A Prayer On Inauguration Day.2021

 A Prayer On Inauguration Day

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

January 20, 2021

I can now allow myself a breath of relief. The Inauguration ceremony went off without a hitch.

Regardless of our political preference and affiliation, we are still one United States, an example to the entire world of how democracies work.

The last few years—and particularly the past two weeks—have demonstrated to us all how delicate our system of government is, how fragile our society, and how close we came to seeing it all fall apart.

I am relieved that today we saw proof that our flag is still there.

Thank God.

But my sense of relief shouldn’t be seen an indication that I feel that the hard work is behind us. To the contrary, we have so much yet to do before we can even think of resting on our laurels. America continues to be a deeply divided nation. Families and friendships have been torn asunder. In many cases, the love—or at least the respect and dignity—that we owe one another has been replaced by animosity. 

The usual pomp and circumstance of a Presidential Inauguration were toned down this year, reminding us that the world today is standing precariously on the edge of a steep precipice. Despite signs of progress toward regional peace (at least in the Middle East), nations are still doing their utmost to arm themselves to the teeth with conventional, nuclear, and biological weapons. We are still confronting the challenges of climate change, a battered economy, hunger, poverty and ignorance. The tragic toll of COVID continues to rise, inflicting untold misery and tragedy all around the world. 

Despite our growing awareness of racism and anti-Semitism in America and elsewhere, these hatreds—among other pernicious phobias—are showing no signs of abating. 

And the threat of insurrection in our own nation is far from over.

This day’s events will make many of us feel that we have made great strides towards a better future. And I truly believe that we have. Yet I also know that, in a week or two, once we return to our normal, day-to-day lives, once the glow dissipates, we will realize how much yet remains to be accomplished. 

It is precisely at such a time that we need to take to heart and mind the teaching of the Rabbis: “The task is great and the day is short…. It is not your duty to finish the work, but neither are you at liberty to neglect it.”

So, even as I breathe this sigh of relief, no matter how you or I will observe this day, let’s not forget what it stands for. It’s a salute to our chosen way of life and method of governance. It’s a celebration of the continuation of the greatest experiment in self-determination the world has ever known.

As we begin the process of rebuilding and repair, let’s allow ourselves a moment of reflection and prayer. And then let’s begin the work. Let’s turn to one another—to our neighbors, friends and family—and begin the process of healing and forgiveness. Only then will we be able to confront the larger issues facing us.

We pray to the Creator of all to grant the new administration strength and health, to steady the hands and resolve of President Biden and Vice President Harris as they begin their challenging work of uniting the people, restoring stability, and eradicating the COVID virus from our midst.

In the Reform Prayerbook, Mishkan Tefilah, we find the following prayer:

“O Guardian of life and liberty, may our nation always merit Your protection. Teach us to give thanks for what we have by sharing it with those who are in need. Keep our eyes open to the wonders of creation, and alert to the care of the earth. May we never be lazy in the work of peace; may we honor those who have died in defense of our ideals. Grant our leaders wisdom and forebearance. May they govern with justice and compassion. Help us all to appreciate one another, and to respect the many ways that we may serve You. May our homes be safe from affliction and strife, and our country be sound in body and spirit.” 

May these words always be before our eyes as we take on the work before us.

© 2021 by Boaz D. Heilman

The Legacy of Martin Luther King: 2021

 The Legacy of Martin Luther King

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

January 15, 2021

There are days that are engraved in our memory, serving as landmarks on a meandering roadmap. They remind us of how things had been up to then, and how, in a matter of moments, everything changed. We all have these in our personal lives—the day we got married, or had our children, or bought our first home. 

But there are also dark days that stand alone in our national life. Some have receded to become solemn days of commemoration, like November 11, first observed as Armistice Day but which later became Veterans’ Day. Others still stand in all their breath-taking shock, recalling for us the very real sense of numbness and helplessness that they first caused us to feel.

For some of us, December 7, 1941 is a day that still lives in infamy and sadness.

