Benjamin Netanyahu’s recent comment at the World Zionist Congress attributing the Final Solution to the Grand Mufti of Jerusalem was stupid and ignorant – and he has been justifiably ridiculed around the world for making it. But those who think these kinds of crazy comments will somehow prove his downfall should think twice. Netanyahu has long been willing to take his lumps for his silly behavior as long as it ultimately serves his political purpose. In this case, his purpose is clear: he is attempting frame Palestinian violence as the result of religious (read “Muslim”) intolerance of Jews.
And those of us who delight in ridiculing Bibi the Clown should take heed: there is every indication that his attempts to shift this particular narrative are starting to gain traction.
Just a few days before Netanyahu’s comments, for instance, Jeffrey Goldberg, a well-known mainstream media journalist, published an article in The Atlantic entitled “The Paranoid, Supremacist Roots of the Stabbing Intifada.” His conclusion?
One of the tragedies of the settlement movement is that it obscures what might be the actual root cause of the Middle East conflict: the unwillingness of many Muslim Palestinians to accept the notion that Jews are a people who are indigenous to the land Palestinians believe to be exclusively their own…
In his piece, Goldberg traces this “root cause” as far back as the 1920s. Like Netanyahu, he casually portrays the wretched Mufti of Jerusalem, Haj Amin al-Husseini as a surrogate for the Palestinian people writ large, conveniently neglecting to point out that al-Husseini was not in fact chosen by Muslim Palestinians, but was actually appointed by the British High Commissioner Herbert Samuel in 1921 – and that he was dismissed as Mufti in 1936, five years before he famously met with Hitler. Even more crucially, treating a colonially-appointed Muslim leader as representative of the entire Palestinian people conveniently ignores the presence of Palestinian Christians, who in the 1920s made up one tenth of the population of Palestine.
In its way, his post was even more dangerous than Netanyahu’s silly remark, as it put a legitimate face on the claim that the Israel-Palestine conflict can essentially be reduced to Muslim intolerance of Jews. In contrast to Netanyahu’s remarks, Goldberg’s article was widely respected and went viral across the social media. Much to my dismay, many of my liberal rabbinic colleagues approvingly posted it on their Facebook pages.
In his article, Goldberg also pointed to recent “harsh” statements by Palestinian Authority President Mahmoud Abbas, suggesting that “these sorts of comments…suggest a tragic continuity between the 1920s and today.” Abbas’ comments were odious to be sure, but it is ludicrous in the extreme to somehow characterize him as a wide-eyed Muslim extremist. And it is even more ludicrous to suggest that the majority of young Palestinians engaging in the current violence have been “incited” by his words.
As Israeli journalist Mya Guarnieri has rightly observed:
Those who call this a religious war, and who point to Abbas’ words as incitement, have got it backwards. Abbas — whose term expired in 2009 and has little legitimacy on the Palestinian street — is trying to insert himself into recent events in a bid to regain popularity.
But the Palestinian youth who are protesting and carrying out attacks on Israelis care little what he or other politicians say. Indeed, their actions can also be understood as moves against the current state of politics, including the Palestinian Authority itself. The young people are calling for something new, for something more than endless negotiations that go nowhere or that buy Israel the time to build more settlements and deepen the occupation. After all, this is the generation that was born and raised after the Oslo Accords were signed in 1993 — their difficult lives are a testimony to what negotiations will get the Palestinian people. That is to say, little.
That’s right: the true “roots” of this tragedy are not religious but political. If we are to draw a direct from the violence of the 1920s until today, it should more accurately be traced from a collision between a Jewish ethno-nationalist enterprise and an indigenous population resisting displacement and occupation.
I find it notable that Goldberg does not track his “religious intolerance” narrative further back than the 1920s. In fact, while there has always been a Jewish presence in this land, there was relatively little tension between the religious communities of Palestine before the 19th century – when the Zionist movement began colonizing it with the express purpose of creating an exclusively Jewish state in a historically multi-religious and multi-ethnic land.
Having said this, however, I do fear that the longer this political injustice is allowed to continue – the longer Israel’s oppression of Palestinians is allowed to continue with impunity – the more likely we will witness the rise of religious extremists on both sides. This is clearly Netanyahu’s strategy of course: to “manage the conflict” until the religious extremist meme invariably becomes a reality.
Just yesterday, for example, the Israeli Prime Minister was quoted as saying that although he does not want a bi-national state, “at this time we need to control all of the territory for the foreseeable future…I’m asked if we will forever live by the sword – yes.” Then most tellingly, he added this all-too-familiar analysis: “half of the Palestinians are ruled by an extreme Islam that wants to destroy us.”
Yes, on the one hand it’s just more Bibi-bombast. But don’t dismiss his words too easily. As long as Israel seeks to “control all of the territory,” the more likely the chances that his cynical narrative will tragically become a self-fulfilling prophecy.
