An Essay for Your Perusal

This past Monday night, I delivered a talk on a topic that still captivates me, even though I supposedly have "finished" the project.  It focuses on the following paradox in Spinoza's thought: How can a world characterized by  supreme complexity spring from a cause (God) that is supremely simple?  Stated differently, how can God be equated to Nature, which is supremely complex, and to Substance, which is supremely simple?  This paper will get you thinking about both God and politics, and was inspired by a prayer delivered by my daughter Hannah to open a pro forma session of the U.S. House of Representatives.

Why is this topic so intriguing to me?  Above all else, because it deals with a doctrine that is hardly unique to Spinoza -- divine simplicity.  Thomas Aquinas and Duns Scotus are two other philosophers who supported that doctrine even before Spinoza did.  I must say that it's far afield from the way most people think about God.  But is it reasonable?  Is it compelling?  Does it give us sustenance?  I'll leave those questions for you to think about when you read an essay based on Monday night's talk.   You can find the essay at the following page of my website, under the title:  "The Complexity of the World, the Simplicity of God:  A Spinozist Perspective" -- www.danielspiro.com/spinoza.html.

I hope you enjoy it.  

A Jew Grapples with Thanksgiving

Last evening at Shabbat Services, my rabbi spoke about the concept of Thanksgiving in the Jewish faith and the Jewish culture.  She addressed a topic that isn’t discussed nearly enough: that despite the myriad of occasions during a Jewish service when we give thanks to God, gratitude doesn’t come as easily for Jews as you might think.  As the rabbi pointed out, Jews are the people of Israel – the so-called “God-wrestlers” – and we find ourselves constantly struggling with the world like ours that is so terribly far from anyone’s idea of utopia.  Adherents of other faiths might not be so dismayed by that prospect for they are taught that virtue in this life will be rewarded by euphoria in the next.  But we Jews don’t tend to think much about what happens after we’re gone.  We’re taught to focus on the here-and-now, with all its imperfections, none of which we sugar coat.  So you can understand why, when it comes to interacting with the Holy Name, Jews may be skeptical, cynical, even angry, rather than appropriately grateful.

My rabbi pointed out that in Jewish culture, wrestling spills into every facet of life.  Jews are inveterate complainers; my mother’s friend once asked her to start a business together called “Rent a Kvetch” in which gentiles can hire them to complain to local businesses who mistreated people.   Jews are prone to interrupting others in conversation.  And we tend to be attracted to litigation – both as a possible profession and as an activity in our private lives.  Go visit Israel and you will find a whole nation of people dedicated to the proposition that whether or not the meek will “inherit the earth,” they’ll have all sorts of trouble finding a seat on a bus from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv.  (Just ask the rabbi who dealt with that very same predicament when she was pregnant.)

Let’s face it – we Jews dedicate holidays to remembering atrocities.  We have no tolerance whatsoever for injustices of any kind.  And we are unusually well trained as to how to confront them.  Even those of us who are 90 pound weaklings tend to be successful at wrestling with our tongues or our pens.  We teach our children to grapple with whatever tools are at their disposal.   And though we dispute that the Messiah has ever walked this earth and await (metaphorically) his arrival, we are religiously commanded to bust our butts to fix this place on our own, so that when the Messiah comes, he won’t even have been needed. 

So how, given all this sturm and drang and all the kvetching that flows from it, can we make room for gratitude?   How can we be expected to launch Jeremiads one moment, and berakhahs (prayers) of thanks the next?

These questions are especially important to ask this time of year -- a time when the entire society is asked to take a moment to give thanks.   For me, the key is to reflect on just how incredibly much there is to be thankful for.  If you look at all the death and destruction in the world, the only reason we view that as such a tragedy is because we all recognize so much beauty in life.  If we weren’t so blessed with the knowledge of what a healthy, happy life looks like, we wouldn’t be so heart-broken whenever we see it taken away. 

Personally, I became a grandfather for the first time this year.  How can I not be grateful for that?  I’ll know if I ever get to Heaven, because there I’d have plenty of grandchildren.  Such a gift. 

