Who doesn’t love a good round of “Would You Rather?” Would you rather always feel like there’s a pebble in your shoe, or have an itch you can never quite scratch? Would you rather relive your most embarrassing moment once a week, or have a stranger insult you every day? Would you rather lose your ability to taste food, or never be able to listen to music again?
Even the best ones often have a hidden sting. Sometimes, it’s not about choosing what you want — it’s about choosing what you can live with.
Last week, President Donald Trump stood before the American people and, essentially, posed a “would you rather”: Gaza — or no Gaza?
And thousands of voices, compelled by the idea of a huge challenge simply disappearing, got excited.
As a congregational rabbi with a weekly teaching from my pulpit, my thoughts turned to last week’s Torah portion, Beshalach, which offers the Israelites something of a “would you rather” as they flee slavery in Egypt:
“The Egyptians pursued them and overtook them encamped by the sea — all of Pharaoh’s chariots, horsemen, and army.” (Exodus 14:9)
Would you rather face Pharaoh’s army, or throw yourself into the sea? An impossible choice.
It was hard to believe that the mighty sea could split. In fact, the Midrash tells us that the sea actively resisted.
“As Moses stood before the sea, staff in hand, he commanded it to split in God’s name. But the sea scoffed, ‘I was created on the third day — you, humanity, came on the sixth. Who are you to command me?’” (Shemot Rabbah 21:6)
The Hasidic master Kedushat Levi explains that nature, after fulfilling its role for so long, can begin to see itself as independent. So God humbled the sea — not just splitting it, but forcing it to dry up completely with a mighty east wind, stripping it of its pride.
As the Israelites crossed, the Egyptians drowned behind them. In heaven, the angels prepared to sing in praise. But the Holy One, Blessed Be He, stopped them, saying:
“My children are drowning in the sea, and you are singing before Me?”
The angels fell silent. Though justice was served, God did not rejoice in destruction. But the Talmudic Rabbi Yosei bar Chanina adds a striking nuance: While God does not celebrate the downfall of the wicked, He allows others to rejoice. The Israelites, standing on the shore, were not chastised for their song. Their joy was not in the suffering of their enemies, but in their own miraculous salvation. Justice had been done, but the heavens remained solemn.
But Trump’s proposal — that all Palestinians be removed and control of Gaza be turned over to the U.S. — was not like Moses raising his hand and God splitting the sea. It was more like suggesting the entire sea be vaporized — for its own good.
Some have told me: “This is a great conversation starter. Now that the idea is on the table, those who didn’t want to get involved will engage.”
Others have said: “What’s the big deal? It’s just a fantasy. Aren’t we allowed to have fantasies?”
And some have argued: “It’s nearly impossible to rebuild Gaza given the destruction and the tunnel system beneath. Relocating its people might actually be a good idea.”
In Israel, a survey showed that 82% of the Israeli Jewish population favor the idea — including 30% who find it desirable but not realistic. Among Israeli Jews, only 3% think the plan is “immoral.”
So, is this real or not? Hard to say.
I’d like to offer three ideas I’ve been reflecting on over the past few days and invite you to think along with me:
1. Have empathy for our people. Before we judge Israelis or Americans who support something that could be considered ethnic cleansing, let’s acknowledge a painful truth: Most of us prefer to choose our neighbors. Imagine being assaulted, tortured, abducted and witnessing loved ones murdered by your neighbors. Wouldn’t the idea of sending them as far away as possible feel compelling?
2. Measure with the same scale. “You shall not have in your house alternate measures, a larger and a smaller,” says Deuteronomy 25:14. You shall not have “Eifa ve Eifa” is often used metaphorically to refer to inconsistent or unfair treatment, not just in weights and measures but in any form of double standard.
Whether or not this idea is realistic, we must ask: Is it morally acceptable? If we legitimize population transfers, what else are we setting a precedent for? And from a self-preservation perspective — could this approach backfire?
If we say that a large portion of a population living on a small strip of land is constantly causing problems for its larger and more powerful neighbor, and that this population can be removed for the sake of the more powerful neighbor’s security, what happens when we zoom this out?
Israel itself is a small strip in the Middle East. Could someone in the U.S. government one day make the same argument about Israel? Could they echo the rhetoric we have heard from antisemitic protesters, that “Jews should go back to Europe”?
3. It’s hard to imagine the sea can split. I hope that those advocating the expulsion of Palestinians from Gaza don’t really want to see people forced to leave their homes. I want to believe that what most people really want is peace — but it feels so impossible to imagine something better, that we fall back on a much worse option.
Would you rather: have a future where Israel and Gaza coexist, or one where one side disappears?
Would you rather: believe peace is possible, or believe destruction is inevitable?
The sea did not part on its own. The Israelites had to start walking in first — a leap of faith, of courage, of stepping forward.
Maybe our greatest challenge is not choosing between impossible options, but choosing to believe there is another way.