We’re currently in the midst of the Jewish festival of Sukkot – the harvest festival that commemorates the wanderings of the Israelites in the wilderness. I’ve always been fascinated tension by an inherent tension in this holiday: on the one hand Sukkot is referred to as “Zman Simchateinu,” the “time of our rejoicing,” but it is also a time tinged with seriousness and an innate sense of existential fragility.
Yes, this is the season in which we rejoice over our bountiful harvest – but this is also the time in which we plant a new set of crops and begin our prayers for rain, keenly aware that they/we are ultimately dependent upon forces outside our control. Yes, we rejoice as we arrive at this latest point in our journey – but we build and dwell in impermanent sukkot, as if to acknowledge the challenges and trials that most certainly await us on the road ahead.
I can’t help but think of this Sukkot-tension in relation to two local struggles going on here in Chicago. The first is the movement to save Dyett High School in the South side neighborhood of Bronzeville. Dyett was one of the many Chicago public schools that was closed by the city in predominantly black and brown communities. In response, a local coalition formed that developed an extensive plan to reopen Dyett as open enrollment neighborhood school focused on Global Leadership and Green Technology.
After first refusing, CPS eventually agreed to consider the community’s plan – but when it became clear that CPS had no intention in engaging in an honest, engaged process with the community, twelve members of the coalition went on a hunger strike in protest. (It was my honor, along with members of my congregation Tzedek Chicago, to draft a Jewish community letter to Mayor Rahm Emanuel demanding that he respond to the Dyett hunger strikers request. We delivered it to the mayor’s office on the second day of Rosh Hashanah)
After three weeks, CPS announced a “compromise.” It would reopen Dyett as a neighborhood public school, but not according to the Global Leadership Plan or any of the two other plans that had since been put forth. At the time the hunger strikers rejected this decision, stating that it was made over the heads of community members and without any due consideration of the desires of those who actually live in Bronzeville. The hunger strike continued on for a total of 34 days before they ended their action due to the health concerns of some of the strikers.
In announcing the end of the strike, hunger striker Monique Redeaux-Smith commented:
While we cannot yet claim complete victory, we do understand that our efforts so far have been victorious in a number of ways … Last year, Dyett was closed. But through community resistance, it was slated to be reopened in 2016 and ’17. And even though there was a request for proposals, we know that the plan was for that space to become another privatized school within Bronzeville. But again, through community resistance and this hunger strike, we pushed CPS and the mayor to commit to reopening Dyett as a public, open-enrollment neighborhood school. So that is an accomplishment.
The other local struggle I’m thinking of this Sukkot is the movement to establish a Level 1 trauma center on Chicago’s south side. There are eight adult trauma centers serving Chicago, but none are in this area that includes some of the city’s most gun violence-prone neighborhoods. Victims of gun violence are much more likely to die when more than five miles from a trauma center. As a result, large sections of the south side comprise Chicago’s only “trauma center desert.”
The campaign for a south side Level 1 adult trauma center was formally launched after 18-year-old student and youth activist Damian Turner was shot near the corner of 51st Street and Cottage Grove Avenue, just a few blocks away from the University of Chicago hospital. Turner was transported to a hospital farther away due to the absence of a nearby Level 1 trauma center, but he died an hour-and-a-half later.
The trauma center coalition was led by the remarkable youth-based grassroots organization, Fearless Leading by the Youth. Here’s an excerpt from an interview with FLY organizer Veronica Morris Moore:
As a young Black queer organizer, I feel affirmed by the trauma center campaign. The principles of the BLM movement helped us frame our tactic around the Obama library and I believe that framing our message with BLM principles put the [University of Chicago] in a big spotlight locally and nationally in terms of race issues. Having this national conversation about police shootings created opportunities to address gun violence in the Black community and the reality and root of the problem. Gun violence is the leading killer of young Black people in poor neighborhoods across this nation, and growing up on the South Side of Chicago, FLY members understand that gun violence stems from the economic violence that bankrupts our communities and bankrolls big business hospitals like the University of Chicago.
Like the Dyett HS struggle, this grassroots effort leveraged people power to shift political power. On September 10, the University of Chicago and Sinai Health System announced that they would partner to open a Level-I Adult Trauma Center at Holy Cross Hospital. But like the Dyett struggle, it was clear to organizers that the victory was not complete – having been made with no accountability or transparency to the community impacted by this decision. Moreover, in making their decision, the University of Chicago reneging on its previous commitment to raise the age of its pediatric trauma center.
If you are a member of the Chicago Jewish community you should should know that on Sunday, November 1, the Jewish Council on Urban Affairs – one of the members of the trauma center coalition – will host “L’Chaim: JCUA Community Meeting for Trauma Care” at KAM Isaiah, 1100 E. Hyde Park Ave. This meeting will provide an important opportunity to:
► Celebrate the growing momentum of this campaign, and be a part of the next victory.
► Take part in one of the most important racial justice issues facing Chicago today.
► Hear from the youth leaders that started the campaign for trauma care.
► Take action so the University of Chicago keeps all of its commitments for trauma care.