And whether you are a grandparent, a parent, or an orphan who has never either dated or procreated, you likely know what it means to have enjoyed a meal.  Or listened to great music.  Or watched the sun set.  Yes, we can go on for minutes listing atrocities.  But we can go on for hours or days listing sources of pleasure.  The problem is that we tend to take them for granted.  We’re all hard wired to respond more to destructive stimuli than to pleasurable ones; that’s one reason we’ve survived so long as a species.

Well, my friends, we’re about to enter the week on our calendar in which we must not take any source of joy for granted.   If you are religious, then by all means – thank God for all the Divine sustenance you receive.  But whether or not you’re religious, feel free to thank your people – relatives and friends alike – for the gift of love.   Love among people comes in so many varieties.   We receive it every day whenever someone makes us smile.   That person deserves to be thanked.  If you are too shy to do it out loud, then do it quietly.

But if you’re Jewish, and you are used to being aggressive when it comes to injustice, you have no excuse for being shy.  Give thanks where it is deserved.  Let the world know that your truest vocation in life is to love and to appreciate.  Let the world know that your kvetching is just a hobby. 

Reflections on Pittsburgh

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 11^th 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. 

What it Means to be Democratic and Free

This past Thursday night I attended a salon populated primarily by foreign affairs professionals.  The guest speaker was Dan Twining, the President of the International Republican Institute (IRI).  IRI identifies its mission as to "advance democracy and freedom. We link people with their governments, guide politicians to be responsive to citizens, and motivate people to engage in the political process."  In short, IRI spreads American values throughout the world, and apparently emphasizes two such values above all else – the commitment to democracy and to freedom. 

After that salon, I’ve been reflecting on IRI’s charge.  Just how committed to those values are we?  In other words, just how “American” is America today?

Over the course of the last year or so, this blog has frequently addressed the state of American democracy.  I think it is safe to say our commitment to democratic values can be questioned.  Just consider, to take a few examples: the rampant efforts at voter suppression that come to light prior to each election; the high percentage of eligible voters who don’t even bother to cast a ballot (in the case of midterms, we’re talking about the vast majority of eligible voters); the existence of rampant gerrymandering in the U.S. Congressional Districts; the fact that there are populated areas that have no representation whatsoever in the Senate (just ask the folks of D.C. and Puerto Rico) or any voting representation in the House; the fact that four states with the largest populations have about as many people as the 35 states with the smallest populations, but the latter get nearly nine times as many representatives in the U.S. Senate; and the memory of two recent Presidential elections where the winner lost the popular vote.

If our society is committed to democracy, let’s just say that we have embraced a rather odd definition of that term.  Fortunately, however, for organizations like IRI and its blue analogue, the National Democratic Institute, our nation remains far and away more democratic than many others around the world. So we can still enjoy at least a modicum of credibility when we take our pro-democracy lectures across the pond.

The same can surely be said for our commitment to freedom, and then some.  If there is one value that continues to unify Americans, it’s the love of freedom.  In some respects, you can say that whatever is either best or worst about this country stems from our obsession with freedom.  To be sure, there are ways in which other countries surpass us in that regard.  Several countries have legalized euthanasia, and we have not.  But even in that regard we are ahead of the curve, for euthanasia is now legal in many states and that number is sure to increase over time.

As a Jew, I am incredibly thankful for America’s commitment to church/state neutrality and the sacred right to freely exercise one’s faith.  It’s not a coincidence that we have easily the world’s most thriving Jewish community outside of Israel.  As the President of the Jewish-Islamic Dialogue of Washington, I also appreciate how difficult it would be for our government to outlaw certain traditional Muslim attire; Europeans might be able to get away with that sort of Islamophobic law, but it won’t fly here.

The American love for freedom is not just etched into our laws.  It’s ingrained in our culture.  Our national symbol, the bald eagle, says it all – we want to be able to soar in whatever direction we see fit.  To dress the way we want.  To love who we want.  To smoke what we want.  To worship in the morning and visit topless bars at night.  (Well, OK, not all of us want to do that, thankfully, but most of us believe in the right to be able to do it without Big Brother swooping down and stopping us.)  

It is not surprising that the two laws in our country that generate the most passion are the first two amendments of our Constitution: the right to freedom of expression in all its manifestations, and the right to bear arms.  Is it any wonder that opponents of the Second Amendment are left to flail away in failure despite the fact that this nation is thoroughly awash in firearms?  If America permits something that is valued by a substantial portion of society, God help whoever tries to outlaw it.  Fly, eagles, fly. 

