Over the hundreds of interviews that I’ve done for Israel from the Inside since we launched it in 2021, I’ve met fascinating people, been inspired by extraordinary stories and have learned an enormous amount. Still, though, until I interviewed Rabbi Hanan Schlessinger, I had never had the experience of interviewing someone, closing the interview, clicking on “Stop Recording” and then … just sitting there in perfect silence, looking at the other person for what seemed an eternity.

When Rabbi Schlessinger finished speaking, neither of us uttered a word. Even now, what he said continues to reverberate in my mind, and I hope that it will do the same for you.

As I mentioned yesterday, one of the questions that has lodged itself in my mind is that of what I would call “Jewish religiosity with moderation at its heart.” By that I don’t mean this movement or that movement, or this way of Jewish life or that way of Jewish life, this mode of practice or that mode of practice. Rather, the question that I've been thinking about quite a bit is “What would it take for the fundamental pulse of traditional Judaism in Israel to be one of acceptance, of embrace, of tolerance, of love?”

That that description does not characterize Israel’s religious establishment is, I think, a proposition that scarcely needs defending. That it also does not characterize wide swathes of “religious” Israelis (it’s true of “non-religious” Israelis as well, of course) is also sadly not really up for debate.

What would it take to transform the pulse of Jewish religious life from what it is to something very different? Is it possible? Buried inside those questions are issues that are relevant not only to Judaism and not only to Israel, and there is a vast, vast literature on religion, moderation, tolerance, the tendency for religious passion to produce extremism, and much more. That’s far beyond the pale of our focus here.

So what we’re doing periodically on Israel from the Inside is to speak with people who do represent a Judaism of tolerance, of embrace, of love. We’re trying to hear from them how they got to where they are, who influenced them religiously, how it feels for them to be part of the wider religious picture in Israel, what they think we might do to create more people like them.

As noted yesterday, we’re doing a “mini-series” on that subject this week, and will continue with more in the future. Yesterday, we heard from Rabbi Na’ama Levitz Applbaum, and today we hear from Rabbi Hanan Schlessinger, an Orthodox rabbi who lives over the Green Line who has views that made me think even more. I hope his words will do the same for many of our listeners.

Rabbi Hanan Schlesinger is an Orthodox rabbi, teacher, and co-founder of Roots/Shorashim/Judur, a movement fostering understanding between Israelis and Palestinians. Originally from New York, he moved to Israel at 20 and has lived in Alon Shvut for four decades. His work in interfaith dialogue, especially during his years in Dallas, transformed his approach to peacebuilding. Today, he advocates for recognizing both Israeli and Palestinian narratives. He and his wife Ayala have four children and eleven grandchildren.

To learn more about Roots (Shorashim), click HERE.

The link at the top of this posting will take you to the full recording of our conversation; below you will find a transcript for those who prefer to read, prepared for our paid subscribers.

In this day and age, I think it's particularly important, not only to our minds, but especially to our souls, to hear from people whose engagement with Israel and whose belief in the future of Israeli society is such that it takes us out of the pathways that we usually think in, whether because the subject matter is different or the orientation is different, or the soulfulness is different. I know that I, living here and being somewhere between sad and distraught, somewhere along that line, moving backwards and forwards over that continuum over the last year and a half, have found my encounters with people who are doing something very different, something very positive, something very forward-looking, deeply healing for my soul. And I, therefore, was delighted that today's guest, Rabbi Hanan Schlesinger, who is the head of the North American Outreach Division of Roots, and he'll tell us more specifically about the work that he does and so forth.

Roots, "Shorashim," is in an organization that I've known about for years. We had a student here at Shalem who was very involved with it. I met the Muslim founder of it a number of years ago, and Rabbi Schlesinger has since then gotten very, very involved. But before we get to Roots, and before we talk about what it's doing, and before we talk about what the current war has done to shape its work and the thinkers of its leaders, I wanted to ask Rabbi Schlesinger, beyond thanking him for being with us today, to begin by telling us the story of his journey from Long Island to Shorashim, Roots. He lives in Alon Shvut, which is not too far from Efrat. If those of you who know Efrat, it's south, southwest, more or less, of Jerusalem. When there's no traffic, it's a 20-minute drive. When there is traffic, it's a two-hour drive, depending on the traffic in the tunnels. So he lives in an area that is commonly associated with people being to the political right. It's certainly not true of everyone. We've had other people on the podcast who come from that part of the country who are also not there.

But he is a person who stands for his own views and who I think represents something really important for all of us to hear. So, Rabbi Schlesinger, first of all, Thank you very much for taking the time. Tell us a little bit about the journey from Long Island, that I think it's Texas, where the major transformations take place to the Gush, to Alon Shvut, to work with Shorashim Roots.

How long do you have? Five hours? Okay. Thank you for having me. I was born in New York on Long Island to a secular, assimilated Jewish family. I got a Jewish education Reform afternoon school from the third grade. I was bar mitzvah-ed. I wasn't connected in any sense at all, really, to my Jewish heritage. Until the end of eighth grade, I joined Young Judea, Zionist youth movement.

Yes, so did I. Look at that. We're the two that drank the Kool-Aid. There's actually a lot of people from my Young Judea year on the southeast who got here. But anyway, go ahead.

So I joined Young Judea totally for social reasons. I was in love with the girl who is the president. And I, like you said, drank the Kool-Aid. I became a very fervent Zionist. I came to Israel during the summer after 10th grade with Young Judea, and then I went on the Young Judea year course after high school. And in the process of becoming a Zionist, I began to develop a sense that Zionism was the second or third story of a Jewish identity, and the foundation was or had to be Jewish history, Jewish connection to the land. It had to be more that it had to be something metaphysical, something that was obligating me to take upon this Jewish identity, this Jewish journey. If I'm going to leave my home, leave my parents, leave what was dreamed for me to be a good Jewish doctor and to go to make the desert bloom in some kibbutz, that would be a pretty good reason for it. So I wanted to do it. I wanted to make aliyah. I wanted to...

But politics alone wasn't going to capture it. It needed to be politics plus something, higher, deeper, wider.

Yes, exactly. So I began at the end of high school last year to look into, to learn a little bit about the religious Judaism. I got connected to Marty Cheson, who was a leader in Young Judea, who had himself become religious. I think I did some type of Shabbaton with him. And I began to observe Shabbat, then went on Year Course and began to observe more mitzvot to become religious. But I want to make it so clear it wasn't out of a belief in God. It was out of a search for the foundation for my Zionist belief. And I remember saying to myself and saying to others, 20 years later, 30 years later, 40 years later, did I find God? No. Yes, maybe. But I found a framework that gave me meaning for life.

We're going to fast forward in a second, and you become an Orthodox rabbi, but I want to talk about then Texas, and then whatever. But it's fascinating that you say that about God. I don't think we were going to talk about God so much in this conversation. But since you raise God, do you think that it's the lack of theological certainty in some way that gives you a nimbleness to engage with different kinds of communities? Do you think that theological certitude makes it more difficult to engage with Christians as you are doing in the States and Muslims as you're doing here? Or is that just irrelevant?

Thank you very, very much for the question. And when this podcast ends, I'm going to go home and think about it more. I've thought about that a little bit, and I don't have a full answer. But the very fact that I don't have a full answer means there may be something to what you are bringing up. Thank you.

Well, my pleasure. It always gets me to think when people come in and talk even a tiny bit about their own searches. And I was also struck, and I just want to reiterate it again for our listeners, that there are a lot of us here who, whatever our views are, left, center, right, it doesn't make any difference, believe that sustaining the passion for this place in purely political terms is almost impossible. I certainly believe...