Lies, Truth and the Wilderness Between

Friday May 15 2026/28 Iyyar 5786

Hevre/Friends,

I read it. I panicked. I searched frantically for clarification. I fumed. I cried.

The accusations of systematic rape and sexual abuse — including the use of dogs — in Israeli prisons, published in a New York Times Op-Ed by Nicholas Kristof this past Monday, were shocking, disorienting, and horrifying.

Coupled with growing global — and Jewish — outrage over the violent actions of Hilltop Youth settlers against Palestinians in the West Bank, these accusations only further inflame an already raging fire.

Trying to make sense of it all, I’m sharing several links to voices that have helped guide many of us through this tumultuous week. The reliability of these allegations, and the integrity of the New York Times in publishing them, have since been forcefully challenged. Read some responses here ,here, and here. 

The lengths to which Israel’s critics will go to delegitimize and demonize the Jewish state can feel terrifying and depressing. And the immense effort to tell our own story to the world often seems to fall on deaf ears.

So what now?

Many of the clearest and most compelling repudiations of the poisonous falsehoods in these allegations are also courageous enough to acknowledge a painful truth: despite the absurdity of some of the published claims, a culture of abuse within Israeli prisons is, sadly, not unknown. The fact that the system is overseen by the Minister of National Security, Itamar Ben Gvir, a politician known for racist rhetoric — and convicted of offenses including incitement to racism and support for a terrorist organization — only deepens concern about the moral culture within Israel’s detention centers.

But make no mistake: Judaism demands moral accountability even in moments of enraging libel against the Jewish people. Rejecting lies is one obligation. Examining uncomfortable truths is another. For one of the most compelling responses to the essay — and a powerful call to Jewish courage and moral conviction — I encourage you to read journalist Haviv Retteg Gur’s piece here. 

An additional layer of challenge lies in the timing of all this. We are just one week away from Shavuot — from the wilderness experience of divine revelation, meant to bring clarity amidst confusion and ambiguity. Or perhaps not clarity exactly.

In her weekly Shabbat message, Mijal Bitton reflected that there was once a time when spiritual leaders worked to teach the wisdom of the wilderness to people unfamiliar with it. “Today”, she lamented, “the wilderness has found us and isn’t letting go.” Yet its Torah remains as urgent as ever.

The Torah was given precisely in a place without clear boundaries, direction, or certainty — not because it resolves every dilemma, but because its sacred teachings help us cultivate stability and moral grounding amid life’s instability. The wilderness, with all its risk and fear, is not the absence of Torah; it is the very setting in which Torah becomes necessary.

As Avivah Zornberg describes it, “The wilderness journey is to be an exercise in stabilizing the sense of God through vicissitudes…”. It’s meant to foster a relationship to the holy One  as “a rhythm that links the jagged edges of experience.”

The mitzvot — ritual and ethical alike — are meant to anchor us in chaotic times, teaching us how to place one foot in front of the other even when the path ahead is obscured. And it is time to lean in. Hard.

Right now, many of us feel lost in the wilderness: as the world seems relentlessly to turn against us, and as the Israel of our dreams gives way to some of our darkest nightmares. The wilderness, in all its terror, is on full display.

And yet, it is from within the wilderness that we are taught to listen for the voice of God. The voice of possibility.

There are literal battles raging in Israel and around the world, alongside political and ideological battles no less dangerous. Sirens, demonstrations, and rhetoric can become deafening. But we cannot allow them to drown out the Divine voice our tradition insists can still be heard above — or perhaps within — the noise: the voice reminding us that every human life is sacred and deserving of dignity; that peace remains the highest aspiration worth pursuing; that Jews, like all peoples, have the right to self-determination; and that there is room for more than one story in the Book of Life.

These lessons are not ours alone. But we are no less accountable to them than anyone else. Indeed, they call us now to invest more fully and bravely in our Jewish pride, our Jewish values, and our Jewish commitments.

May the quiet of Shabbat open our ears and hearts to the wisdom that can still penetrate the clangor surrounding us. And may it give us the courage and dignity to navigate this wilderness — and help lead us, still, toward a promised land.

Shabbat Shalom,

Dini

Photo by Ronen Avisror