I got a lot of flack from family and friends about visiting Germany, but no one had any compelling reasons for me to reconsider-- other than 'this feeling' that it was somehow wrong for a Jew to set foot in the former Nazi-land. Their feelings, along with my own, weren't enough to quell my curiosity and in retrospect, I insist that my anti-pilgrimage was both worthwhile and a necessity.

I'd never visited a concentration camp and the Sachsenhausen Camp, located just outside of Berlin, was one of our first stops. It was cold and rainy and I walked around the camp, saw the bunks, the ovens, and the open fields in which my people were systematically shot and murdered at the discretion of some of the most evil men in the history of the world. It looked just like it did in the books and in the movies and I'd stuffed my pocket full of tissues in anticipation of the emotional breakdown of the century-- but it never came. Some people cried and others looked as numb as I did. I wasn't sure what to make of my reaction or the reactions of others and I just kept asking myself, "why am I here?" Surely, the purpose of visiting a concentration camp was to tug at your heartstrings and make you feel one-millionth of the pain that your grandparents would feel if they set foot inside the camp. No such luck.

On the bus ride home, I felt a slight escalation in emotion, mostly anger. I thought about the helplessness and desperation, focusing mostly on the perpetrators. Still, I realized that I was privileged to be a part of a generation with a source of comfort. This could never happen again because there is a powerful army that exists to protect Jews and I was able to witness the way in which guilt has truly influenced German society. There is a serious stigma within German society when there is mere mention of beginning a new political party and the German disdain for everything pertaining to the military is (almost) understandable. I struggled with all of this-- I struggled to remember with feeling and intention, all while knowing that this was a part of our past and that I could be certain that it would stay there, in the past, as another piece of our story that I could mourn for but not completely relate to. The same question came to mind, "why am I here?"

While at the Jewish Museum in Berlin-- one of the most fantastic tributes to Jewish history that I have ever witnessed in the diaspora-- I came the closest that I'll probably ever come to finding an answer. We saw the well-known installation Shalechet by Israeli artist Menashe Kadishman. It was featured as a part of an exhibit entitled Void, most of which conveyed messages related to the Holocaust. Shalechet was a tiny sliver of a room and there was a bit of light, but if you ventured far enough, you disappeared into the darkness. If you chose to walk the length of the room, you had to walk over thousands of hunks of metal that were shaped to look like faces (see photo below). The only sound in the room was the wretched, horrible sound of feet crunching on metal. When no one was there, the exhibit didn't move and it didn't make any noise. That was, as we interpreted it, the point. By walking on that very ground, we were giving the murdered and the forever lost the opportunity to scream again, and to be heard.

Shalechet, by Menashe Kadishman, Jewish Museum in Berlin.Two generations later, I was already somewhat numb to the pain of the Holocaust-- had I not visited Germany, acquired a visual, and dedicated two weeks to focusing on the screams of the Shoah, how would I remember? The reservations that I had about traveling to Germany, the ideological and emotional struggle of being shlepped around such a historically loaded place-- that was my first and only opportunity to truly grapple with the reality of the Holocaust.

The feeling that it's somehow wrong to visit Germany is irrational and purely emotional. The Nazis are dead or dying and their children, as a whole, haven't committed any crimes against humanity. You can buy a cappuccino from a middle-aged man and not have to worry that he voted for Hitler-- or worse. It's true that anti-Semitism has a real presence, but it has a presence in France, England, and most of your other European vacation destinations. My visit to Germany wasn't a book that I could put down or a movie that I could turn off; it was full immersion into the remnants of what happened, and that is the best that my generation can do when it comes to memorializing something that is in danger of becoming just another sad story among many others.

"You can hold yourself back from the sufferings of the world, that is something you are free to do and it accords with your nature, but perhaps this very holding back is the one suffering you could avoid." - Franz Kafka

This article first appeared on November 22, 2008 and has been republished as part of the series JEWCYEST WEEK EVER.

