This
past December, a friend and I traveled to Austin, Texas. Neither of us had ever been to Texas before,
and so we decided to take a trip to see a part of the country we had never
before had the chance to see. And so, we
went down to Texas, explored the area, tasted of the local delicacies, met up
with a colleague, and had a chance to see the important sites, including a
brief sojourn to San Antonio in order to see The Alamo. Among our first stops upon our arrival in
Austin was the LBJ library and museum on the campus of the University of Texas
at Austin. The building is quite
imposing and its place on the University campus unmistakable. A behemoth of a white rectangular building,
up on a slight hill, surrounded by paved courtyards with the giant football
stadium in the background, the Presidential Library and Museum walks a visitor
through the life and career of LBJ. From
his humble beginnings in rural Texas teaching immigrant children, to the Oval
Office, I learned much about LBJ and his legacy.
And that is what a museum is all about isn’t it, legacy? What is it that a person did which is worthy of keeping forever? What is it that a person made or painted or sculpted that society has decided is worthy of preservation? In the case of LBJ, his legacy is clear, at least according to the museum. The museum makes the case that were it not for the historic legislation that LBJ caused to be passed, President Obama would never have been elected. Now, the museum doesn’t go so far as to say that, but the video clips and the thrust of the permanent exhibit make it clear that the curators and preservers of LBJ’s legacy believe, and want us to believe, that a distinct line of this nation’s progress as relates to race can be drawn from LBJ to Barack Obama.
And that is what a museum is all about isn’t it, legacy? What is it that a person did which is worthy of keeping forever? What is it that a person made or painted or sculpted that society has decided is worthy of preservation? In the case of LBJ, his legacy is clear, at least according to the museum. The museum makes the case that were it not for the historic legislation that LBJ caused to be passed, President Obama would never have been elected. Now, the museum doesn’t go so far as to say that, but the video clips and the thrust of the permanent exhibit make it clear that the curators and preservers of LBJ’s legacy believe, and want us to believe, that a distinct line of this nation’s progress as relates to race can be drawn from LBJ to Barack Obama.
And what a legacy that is. Our nation has seen itself torn in two, again and again, over the issue of race. Today, the museum tells us, things are better. Today, the museum tells us, thanks to LBJ, the race issues which plagued our nation are more a thing of the past than the present. LBJ was, after all, responsible for the passing of the Civil Rights act, the Voting Rights Act and the Great Society Legislation, which gave aid to education, Medicare, Medicaid, and fought against poverty. The LBJ Museum wants us to know that it’s thanks to LBJ that we have many of the laws and rights we take for granted.
And his legacy endures, in some ways. This year was the 50th anniversary of the signing of the Civil Rights Act. The desk on which LBJ signed the legislation into law is on display at the Museum, as is the pen he used. 50 years ago, the Civil Rights Act of 1964 outlawed discrimination based on race, color, religion, sex, or national origin. It removed obstacles to voting and removed segregation in schools, places of business and public institutions. 50 years ago, the Civil Rights Act changed this nation and moved us toward a more perfect union, toward a better society. And, in truth, LBJ’s legacy endures in these landmark pieces of legislation that continue to form the backbone of racial equality in this nation.
With 50 years working toward racial equality in this nation under our belts, one would think that this nation would be more evolved when it comes to race. The Library and museum seem to tell us we should be. And yet, in the last months, and most prominently this summer, our nation’s old wound was opened again. Michael Brown, an African American young man, was shot fatally by a police officer in Ferguson, Missouri, just outside of St. Louis. If only this were a solitary incident. Closer to home, on Staten Island, Eric Garner died in police custody after a choke-hold was used to subdue him during an arrest. Last month, in South Carolina, at a seemingly routine traffic stop, Levar Jones, an unarmed black man was shot multiple times by a police officer after he went back into his car to retrieve his license, as instructed by the police officer.
This is not an indictment on the police. The overwhelming majority of police officers work hard and put their lives in danger and in harm’s way each and every day to keep their communities safe. They are family men and women, who show kindness, compassion, bravery and care on a day to day basis, as they face more complicated threats and more and more lenient gun legislation. There are some questions about the particular police officers involved in these incidents and the amount of force and firepower that is becoming commonplace among police departments, but more striking, and more important for our nation to grapple with, is the fact that in each of these incidents, and the many others over the last many years, the victim was unarmed and was black.
