Flags, Parades and Fireworks: Pride Month 2021

 Flags, Parades and Fireworks: Pride Month 2021

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

This week’s Torah portion (Balak, Numbers 22:2-25:9), more so than any other parasha, is simultaneously frightening and hopeful, serious and sarcastic—and above all, full of ironic humor.

The “hero” of this portion, Balaam, is a blind seer (first of the many ironies). He is said to speak for God, but in his heart of hearts intends to disobey God. He is said to see the future, but can’t see what’s right in front of him. And as for kindness and compassion—the surest signs of a true prophet—Balaam has none and, in anger and frustration, beats his animal for disobeying him (and probably saving his life).

Finally, Balaam’s speech—intended to be a curse upon the Israelites—turns out instead to be a blessing, its words now part of a prayer said by Jews upon entering a synagogue!

When Balaam is hired by the Moabite King Balak for the purpose of casting an evil spell upon the Israelites, the famed seer seeks a high place from where he can see the tribes of Israel. But what he perceives doesn’t match what he had been told about them. Instead of an unruly swarm of locust devouring any growth upon the land, he sees neat and orderly dwellings, all arranged in such a way as to ensure privacy, dignity and respect.

Mah tovu ohalecha Yaakov, mishk’notech Yisrael, “How goodly are your tents O Jacob, your dwellings, Israel,” Balaam exclaims, arousing the wrath of the Moabite king.

Like Balak, we too sometimes fail to see things the way they truly are, until we experience them from a more personal perspective. Too often we see the world through a prism of misinformation and prejudice. We are taught to judge others by hearsay or gossip, and then, to make things worse, we spread these lies further, repeating them until others begin to believe them too.

How often, when I see two men or women holding hands while walking down the street, do I hear others express anger at the public display of affection. Or when a Pride Parade is set to pass through city streets, people raising objections that take the form of something like, “I have nothing against gays, but why do they need to flaunt their inclinations?” 

And basically, there are two reasons for doing exactly that: One, because being proud of one’s identity is a basic human right; and two, because people—all people, regardless of their gender identification—need to be reminded of this truth not only one month out of the year, but rather 365 days a year. 

For thousands of years, being queer meant hiding in shame and darkness. It meant facing discrimination, imprisonment, violence and often—particularly among teenagers—suicide. For some it meant eternal damnation, rejection both by one’s family as well as by God and God’s supposed representatives on earth.

Expression of pride, on the other hand, represents acceptance. Instead of living in fear, waving a rainbow flag tells both yourself and others that you belong, that you are not alone in the world, that there’s a loving and supportive community that you are a part of. 

Parades signify victory. A Pride Parade symbolizes that you are no longer oppressed or overpowered. You have fought the fight and come out victorious. You have come to understand, love and accept yourself for all that you are, and for all that you can be.

Society and the requisites of survival condition us to conform. We cannot survive on our own, so we become part of a group and show allegiance and commitment to its customs and laws. We are cool if we wear the right clothes or sport the right shoes. We are sexy if we drink the right beer. We are rugged if we drive the high-powered pickup; or conversely, womanly, if we assume a less dominant posture, put on a softer facial expression, wear the right makeup or—once again—the right shoes. 

But while for some these guidelines provide comfort and security, for others they only serve to confine and restrict. They are constant reminders of what’s accepted and what isn’t. They also serve to bring up painful memories of insults and slurs, of hundreds of “no’s” to any one “yes!”  

Jews have often been compared to subhuman animals. Balaam and Pharaoh, Haman and Hitler, and so many in-between, have tried to suppress, steal or deny our identity and authenticity. On Simchat Torah, however, the holiday where we most fervently express joy and pride in our heritage, we wave flags and march, we parade and dance with our Torah scrolls. Likewise, the blue and white flag of the State of Israel expresses not only national pride, but also our eternal hopes and aspirations—boundless as the sky above—and the infinite light and potential embedded in each and every one of us.

So too, do the flags, parades and fireworks that highlight important days in our American history and tradition.  These remind us of the challenges we have overcome, and of the yet many possibilities that still lie ahead of us.

And so too, do Rainbow Flags and Pride Parades, which serve to remind us all of the diversity of humankind, the strength that stems from the collective effort, and the promise of peace that comes after the struggle.

May we all learn to accept the uniqueness that resides within each human being; may the light embedded within each of us unite into a great flame that will shed light upon the path both into our hearts, and forward into a future filled with dignity, respect and love for all.

© 2021 by Boaz D. Heilman

Liberty And Justice For All: Juneteenth 2021

 Liberty And Justice For All: Juneteenth 2021

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

One of my favorite pastimes is doing research. Just about any subject will do—a Jewish topic, or perhaps something else that piques my interest. Learning something new is always fun and exciting for me. There are always multiple leads, and I tend to follow a good number of them (usually too many). So as one thing leads to another, I soon have a dozen or so windows open, and then I find that, regretfully, I have to close one after another and focus on the actual topic at hand.

Everything, it seems, is interconnected. Everything that happens depends on what has already been or that took place in the past. As the saying states, “We stand on the shoulders of those who have gone before us.” And how true that is.

Of course, there is an even more ancient proverb, penned more than 3000 years ago and often quoted:  “There is nothing new under the sun.” As it appears in Ecclesiastes 1:9, the verse is somewhat pessimistic. The author, said to be King Solomon, sitting in his palace in Jerusalem, laments the tediousness of life, viewed through the lens of the melancholy that accompanies his old age.