Personally, I can appreciate this sentiment.  I despise guns, but I accept that in this culture, those who own them will probably get to keep them. I don’t smoke dope, but I wouldn’t deprive others of the right to do so.  Or to visit prostitutes, or to eat meat – neither of which I partake in.  Nor would I advocate restricting the freedom of speech except in very limited ways.  No engaging in fraud.  No shouting “Fire” in a crowded theater.  But if you want to say all sorts of obnoxious things on the campaign trail ... I wouldn’t stop you.

Free speech has always been the quintessential American right.  Our system has worked because, for the most part, we haven’t abused it.  At least not until now.  Today, for the first time in my lifetime, we’re putting our commitment to free speech to the test.

Every day you can turn on the radio and hear nationally syndicated personalities spew insults in the direction of “liberals,” “Feminazis,” or anyone else who gets in the way of their preferred political party.  Alternatively, you can turn on the television and watch the liberals get their revenge with incessant mockery against their own opponents.  Our President refers to the press as the “enemy of the people.”  Our campaign rallies are punctuated by nasty chants directed at media outlets and prominent politicians.   For some, this is all just fun and games. But for others, and I dare say most, it has become a Petri dish of hatred.  Today, if you want to be politically engaged and fit in with your environment, you better choose a team, demonize the opponent, and relish the name calling. 

In this past week, the chickens started coming home to roost.   Politically motivated mail bombs were sent all over the country to some of the nation’s most recognized citizens.  Immediately, the purveyors of hatred distanced themselves from these criminal acts.  And technically, they were right.   It’s illegal to send mail bombs, but legal to regularly spew hate.  That’s the American way.

It’s also a case of having-it-both-ways.  If we are going to use our commitment to freedom to wage a civil war of words in which members of each political party are taught to despise the other, how do we expect to export American values around the world?  And what exactly do we expect to happen here at home?  Frankly, if our political and cultural leaders viciously rip into their political opponents day after day, calling them names, questioning their patriotism, and effectively talking about them like a cancer on the American soul, isn’t more violence inevitable?  How can we subject 300 million people to these daily toxins and expect them all to figure out that the “game” is to be nasty, or even hateful, but not violent? 

This past week, we got lucky.  Nobody got hurt.  But remember, our commitment to freedom doesn’t simply permit lots of hate speech; it also permits lots of guns, including assault weapons.  In recent years, cultural and political leaders have seemed to think they can bombard 300 million people with disrespect, hatred and guns ... and expect everyone to keep their fingers off the trigger.  I realize freedom is a great thing.  But even great things have a price, and in this case it’s insanity.  Something has to give, my friends.  No scorched-earth civil war can possibly remain peacefully civil forever.    

Let’s hope that in ten days, we elect leaders who refuse to demagogue or demonize and who have the courage to speak out against those who do.  As for the rest of us, just please remember that no matter who you are or what political party you belong to, take a breath before you hate. 

An Interfaith Address

After the madness of the previous few weeks, I am taking this blogpost off from politics -- partisan or otherwise.  What's more, I am taking this blogpost off from divisiveness generally.  Yes, I understand that what follows may be viewed as divisive by someone who is antagonized by the very existence of religion.  But if you fall into that category, I mean no offense.  For I assume that even the "non-religious" have their own world view, their own "ultimate concern," and I include you and others like you in any dialogue that is truly interfaith.

What follows is the substance of an address that I gave last week at a mosque in Lanham, Maryland.  It was part of an International World Islamic Conference entitled "The Spirit of Good Morals," and I was participating in a panel that focused on harmony and interfaith cooperation.  May you find these words meaningful --

In Judaism, the “Prophets” are known above all else for their love and their courage.  They are courageous enough to rail against even the most cherished of ceremonial rituals, whenever these rituals are placed above such values as justice and compassion.  For example, on the holiest day of fasting in the Jewish calendar, we read from the Prophet Isaiah:  “Because you fast in strife and contention ... your fasting today is not such as to make your voice heard on high.  Is such the fast I desire, a day for men to starve their bodies? [To] bow ... the[ir] heads like a bulrush and [lie] in sackcloth and ashes? Do you call that a fast...?  No, this is the fast I desire: to unlock fetters of wickedness ....  To let the oppressed go free.  It is to share your bread with the hungry, and to take the wretched poor into your home.” 

