If you haven’t yet read my previous blog post,
please scroll down and do so before reading this one. You may notice that when I wrote it, I wasn’t
fully aware of what was happening that morning at a synagogue in Pittsburgh,
and when I did find out about the details of the Pittsburgh attack, I wasn’t
altogether surprised. After the pipe
bomb threats, I had all the information needed to write that post – a nation
awash in hatred, weapons and xenophobia will turn to anti-Semitic violence
sooner or later. If we’ve learned
anything from history, it’s that.
This week, though, I find myself thinking not only about
anti-Semitism, but also about philo-Semitism.
Like most other Jews, I’ve been the recipient in the past eight days of a
tremendous outpouring of sympathy from gentiles. They have reminded me that for every
right-wing nut who spews venom about Globalists and George Soros, and every
left-wing nut who thinks that Israel is by far the worst country in the world,
there are numerous others who find such language to be insane. What’s more, they have reminded me that just
as we live in a world where certain gentiles have a special hatred for Jews,
there are other gentiles who – get this – actually love Jewish culture and the
Jewish religion. Those of you who fall
into those latter categories and who reached out to your Jewish friends and
expressed statements of solidarity and love – trust me that your words will
never be forgotten.
Growing up only a generation after the Second World
War, the Holocaust was still in the rear view mirror. I understood that anti-Semites were in the
minority and on the run. But reflecting
on all the causes of anti-Semitism and the historical ubiquity of anti-Semitism,
the whole notion of philo-Semitism seemed
to be absurd. In Europe, Jews were associated with killing
Christ, refusing to recognize His Lordship, separating from the
society-at-large by dressing differently and maintaining different “laws,” and
entering immoral occupations that involved greed and competition. America, I assumed, wasn’t nearly as
anti-Semitic as Europe, but we were colonized primarily by Europeans, and old
stereotypes die hard.
In sports camp one summer, I was given the nick-name
“Bangladesh” because my Jewish skin was darker than that of the other
kids. I recognized that this was no term
of endearment. A couple of years later,
in ninth grade, I had a gym teacher named Andrew Smith who used to mock me with
the name “Super Jew.” I was both smart
enough and non-athletic enough to realize that this was said ironically. In another two years, when I was in 11th
grade, I had a lab partner in science class who called himself a Nazi. And so it goes – I can provide similar
examples, but you get the point.
Anti-Semitism has thrived on this continent even during the period when,
supposedly, all there is to say about the Jewish experience is that we enjoy
white privilege.
As my daughter said during her Shabbat sermon
yesterday on Capitol Hill, most American Jews do enjoy the privileged status
that comes with white skin and a relatively comfortable net worth. But we also enjoy what it means to come from
a tradition where the commitment to social justice is an obligation, not merely
a choice. In my own book about Judaism, entitled “Moses the Heretic,” the title
character wondered why there are so many Jewish social workers, and then said
that “if you can answer that question, you’ll have learned most of what there
is to learn about Judaism.” Rabbi Akiva,
a man who was martyred 19 centuries before the Pittsburgh martyrs lost their
lives, taught us that of all the Torah’s 613 commandments, one stands above the
rest: “Love your neighbor as yourself” (Lev. 19:18). That commandment is obviously an ideal, which
few if any of us are able to fulfill entirely.
But remember that we Jews are not burdened with an emphasis on the
after-life. We are taught that what
matters most to our souls is the need to act in the here-and-now and make a positive
difference in the lives of other people.
That is one reason why Jews are disproportionately represented in public
service. The value of service is ingrained in our culture and our faith.
During the past several months, I have devoted a
fair amount of time to studying the Christian Bible (i.e., the books that
Christians refer to as the “New Testament”).
I found much of those Scriptures to be moving, but perhaps my favorite
line in all those books was the following, which is attributed to Jesus: “For
who is greater, the one who is at the table or the one who serves? Is it not the one who is at the table? But I am among you as one who serves.” (Luke
22:27)
Ultimately, Jews will be judged by our ability to
live in accordance with that teaching. You
see, if we are living consistently with our own faith tradition, we also will
serve. In righteous wars, in the civil
service, in classrooms, at hospitals, at free clinics, in soup kitchens ... you
name it, we will serve. We have a word
for people who don’t. They are called “chazers.” It means “pigs.” We don’t eat pigs, and we don’t want to be
gluttonous like pigs. We are commanded
to serve.
Traditionally, anti-Semites have associated Jews with
the opposite of service. According to
the stereotype, we charge usurious interest and desire to rule the world in
stealthy ways. Think of Shylock or
Fagin, or all the other “swarthy” white people in world literature who grub for
money in the shadows. When a hate-filled
man launched himself into the Tree of Life congregation last week and shut down
the hearts of 11 Jewish worshipers, he surely spoke for countless millions over
the centuries who have come to think of Jews as selfish, scheming, vermin.
As Jesus once said about the poor, the anti-Semites
will always be with us. Anything that
has survived for 2000 years isn’t going away any time soon. But in the past week, we have seen that there
are many gentiles who obviously don’t think of us as supreme hypocrites, or as people
who put the “letter of the law above the spirit.” This past Shabbat, at two very different
synagogues, I watched as gentiles sat for two full hours and prayed with their
Jewish brothers and sisters. It was deeply
moving for me to see their support; that’s not something a Jew is taught to
take for granted.
In the end, philo-Semites will realize the truth
about us Jews. We can be hypocrites. All of us. But we can also be servants. We love the same God that gentiles love –
even those of us who resist that term deeply revere the source of life,
whatever or whoever it may be. We are
tribal. But we are also universalists. Those who emphasize one of those values but
not the other have missed the whole point of Judaism.
There’s one other thing – just as we mourn being
hated, let alone killed, for choosing to retain our Jewishness, we also
appreciate being liked, let alone loved, for keeping our faith and our tribal
membership. To all of those who have
married into our community, or who enjoy occasionally attending one of our
worship services, or who texted or called last week with words of support, or who
just felt a moment of solidarity when you heard what happened in Pittsburgh,
bless you.
We need you every bit as much as we don’t need
people like that man with the AR-15.
No comments:
Post a Comment