This Sukkot, let us rejoice in our victories – and let us give each other strength for the struggle that inevitably lays ahead…
Like you, I’ve been profoundly horrified by the refugee crisis that has resulted from Syria’s ongoing civil war. The reports and images and statistics continue to roll out every day and the sheer level of human displacement is simply staggering to contemplate. Since 2011, over half of that country’s entire population has been uprooted. At present, there are more than 4 million Syrian refugees are registered with the UN. Another 7 million have been internally displaced. Experts tell us we are currently witnessing the worst refugee crisis of our generation.
The tragic reality of forced migration has been brought home to us dramatically this past summer – but of course, this crisis did not just begin this year and Syria is not the only country in the region affected by this refugee crisis. Scores are also fleeing civil war and violence from countries such as Iraq, Libya, Afghanistan and Yemen. In all of 2014, approximately 219,000 people from these countries tried to cross the Mediterranean to seek asylum in Europe. According the UN High Commissioner for Refugees, in just the first eight months of 2015, over 300,000 refugees tried to cross the sea – and more than 2,500 died.
And of course this issue is not just limited to the Middle East. It extends to places such as Latin and Central America and Sub-Saharan Africa as well – and it would be not at all be an exaggeration to suggest that the crisis of forced human migration is reaching epidemic proportions. Just this past June, the UN High Commissioner on Refugees issued a report that concluded that “wars, conflict and persecution have forced more people than at any other time since records began to flee their homes and seek refuge and safety elsewhere.”
It is all too easy to numb ourselves to reports such as these – or to simply throw up our hands and chalk it up to the way of the world. But if Yom Kippur is to mean anything, I would suggest it demands that we stand down our overwhelm. To investigate honestly why this kind of human dislocation exists in our world and openly face the ways we are complicit in causing it. And perhaps most importantly to ask: if we are indeed complicit in this crisis, what is our responsibility toward ending it?
There is ample evidence that we as Americans, are deeply complicit in the refugee crises in the Middle East. After all, the US has fueled the conflicts in all five of the nations from which most refugees are fleeing – and it is directly responsible for the violence in Iraq, Afghanistan, and Libya.
In Iraq, our decade-long war and occupation resulted in the deaths of at least a million people and greatly weakened the government. This in turn created a power vacuum that brought al-Qaeda into the country and led to the rise of ISIS. Over 3.3 million people in Iraq have now been displaced because of ISIS.
In Afghanistan, the US occupation continues and we are war escalating the war there, in spite of President Obama’s insistence that it would end by 2014. According to the UN, there are 2.6 million refugees coming out of Afghanistan.
In Libya, the US-led NATO bombing destroyed Qaddafi’s government. At the time, then Secretary of State Clinton joked to a news reporter, “We came, we saw, he died.” Shortly after Libya was wracked with chaos that led to the rise of ISIS affiliates in northern Africa. Many thousands of Libyans are now fleeing the country, often on rickety smuggler boats and rafts. The UN estimates there are over 360,000 displaced Libyans.
In Yemen, a coalition of Middle Eastern nations, led by Saudi Arabia and backed by the US, has been bombarding Yemen for half a year now, causing the deaths of over 4,500 people. We continue to support this coalition, despite the fact that human rights organizations are accusing it of war crimes that include the intentional targeting of civilians and aid buildings. As a result, the UN says, there are now over 330,000 displaced Yemenis.
And the US is not free of responsibility for the crisis in Syria either. For years now, we have been meddling in that civil war, providing weapons to rebels fighting Assad’s government. But since the rise of ISIS the US has backed away from toppling his regime – and there are now reports that the US and Assad have even reached “an uncomfortable tacit alliance.”
Despite our role in the Syrian civil war, our government is taking in relatively few refugees from that country. Just last Monday, Secretary of State Kerry announced that the US would increase the number of refugees to 100,000 by 2017, saying “This step is in the keeping with America’s best tradition as land of second chances and a beacon of hope.” In reality, however, this number is still a drop in the bucket relative to the dire need – and only an eighth of the number that Germany has pledged to take in this year.
Kerry’s comment, of course, expresses a central aspect of the American mythos – but in truth it is one that flies in the face of history. While we like to think of ourselves “as a land of second chances and a beacon of hope,” these words mask a darker reality: it is a hope that only exists for some – and it has largely been created at the expense of others. Like many empires before us, our nation was established – upon the systemic dislocation of people who are not included in our “dream.”
If we are to own up to our culpability in today’s crises of forced human migration, we must ultimately reckon with reality behind the very founding of our country. The dark truth is that our country’s birth is inextricably linked to the dislocation and ethnic cleansing of indigenous peoples this land. It was, moreover, built upon the backs of slaves who were forcibly removed from their homes and brought to this country in chains. It is, indeed, a history we have yet to collectively own up to as a nation. We have not atoned for this legacy of human dislocation. On the contrary, we continue to rationalize it away behind the myths of American exceptionalism: a dream of hope and opportunity for all.