That is Prophetic Judaism.  It is why rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel said that the Prophets were absolutely consumed with the horrors of social injustice.  The Prophets, Heschel wrote, throw us “into orations about widows and orphans, about the corruption of judges and affairs of the market place.  Instead of showing us a way through the elegant mansions of the mind, the prophets take us to the slums. ... The[y] ... are scandalized and rave as if the whole world were a slum. ...  To us injustice is injurious to the welfare of the people, to the prophets it is a deathblow to existence: to us, an episode, to them, a catastrophe, a threat to the world.”

To be a Jewish follower of the Prophets is to fight injustice.  And to love all expressions of God – and especially our fellow human beings.  We honor God, by loving humankind.  All of humankind.  Not just our family.  Not just our tribe.  Yet we live in a time where it is tempting to become tribal.  To circle the wagons and fight for our own kind.  White versus black, red versus blue, rich versus poor.  Such is life in 2018 in America.

But that is not a righteous life.  Righteousness requires us to transcend the tribal.  Yes, I am a son of Jacob.  But first and foremost, I am a son of Adam – and a lover of God.  My God commands me to open my heart to all people, and especially those most in need.  My God commands me to open my mind to all teachings, and not be afraid of dialoguing with those who disagree with me.  My God commands me to open my lips to speak truth to power, to preach based on hope not fear, and to be candid when others are circumspect.

While recognizing that interfaith is difficult whenever people dialogue with candor, I am proud to be a member of the interfaith movement.  And why not?  As Spinoza said, “all things excellent are as difficult as they are rare.”   If you ask me, few if any social movements are more excellent than interfaith.  Without it, we will never form the unity needed to the bridge the divides that plague our world.  If we don’t build these bridges, the poorest among us, the weakest among us, their bodies will suffer the most.  Their bodies, our souls.

I understand there are people who won’t dialogue with me because I am a Jew who has a love for the state of Israel. Decades ago, I left this country at the age of 20 to travel there.  When I left, I was a non-believer in God.  When I returned, I was a believer for life.  I have called out to all who are interested – come, let’s dialogue about the plight of Palestinians and Jews in that part of the world.  Some have answered my call.  Others would say “No. Don’t dialogue with him.  If you do that, you normalize the oppression for which his people are responsible.”

My brothers and sisters, that is what interfaith is up against.  Every tribe has its reasons NOT to dialogue with those who see the world differently.  Every tribe has its reasons to fear, to mistrust.  But that is not the path of the Prophets.  That is not the path of an open heart or an open mind.  To the Prophets, all human beings have dignity.  All voices should be heard.  All cries for help should be answered.  And to answer them, we must join hands, pool our resources, and work together. 

A week or so before this complex had its Grand Opening, a number of us from the interfaith community met here and shared a few reflections.  My message was simple.  The interfaith movement is beautiful, but it has a big problem.  For the most part, all we do is preach to the choir.  We see the same faces over and over again, and they all nod in agreement.  But we aren’t succeeding in reaching the mainstream of our congregations.  They are still apathetic or fearful.  So they’d rather not share their ideas about the hot-button issues outside their communities.  They prefer the comfort food of praying with their own kind, rather than, say, looking into the eyes of the “other” and seeing their own reflection.

How do we get the rank and file from our congregations to leave the comforts of home?  The answer starts with a commitment by our leaders to emphasize interfaith.  First, they must find fellow clergy from other faiths who they trust.  And then, these clergy must bring their congregations together and twin.  Congregational twinning is how you form trust and lasting friendships, and open up the preaching beyond the choir.  

In this world, there is nothing more inspiring than seeing people who disagree with each other nevertheless love each other.  Learn from each other.  And teach each other.  Yes, it’s difficult.  It takes time, patience, and plenty of humility.  But we have no choice.  We must take on the interfaith challenge.  Our Prophets require it.  You see, they demand that we, inspired by our love of God, heal our planet and care for our needy.  If we don’t work together, we can’t get that job done.  And that would be a catastrophe and a scandal that the Prophets cannot abide.   Nor should we.