This summer, as is our custom when we travel, my family visited a synagogue for Friday night services. Above the ark were the Ten Commandments. The ten constitutional statements of the Jewish ethical life were set in two rows of five each. On the right row were assertions of God's authority; on the left were the moral assertions.

In a sense, in these two columns, in the way they were presented lies the basis of our Jewish nation. On the right hand, our obligation to the greater good, a body greater than ourselves represented in our nation, our clan and our family. On the left hand, the foundation of a just, loving and caring society, where one is obligated to justice and humility.

For better or worse, this has been the Jewish constitution for two millennia. Like other nations, we too have our code of ethics. Yet, like other nations, most of our history has been deprived of the other defining element of nationality: a country. Indeed, the Jewish state had existed only ? three times throughout history: Founded by King David as a kingdom, recast by the Hasmoneans as a theocracy, and reborn most recently as a democracy by a few visionaries and a multitude of immigrants from a hostile world.

The need for a Jewish state in a hostile world escapes some of us in the U.S. There is good reason for it. Although many of us have relatives and friends in Israel, almost none of the eight million U.S. Jews ever experienced hostility. The right to pursue liberty and justice has been good to us here.

So I sometimes hear people wonder: "Why do we need that patch of land way out east there? What do we have in common with that country? We're American, and we need not have an obligation to the modern state of Israel."

Just as there are two elements to the Ten Commandments, there are two elements in the answer to the doubters of the "connection" to Israel. The first is historic. If there is any predictive value in history it is that, over time, patterns do emerge. I am not suggesting that Judaism's most horrifying tragedies will repeat themselves exactly. What I do see is that all around the world there are instances where trouble for Jews, simply because they are Jews, happens time and time again. This could be the most concise argument for the existence of the state of Israel.

The second part of the answer lies in the two columns of commandments. I can live in mind and in action under the humane tenants of the Jewish constitution; all of us would like to believe that in our imperfect way we strive to do good, share good and spread goodness. But we Jews are communal people. We prefer company, some sort of company, to total isolation. We must therefore acknowledge the set of commandments that connects to others. In that way, we are connected to our family, our tribe and yes, to a nation.

We are a nation that for too long was bizarre and incomplete for lack of a patch of land to call home. And yes, it's a desert - although gambling in Eilat is rather grand, and yes, it's hot - although the Dead Sea will do miracles to your skin, but it's OUR desert and our heat and our people! And this has been what millions of people during the Holocaust didn't have, and what thousands of Jewish refugees from Argentina to Ethiopia did have. And that patch of land saved their lives, just by being there and being - excuse my French: Jewish.

Today's Israel isn't attractive as I'd like it to be. I don't like the current political situation in Israel, but because there are good people there, in our Jewish State, we need not approve of Israel or its political actions or even stated policy to support its existence what we do believe in.

The treatment of the Palestinians in Israel has become the lightning rod in any discussion about Israel in recent years. Yet, I feel that by introducing this very painful issue into the equation of our relationship to Israel we are doing a disservice to the solution. Because the Palestians are suffering, because the issue is a humane problem, we as caring Jews should not shun our eyes from the problem. By 'being ashamed' of Israel, or in contrast 'giving it a blanket support', we're not helping. We're just further weakening the possibility that a resolute and humane solution to the problem may be found.

Yigal Rechtman is a computer consultant. Originally from Kibbutz Tzora, he now lives in New York City with his wife and children. When he is not busy with his family, his job, or wrestling with spirituality, he is doing genealogical research.