And there’s no getting around it: those who are not included in this “dream” – the dislocated ones, if you will – are invariably people of color. Whether we’re talking about Native Americans and African Americans, the Latino migrants we imprison and deport, or the Syrian, Iraqi, Afghani or Yemini refugees of the Middle East. If we are going to reckon with this legacy, we cannot and must not avoid the context of racism that has fueled and perpetuated it.
As a Jew, of course, I think a great deal about our legacy of dislocation. To be sure, for most of our history we have been a migrating people. Our most sacred mythic history describes our ancestors’ travels across the borders of the Ancient Near East and the Israelites’ wanderings in the wilderness. And in a very real sense, our sense of purpose has been honored by our migrations throughout the diaspora – yes, too often forcibly, but always with a sense of spiritual purpose. For centuries, to be a Jew meant to be part of a global peoplehood that located divinity anywhere our travels would take us.
Our sacred tradition demands that we show solidarity with those who wander in search of a home. The most oft-repeated commandment in the Torah, in fact, is the injunction against oppressing the stranger because we ourselves were once strangers in the land of Egypt. And given our history, it’s natural that we should find empathy and common cause with the displaced and uprooted.
However, I do fear that in this day and age of unprecedented Jewish success – and dare I say, Jewish privilege – we are fast losing sight of this sacred imperative. One of my most important teachers in this regard is the writer James Baldwin, who was an unsparingly observer of the race politics in America. In one particularly searing essay, which he wrote in 1967, Baldwin addressed the issue of Jewish “whiteness” and privilege in America. It still resonates painfully to read it today:
It is galling to be told by a Jew whom you know to be exploiting you that he cannot possibly be doing what you know he is doing because he is a Jew. It is bitter to watch the Jewish storekeeper locking up his store for the night, and going home. Going, with your money in his pocket, to a clean neighborhood, miles from you, which you will not be allowed to enter. Nor can it help the relationship between most Negroes and most Jews when part of this money is donated to civil rights. In the light of what is now known as the white backlash, this money can be looked on as conscience money merely, as money given to keep the Negro happy in his place, and out of white neighborhoods.
One does not wish, in short, to be told by an American Jew that his suffering is as great as the American Negro’s suffering. It isn’t, and one knows that it isn’t from the very tone in which he assures you that it is…
For it is not here, and not now, that the Jew is being slaughtered, and he is never despised, here, as the Negro is, because he is an American. The Jewish travail occurred across the sea and America rescued him from the house of bondage. But America is the house of bondage for the Negro, and no country can rescue him. What happens to the Negro here happens to him because he is an American.
In other essays, Baldwin referred to white immigrant success in America as “the price of the ticket” – in other words, the price for Jewish acceptance into white America was the betrayal of the most sacred aspects of our spiritual and historical legacy. We, who were once oppressed wanderers ourselves, have now found a home in America. But in so doing we have been directly or indirectly complicit in the systematic oppression and dislocation of others.
On Rosh Hashanah I talked about another kind of Jewish deal called Constantinian Judaism – or the fusing of Judaism and state power. And to be sure, if we are to talk about our culpability this Yom Kippur in the crime of forced migration, we cannot avoid reckoning with the devastating impact the establishment of the state of Israel has had on that land’s indigenous people – the Palestinian people.
According to Zionist mythos, the Jewish “return” to land was essentially a “liberation movement.” After years of migration through the diaspora, the Jewish people can finally at long last come home – to be, as the national anthem would have it, “a free people in their own land.”
The use of the term “liberation” movement, of course is a misnomer. It would be more accurate to term Zionism as a settler colonial project with the goal of creating an ethnically Jewish state in a land that already populated by another people. By definition the non-Jewish inhabitants of Palestine posed an obstacle to the creation of a Jewish state. In order to fulfill its mandate as a political Jewish nation, Israel has had to necessarily view Palestinians as a problem to somehow be dealt with.
Put simply, the impact of Jewish nation-statism on the Palestinian people has been devastating. The establishment of Israel – a nation designed to end our Jewish wanderings – was achieved through the forced dislocation of hundreds of thousands of Palestinians from their homes, which were either destroyed completely or occupied by Jewish inhabitants.
In turn, it created what is now the largest single refugee group in the world and our longest running refugee crisis. Millions of Palestinians now live in their own diaspora, forbidden to return to their homes or even set foot in their homeland. Two and a half million live under military occupation in the West Bank where their freedom of movement is drastically curtailed within an extensive regime of checkpoints and heavily militarized border fences. And nearly two million live in Gaza, most of them refugees, literally trapped in an open-air prison where their freedom of movement is denied completely.
This, then, is our complicity – as Americans, as Jews. And so I would suggest, this Yom Kippur, it is our sacred responsibility to openly confess our culpability in this process of uprooting human beings from their homes so that we might find safety, security and privilege in ours. But when then? Is our confession merely an exercise in feeling bad about ourselves, in self-flagellation? As Jay said to us in his sermon last night, “Our sense of immense guilt over our sins, collective and individual, could paralyze us. How do we move forward with teshuvah when the task is so great?”
