A Yizkor Thought and Prayer

In second chapter of the Second Book of Samuel. We are told there that, after the death of King Saul, the people of Israel divided into two factions. One group followed King David, and general, Joab; the other group followed King Ish Boshet, and general, Abner.

The two armies came together at a place called the Pool of Gideon. Joab had with him that day his two younger brothers, Avishai and Asael.

The battle began, and Joab and his army quickly took the offensive, and Abner and his army began to retreat. Asael, the youngest brother of Joab, pursued after Abner with a sword in his hand. Asael was a very fast runner. And he ran after Abner, as fast as he could. 

Abner looked back and said:” Is that you? Asael?” “Yes it Is”, Asael called back. Abner said to him: “I ask you to turn to the right or to the left, and to pursue someone else instead of me.  Seize one of my men, or kill him and bring back a trophy from his body, if you wish. But don’t come after me, for I do not want to have to kill you.”

But Asael would not turn aside. Abner begged Asael again. He said: “Stop pursuing me, or I will have to strike you down. And if I do, how will I ever be able to face your brother, Joab?”

But Asael would not stop, and so Abner finally, reluctantly, had to strike him in the stomach with the back end of his spear. But the spear went through him and came out the other side. And Asael fell, and died there.

And now comes the part of the story that I find most interesting.  When the battle was over, Joab, as is the custom of generals after every battle, ordered that a body count be made, in order to determine how many of the enemy‘s soldiers had fallen, and how many of his own men had fallen. That is the way that generals determine which side has won. However, this time they counted differently. They reported back to him that of Abner’s army, three hundred and sixty soldiers had fallen and that of his army “nineteen men were dead - and Asael.”

They did not say that twenty men had fallen. They said that nineteen men had fallen…and Asael. They said it this way because Asael was not a number. Asael was Joab’s youngest brother. He was a person whom he loved, and so his death had to be listed separately.

This is the tragedy of war: that generals and politicians and reporters get caught up in numbers. They measure victory or defeat by statistics, and they forget that to the mother of one soldier who has fallen, the battle is a catastrophe. They think that if the other side has lost three hundred and sixty soldiers and their side has only lost twenty, then their side has won - when actually both sides have lost, and what they have lost is not numbers, but human beings. 

War will never end until we learn to stop thinking only in terms of numbers. War will never end until we realize that each person who dies in battle has a name as well as a number, until we learn as Joab learned that day that he had not lost twenty men. He had lost nineteen men - and his brother.

My first suggestion is that, in every police station in this country that we should put up a memorial sign - a sign that contains the names of those who have been shot in the back while running away from a policeman, and the names of those who have been killed with guns, when they could have been tranquilized by Tasers instead. Let these names be inscribed on a wall near the entrance of every police station so that whenever a policeman enters the building to begin his duty every day he may see these names, and he may realize how careful he must be, and how sacred his responsibility is.

At the same time, I propose that in every black church in America that there should be put up a memorial sign - in which are inscribed the names of those policemen who have been killed in the line of duty, so that each person who enters these buildings may realize and know that they are protected by people who risk their lives - and who sometimes give their lives - for our protection.

Let them see and let them say these names - in BOTH places, so that both of these groups may not forget that these were human beings, and not just numbers.

And let us remember their names today when we recite Yizkor, so that we may know - and not forget - that in these last few months, we have lost - not numbers - but human beings….we have not lost twenty men…we have lost nineteen men and Asael. Amen.

__________________________________________________

THESE ARE THE NAMES

Officer Brain Moore

Officer  Wenjian Lu and Officer Rafael Ramos

Detective Terence Avery Green

Police Officer Robert Wilson III

Deputy Marshal Josie Wells

Police Officer Alex Yazzie

Police Officer Michael Johnson

Trooper Trevor Casper

Sergeant Gregory Moore

Police Office Liquori Tate

Police Officer Benjamin Deen

AND THESE ARE THE NAMES

Michael Brown

Tamir Rice

Cameron Tillman 

Von Derrit Myers, Jr, 

Laquan McDonald

Qusean Whitten

Diana Showman

Freddie Gray

The first list contains the names of some policemen who were shot and killed while they were sitting in their cars, or standing at a traffic stop. It contains the names of whites and blacks and a Chinese policeman as well who have been killed in the line of duty in the last few months. They deserve to be remembered in the black community.