It has been 50 years since LBJ signed the civil rights act into law, and we, as a nation, still have some soul searching to do about what we value and what we believe civil rights and equality really mean. It has been 50 years since the Civil Rights Act became law, and there is still a wide gap between what it means to be white in this nation and what it means to be something else.
As modern Jews in 21st century America, we have been subsumed into white culture. Or maybe, we pushed ourselves in and demanded a place. Yes, Jews are still distinct, but the fact of the matter is, we are a minority primarily living and working as a part of the majority. But it wasn’t so long ago that signs reminded us of who we weren’t. No Dogs or Jews allowed, the signs told us. As a minority, the rights of other minorities ought to be as important to us as our own. And, we have a legacy of being a part of the solution to societal inequality that we ought not forget.
“The Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Voting Rights Act of 1965 were drafted in the conference room of Religious Action Center of Reform Judaism [in Washington DC], under the aegis of the [Southern Christian] Leadership Conference, which for decades was located in the RAC's building. During the Civil Rights Movement, Jewish activists represented a disproportionate number of whites involved in the struggle. Jews made up half of the young people who participated in the Mississippi Freedom Summer in 1964.”[1] Among those Jews were Andrew Goodman and Michael Schwerner, of blessed memory, who gave their lives, alongside James Charney, in the fight for freedom and equality in what has come to be known as the Mississippi Burning.
“Leaders of the Reform Movement were arrested with Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. in St. Augustine, Florida, in 1964 after a challenge to racial segregation in public accommodations. Most famously, Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel marched arm-in-arm with Dr. King in his 1965 March on Selma.”[2] As Jews, and as Reform Jews in particular, we have a legacy of working toward equality in this country and doing whatever we can in order to further the causes of life, liberty and happiness for all. Of late, however, our voices have been too quiet. Of late, we have not spoken out enough about the issues of race that continue to plague our nation.
These United States, from the outside, seemed to be doing better than ever in terms of race. After all, the first family is African American. Doesn’t that mean we are post-racial, even if the election of the president brought out the worst among some of our countrymen? No. It doesn’t. It means we’ve made progress, but there is much more to do. This summer’s protests in Ferguson in reaction to the shooting death of Michael Brown and the other young black men in this country show us exactly how far we are from being post-racial, how far we are from having race be a thing of the past. They show us that the mask of tolerance and acceptance under which we go about our daily lives is only just that, a mask, hiding the reality of inequality based on race that continues to this day. An inequality that is systematized into the penal code and played out in incarceration rates and policies like Stop and Frisk. An inequality that tells the authorities that they can, and indeed should, be listening in on calls and communications just because someone happens to be Muslim. An inequality that plays out in employment rates, graduation rates and access to loans and mortgages. An inequality that continues to try to disenfranchise voters. An inequality that persists even as the Supreme Court rules that voting rights and discrimination are no longer at issue, as they gut the preclearance elements of that same Voting Rights Act that LBJ signed into law.
Fifty years after the Civil Rights Act and 49 years after the Voting Rights Act, the inequality in our land cries out to us, and it demands that we work to create a new legacy for the next generation. A legacy of equality and justice for all. A legacy which puts into action the motto of this great nation: out of many, one.
But this summer, as the mask of a post-racial America was torn off another mask was torn off as well. How can we focus on race in this country, while throughout this nation and in other nations, the ugly face of anti-Semitism was front and center again. We focus on it because the Anti-Semitism whose resurgence we witnessed with shock and dismay, and which infiltrates quickly due to the New Media is related to the racism which we see continuing in this nation. They are related because this summer we have had the opportunity to witness that we as a species are not as evolved as we had hoped to be by 2014. We are not as open to others and differences as we would have thought in the aftermath of the disastrous conflicts of the 20th century. We haven’t learned our lesson yet, as humans on this earth, and we seem to forget too easily that we are more alike than we are different. That we are all created in the same image.