According to Jewish law, the first step in teshuvah is simply recognizing that a wrong has been committed and confessing openly to it. This in and of itself is no small thing. I daresay with all of the media attention to the Syrian refugee crisis, there is precious little, if any, discussion of the ways our nation might be complicit in creating it. And here at home, we are far from a true reckoning over the ways our white supremacist legacy has dislocated Native Americans and people of color in our own country. And needless to say, the Jewish community continually rationalizes away the truth of Israel’s ongoing injustice toward the Palestinian people.
So yes, before we can truly atone, we must first identify the true nature of our wrongdoings and own them – as a community – openly and together. The next step is to make amends – to engage in a process of reparations to effect real transformation and change. But again, the very prospect of this kind of communal transformation feels too overwhelming , too messianic to even contemplate. How do we even begin to collectively repair wrongs of such a magnitude?
I believe the answer, as ever, is very basic. We begin by joining together, by building coalitions, by creating movements. We know that this kind of organizing has the power to effect very real socio-political change in our world. We have seen it happen in countries such as South Africa and Ireland and we’ve seen it here at home – where Chicago became the first city in the country to offer monetary reparations to citizens who were tortured by the police. In this, as in the aforementioned examples, the only way reparations and restorative justice was achieved was by creating grassroots coalitions that leveraged people power to shift political power.
And that is why we’ve prominently identified “solidarity” as one of our congregation’s six core values:
Through our activism and organizing efforts, we pursue partnerships with local and national organizations and coalitions that combat institutional racism and pursue justice and equity for all. We promote a Judaism rooted in anti-racist values and understand that anti-Semitism is not separate from the systems that perpetuate prejudice and discrimination. As members of a Jewish community, we stand together with all peoples throughout the world who are targeted as “other.”
How do we effect collective atonement? By realizing that we are not in this alone. By finding common cause with others and marching forward. It is not simple or easy work. It can be discouraging and depleting. It does not always bear fruit right away and it often feels as if we experience more defeats than successes along the way. But like so many, I believe we have no choice but to continue the struggle. And I am eager and excited to begin to create new relationships, to participate as a Jewish voice in growing coalitions, with the myriad of those who share our values. I can’t help but believe these connections will ultimately reveal our true strength.
I’d like to end now with a prayer – I offer it on behalf of refugees and migrants, on behalf of who have been forced to wander in search of a home:
Ruach Kol Chai – Spirit of All that Lives:
Help us. Help us to uphold the values that are so central to who we are: human beings created in the image of God. Help us to find compassion in our hearts and justice in our deeds for all who seek freedom and a better life. May we find the strength to protect and plead the cause of the dislocated and uprooted, the migrant and the refugee.
Guide us. Guide us toward one law. One justice. One human standard of behavior toward all. Move us away from the equivocation that honors the divine image in some but not in others. Let us forever affirm that the justice we purport to hold dear is nothing but a sham if it does not uphold basic human dignity for all who dwell in our midst.
Forgive us. Forgive us for the inhumane manner that in which we too often treat the other. We know, or should, that when it comes to crimes against humanity, some of us may be guilty, but all of us are responsible. Grant us atonement for the misdeeds of exclusion we invariably commit against the most vulnerable members of society: the uprooted and unwanted, the unhoused, the uninsured, the undocumented.
Strengthen us. Strengthen us to find the wherewithal to shine your light into the dark places of our world. Give us ability to uncover those who are hidden from view, locked away, forgotten. Let us never forget that nothing is hidden and no one lost from before you. Embolden us in the knowledge that no one human soul is disposable or replaceable; that we can never, try as we might, uproot another from before your sight.
Remind us. Remind us of our duty to create a just society right here, right now, in our day. Give us the vision of purpose to guard against the complacency of the comfortable – and the resolve in knowing that we cannot put off the cause of justice and freedom for another day. Remind us that the time is now. Now is the moment to create your kingdom here on earth.
Ken Yehi Ratzon. May it be your will. And may it be ours.
And let us say,
Written and read by Chicago poet Kevin Coval as the Haftarah for Tzedek Chicago’s Yom Kippur service yesterday:
atoning for the neo-liberal in all or rahm emmanuel as the chicken on Kapparot
written on the eve and day of Yom Kippur
Do you call that a fast,
A day when the Lord is favorable?
