A D’var Torah for Parshat Yitro by Rabbi Ariana Silverman
Standing on a roof in the village of al-Walaja in East Jerusalem, my colleagues and I peered out over the valley and it was hard to choose where to look. There were the gorgeous trees on the hills, the waning light of the impending sunset, the shiny apartment buildings of the nearby settlements, the homes of this Arab neighborhood, and there, just visible, was the olive tree.
The al-Walaja olive tree is one of the oldest trees in the world. Preceding the beginnings of Islam, Christianity, or even the revelation at Sinai, this olive tree is between 4,000-5,000 years old. Tu BiShvat elevates a biblical command (Leviticus 19:23-25) that dictates a fruit tree must be five years old before one can eat its fruit, thus necessitating keeping track of trees’ ages. This tree is older than the command itself.
Rooted in a land that has been cultivated, inhabited, and fought over for millenia, in the past century alone this tree has survived two wars on its soil and has been under the rule of multiple authorities. Today, as it bears fruit for this generation of residents, it also bears witness to the State of Israel demolishing the homes of some of those residents.
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I saw both this tree and the wreckage of demolished homes last month while on a tour of the al-Walaja village with T’ruah. I was accompanied by rabbinic colleagues from across the denominational spectrum who are also fellows in the Shalom Hartman Institute’s Rabbinic Leadership Initiative. T’ruah enabled us to branch out to a very different part of Jerusalem. 
Our tour was led by a local resident who recounted the narratives of families whose homes were demolished and related that his family’s home is also under a demolition order. As we ate nuts and drank juice in their home, our group kept wrestling with why it might be destroyed.
The answer is, in part, a matter of secular law. Israel has refused to allow a zoning plan for parts of al-Walaja and simultaneously insists that homes built without a zoning plan are illegal and therefore can be demolished. T’ruah is urging Israel to allow a zoning plan and is among organizations, professionals, and volunteers trying to help the village develop one. And beneath the heartbreak and injustice of children being forcibly evicted from their homes must lie the question of Israel’s motivation. It seems Israel wants to use land in al-Walaja for other purposes. It has suggested building a national park and it has also expanded settlements in the area.
But we are also a people rooted in Jewish law. As we read in Parshat Yitro this week, at Mount Sinai God spoke aloud the commandment lo tachmod beit rei’echa–you shall not covet your neighbor’s house (Exodus 20:14). Ibn Ezra, a 12th century commentator, asks the central question that has echoed from Mount Sinai to a beautiful valley in Jerusalem: “How is it possible for a person not to covet in his heart all beautiful things that appear desirable to him?”
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But Ibn Ezra also reminds us that coveting is based on the hubris of believing that we should be able to get whatever we want. He points out that we don’t covet the things we deem impossible to acquire — like sprouting wings and flying, or marrying the king’s daughter. So what if God is saying that regardless of our power or politics, we are commanded to treat our neighbor’s home as something impossible to acquire? Perhaps there are limits to what we are permitted to even desire.
The village of al-Walaja exists in a place that has also been called Jerusalem, East Jerusalem, the West Bank, the occupied territories, and Judea and Samaria. This week, I keep thinking about the name that a single tree has called it for over 4,000 years: home.
Rabbi Ariana Silverman is the rabbi of the Isaac Agree Downtown Synagogue in Detroit. She’s a Harvard-educated, HUC-JIR-ordained, Wexner Graduate Fellowship-trained justice-pursuer, and a grateful spouse and parent.