And just mention “9/11” and you immediately find yourself transported to the moment and place when you first heard the news and first saw the images of tragedy, terror and horror.

Also among these are the days that President Kennedy was assassinated, then his brother Robert F. Kennedy; and April 4, 1968, the day that saw the assassination of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. 

Those are days when time stopped and we all stood, dazed and confused. We gazed at one another, or else turned our thoughts inward. What we witnessed made us face the legacy left to us by past generations, even as we tried to assess our own role in the course of these events and define the next steps that we would now have to take.

On the anniversary of those days, we still take time to look around us. What has changed? What hasn’t? Have we? Has our behavior or attitudes?

If he had lived, Rev. King would be 92 today. What would he celebrate if he were still alive? Even though we observe this day in gratitude for his vision and achievements, there is still today—as there was when he was alive—debate about his political philosophy. There were those who opposed his policy of non-violence, who claimed that racism could only be eradicated from society once Whites become painfully—not only theoretically—aware of what Blacks have been suffering for centuries. The images of thousands of protesters marching in Selma and elsewhere across the South, arms linked in solidarity, are powerful, but then so is that iconic photograph taken on April 5, 1976, a picture published in a Boston newspaper of a White man using an American flag as a weapon as he lunges at an unarmed Black protester during an anti-busing riot. 

We may honor the Rev. King for his idealistic vision and glorious Biblical imagery, but sadly, reality presents us with a different perspective. 

Police over-reaction is still in the news. Black youth are not hanged like “strange fruit” from trees in the South anymore, but too many of them are still shot in the back, asphyxiated by over-zealous officers, or murdered for no other reason than that they were in the “wrong” place at the wrong time. 

History teaches us that corrupt leaders use hatred not only to sow division, but actually to foment violence. We were witnesses to a terrifying example of this only last week, as we watched the news from Washington DC and the riots inside the US Capitol building. Displayed in full color were images and symbols that we all recognize for what they are: statements of hatred, prejudice and bigotry. What we saw was concrete proof that racism—and its ancient twin, anti-Semitism—are still very much embedded in American society. Over the past few years we’ve been watching the tide of hatred rise like a flood. America is not greater today than it was four years ago; it’s been reverting to a time that many of us have thought we had left behind—a nation poisoned by oppression, fear and intimidation.

Though a new administration is set to take over in Washington in just a few days, the threats of violence and insurrection are far from gone, and we are left to wonder if we will ever emerge from this endless hatred that has been—and still is—tearing us apart. 

Maybe that’s why the Torah, the Prophets and the ancient Rabbis emphasize again and again that we must love our neighbor as ourselves. Because it’s too easy to fall into the trap of hatred, and because the only way to overcome this danger is through ongoing acts of love and kindness. 

Maybe hatred is too deeply embedded in our souls, perhaps even in our genes. Certainly we are taught to suspect and fear “the other.” In the Torah’s book of Exodus, this is what motivates Pharaoh to enslave the Hebrews. In an unpredictable and unstable world, his attempt to hold back change and progress took the form of oppression, slavery and genocide.

The Rev. Martin Luther King didn’t quote Biblical stories and messages only because he was a wonderful minister of God’s word: He truly understood the lesson the book of Exodus teaches us—that Pharaoh’s kind of thinking only hastens the downfall of nations and empires. This week’s Torah portion, Va’eira (Exodus 6:2—9:35), describes the consequences—the first seven plagues—that followed Pharaoh’s evil decrees. The worst is yet to come. It’s an inevitable process.

This then should be the lesson we take from this year’s observance of Martin Luther King Day. Racism is not gone from our culture and society. Ask any young Black male who drives, walks or jogs through mostly White neighborhoods and towns. Look at the disproportionately high rate of COVID infections among People of Color. Check out inner-city schools and the lack of healthcare and other social services—privileges that White people take for granted.

Martin Luther King encouraged us to think beyond his own day. In his last speech, given the day before he was assassinated, he said, “I’ve seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the Promised Land.”

Using these words as a prism of light and hope, how we get there is what we need to think about now. 

