words of three people I know as colleagues, teachers, and friends.

Rabbi Brad Hirschfield, President, Clal


Rabbi Singer’s reflections on the deep-rooted connections between the Jewish people, their history, and the land of Israel bring to light a vital perspective often lost in the cacophony of modern political discourse.

To engage with these reflections meaningfully, I believe we must adopt a phenomenological approach—a method that invites us to enter the lived experiences of individuals and communities, to see the world through their eyes, and to understand the profound narratives that shape their identities and actions.

Israel is not merely a geopolitical entity. For millions of Jews, it represents a haven of safety and the fulfillment of an ancient yearning for a place where they can exist with dignity and security in a world that has too often been inhospitable. To reduce this complex reality to ideological battles strips it of its human essence and fails to honor the nuanced, multifaceted experiences of those who call this land home. Justice, in its truest form, should not erase people. It should not flatten rich, lived experiences into a singular narrative of right and wrong, good and evil.

Too often, we hear cries for justice that ring hollow because they demand the erasure of the other. They ignore the cost of their demands. If we are to advocate for justice, we must first ask ourselves: What do we truly want, and who is paying the price for that desire? For every call to action, there are human beings who bear the consequences. It is this stark reality that demands a more compassionate, phenomenological approach. The fight for presence should not rest on the need for another’s absence, as Rabbi Brad Hirschfield so poignantly reminds us.

Rabbi Singer highlights a key tension in the Israeli experience: the deep-seated, and entirely justified, suspicion that compromise may not lead to peace, but could instead expose Israel to existential threats. For many Israelis, the fear that moderation might open them up to greater danger is rooted in centuries of persecution and the very real threats they face today. This is not an abstract concern—it is a constant reality shaped by history and survival in a region where security is never a given.

Yet, meaningful dialogue often falters when those without a deep understanding of Israel’s history reduce the situation to its present-day elements alone. Those who overlook the historical and spiritual significance of the land for the Jewish people, and the hard-earned lessons of survival, are often quick to judge. But to understand the Israeli psyche, and why compromise is seen not as a clear path to peace but a potential threat, requires a much deeper engagement. The responsibility for thoughtful and informed discourse lies particularly with those who criticize Israel without recognizing this history. They must ask themselves what is truly at stake for a people who have long fought for their survival.

This is where the real work must be done—not in simplistic calls for justice, but in a more nuanced conversation that respects the complexity of Israel’s past and present. Those who demand change must also reckon with the historical realities that continue to shape the Israeli psyche. To overlook these experiences is to misunderstand the core of the conflict and perpetuate solutions that fail to grasp the vulnerabilities Israel continues to face.

I remember a moment from my time on Clal’s Stand and See trip that illustrates this point. I was speaking with a young Jewish man who asked me what I had learned during my visit. I told him that while the land itself was breathtaking and held profound significance for my Christian faith, it was the people I met—people filled with passion and love for their land and their heritage—who truly transformed me. It wasn’t the politics or historical sites that spoke the loudest; it was the humanity, the lived experiences, and the deep personal connection to the land that transcended the surface.

This is what it means to live within a gradient. It is to embrace the full dimensionality of the human experience, acknowledging that people are more than their political affiliations or religious identities. Reducing others to such labels misses the point. We are all beings of mistakes and triumphs, pain and joy, and everything in between. I know the struggle of realizing that staying silent in the face of opposition is no longer an option, but I also know the danger of being swept into extremes—where the pursuit of power or the celebration of powerlessness become two sides of a dehumanizing coin.

We must resist this dichotomy. We must reject the simplicity of “one side or the other.” We are dealing with human beings, not caricatures. Our lived experiences cannot be reduced to headlines or slogans. They require us to dig deeper, wrestle with complexity, and honor the sacredness of each individual narrative.

As Rabbi Singer urges, we need a discourse rooted in mutual understanding—one that acknowledges the historical and spiritual ties of the Jewish people to the land of Israel, while not ignoring the lived realities of Palestinians. We must strive to understand the deep-seated fears and hopes that animate both communities. Only then can we hope to move beyond a zero-sum game and towards a future where the presence of one does not necessitate the absence of the other.

This is the work before us: to foster a dialogue that recognizes the humanity on all sides, that seeks to comprehend rather than conquer, and that remembers the true pursuit of justice must never come at the expense of erasing people.

 

Read the original piece by Rabbi Ross Singer.

Read a response by Rev. Dr. Brian Maguire.

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