Juneteenth: Day of Dreams

Juneteenth: Day of Dreams

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

June 19, 2020

The Jewish calendar is different from all other calendars. “How is it different?” you ask. Well, to begin with, our days don’t start when we get up, but rather on the evening before, at sunset. The reason usually given is based on the story of Creation, where we read, “And it was evening and it was morning, first day… second day…” and so on.

And that’s why it’s on Friday evenings that we have a special service to welcome the Sabbath; that is why the Passover Seder is held on the evening preceding the first day of the holiday, and why the Yom Kippur fast begins not on the morning of the holiest day in the Jewish calendar, but at sunset the evening before.

But there is yet another purpose for this practice, a psychological explanation with deep meaning. Twilight, the onset of darkness, has spiritual as well as emotional effect on us, often bringing with it feelings of sadness and gloom, and even the neurological phenomenon commonly known as sundowning.

Illuminating the darkness with candles and cheer helps in warding off sadness and dejection. The night, instead of being cause for fear and anxiety, thus becomes a time of hopeful anticipation.

Much has been written in Midrash and rabbinic commentaries about the phrase “And it came to pass at midnight” (וַיְהִי בַּחֲצִי הַלַּיְלָה, Exodus 12:29), the time when the Angel of Death came to deliver upon Pharaoh and all Egypt that final, terrible, tenth plague, the Death of the Firstborn. It was at that fearful moment—not an exact hour, but rather better understood as that most dismal and darkest portion of the night—that the Redemption of the Israelite People began.

Finding optimism while in the throes of despair is no easy feat. It takes vision and courage. It takes all our strength to overcome doubt and fear. It requires that we crack open that shell of Faith, deeply buried inside us, and within which Hope is encased.

We are living through challenging times today. The first wave of the COVID pandemic shows no signs of abating, and there’s already fear of a second wave come this fall and winter. The economy is in a shambles, and our confidence in the country’s leadership is quickly vanishing. Civil unrest is sweeping through our cities, the result of centuries of brutality and injustice directed against African Americans and other people of color, and scenes of savage violence, vandalism and cruelty are unfolding before our eyes daily. How easy it would be to give in to the darkness, to become discouraged, or else to join the surge of fury and rage.

And yet, in the midst of all this change and convolution, we are given a sign, a candle in the dark as it were: Juneteenth.

Juneteenth—the name given this day, the 19^th of June—commemorates the abolition of slavery in America, and as such it’s a day that needs to be observed not only by African Americans, but also by all Americans. For slavery, while causing immense suffering on People of Color, has left a deep stain of shame and guilt on the rest of us, who have either taken advantage of, or benefitted from, this terrible injustice that was inflicted on millions of human beings.

The past three weeks have been transformative for all of us. It isn’t only the rioting, the marches and the demonstrations that we have been watching or participating in. It’s the eye-witness stories of racism and bigotry that we’ve been reading and hearing; the testimonies of indignities and humiliations; the cries of anguish that few of us paid heed to. Suddenly we see new meanings in old, degrading stereotypes that have been around for ages: Aunt Jemimah; Mammy; blackface.

The reawakening of conscience is no simple matter. Some claim ignorance, or else deny harboring racism. For many of us however, the vital question is no longer “What have we done,” but rather, “Have we done enough?” 

And that’s why this year, Juneteenth is such an important day, to be observed not only by those who benefitted most from it—African Americans—but also by the rest of us, for whom this day represents our own awakening.

June 19, 1865 was the day on which the citizens of Galveston, Texas, first heard the news of the Emancipation of slaves, two and a half years after President Lincoln proclaimed it in Washington, D.C. On this day, Major General Gordon Granger of the Union Army issued General Order Number 3, announcing the end of the Civil War, and with it also the end of slavery in the United States.

But though slavery was abolished, the stated goal of this order, “Absolute equality of rights and rights of property between former masters and slaves,”[1] has yet to be reached. Slavery may have been abolished, but racism in America is far from gone.

In the Torah, it took the Israelites 40 years after the beginning of Redemption on that fateful midnight in Egypt to reach the Promised Land. During that period of time, there were many times when the people lost hope, when they  rioted and rebelled. Some wanted to return to those terrible days of slavery, while others expressed even more drastic ideas on how to reach the shores of safety. In our own day and time, we find ourselves on a similar meandering path forward. And like our ancient ancestors, we have a long way to go.

