Anguish and Protest.

When I picked up my kids from Sunday school at Temple Beth El on October 22, they handed me a blue leaflet that their teachers had given them. It said, "Show Your Solidarity with Israel at a Rally, Sunday, October 29." The leaflet quoted from Isaiah: "For the sake of Zion I will not be silent; for the sake of Jerusalem I will not be still."

This was too much for me. I knew at that moment that I'd have to protest my own temple, which was hosting the rally. Much as I admire the kindness of the rabbi, the energy of the cantor, and the commitment of the education director there, I could not sit by while the temple showed solidarity with an Israel that was busy killing Palestinians, many of them children.

Yes, I was revolted by the pictures of the Palestinian with blood on his hands exulting in the murder of an Israeli soldier. But I did not leap from that horror into the arms of my tribe. I resisted this impulse because I recognized it as one of the dangerous magnets of the Mideast crisis. And I resisted this impulse because I saw the lopsided number of casualties on the Palestinian side, on top of decades of grievances.

And so, on the morning of the 29th, I went to the hardware store and bought myself a poster board and Magic Marker and wrote: "Shalom Is the Answer: No More Occupation," and "Repression Is Not a Jewish Tradition, but Justice Is."

When I arrived at the temple, no one was picketing. I sat in my car a minute to see if any other protesters might show up, then I took a deep breath and got out and started to walk along the sidewalk in front of my temple.

"You're wrong about this one, Matt," one friendly acquaintance said.

Others were not so mild-mannered.

As a couple of other protesters joined me, the level of vitriol began to rise.

An elderly woman took photos of us, shook her head, and asked, "How could you?"

Another woman said: "Excuse me? Are you Jewish?"

"Yes," I said. "I'm a member of this temple. And my oldest son, Sam, was bar mitzvahed here last year."

She walked away.

Then I saw the woman who had actually designed Sam's bar mitzvah program.

"How could you? Shame on you!" she said.

"That's a little harsh," I responded.

"No it's not. You're supposed to be a Jew!" she said.

From the picket line, I heard the strains of two songs coming out of the temple sanctuary: the Israeli national anthem, "Hatikva," and "The Star-Spangled Banner."

The crisis in the Middle East today is the handiwork of the twin furies: religion and nationalism. And so we devote attention to this tragic crisis this month, first with Hanan Ashrawi's powerful condemnation of Madeleine Albright and U.S. policy, and then with Eetta Prince-Gibson's anguished essay from her perspective as an Israeli dove.

In November 1992, after Bill Clinton ended twelve years of Republican rule, my predecessor, Erwin Knoll, ran a headline on the cover of The Progressive that read: "Four More Years." Now, whether George W. Bush or Al Gore is finally declared the winner, we face four more years of runaway Pentagon spending, four more years of Iraq sanctions, four more years of welfare-bashing, four more years of the poisonous war on drugs, four more years of a shameful health policy, four more years of a corporate-dominated democracy. These are among the challenges ahead.