Both the media and the general population do a lot of speculating when it comes to the Haredim (ultra-Orthodox) and in particular, there has been a lot of discussion in recent years regarding the overall sexual health and instances of sexual abuse within ultra-Orthodox communities. It's nearly impossible to find any reliable statistics about sexual disorders (ranging from physical pain during intercourse and the inability to orgasm to pedophilia) and the frequency of sexual abuse among women and children, which makes it completely impossible to know whether or not the Haredi lifestyle, as many claim, actually creates an environment with proportionally high instances of these issues. Many researchers and journalists have opinions and educated guesses, but the reality is that the Haredi communities, both in Israel and around the world, are only recently starting to deal with these issues-- and they aren't too keen on letting outsiders know about what goes on within.

Dr. Mark Greenberg* founded and serves as the director of an organization that focuses on treating sexual disorders within the Haredi community in Jerusalem. His organization, which he does not want to be named, is one of a few organizations with the same purpose and his is the smallest with the least amount of paid staff and the smallest budget. His organization provides counseling for Haredi couples that are experiencing sexual problems within their marriage; they also hold workshops for women that are having problems reaching orgasm or that find sexual intercourse with their husbands painful. In addition, there is a small team of social workers on hand that deal with cases in which a doctor or a psychologist suspects sexual abuse of a woman or a child.

On the condition of anonymity, for fear of being criticized by his fellow Haredi community members, Dr. Greenberg* agreed to speak about what he has observed behind the closed doors of Haredi society. "A lot of Haredim argue that the fact that sex is not an acceptable topic of casual conversation and that it is strictly reserved for married couples, renders the Haredi community a group of people with a high degree of respect and appreciation for sexual relations between man and wife-- a sort of spiritual connection with one's partner that the secular world, whose communities deal with sex in abundance from very young ages, cannot possibly compete with," explains Dr. Greenberg of the Haredi perspective. "That may or may not be true; it's true that the Jewish law requires a man to sexually gratify his wife, and that men and women are supposed to maintain modesty and reserve sexual desire for their spouses. It's possible that this creates something unique and special. The downside, though, is simply lack of education, awareness, and outlets for sexual desire. It hurts the population and it's difficult for them to find help."

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IDF soldiers are given strict orders in terms of combat procedures as per IDF moral code; the IDF tells them when it is appropriate risk their lives, to save others, and to shoot. The details are numerous, but the basic outline is as follows:

IDF soldiers have three priorities in combat, and they are listed here in order of priority (all quotes in italics are taken directly from the IDF Moral Code):

1. Accomplish the mission

"The IDF soldiers view their service in the IDF as a mission; They will be ready to give their all in order to defend the state, its citizens and residents."

2. Protect oneself and comrades

"The IDF servicemen and women will act out of fraternity and devotion to their comrades, and will always go to their assistance when they need their help or depend on them, despite any danger or difficulty, even to the point of risking their lives."

"The IDF servicemen and women will act in a judicious and safe manner in all they do, out of recognition of the supreme value of human life. During combat they will endanger themselves and their comrades only to the extent required to carry out their mission."

3. Avoid collateral damage (damage to civilians and their property)

"The IDF servicemen and women will use their weapons and force only for the purpose of their mission, only to the necessary extent and will maintain their humanity even during combat."

Believe it or not, it's moral and lawful for those guns to be used. Among other things, implicit in the IDF moral code is the fact that soldiers risk their own lives in two cases: in order to accomplish a mission and in order to save the lives of their comrades. Individual soldiers are not permitted to risk their own lives in order to avoid collateral damage or to save civilians, and there is nothing peculiar or immoral about this in terms of military protocol. The United States Army, along with most standing armies, have the same principle.