And that’s why we have Juneteenth, a day that must become a national holiday—and is actually already on track to becoming that, with all our support. We need this holiday not only to help us remember where we came from, but also where we are going. Juneteenth not only represents the end of slavery, but is also a road sign, pointing out and illuminating the direction we must follow in order to achieve the goal we set for ourselves: liberty, equality and justice for all. 

May the profound purpose of Juneteenth never be lost on us. May it help us celebrate the potential of every human being, regardless of race, creed, age or gender. Let it always remind us not only of the injustices of the past, but also of the work that yet needs to be done as we reach towards our dreams of a more meaningful and just tomorrow.

© 2020 by Boaz Heilman

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[1] Major General Gordon Granger’s General Order Number 3, History of Juneteenth. Juneteenth.com (accessed June 18, 2020).

Racism In America

Racism In America

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

#JusticeShabbat, June 7, 2020

We are living through extraordinary times: Climate change, Coronavirus, and now riots and protests in almost every major city of the United States and around the globe, following the homicide on a Minneapolis street of a simple African American man.

One could be either a cynic and say, “so what else is new,” or as wise as King Solomon, who toward the end of his life, said that “there is nothing new under the sun.” And perhaps the King was right.  After all, we’ve been there before—storms, plagues and revolutions. When I was a teenager living in Los Angeles, I saw Watts burn, and I remember well the chant, “Burn baby, burn!” that accompanied the fires in other African-American ghettoes. I remember classes dismissed when I was a student at UCLA in 1968, when we heard about the assassination of Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. On that day, forever etched in my memory, groups of us sat in stunned silence, wondering what kind of world we were living in. Fifty years ago, both in memory of the murder of the Rev. King, and also in reaction to the killing of four students at Kent State University by the Ohio National Guard, I began taking part in sit-ins and protests against racism, brutality and needless war.

And that’s just me. But I was part of a movement. By the hundreds, thousands and hundreds of thousands we did our part to change the world. Have we succeeded? Evidently not. Or at least, not enough.

The protests today aren’t only about the physical slavery of African Americans. It’s about racism, which is just another form of slavery. In an article that appeared in The New Yorker earlier this week,[1] Bryan Stevenson, a civil rights lawyer and activist states that, “The great evil of American slavery wasn’t the involuntary servitude; it was the fiction that black people aren’t as good as white people, and aren’t the equals of white people, and are less evolved, less human, less capable, less worthy, less deserving than white people.”

I find these words very painful, not only because they are so true, but also because I can empathize with the suffering and degradation that people of color have had to endure because of this prejudice.

As a Jew, and particularly as a second-generation survivor of the Holocaust, I can identify with these feelings. Anti-Semitism isn’t only about Jewish religion and rituals. It’s about Jews being seen as a different form of life, not quite up to par with superior races.  How many of us have been asked—not even out of meanness, but simply out of ignorance and curiosity, about our hidden tails, or horn stubs, or other physical proof of the Jew being somehow sub-human?

And yet, as a mea culpa, I reflect with shame on the racism inherent among my own people. The contemptuous and derisive terms used by Jews of a somewhat older age group—and perhaps even today—to describe Blacks. I hear the pain expressed by Jews of Color who somehow aren’t seen as quite Jewish enough. “How can you be Jewish,” they are often asked, with the implication that all Jews look alike, and that if you don’t fit the image, you can’t really be Jewish. 

And I wonder, how can we Jews, subject to bigotry and prejudice throughout our history, be among those who—actively or subconsciously—be among those who practice racism today?  Weren’t we Jews active in the Civil Rights Movement of the 1960’s? Didn’t we march with Martin Luther King in the streets of Selma? Did we not work—at great risk to life and livelihood—to expose and eradicate prejudice? To register Black voters in the South? To educate and tutor them so they could enter American society as equals?

Or have we gotten lax in recent years?

Today, a clear voice emerges out of the chaos on the streets: You haven’t done enough. It isn’t enough to be un-racist. You have to anti-racist. It’s an ongoing struggle, and there can be no rest until the battle is won.

And that means that, in response to the killing of George Floyd, we Jews, as a people, must begin by examining our own souls. On Yom Kippur, once a year, we are commanded to engage in cheshbon ha-nefesh, to take an accounting of the soul. Yom Kippur isn’t so much about how we relate to God, but rather how we interact with one another, how we may have wronged our fellow human being. On this holiest of days, we look not only for the obvious and egregious sins, but also for those hidden in the darkest recesses of our soul, the ones we manage to overlook or cover up.