The second list contains the name of 12-year-old boy killed because he was brandishing BB gun, and police thought it was a real gun.  This list contains the name of a boy shot in the back, even though he was holding his hands up.  It contains the name of a boy killed by a police reservist who says that he pulled out his gun by mistake, and he meant to shoot him with his Taser. These teenagers deserve to be remembered by the police.

And then, let us say this prayer after we have recited our prayers for those whom we love:

Author of life,

Grant perfect rest

To those whom we have named today,

And to all those whose lives have been shortened by violence.

Let those who loved them remember them

With joy and with tears.

Put an end to anger, hatred and fear

And bring us to a time

When no one will suffer needless violence at the hands of another.

May the souls of all those  whom we have named today

Be bound up in the bond of life.      Amen.                                                                      Alden Solovy, Jewish Prayers of Hope and Healing.

On Staying Awake and Alert at Services

On Staying Awake and Alert at Services

Sociologist Jonathan Woocher wrote some years ago in The Religion of American Jews an analysis of who we are.  Woocher peered at us dispassionately, gleaning a picture of American Jewry today.

We believe, he wrote, in seven basic tenets.  The first is the unity of the Jewish people.  Whether marching for distressed Jews, acting in concert with the world Jewish community we are one.  The second principle is that of mutual responsibility.  Echoing the rabbinic maxim that “all Jews are responsible for one another, we collectively support our JCC’s, Hadassah Hospital, Israel, old age homes, etc..  Jewish survival in a threatening world is the third tenet.  We must be united because of the hatred that has traveled alongside us wherever we have lived.  The holocaust is the twentieth century reminder of our fragile grip in liberty and freedom.  The fourth is the centrality of Israel.  Fifth is the enduring value of Jewish tradition.  Sometimes supporters of civil religion endorse what they see as a new, more authentic universalistic view at the expense of a personal relationship with a synagogue or Jewish practice or belief system.  That is why Jewish names can be seen as backers of programs and ideologies that are outright hostile to Judaism and Jewish ideals.  Sixth is tzedaka.  This is philanthropy and social justice.  This is often the most prominent tenet of all and the most observed by the Jewish community.  Sadly, it is also often mistakenly substituted for the whole of Jewish faith.  Finally the last principle is American-ness as a virtue.  This we express through our desire and accompanying actions to be model Americans.

All these tenets are values and valuable; some are noble.  Yet the mistake of modernity is to call these aspects of Judaism the totality of our religion.  As they appear, all may end up detailing Jewish behaviors that have no relationship to God at all.  In this respect we may end up treating philanthropists better than tzaddikim.

A teacher of mine once pointed out that the difference between Judaism and its civil corollary shows why rabbis and their congregations are so often at odds.  While everyone is happy to hear a sermon on the problems with Vatican or the latest act of anti-Semitism, they are no so keen on hearing a sermon on theology.  The former is a staid part of civil religion while the latter is our faith.  We never struggle for people to attend a Hanukkah or Purim gala (which, by the way, are observances of Jewish survival, see above) but Shavuot (which is all about God’s relationship with us) is unknown and neglected.  As one colleague put it, “If the Watergate burglars had confessed their sins before my congregation on the second day of Yontif, Nixon would have been president for a second full term.”

And yet.  Maybe this is our time and opportunity to waken our soulful self to a new perspective and view.  Maybe the path of God is also the path of enlightenment and realization of the holiness and joy that inheres in the everyday.  Its roots are deeply embedded in Torah and our soul.  Maybe it is time to reconnect.

Hanukkah's Lesson

In the oldest historical document about the Maccabean revolt, The First Book of Maccabees we read about a highly motivated but poorly armed group of Jews.  Having no military expertise, armed with no weaponry, possessing no tactical war plan, about the only thing they had was zeal and a belief in their mission for freedom.

After years of battling against the Greco-Syrian forces they recaptured the Temple.  This is their account:

Then Judah said to his brothers: Our enemies have fled.  Let us ascend the mountain and         cleanse the Sanctuary.  Immediately, they gathered as one to go up to Mt Zion.  And when they  

saw the Sanctuary defiled, the altar profaned, the gates burned, and shrubs growing through 

the once great courts they tore their clothes.  The wept and placed ashes on their heads….