No, this is the fast I desire:
To unlock the fetters of wickedness,
And untie the cords of the yoke
To let the oppressed go free;
Isaiah 58: 5-6
you are the first jewish mayor of Chicago
but have not yet lit one yahrzeit candle
for constituents murdered by the police.
you vacation in montana with the governor
bring your family to Chile on a whim
and never worry about crossing borders
or encountering their patrolmen
or the rent upon return.
your grandparents sought refuge here.
escaping those trying to end them.
they came, worked, learned, created
a life that enabled your parents to raise you
in the suburbs: the immigrant face of the american dream.
when your parents took you
to visit sick children in Israel
you cried. now you clothe
feed, care and ensure
your children’s safe passage
and university of Chicago
lab school tuition, $30000
per year, but you have closed
over fifty public schools
in neighborhoods your family
used to live in. neighborhoods
you no longer live in or love
or allow your children to visit.
neighborhoods bustling with Black
and Brown bodies, whose children
must cross borders called gang lines
you are well aware of, yet wonder
why the murder rates rises.
you dismantle the same system in which your family benefited:
union pay, livable wages, park space safe enough to play outside
arts funding to take ballet, a decent well-rounded public education.
the same ladder your family climbed
you kick the rungs from.
if the schools, housing, health care
trauma centers and corners that cause trauma
are fair across this flat, segregated land-
then eat today. every day there is a harvest
on the carcass of this city for sale. the satiated
carve at a distance, plan and map and redistrict
with careless indifference. how many times
have you been to Kenwood, Woodlawn
Lawndale. what are the names of the people
you know there. what homes have you sat in.
how can you fast
this week, when food
was refused by grandmothers
and educators and organizers
in your back yard, in the front
lawn of a school Chief Keef attended
in a neighborhood you militarize;
more guns and police your solution
to poverty or an extermination strategy.
how can you fast
when those on hunger
strike you couldn’t stand
with in the same room
in a public forum
which is your job by the way:
to listen. you are the antithetical
this not the city he loved
to listen to, not the city
your grandparents were promised
where is your apology
for sending so many jobs elsewhere
for privileging your childrens’ future
and pillaging others’
what do you know of labor
and no savings account and counting
pennies for a pass, for permission to move
or see a movie or museum in this city
of no access and grand canyons of inequity.
your middle name is Israel
it’s come to mean apartheid
in the city, you are mayor
and in Palestine, the city
your family colonized.
there is no safety
said my G-d
for the wicked (1)
for the divvier of cities
for the divider of nations
for the ignorer of horror
for the builder of walls
atone for the smug assuredness
atone for the maintenance of two cities
stratified and unrecognizable to the other
atone for the bounty of the north side
the scarcity of the south
the want of the west
atone for the erasure of the public
school, space, housing, parking
atone for the centrism, the move right
the cow-tow to corporations
atone for the inconceivable income disparity
between those funding your campaign
and those over which you reign
atone for the city’s change
it’s white wash and removable
workers who used to make it
work by working
in jobs with pensions
atone for the benefits we have
by merely being white
on the north side of the city
country where that is enough
to make you safe and not think
about driving a car or going
for a jog or walk outside
atone for the rite to the city
that’s for some, not for all
not for real
israel means may G-d prevail
and we pray that’s real, for real
Isaiah 57:21 (1)
I’m honored and very, very excited to announce the creation of a new Jewish congregation: Tzedek Chicago. We recently held our launch program in our new home at Luther Memorial Church in the Lincoln Square neighborhood of Chicago – and I’m sure all who were present would agree there was a joyous excitement in the room as we shared our vision for our new congregation.
We’ll continue to reach out to potential members during the course of the summer and will officially kick off our religious programmatic calendar with High Holiday services this fall. I will be serving as the spiritual leader of Tzedek Chicago on a part time basis while continuing in my full time position as the Midwest Regional Director for the American Friends Service Committee. I feel blessed indeed to be returning to congregational life in addition to my important work at AFSC, which has itself become a meaningful professional, spiritual and political home for me in so many ways.
How to describe our new congregation? Let me begin by sharing our core values with you:
…a Judaism beyond borders:
We celebrate with a Judaism that builds more bridges, not higher walls. Our community promotes a universalist Jewish identity – one that seeks a greater engagement in the world around us. Within our congregation, we view our diversity as our strength. Membership is not restricted to Jews or those who are partnered with Jews; our community welcomes all who share our values.
We advocate for a world beyond borders and reject the view that any one people, ethnic group or nation is entitled to any part of our world more than any other. Guided by the values in Jewish tradition that bids us to care for the earth that we share with all peoples and all life, we promote personal behaviors and public policies that will ensure preservation of our planet’s natural resources and its survival for future generations.
…a Judaism of solidarity:
We are inspired by prophetic Judaism: our tradition’s sacred imperative to take a stand against the corrupt use of power. We also understand that the Jewish historical legacy as a persecuted people bequeaths to us a responsibility to reject the ways of oppression and stand with the most vulnerable members of our society. We emphasize the Torah’s repeated teachings to stand with the oppressed and to call out the oppressor.
We actively pursue partnerships with local and national organizations and coalitions that combat institutional racism and pursue justice and equity for all. We promote a Judaism rooted in anti-racist values and understand that anti-Semitism is not separate from the systems that perpetuate prejudice and discrimination. As members of a Jewish community, we stand together with all peoples throughout the world who are targeted as “other.”