The IDF warns civilians about incursions and goes through leaps and bounds to plan missions, on a strategic level, that are designed to keep civilians in mind. During Operation Cast Lead, the IDF even went as far as to reroute missiles already on their way to targets in Gaza, due to the fact that too many civilians 'gathered' (they were most likely being used as human shields by Hamas) near the original targets. Individual soldiers, however, must first accomplish their missions and protect themselves and their comrades-- these are the rules of war, and you'll be hard-pressed to find a military that does not follow the same protocol. Naturally, in this case, there are civilian casualties.

Even though the IDF's moral code is listed on its official website and is written in various publications for all to see, the IDF's PR front doesn't exactly advertise the fact that combat soldiers have a defined list of priorities that does not call for sparing the lives of civilians in all cases. Given the indisputable fact that this moral code is lawful, it should be advertised. During Operation Cast Lead, those speaking for the IDF repeatedly said that the IDF does 'everything that it can' to prevent civilian casualties. This is overwhelmingly true when it comes to senior officials planning missions, but the IDF failed to make it clear that there are situations in which it views civilian deaths as unfortunate, but justified. The obvious example is one in which civilians are killed because they were used as human shields by Hamas, who wouldn't allow them to vacate buildings, homes, schools, and other areas that Hamas used as military targets, despite having been warned before attacks by the IDF; the IDF considers these deaths to have been caused by Hamas, and rightfully so. The other example of civilian deaths that the IDF considers within the bounds of morality and legality is less obvious, and those are the deaths that happen due to a soldier's adherence to the IDF moral code and its list of priorities. Why should the IDF make this clear in the press?

The fact that IDF Moral Code is not made clear worldwide is a major part of the reason that much of the media call the IDF a bunch of liars, though not always in so many words. We say that we do everything possible to avoid civilian deaths, and next to these quotes from senior military officials, you'll find photos of dead Palestinian civilians. The truth is that, like any other military at war, we have a list of priorities. Contrary to popular belief, the principle of proportionality within the realm of international law does not relate to the number of civilians that are killed during war. Rather, it demands that the civilian casualties and property damage must be in proportion to the significance of the military target as it directly relates to the completion of military objectives. If the IDF kills 15 civilians when bombing a house that a Hamas operative once visited for a cup of tea, that is disproportionate. If , during a war whose objective is to decrease the ability for Hamas to carry out attacks against Israel, 15 civilians are killed when the IAF bombs the Hamas Government Complex, from which the planning of terror attacks occurs, this is not disproportionate. In addition, a soldier's life comes before a civilian in enemy territory, and even those that ideologically massacre principles of war in the name of 'international law' specifically when talking about the IDF, can't argue that this principle is illegal. As such, it would be to the IDF's benefit if it were forthcoming about its moral code. Those tragic photographs of dead civilians may be tragic, but why make it easy for the media to call us liars? Our moral code doesn't state that we protect civilians in all cases, and we need to explain that to the world.

Israel would have much less of an image problem if its PR front had the strength of the IDF's convictions.

"I don't really get into the Tanakh," explains Naomi Rubinstein, a 24 year old American living and volunteering in Israel for the year. "Torah and Jewish texts in general don't speak to me. My family isn't religious and neither am I. I see my Judaism in a different way; for me, being Jewish is about social justice. I want to make the world a better place, and not just for Jews." Naomi's commitment to social justice is what brought her to Israel for a year, where she is volunteering at an organization that helps African refugees living in Israel, many of whom are poverty-stricken. She got in touch with this organization with some help from her progressive Jewish women's group back in New York City.

Naomi's work is important and her contributions are admirable. What she may not realize is that a commitment to social justice--for Jews and gentiles alike--isn't an idea coming solely from contemporary Jewish organizations that utilize the appeal of community service initiatives to engage young Jews. The idea of helping refugees, or 'strangers' in your land, comes straight from the Tanakh:

Leviticus 19:33/34

"And if a stranger resides in your land, you shall not do him wrong. The stranger that resides with you in your land shall be to you as one of your citizens; you shall love him as yourself, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt..."

It's certainly not a new idea and its roots are in the text, not in progressive Judaism, Jewish renewal, or whatever you want to call the philosophy maintained by groups of Jews who want to do good deeds in the name of their Jewish identities while maintaining a degree of secularism.

