Sol Metz was born on May 5, 1943 in Detroit, Michigan. He devoted his life to social justice activism, which he approached from a deeply spiritual perspective. A friend remembers: Sol was a man of profound convictions and principle. When he came to a conclusion about something, about making a commitment to something, he did it and stuck with it.
At gatherings of Ann Arbor Friends Meeting, Sol’s messages were loving and meaningful. He often
spoke of his Jewish roots, the compassionate messages of Jesus, and his concerns
for justice. Friends remember a t-shirt he often wore that displayed a quote
from Brazilian Archbishop Helder Camera: “When I give to the poor they call me
a saint. When I ask why the poor have no food, they call me a Communist.”
Paul Aboud, who later interviewed
Sol about his experiences in Palestine, writes, “Mr. Metz’s voice shook while
describing a home demolition at the hands of the IDF: ‘These acts were carried
out by Jews in the name of Jews everywhere. I saw these acts as a betrayal of
the Judaism I had learned about [as a child]. I came to believe that criticism
of Israel was my duty as a Jew.’”
Another friend remembers: There was an evident struggle in him: first
there was the imperative to act, to do something – anything – to not let these
wrongs slip by unhindered no matter how impractical the response (although he
would prefer it to be practical) but to speak out, point out, and break free of
the cynical pessimism that most of us live and breathe.
Sol’s determination to get in the
way of injustice was complicated by his impulse to not force anything, to be
gentle and not bully others: Sol kept it
up front, in your face, but always with an asterisk that implied, “This is my
mission – come along as far as you yourself are led.”
After his first, formative trip
to Palestine, Sol joined Jewish Witnesses for Peace and Friends (JWPF), holding
a weekly vigil outside the Beth Israel Synagogue amidst strong criticism by
some members of the Ann Arbor community and disagreement with some at Ann Arbor
Friends Meeting as well. But as he did so often, Sol remained serene and
undeterred. Sol expected to hold his
vigil outside the Beth Israel Synagogue weekly for the rest of his life. He
felt so deeply that Jewish support for the Zionist enterprise, the making of a
Jewish nation on the Palestinians’ land, was deeply destructive to Judaism, a
good and worthy religion. He had decided to speak about that and protest it by
putting himself outside the synagogue bodily during their religious services
every week – for life. Which he did.
Sol participated in other
campaigns and demonstrations for Palestinian rights: petitioning the Ann Arbor
Food Coop to stop selling foods from Israel, boycotting Hillers Market for
contributing part of its profits to the Israeli Defense Forces, distribution of
educational materials, demonstrating with University of Michigan student
members of SAFE (Students Allied for Freedom and Equality), and divestment
campaigns against Caterpillar and other corporations supporting the occupation
of Palestinian land.
A friend remembers: Despite his outer calm, Sol hid some strong
emotions he felt about injustices the Palestinians suffer. He found the reading
of Ilan Pappe’s “The Ethnic Cleansing of Palestine” so painful that he stopped
reading it less than halfway through the book and gave it away to a colleague.
Reading Ali Abunimah’s “One Country: A Bold Proposal to End theIsraeli-Palestinian Impasse” Sol became convinced that a one-state solution was
the only way to resolve the conflict. When reminded that most Jews reject that
option but may support a two-state solution, he would reply firmly that massive
settlement expansion has already made a two-state solution impossible.
When Sol died on June 25, 2012,
during a short bout with cancer, a friend arranged for two olive trees to be
planted in Palestine in his memory. She writes, I hoped that by planting these living, growing symbols of peace, this
would be one of the many ways Sol’s work would carry on, bear fruit, and live
to witness the peace that we all wish we could live to see.
Even if I knew the world would
come to an end tomorrow,I would go into the garden
and plant an olive tree.
Unless we plant now,
There will be no shade for our children,
No oil to heal the wounds,
No olive branches to wave for peace
when it comes.
-
Father Mitri Raheb, Lutheran pastor in Bethlehem
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