In response to the war between Israel and Gaza many protests against Israel included, in commonplace incidents, placards, posters, and chants the likes of which we have not seen in many years. Throughout Europe’s capitals, those bastions of tolerance and culture, riots and protests against Jews continued, putting Jewish communities in danger and on high alert. But the posters and the slogans weren’t the extent of the violence. Jews in Europe and even here in America, faced violent attacks. Antiemetic incidents were so prevalent that a Twitter and a Tumblr feed were started called “Everyday Anti-Semitism” which tried to catalogue the numerous attacks in print, at protests, and which people reported.
But the war in Gaza was simply pretense. In Brussels, in May, well before the war began, four tourists were shot at the Jewish Museum in that city. This is the kind of incident with which we have become all too familiar. Whether it was the Chabad in India or the attack on the JCC in Argentina, we are used to a certain number of lone wolf attacks, and perhaps we will never rid our world of this danger.
But this summer, we saw more than just an isolated incident. Jewish-owned stores and a pharmacy in Paris were firebombed and destroyed. Synagogues in Germany have been firebombed, Jews in Sweden attacked and bludgeoned, a Synagogue in Paris besieged and its members forced to defend their place of worship from violent anti-Semitic protests posing as anti-Israel protests. In London, shouts of “Death to the Jews,” or “Hitler was right” among other chants, were heard as a part of the more than 100 reported anti-Semitic attacks in England in July. Posters depicting Israel as equal to the Nazis were commonplace. And even on New York’s Upper East Side, a Jewish couple was harassed and attacked. More recently, a rabbi in Mississippi was asked to leave a restaurant because he was Jewish and took offense to the waiter’s description of a “Jewish salad,” though that incident is disputed by the restaurant's owner.
There are, of course, differences between what is happening now and what happened in the Europe of the 1930's. The Anti-Semitism today is not state-sponsored as it had been for many centuries. In fact, many leaders of Europe, notably France, Germany and Italy, have publicly and loudly condemned the attacks and have done their best to try and stop them. In Germany, a country for which firebombing of a synagogue dredges up memories of a hate-filled past that nation has worked hard to overcome, a rally against hate and against anti-Semitism drew thousands of people and was headlined by the Chancellor and Prime Minister.
None of this is meant to be alarmist nor to scare us into staying at home or force us all to decide to move to Israel. But it is important that we are aware of what is happening in the world. According to an Anti-Defamation League poll[3] completed over the last year, fully 26% of adults worldwide harbor anti-Semitic attitudes. That number jumps to 34% in Eastern Europe and 74% in the Middle East. The numbers are much lower closer to home. Only 9% of Americans and 19% of people in the Americas harbored negative views of Jews. None of this is surprising. Anti-Semitism has existed for as long as there have been Jews. It existed before the conflict in Gaza, and sadly, it will exist even after a true and enduring peace is established, may it happen in our days.
I have been studying Sefer HaYashar with some colleagues over the last few months. Sefer HaYashar is a midrashic collection, which means that it takes the stories of the Bible and elaborates on them to fill in the gaps and answer some of the questions that come up when reading the Bible. For example, what was Abraham’s childhood like? This question is raised because the Torah introduces Abraham as an adult with no description of his youth. Sefer HaYashar answers some of these questions. And, since this collection most likely dates from a post-crusader time frame, the stories take on a slightly different cultural resonance.
Sefer HaYashar talks at length about Abraham and why he left his land to go to Canaan. The Torah tells us that it is because God told him to go with the famous words “Lech Lecha”. But that’s only part of the story, according to this Midrash. Sefer HaYashar posits the young Abram as a believer in the one God, as opposed to the rest of the population, especially Nimrod, the King of Ur. The King makes multiple attempts to kill Abram including by throwing him in a furnace and by shunning him. None of these work, and Abram hides from the king for many years, taking refuge in Noah’s home, and continuing to learn the ways of God.
At a certain point in time, the king has a dream which is interpreted to mean that Abram will cause the king’s death and destruction to the kingdom. Abram hears of this and says the following: “Let us arise and go to Canaan, out of the reach of injury from [the king], and serve the Eternal…and cast away all the vain things.” (Sefer HaYashar, ch. 12)
It is Abraham who makes the decision to flee Ur, making it as far as Haran. And he flees because the powers that be don’t like the religion he practices. By putting Abraham in the same position which the Jews of the Middle Ages found themselves, namely forced to flee on account of their belief, this Midrash makes a point to say that as Jews we have always had to deal with this. Since Abraham, we have had to contend with people who dislike us merely because of who we are and what we believe.
