I see the fear in my wife’s eyes when I tell her what I want to do, and I get it. I really get it.  As much as Israelis joke about them, because that’s what we do, these ballistic missiles with cluster warheads aimed at civilian populations are not a laughing matter. And wandering around Area C in the Northern Jordan Valley — isn’t that also dangerous? Can’t you be attacked by a terrorist at any moment?

And the craziest thing about the moment in which we’re living is that, as completely true as both of those concerns are, I know that the most likely risk I’m taking with this trip, and it is very real, is being attacked by other Jews who won’t like the sight of a Jew, certainly one with a kippah on his head, going to visit and seek to offer some measure of solace to the families of Khirbet Humsa that they are intent on expelling. But despite this fear, and even more so, because of it, I felt the obligation to go, to see it with my own eyes, and to apologize for what happened. Because if there’s something I fear even more than all of the above, it’s what we are becoming.

Yes, yes, “we.” And yes, apologize. No, I didn’t do it, I don’t support it, I don’t know who did it. But if a pogrom occurs — and it occurred, and at this point we can’t even say this is something unusual because these types of things (albeit generally of a less extremely brutal nature) are happening all the time. And if it’s not being effectively handled by the government and the authorities that should be taking care of it — and it’s not. And especially if there is a real possibility that that is not only the result of a lack of ability, or even a lack of will, but actually the silent endorsement of these actions – and there is… well then, this is on all of us. The guilt, and the responsibility to act.

The government’s failure begins with the signs.

There is this theory of “broken windows” out there that says — if you see higher crime rates in neighborhoods with broken windows, that’s not because those make it technically simpler for thieves to break into houses, but because they act as a signal that says — no one cares about this here. That signal acts as a powerful permission for people who might not otherwise break the law, because after all, what is the law if no one really cares about it? On Route 90, on the way to Humsa, I start to see the broken windows, in the form of road sign after road sign on which the legally required Arabic writing had been graffitied over. A person sees this and says to themselves: if no one cares to fix the signs to ensure that Arabic isn’t erased, they won’t care........

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)