By Rachel Sacks
Jewish communities under the umbrella of common background, can fragment those communities as well.
Memories can be hard to keep, especially when many memories contradict each other. On Workshop, my understanding of the occupation and its history altered immensely from the narrative taught at my Jewish day school and from many of my family members. I felt embarrassed that some of my favorite teachers could make racist slurs about Palestinians and then continue teaching me Hebrew root conjugations as though nothing had happened. That one of the wisest people I ever met burned Palestinian olive trees, that my kindest cousins believed Bibi Netanyahu was the savior of Israel, that my parents scoffed when I made a speech at a J Street event back in Philly. I longed to come from a progressive Zionist background, one that shared the values of Habonim I wished to embody each day on Workshop and forever afterwards. But that wasn’t my reality. I came from a background of mixed memories, one where my family and teachers' memory of Jewish peoplehood and vision for universal truth clashed with the vision I deeply cared about. I wanted to distance myself from them beyond my 7 hour time difference. I came to understand that Jewish memory, as much as it can unify
But these different understandings, these variations of Jewish memory that I came to struggle with when immersing myself in the movement, should challenge communities rather than divide them. When I have Shabbat dinner with my cousins and discuss Israeli politics, I need to push myself to engage in the difficult conversations rather than storming from their table. I bask in the warmth of my family's love and relish the delicious food they’ve taken days to prepare for our time together, understanding that these shared memories of enjoying each other's company are equally important as our differing political truths. I still feel embarrassed about the votes on their ballot, but my family is part of my identity. Our differing perspectives