#264 Musings Beyond the Bunker (Wednesday February 2)
Good morning!
Andrea and I attended Friday night services last week, one week after the hostage taking at Congregation Beth Israel in Colleyville, Texas. I was filled with many feelings as I sat there.
Early in the service, a woman from the congregation stepped up to kindle the Sabbath candles. Watching her lighting of the candles made me reflect that this has been done by mothers and grandmothers for, quite literally, thousands of years. And as I had this thought, I also had the thought of how many women over how many generations felt unsafe in their own homes, fearful that antisemitism and violence might appear at their doorstep. Sadly, in each generation our people have had to confront antisemitism of one kind or another.
The tragedy averted in Texas could have ended quite differently. Thankfully, lives were spared. But this is only one of a spate of attacks in recent months on Black churches, Asian Americans, and others. They are all of the same piece—hate is hate. I, and probably many of you, have been lulled over the years into believing that mankind was evolving and that bigotry was becoming a thing of the past. And while I believe that, on balance, this is true, there is a resurgence—not just in America but throughout the world. It has a way of reinventing itself and rematerializing in times of economic and social stress, in a variety of dangerous forms—from the left and the right, from governments, political movements, and individuals.
So how does antisemitism fit within the broader context of racist violence and inequity in our society? I have said in the past that the Black Lives Matter moment in which we live requires that attention must be given to addressing our history of racial injustices and the continuing racial disparities. And I still believe this. But just because this is the issue of the day, it cannot drown out nor minimize hatred in all forms.
Being together in Temple, after the averted tragedy in Texas, meant something. There is comfort in hearing someone discuss unpleasant topics and acknowledging openly not only that this act was an act of domestic terrorism, but that it was clearly an act of antisemitism. It disturbs me that antisemitism isn’t taken seriously enough in our country. I’m not suggesting that Jews haven’t excelled in America—in fact I suspect that is part of the reason that antisemitism is sometimes pooh-poohed. After all, look at all the success that has been obtained by Jews. But there’s the trick of ethnic hatred. Fail to succeed and it must be the result of the laziness or inherent inferiority of the target group. Experience success and it must be because of the “craftiness” of that group or the control they exert over others. There is always a rationale for separating “the other.”
Jews are the target of hate crimes, and they are on the rise; but these hate crimes don’t fit the current common narrative that hate crimes are only committed against those who might be otherwise defined as “oppressed.” The very exposure to these crimes and that these crimes exist at all are acts of oppression. It was appalling that the first FBI report of the event in Texas was characterized as not an antisemitic act (later retracted). As Bret Stephens noted in his column last week, who wouldn’t have been appalled at an attack on Black Americans or Latinos being labeled as not racially motivated?
Another thought I had while sitting there was the persistent myth that the Jews somehow are wielding the strings of a puppet master, in directing the direction and decisions of our society. How outrageous to think that the gunman in Texas actually believed that all he needed to obtain the release of a convicted terrorist is a phone call from a prominent New York Jewish Rabbi to the appropriate governmental official in order to make it happen. As a complete side-note to this story, that Rabbi’s heritage is as a Jewish/Korean American—a tribute to the diversity we enjoy in this country.
There are acts of beauty that occur in the midst of tragedy that don’t receive the attention of the media. One such act is the gathering in Zoom of clergy from around Los Angeles, supporting and comforting each other. Our Rabbis noted the presence of myriad Christian denominations, Muslims, and various other religions, all sharing in our fears and loss. It was a Muslim cleric who began the discussion, proclaiming his solidarity with his Jewish brethren. Something like this ends up on the back pages of the newspaper, if they are even reported at all.
NOT OUTRAGEOUS ENOUGH?
What further sickened me about this entire incident was the seeming indifference in the news to the sheer outrageousness and depravity of this act. If people had died, would the events have led to “greater coverage” on cable TV? It makes me think of the January 6th insurrection. Are we only moved by the body count? People have moved on from the January 6th insurrection, largely because the casualties weren’t great enough and the case about its premeditation and objectives has not yet been sufficiently proven out.
These sorts of events are happening everyday across our country, most painfully in schools. We have become desensitized to the pain, much like a cancer patient will eventually become inured to their pain, which progresses from acute to dull to simply part of the accepted background to their existence. I expect this event will recede in our society’s collective memory as “just another crackpot.” But it is not just one crackpot. It is a crackpot with a message and an ideology, however warped. There are others right behind him with plans to spread hatred and violence. What we are going through as Americans and as Jews, but also Asians, Blacks, Latinos, even our lawmakers, is a consistent and relentless bloodletting and a consistent and relentless spreading of lies and fear.
After each one of these instances, we hear the usual blather arguing that “guns don’t kill people” and against any semblance of increased control over the ubiquity and usage of guns—in large part funded by gun manufacturers and a fringe minority that, through money, thwarts the desires of the majority. And we hear the usual sanctimonious, yet valueless, expressions of shock, the now annoying “thoughts and prayers” and little in the way of action.
THROUGH DAMAGE CAN EMERGE STRENGTH
One of the best parts of the service was our clergy each sharing their emotions after the Texas hostage taking. Ron Stern presented a great perspective. He noted that one of the worst events in the history of the Jewish people was the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem. Its destruction was seen by many as a rebuke from God. The prophet Jeremiah channeled this rebuke, saying: “I will banish the sound of mirth and gladness, the voice of bridegroom and bride.”
Ron went on to note that the message of these words did not result in continued sadness or nihilism. In fact, these very words of rebuke after a bleak event were turned around centuries later to be invoked near the end of every ceremony with these words: “may there be forever heard…the voice of joy and gladness, the voices of loving companions joined together in marriage…” The Rabbis had twisted the sadness of the past—using the very words of Jeremiah, to invoke happiness, rather than rebuke. This is the idea come out of the Texas event—not of sadness and the absence of gladness, but the willingness to go on with life. It is time, he said, to “double down” on commitment to a better world.
There is work to be done addressing the diseases of violence, hatred, and indifference in our society. There will be more days like this.
Times of darkness should lead to times of renewed hope.
Have a great day,
Glenn