From this story, we see that in the Middle Ages, Jews projected the animosity they felt back in time, believing it to be something we have no choice but to contend with. The ADL survey makes the same point. Anti-Semitism exists and we need to be aware of it, and work to combat it in every way we can. Just because it exists, though, doesn’t mean that Jewry is necessarily in danger. One of the many legacies that has been passed down to us is a resilience of the Jewish people: a legacy of endurance even in the face of difficulty, even in the face of hatred.
Anti-Semitism persists, just as racism persists. And this summer we witnessed a shattering of our complacency and the breaking of a sense of security we may have felt, as we recognized that the Gaza protesters weren’t talking about Israel, or just about Israel, but they were talking about Jews, all Jews. They were talking about us. They were talking about you. And they were talking about me.
And so what can we do? How do we combat these pernicious elements of our world that seem to never be abated? There are a number of actions we can take.
First, let us recognize what we are already doing. By being a part of a congregation, and bringing your family here with you, you help to foster a strong Jewish identity in yourself and your family. Don’t underestimate this. Recognize the gift that you are giving your family: the gift of Jewish community. The gift of Jewish community is a gift of finding pride in who we are. And regardless of what others think, we can counter that with our pride and our sense of self. Studies show that once Jews are no longer an abstract to people, meaning that after someone meets and befriends a Jewish person, their opinion of Jews in general tends to be more positive. How much more so will this be the case if we exhibit a tremendous and unabashed pride in who we are.
Next, we can support worldwide Jewry by making our voices heard as a part of the upcoming Zionist Congress, though our votes and our donations. The Zionist Congress distributes billions of dollars annually to fund Jewish education and shape the Jewish nature of Israel and communities worldwide. Every Jewish adult is eligible to vote. By voting, we make known that we care about what happens to Jews all over the world, and that we will not abide living in a world where Jews are under attack and threat. By voting we put into action the axiom “kol Yisrael arevim zeh l’zeh,” that all Jews are responsible to one another.
Next, we must look inside ourselves. We ought to take care with the words we use and work to combat any latent prejudices we might harbor. It is not easy to look inward, but if this day, this Yom Kippur, can teach us anything, it is that we have the ability to look inside ourselves, find those parts of us we wish to make better and then resolve to make those parts better. In our public confessional, we comment on the ways we have harmed others, whether by baseless hatred or xenophobia. Let us work every day against these most base parts of who we are. Let us also speak out against hate speech. Hate speech is destructive and if left unchecked easily adopted as normative. And it is not just hate speech against Jews we ought to concern ourselves with. We can follow and continue the legacy of the previous generations of Jews who fought and died to make this nation better and more tolerant for everyone, regardless of race, religion, national origin, gender, or sexuality.
We can hold our officials to task. If we believe in Voting Rights, we need to tell our representatives. If we believe in non-discrimination policies, we need to make our voices heard. We may not have the ability or time to put our lives on hold and get on a bus to go make change, but we can all pick up the phone or send an email to our congressperson or senator, both state and national. By speaking up for what we believe, we work toward what we thought we had all along. We work toward a nation and a planet neither of which will be putting on airs of tolerance and acceptance, but rather will be veering toward justice.
Perhaps we thought everything was taken care of because laws have been passed and changed to make this nation more equal, and to provide equal rights for all. But we forgot what is required alongside legislation like the Civil Rights Act. When he signed the bill into law, LBJ said the following:
This
Civil Rights Act is a challenge to all of us to go to work in our communities
and our States, in our homes and in our hearts, to eliminate the last vestiges
of injustice in our beloved country…So tonight I urge every public official,
every religious leader, every business and professional man, every workingman,
every housewife—I urge every American—to join in this effort to bring justice
and hope to all our people—and to bring peace to our land.”[4]
Let us continue to join in the efforts to bring justice and hope to all people. Let us work to ensure a bright future free from hatred and division for the Jewish community worldwide, and for our nation.
Let that be our
legacy.
G’mar Chatimah Tovah
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