Perfection is Not All It’s Cracked Up to Be 

After returning to my career as a lawyer, I wanted to carve out time to write about Mishpat Ivri—Jewish law (Halacha) and the ways it impacts on and contrasts with modern Israeli law – one of the many distinct elements of life in Israel as a Jew. One of the first sources I thought to write on (and I still hope to in that context) is a Mishna in Masechet Sanhedrin (2:2) that briefly outlines the fundamental (though, now largely theoretical) issue of the court’s jurisdiction over the King: “A king does not judge, and is not judged“. The Gemara (Sanhedrin 19a) expands on this, and distinguishes between 2 sorts of kings – those of the House of David, and Jewish kings of other dynasties. Davidic kings, who were righteous and would accept the judgement against them, were subject to the scrutiny of the Sanhedrin (High Court). Other Jewish kings, such as the Hasmonean kings, did not submit to the ruling of the court, and so were not to be judged. The discussion within these sources reflect on many other issues that have surfaced in the news recently. But in the aftermath of last Sunday’s terror attack in Sydney, hidden in this Mishna is an even more pertinent message. 

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We have just celebrated Channuka, the festival that commemorates the improbable victory of a rag-tag Jewish insurgency against the mighty Greek-Seleucid empire. That victory was no small feat, and the military victory certainly is deserving of celebration. Yet its significance is magnified when we place it in its context — of what came before, and what followed after: the Maccabees securing Jewish independence. 

Though its ramifications catalysed changes that made Judaism into what we know it is today, the redemption that the Maccabees wrought was not just religious. Many seem to forget that, from well before the war, the Beit Hamikdash already stood in Jerusalem. Yes, it was modest compared to Shlomo’s Temple and had been desecrated by the Greeks for years. However, the missing piece from our redemption that the Maccabees secured was not the Beit Hamikdash, whose re-dedicating we celebrate (restoring proper worship, and reclaiming the heart of Jewish life). But all that was made possible only after overthrowing the yoke of our colonisers. The spiritual life of the nation was restored, but the newly-born political independence was the truly revolutionary element of Channuka. 

And yet, even this isn’t the whole story. For that we need to look at what followed.

After the events of the Channuka story, the Hasmonean dynasty quickly revealed itself as deeply flawed. Their reign was marked by religious desecrations, civil wars, fratricide, corruption, and even massacres of rabbis (ibid; Brachot 48a). The Gemara’s quiet contrast to the kings of David hints at this reality: the Hasmoneans were not the model of righteous Jewish leadership. Their inauguration is not something we would expect to celebrate, and yet we do. Why? 

The answer is simple, yet profound. Imperfect independence, sub-par sovereignty, is still better than “perfect” exile and “comfortable” helplessness. To live as a free people in our land, even with all the struggles, is infinitely more meaningful than living as a guest elsewhere – no matter how pleasant the surroundings. 

We are all now fondly remembering the holiday foods of sufganiot and chocolate coins – and they truly are delicious. But we all know that these delightful trivialities are not what this millennia old festival is about. Delicacies are nice, but they are not the basis of a proper diet – neither physical nor spiritual. 

Sunday’s attack was both horrific and tragic. But it was not surprising. Much like the attack in Manchester on Yom Kippur (another community close to my heart), the writing was on the wall for months, if not years, before. Here like there, much anger and deep disappointment has been expressed towards politicians and the police – those charged with the safety of these Jewish communities. But in truth, these statements to the press demanding ‘policy change’ and ‘more action’ expose a bleak reality, that – other than imposing further restrictions on Jewish life – this is the only thing that is within the power of the Jewish leadership to do.

I grew up in Sydney. I walked the grounds of Bondi Pavilion where the massacre occurred, countless times. I breathed in the sea breeze, basked in the sunshine, and absorbed the laid-back, fun-loving atmosphere that defines Sydney life. But since leaving for Israel over a decade ago, I don’t miss it. 

Not even after the headaches of Aliya (twice). Not after cramped apartments or failed university exams. Not after four election cycles in one year, or despairing after the most recent political scandal. Nor when I’m asked by a stranger overseas where I’m from, or where I’m going. Not after terror attacks, nights in a bomb shelter, and not after October 7th. Because once you taste true freedom, once you feel at home, once you experience being part of a bigger story, the ‘chocolate coins’ simply don’t cut it anymore. 

I’m not suggesting that Sydney’s Jews should pack up and leave before it’s time to light all eight candles. They don’t need me to tell them that. What I am suggesting, is that they recognize the open door waiting to accept them; the real world that beckons to them. 

It may be far from perfect, but it is infinitely better than what you left behind.