…a Judaism of nonviolence:
We honor those aspects of our tradition that promote peace and reject the pursuit of war as a solution to our conflicts. We openly disavow those aspects of our religion – and all religions – that promote violence, intolerance and xenophobia.
Our activism is based upon a vision of shared security for the world; we support the practices of nonviolence, civil resistance, diplomacy and human engagement. We take a stand against militarism and colonialism, particularly when it is waged in our name as Jews and Americans.
We oppose all forms of communal, family and interpersonal violence and support organizations working to strengthen community health, and peaceful, supportive coexistence. In all aspects of our communal life, we expect our members to treat each other with respect, engagement, and openness to the differences among us.
…a Judaism of spiritual freedom:
We promote spiritual exploration and encourage our members’ diverse beliefs. Some of our members adhere to more traditional views of the divine while others view God as a human expression of our highest, most transcendent aspirations. Others do not define themselves as religious, but identify with the humanist and cultural aspects of Jewish tradition.
We honor the inherent integrity of all faith traditions and reject all forms of religious exceptionalism. We actively partner with other faith communities in ways that celebrate our shared values and common humanity. In our activism, we actively work for religious freedom in our country and throughout the world.
…a Judaism of equity
In accordance with Torah’s imperative that there should be no needy among us, we work in solidarity with those who assert that poverty has no place in a civilized and moral society – and that all people have the right to safe food and water, safe living spaces, health care and education.
We are committed to transparent and egalitarian governance and decision-making in our congregational life. We value the contributions of all members equally, regardless of age, gender, sexual orientation, wealth or social standing.
…a Judaism beyond nationalism
While we appreciate the important role of the land of Israel in Jewish tradition, liturgy and identity, we do not celebrate the fusing of Judaism with political nationalism. We are non-Zionist, openly acknowledging that the creation of an ethnic Jewish nation state in historic Palestine resulted in an injustice against its indigenous people – an injustice that continues to this day.
We reject any ideology that insists upon exclusive Jewish entitlement to the land, recognizing that it has historically been considered sacred by many faiths and home to a variety of peoples, ethnicities and cultures. We oppose Israel’s ongoing oppression of the Palestinian people and seek a future that includes full civil and human rights for all who live in the land – Jews and non-Jews alike.
I’m leading with this list because Tzedek Chicago is first and foremost a values-based community. What we do will be deeply informed by the values that drive us. By establishing this new congregation, we are very consciously attempting to create a Jewish spiritual home for the growing numbers of American Jews who cherish these values and seek a spiritual community in which to express them.
I’ve served as a congregational rabbi in liberal Jewish congregations for most of my adult life. And while I have found this work to be professionally meaningful and spiritually nourishing in its own right, I am now eager to explore a fundamentally different approach to Jewish congregational life. In particular, I’m interested in building an intentional Jewish community that views the pursuit of social justice as its central driving force.
I realize of course, that by espousing values such as these, our new congregation crosses any number of the contemporary Jewish community’s red lines. I certainly have no illusions how a Jewish congregation describing itself as “non-Zionist” and openly protests “Israel’s ongoing oppression of the Palestinian people” will be received by the Jewish establishment. Given centrality of Zionism and Israel advocacy in Jewish communal life, it would be fair to say that Tzedek Chicago is very much a dissident congregation in the Jewish world.
I do believe, however, that we must make room in our community for Jews whose values dissent from what the communal establishment deems “mainstream.” It bears noting that dissent has historically occupied a venerable and even sacred place in Jewish life. Our congregation consciously and proudly seeks to lift up this dissident legacy – one which has long been indigenous to Jewish tradition itself in so many critical ways.
Indeed, the values I’ve listed above reflect a distinct liberatory narrative that runs through the heart of Judaism and Jewish history. It is a narrative rooted in the Exodus story that tells of a God who stands by the oppressed and demands that we do the same. It resonates through the words of Biblical prophets who spoke dangerous truths to power. It can be found in the courageous example of ancient rabbis who responded to the trauma of exile at the hands of the world’s mightiest empire by creating a religion with a universal message of healing and hope.
Among other things, the founding of Tzedek Chicago is an attempt to reclaim this Jewish narrative of liberation. As such, it reflects our desire to stand down a decidedly different Jewish narrative that has taken hold of the Jewish community since the end of the Holocaust and the establishment of the state of Israel – one that teaches that traumas of the past will inevitably become our future unless the Jewish people embraces the ways of empire, nationalism, physical might and militarism.
There is clearly much more to say about this phenomenon (and those who have followed this blog surely know that I’ve had a great deal to say about it over the years.) For now I’ll only add this: there are increasing numbers who believe this new Jewish narrative represents a betrayal of our most sacred legacy – and who seek to place solidarity, liberation and justice back on the Jewish agenda.
A few more specifics about our new congregation:
– In addition to major holidays, we will be holding two Shabbat programs per month – one on Friday evening and one on Saturday morning.