I hope and pray that this important day in our calendar will not, at some future point on our journey, become yet another excuse for more consumerism, yet another auto sales event, but rather as a signpost along the path to freedom and equality across the land. This is what this day stands for; this is why we celebrate Martin Luther King Day. That is the legacy he left for his descendants and us, the American nation.

On the Shabbat before the Inauguration of a new President of these United States, may we find the strength and courage within us to rid our land of racism and bigotry. May the purveyors of violence and prejudice be relegated back into the subterranean sewers where they belong. May peace and health reign in Washington, in our streets and homes; and may we, the American Nation, stay united in body, soul and mind.

© 2021 by Boaz D. Heilman

An Insurrection Against Democracy: Watching The News From Washington, D.C.

An Insurrection Against Democracy

Watching The News From Washington, D.C.

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

January 6, 2021

As we watch the incredible events unfold in Washington DC, we find ourselves overcome by many emotions and thoughts—fear, disbelief, powerlessness, shame, anger and many more. The United States Capitol is symbol of not only a great ideal—freedom—but also of hope and the dreams of millions all over the world: to be able to achieve something, to make something of themselves, to express themselves without fear of violence and harassment. The scenes of rioters—domestic terrorists is a better term for them—not only vandalizing the sanctioned halls of the United States Congress, but also disrupting a lawful debate, planting pipe bombs and tearing down and replacing the Flag of the United States with Trump flags create a terrifying vision for all of us who treasure democracy and this Republic.

I suspect that this day will enter our history books as a mark of shame, one that will take weeks and months to repair. While so much of the work that needs to be done now is in the hands of those we elected or appointed as leaders, we—the people—are not helpless. We might feel that way right now, but with so much to be done to shore up our confidence in our democracy once again, we will need to be engaged in the rebuilding of America. 

Voting is the first step, but sometimes that’s not enough. We must demand accountability from those who instigated the violence, who called for it and supported it. We will have to ask why security around the US Capitol was not enhanced on a day when we anticipated and should have expected violence. 

And we must also ask another, even more difficult questions,  whether a sitting President has the right to incite violence and if his personal attorney can call for “trial by combat.”

Because that is exactly what happened today.

There is no question that our very system of government, democracy, has been attacked—from the inside, not by a foreign government. How do we—The People—deal with this? 

As a nation, what must be done to make sure today’s events don’t escalate and don’t repeat themselves. Those are the big questions that will emerge from today.

As a rabbi, one of my roles is to offer prayer at a time like this. I have often explained my take on prayer: For me, prayer isn’t only wishful thinking. As I see it, prayer is an affirmation, a realignment, of my goals and my moral compass. Prayer helps me remember the difference between right and wrong—and then compels me to live that way. Doing the right thing.

At this time, I think of George Washington’s Prayer, titled “Circular Letter to the States” and dated June 8, 1783. Though by then the United States had won its war of independence, its survival was not yet certain. A peace treaty with Britain had not yet been signed; state governments remained hesitant to yield to Congress’ authority; and several officers in the Army had threatened to mutiny.  

[https://www.mountvernon.org/library/digitalhistory/digital-encyclopedia/article/circular-letter-to-the-states/. Retrieved Jan. 6 2021]

And this is what Washington wrote: 

“I now make it my earnest prayer, that God would have the United States in his holy protection, that         he would incline the hearts of the Citizens to cultivate a spirit of subordination and obedience to             Government, to entertain a brotherly affection and love for one another, for their fellow citizens of         the United States at large, and particularly for their brethren who have served in the Field, and                 finally, that he would most graciously be pleased to dispose us all, to do Justice, to love mercy, and to      demean ourselves with that Charity, humility and pacific temper of mind, which were the                         Characteristicks [sic] of the Devine Author of our blessed Religion, and without an humble imitation      of whose example in these things, we can never hope to be a happy Nation. Amen.”

The greatness of this prayer is that it isn’t merely a meditation: It’s a call to action. Democracy is not only a dream: it involves all of us in making it a reality, in maintaining it and keeping it safe.