Imagine the depth of anguish of these vagabond warriors.  After years of bitter hardship yearning to see their sacred Sanctuary they now saw the awful truth of what had happened there.

When the tears subsided, the Maccabees put away their swords and spears and began the long arduous task of cleansing the filth embedded in the stones.

The word Hanukkah means “dedication.”  Note that the word does not indicate anything about the vicious battles waged to regain the Temple.  Instead the words reflects the renewal of worship in the House of God.

When we look to the holiday of Hanukkah to plumb its meaning we are carefully guided by the sages who taught us that the eight day festival is not about war and survival but about dedication.

Here’s a question to guide us into the Festival of Lights: How can we use this time to rededicate (and maybe reorient) our lives toward God?  If it is not about war (think of your personal struggles to make more money, improve your home life, keep the house in working order, build a better clientele…) what can we do make our lives less of a struggle and more meaningful?

Maybe this eight day holiday is a chance to rekindle the dreams that we once held as sacred.  Maybe it is also an opportune moment to take a step closer to the core of our faith.  

Thinking About the High Holy Days

Back in 1984 in the small community of Eastvale Texas, things went awry.  Big time.  Potholes were so numerous that the police stopped giving tickets for drunken driving (everybody swerved).  Water was in extremely short supply to the extent that the fire department had to “borrow” water.  Even automobiles threw fenders, mufflers and tires randomly, indiscriminately. Car parts littered the streets.  They just fell apart all over the place.  To use biblical terminology, ‘the septic tanks runneth over.’

Leaders from the community got together and decided the best way to get some coveted financial relief from the government was to call themselves ‘blighted’.  Said then Mayor Bert Eubank, “All I need is just a couple of million.”

These modern-day Jobs figured they could attract a lot of attention by drawing the national media to view their open wounds (anticipating sympathy in the form of dollars).

The story reminds me of the beggar in Fiddler on the Roof.  With his hand extended, he begs for money from the usual characters.  Offered one kopec, the beggar complains, “Because you had a bad week I should suffer?”

As life progresses, good and bad come unexpectedly.  How we react to these occurrences defines us.  A large segment of the deepest meaning of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur is coming to terms with how we have responded to the ordinary events of life, the day to day stuff.

A prayer we recite on these Holy Days reads that we should be blessed by never having to be dependent upon the charity of others.  At the same time, we pray that God should be charitable to us in judging our lives. In other words, we ought to feel dependent upon God, not upon humanity. 

Who would disagree?  Of course we ought to be independent of people!  Closer to the truth is that we invert the Judaic notion: we form intricate webs of dependency and inter-dependency with people while distancing ourselves from God. 

One of the realizations of the Y2K phenomenon was that we swiftly understood how much we are need of one another for survival.  In the worst case scenario, they told us back in 1998, Y2K would mean that computer lines will not function, the electrical grid of the world will not work; there will be food stoppages too as transportation suffers. 

The runup to Y2K proved to us that we are dependent on people.   They are our employers; we wait for words of encouragement, paychecks and raises.  They are our customers; without them we are out of business.  We are connected to humanity at all levels.  Our lives are spent depending on people.

And yet.  It is not supposed to be this way.

At times of searing personal pain, our attention goes elsewhere.  Wisdom from the battlefield: ‘there are no atheists in a foxhole.’  Our tradition says the same thing using the metaphor of life.  Long ago, Eliezer ben Durdaya was a man who reached the height of personal achievement.  He was rich, successful… and hungry.  Eliezer had an insatiable desire for more and more.  His life slowly became twisted and his contorted by his want and the intolerable emptiness inside.

Nearing the end of his days Eliezer ben Durdaya screamed to the mountains, ”You are great  --Plead for me!” They remained silent.  Eliezer then turned to the sun and moon asking their help and intervention.  They too, remained unmoved.  Finally, Eliezer understood the blanket truth: he had to do the final reckoning.  No one, no thing would come to his defense.

Judaism does not believe in finger-pointing, unless the finger is directed at the self.  Even if events or people have contributed to our present condition only we can make the ultimate difference; change.  The Talmud sums it up this way: When a person dies, nothing accompanies him before the Almighty, except his deeds.