– We have intentionally kept our annual dues affordable – at $150.00 per member – so that the baseline expectation for full membership can be accessible to as many as possible.
– We will provide children’s programming during the course of the year. We will not be establishing a formal religious school at the outset because we believe it should emerge organically out of the community we create (and not vice versa).
– Rather than engage in social justice activism, our community will focus on organizing to help build movements for social change. To this end, we will participate actively in the growing grassroots solidarity movement that is organizing for a just peace in Israel/Palestine. We will also participate in Chicago’s rich and venerable organizing tradition by partnering with local community groups working for justice.
Needless to say, I will be posting about the work of our new community over the coming months and years. If our values and vision resonate with you please join us. You can visit our website here and our Facebook page here. If you have questions, feel free to email us at firstname.lastname@example.org
Finally, as I am filled with awe and gratitude to have reached this moment, I can only conclude with:
Source of all that lives and all that is:
We are so very grateful that you have given us life, sustained us, and brought us to this very sacred new beginning.
Last night I appeared on WTTW’s “Chicago Tonight” with my friend and colleague Rabbi Andrea London to discuss the issue of Israel/Palestine in the wake of Netanyahu’s re-election. Andrea spoke to the J Street position while I represented the Jewish Voice for Peace point of view. Although the station tried repeatedly to find a local rabbi to represent the AIPAC line, none were willing to participate. I’m sad to report that several of the rabbis contacted cited my presence on the panel as the reason for their refusal.
On the other hand, I was so heartened that Andrea and I were able to model a principled and respectful Jewish communal debate on this issue and I was so grateful for her willingness to engage. Click here to watch.
Please read this important statement just released by Jewish Voice for Peace. I strongly second its conclusion that “addressing anti-Semitism must go hand in hand with addressing all forms of racism.”
Jewish Voice for Peace welcomes the commitment of the UCLA Undergraduate Student Association Council (USAC) to addressing issues of anti-Semitism on campus. We recognize that a recent series of troubling incidents, including anti-Semitic graffiti and inappropriate questioning of a Jewish student, have raised concerns about rising anti-Semitism on campus, which we condemn in the strongest terms. However, we are also deeply concerned that the resolution passed by the USAC on March 10, 2015 further enshrines long-standing political efforts to silence legitimate criticism of the state of Israel by codifying its inclusion in the definition of anti-Semitism.
The resolution draws on the “State Department Definition of Anti-Semitism,” (sometimes referred to as the “3 D’s”). However, this definition has no legal standing in the US and was actually removed as a working definition by the European body where it originated. The ‘3Ds’ included in this definition (“demonization, delegitimization and applying a double-standard” to the state of Israel) are so vague that they could be, and have been, construed to silence any criticism of Israeli policies. This ‘working definition’ is in fact the product of long-term lobbying efforts by Israel advocacy groups who seek to codify criticism of the State of Israel as anti-Semitic. This is a deeply dangerous assertion that conflates Israel with Jewish people around the world.
“Classifying criticism of the state of Israel as ‘anti-Semitic’ curtails freedom of speech and dilutes the power of the term, which should be reserved for hatred, violence, intimidation or discrimination targeting Jews because of their ethnic and religious identity,” stated Rabbi Alissa Wise, Director of Organizing, Jewish Voice for Peace. “This resolution therefore dangerously silences legitimate criticism of Israel’s human rights abuses and violations of international law that urgently need to be addressed and remedied.” The United States Department of Education’s (DOE) Office for Civil Rights has emphatically affirmed that criticism of the state of Israel is protected speech on campus.
“The enforcement of this definition of anti-Semitism is part of long-term efforts on the part of Israel advocates to silence and intimidate supporters of Palestinian human rights,” stated Jacob Manheim, JVP-UCLA organizer. “The resolution, which states that only the self-appointed “organized Jewish community’ can define anti-Semitism, marginalizes the growing number of Jews like me who support nonviolent efforts to hold Israel accountable for human rights violations. We are frequently excluded from Jewish institutions, including UCLA Hillel, who barred our chapter from inclusion as a Hillel organization last spring.”
Efforts by Israel lobby groups to expand the definition of anti-Semitism to include criticism of Israeli policies have had the adverse impact of weakening the meaning of the term when actual cases of anti-Jewish hate are reported. For example, the much-cited recent Brandeis Center survey on the rise of anti-Semitism on campuses was methodologically flawed in that it left the definition of anti-Semitism to the respondents. Simultaneously, while there has been a media attention given to reports of a rise in anti-Semitism, there has been nearly no attention given to rising Islamophobia on campuses. For example, in recent weeks there was an Islamophobic smear campaign against Palestinian rights activists at UCLA and prominent US campuses promoted by the right-wing David Horowitz Freedom Center.
Addressing anti-Semitism must go hand in hand with addressing all forms of racism. We at Jewish Voice for Peace are committed to addressing anti-Semitism in the context of other systems of oppression, including, for example, racism and Islamophobia.