What we can do is up to each and every one of us. We can start by practicing that “Charity, humility and pacific temper of mind” that Washington spoke of. Simple acts of courtesy and dignity that we can show one another or a stranger on the street. Some of us might be inspired to become involved in politics, or as defenders of the Law, our Homeland, and our Constitution. Whatever path we choose, we must go beyond the outrage we feel right now to something more positive and constructive, and always be watchful for those who would subvert the law and twist it to their own personal needs and greed.

The symbol of American democracy—the halls of Congress—was desecrated today. It is up to us to raise it once again, to rededicate the building as well as its purpose to the high position in which we have held it until today. 

We pray tonight for inspiration, for determination and strength to carry through this purpose, so that our children and grandchildren will always have this Institution of Freedom before their eyes—not only as a faded or disappeared dream, but rather as the solid foundation upon which the promise of the United States of America remains standing strong.

God bless America, God bless us one and all.

© 2021 by Boaz D. Heilman

Endings And Beginnings: Vayechi.2021

 Endings And Beginnings: Vayechi.2021

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

January 1, 2021

By some coincidence, this week’s Torah portion, the last one of the book of Genesis, is also the one with which we ushered out 2020 and welcomed in 2021. Perhaps the comparisons should stop with this curious coincidence, especially since the next book, Exodus, finds the Israelites enslaved to a tyrannical and anti-Semitic Pharaoh who is intent on destroying them.

And yet the sense of closure that endings bring, and the hope, wishes and prayers that new beginnings engender are true for the calendar as well as for our sacred texts.

In this Torah portion (Vayechi, Genesis 47:28—50:26) we read about Jacob’s death, and soon after, also Joseph’s. These sad events conclude the saga of the First Family of the Jewish People, but not before these two protagonists bestow their blessings on the generations that will follow them.

On his deathbed, surrounded by his sons and grandchildren, Jacob blesses them all, while saving the best for Judah and Joseph. Joseph, too, expresses his most profound hopes—that when the Israelites return to their homeland as God had promised, they will take his remains with them and not leave him in the land of his exile.

Jacob’s blessings, while sometimes obscure, seem to indicate the future course of the Tribes of Israel—the confrontations that will arise as well as the unity and accord that will prevail in the end. Joseph goes even farther, expressing his faith in the Redemption that God will bring about for God’s People.  

In our own day, like Jacob and Joseph, while looking back with dismay at one of the worst years in our lives, as we turn our gaze towards a new beginning and a new year, today we too may be permitted a measure of hope and optimism.

2020 was a year of loss, anxiety and sadness for all of us. 

For Americans, it was the year of the most contentious and divisive national elections in memory. It was the year of social awakening and reckoning. It was the year of COVID.

It was a year that had us thinking about what really matters in life.

And even as we turn a new page in our calendars, we know that we aren’t out of the woods yet. It will take all we’ve learned in 2020 plus some, before we can breathe freely again. Even after we all receive our vaccines, for months yet we will continue practicing the routine we’ve gotten used to at this point: Washing our hands frequently (to the tune of Happy Birthday To You, twice!), wearing face covering and maintaining social distance. 

But, with God's help, the end of this frightful pandemic IS, hopefully, in sight. Though the rollout of vaccination seems slow and hampered by a variety of circumstances, the process of healing—physical, psychological and social—has begun. 

And so this is my prayer for this Gregorian calendar new year, New Year’s 2021: That we emerge from this experience with new understanding of our fragility, yet also with renewed strength and confidence. May we learn to be more mindful of our health, more appreciative of people and things that we may have taken for granted in the past.  May we gain deeper understanding of the gift of time allotted to us and learn to use it in a responsible and generous way. And finally, as we begin to return to a more normal way of life, may we find sure footing and move on, cautiously, with greater awareness of our place and role in the world.

I look forward—as do we all, I am sure—to a day soon when we will be able to gather in person again and embrace our families, friends and communities.

May 2021 bring us all recovery, strength, hope and health. Happy New Year!

© 2021 by Boaz D. Heilman