In that spirit, and in response to the cry of the hurt and injured, those who were lynched or shot, and those whose necks were crushed by a white supremacist’s knee, we American Jews need to engage in similar introspection today. Could we be harboring, knowingly or unknowingly, racism within our hearts? Because if we are, then we are part of the problem, and we can’t begin to change anything until we change ourselves.

Yes, Jews have participated in the struggle to desegregate, to bring justice, equality and education to African Americans. But racism is still a part of the culture for many of us.

I find racism even in the Torah, in the classification of Kush—father of the Kushite (or Nubian) tribes of northern Africa—as a descendant of Noah’s youngest son, Ham, who was cursed by his father and preordained for slavery.

With abhorrence, I find racism not only among American Jews, but also among some Israelis. Despite efforts at integration, Black immigrants from Ethiopia still experience institutionalized and personal discrimination.

We are privileged because—for the most part—we are white. For the most part, we are well-to-do. We live in neighborhoods that can afford the best schools, the best teachers, the best tutors and the best extra-curricular activities. We can afford good healthcare, and we can afford to buy good, nutritious, healthy food.

We can call the police when we feel threatened or need help—and not worry that somehow the tables will be turned against us.

Our sons and daughters can look forward with excitement and hope toward advancement in their chosen fields.

Many of us have been taking for granted our rights and freedoms, but have turned a blind eye and a deaf ear to the plight of our fellow human beings, discriminated against because they are people of color, relegated to poor and crowded neighborhoods where healthcare and education are scarce and badly managed; who are systematically subjected to discriminatory laws and harsher treatment by the police and other law enforcement agencies.

This is what the riots and demonstrations in our streets today are all about. And unless we start listening, unless we start changing the system, starting with ourselves, there will be nothing new under the sun.

With all due respect and humility, I need to disagree with wise old King Solomon. I believe with all my heart that change IS possible. We see it happen every day. If it weren’t for the 1960’s and the Freedom Riders, we would still be living in Jim Crow America. If it weren’t for the Stonewall Riots, there would be no Rainbow Flag or Gay Pride today.

What we must pledge today is to carry forward this sacred—but unfinished—work. We need to listen to the grievances of our neighbors, to hear their pain, to see the fear in their eyes. We must contribute money, time and effort to legislation that would protect their lives and livelihoods. We must hold accountable those who take away their dignity and abuse their basic human rights, who conspire to “put them in their place,” who believe that America’s greatness is displayed through might and armor rather than justice and equality.

The world CAN change, but this change must begin with me and you. Each of us must pick up where the previous generation left off, and carry forward the sacred task with which we were entrusted.  We pray that bigotry and prejudice be gone.  We pray for the strength and determination to make it so.  We pray that WE become the change we wish to see.

© 2020 by Boaz Heilman

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[1]Chotiner, Isaac (2020, June 1). Bryan Stevenson On The Frustration Behind The George Floyd Protests. The New Yorker. Retrieved from https://www.newyorker.com/news/q-and-a/bryan-stevenson-on-the-frustration-behind-the-george-floyd-protests

A Prayer For America

A Prayer For America

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

I would like us to take a moment and offer our thoughts and prayers to the memory of George Floyd and to his bereaved family. At such difficult moments as we are living through right now, it’s hard to remember that people are grieving the tragic and pointless death of a loved one.

I would like to pray for the restoration of peace and order in our communities and cities. I would like to pray for understanding and unity, rather than bigotry and divisiveness. I would like to pray for calm in our hearts, for fear to disappear and be replaced with love and compassion.

I pray for the violence to stop, for the fires to be quenched, for instigation and incitement to end.

I would like to pray for justice and truth to emerge out of the flames that are engulfing our cities, for light to be shed on the deep and real causes of this conflagration.

I pray for conversation to resume, for peaceful and composed voices to be heard, rather than the screams of hate, enmity, anguish and pain.

I would like to pray for all hands to start reaching towards one another to help and uplift rather than to shove and push down.

I pray for hope to replace despair, for the courage to stand up for right rather than might.

At this time of panic and pandemic we  have so much to look forward to, yet so much to lose; may God show us the way to peace, love and understanding among us all, no matter what color, creed, religion, or race.

Amen.