Many Jewish organizations--both in the diaspora and in Israel--begin with a single idea stemming from Jewish text. In order to market this idea to less religious Jews, they lose the Torah language and dub it a ‘new' or 'different' way to be Jewish without being religiously observant in the modern world. The result is a misleading commitment to social justice that reinforces the notion that Jewish text is only accessible and relevant to halachically observant Jews--and that community service and global awareness are reserved for less traditional, more contemporary Jews. This is problematic because it reinforces an unnecessary rift between Jews that live different lifestyles, which prevents them from relating to each other. It furthers the lack of understanding between the religious, the secular, and everyone in between, because everyone feels like their values come from a different place and that they are, in fact, irreconcilable. The Orthodox can't understand the secular lack of reverence for the Torah and for Jewish law, and more secular Jews feel as though Torah and Jewish law are irrelevant to their ‘contemporary' Jewish values.

Whether your expression of Judaism is in the form of community service initiatives, strict adherence to Jewish law, or both--the truth is that it all comes from the same place. In that case, if you're looking for meaning and depth as a non-observant Jew, why not pick up the book itself instead of letting Hillel or the Progressive Jewish Alliance water it down for you? You can still eat bacon and intermarry, I promise.

Last week, the IDF and Israeli police forces forcefully removed settlers from Beit HaShalom, a disputed home in Hebron. In case you've been living under a rock, the story is the same as usual-- the Jews claim that they bought the home legally and Palestinians dispute the claim. The court sided with the Palestinians and the settlers were forcefully removed. As Jeffrey Goldberg reminded us in his recent post, the event was marked by extremism on part of the settlers.

Well, some of the settlers. Despite what the media may have you thinking, the small group of young people that carried out these heinous, inexcusable attacks on Palestinian people and their property, in addition to vicious attacks against the IDF soldiers carrying out the evacuation, do not come close to representing the actions of the majority of the Jews in Hebron. Regardless, even if the community rabbis warned settlers that they must protest peacefully, some people didn't adhere to that advice. What happened in Hebron was a tragedy on more than one level, and it illustrates the mixed feelings that the settlements bring about for Jews in Israel, myself included.

The day before the pullout began, the IDF declared Beit HaShalom a closed military zone. The evacuation seemed imminent and I was fuming. I'd heard this story before, and I was disgusted with the court for its ruling based on a general rejection of the settlements and a denial of their legitimacy. I sat on my bed, in uniform, wondering what to do. I didn't want to be a part of the IDF on a day in which they removed Jews from a home that they'd purchased-- something that I'd naively hoped would never happen again in the Jewish State. Suffice it to say that I didn't perform my duties in the army during this time and I can confidently say that I did not in any way assist the IDF during this operation. Strangely enough, I'm not feeling content.

Given my feelings about so-called ‘disengagement', you'd think that I'd be proud of, or at least satisfied with, my actions. It's not so simple. I don't doubt my principles related to the settlements, but reading about young extremists and seeing masked Jews looking like members of Islamic Jihad takes its toll. My commitment to the land is unwavering, but it's a separate issue. I don't feel strongly for the community of people that allows violence like this to take place. I could almost cry for the settlers that peacefully protested and watched their Jewish brothers and sisters forcefully remove their friends and family-- except for the fact that their condemnation of the violent extremism isn't loud enough. Sure, a few important rabbis have condemned the attacks and I'm thankful for that-- but where are the protestors? Why aren't the residents of Hebron bullying their violent community members like they tried to bully the soldiers that carried out the evacuation?

They aren't protesting because deep down, they aren't ready to make the statement that violence targeting the innocent is unjust, even when one is certain that his ideology and his claims are morally sound. My political views aside, until they're ready to make that statement, I won't feel much for the residents of Hebron. We don't have much in common, and our respective visions of what it means to be a state held to the standard of Jewish values can't coexist.