In countering Solomon however, one can argue that his world-weariness fails to recognize the newness of each day, the refreshing afternoon breeze that brings relief to the heat of the day, or the smile and potential that come along with each newborn baby.

Yet it is still true that everything that is, follows on the heels of something else that preceded it. Take Juneteenth, the newest national holiday, just approved by the United States Senate and House and signed into law by President Biden. The history of this holiday goes back almost 150 years.

Even though the Emancipation Proclamation was issued by President Abraham Lincoln as an executive order in 1862, it didn’t become effective in the South until June 19, 1865, when Union troops arrived in Galveston, Texas, and announced to the more than 250,000 Black people in the state that they were now free. And it wasn’t for another two years that this day was first celebrated as a holiday, and another five years yet before it appeared on “a calendar of public events.” 

Since then, Juneteenth, as it came to be known, went through slow progress, from individual and family celebrations to a quick surge in popularity, and subsequent decline under the Jim Crow laws. 

Ironically, during the 1950’s and ‘60’s, the Civil Rights Movement focused not so much on African-American identity and history as on passing laws ensuring freedom and integration. However, since then, the holiday assumed ever-greater importance, until it finally achieved the status of a Federal holiday just this week.

This quick history lesson, however, must be accompanied by some facts. Only two months ago, a former US Senator, Rick Santorum, claimed that America was in fact “nothing” before white Europeans came here and created a nation. In this sweeping erasure of history, what Santorum failed to mention was the contribution of the Indigenous Peoples (Native Americans); of the hundreds of thousands of immigrants from Asia and Europe who were induced to emigrate to this continent to build railroads and mine the coal, gold, silver and other minerals buried in its mountains; the migrant farm workers from Latin America; or the Black People who were enslaved and forced to provide the labor of constructing and building America. These were the workers who built the White House, who quarried the Yule Marble from Colorado used for the Lincoln Memorial and the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. These were the same workers who, inspired and joined by impoverished Jewish immigrants from Eastern Europe, formed the unions that, literally with their blood, sweat and tears, guaranteed for the first time in history fair wages, health care and—later—equal opportunity for all people, regardless of gender, race or creed. It’s a struggle that’s still going on today, but one which has contributed to America no less than the contributions of the Puritans and other White Christian settlers who came from England, France, Spain and the Netherlands to find religious freedom and new economic opportunities.

America as we know it today is actually a New World, conceived and built by dreamers and refugees, by conquerors and victims. It’s the product not only of one race or people, but a conglomerate of humanity. 

And that is why Juneteenth is, finally and properly, a national, Federal holiday. The thread of slavery which gave birth to this day is woven into the tragedy and triumph of the Civil War, which in itself was a struggle for America’s soul. Juneteenth is a celebration that reminds us all, not only of the immense moral and physical evils of slavery, but also of the multitude of hands, colors, races, religions and nations that contributed to the birthing and safeguarding of this nation.

Juneteenth represents not only the end of the age-old scourge of slavery, but also the dawning of a new day, of new hope, and of new dreams.

We do stand on the shoulders of those who came before us, and we honor them all by taking this day to reflect on the path forward that they showed us, and on what now is incumbent upon us to do. We cannot erase the past, just as we must not ever take the future for granted. We are all part of the same flow, the same breath of life that came into being at the moment that the universe was created. The contribution of each and every one of us is as vital to our ongoing existence as that of any of our ancestors. 

Juneteenth is not only the newest holiday on our calendars; it represents every dawn and every new morning. It stands not only for any one event in our past, but also for everything that now must be done to ensure that we keep moving forward, toward the goal of liberty and justice for all. This task is up to each and every one of us; may we find the strength and courage to follow through.

© 2021 by Boaz D. Heilman

 

Courage And Faith, The Strongest Armor: Sh'lach L'cha.21

Courage And Faith: The Strongest Armor

D’var Torah for Parashat Sh’lach L’cha

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

June 4, 2021

As almost anyone who knows me well enough knows, I hate to make plans.

Though I am not exceptionally superstitious, I firmly hold on to the belief expressed in the famous Yiddish saying, Mann tracht un Gott lacht, roughly translated as “Man plans and God laughs.”

Too many times have I made travel plans, bought concert tickets, even reserved expensive airline tickets—only to have to cancel my plans at the last moment. So I still plan, but I don’t confirm until the last possible moment, when, with great trepidation and much wishful thinking, I finally push the “enter” button.

Truth be told, I envy people who seem to have no problem with planning ahead. If it works, good; if it doesn’t, they look for the next available opportunity with nary more than momentary disappointment. 

As the song goes, “The future’s not ours to see, que sera sera.” 

And yet—we can’t help it. We want to—we need to—look towards, make plans, push ahead.

In this week’s Torah portion, “Sh’lach” (Numbers 13:1—15:41) God tempts Moses to look into the future—to send spies into the Promised Land and bring back a report to the people. And Moses takes the bait. 

Comfortable at this point with doing everything God tells him, Moses does just as God instructs and sends twelve spies, one from each of the Tribes of Israel. 

Forty days later, the spies return.

But along with examples of the rich produce of the Land, they also bring with them frightening tales of giants, huge armies, and well-fortified cities. Ten of the spies conclude that the Land cannot possibly be overtaken by the Israelites. Only Joshua and Caleb—representing the tribes of Efraim and Judah respectively—add words of encouragement: “Do not fear the people of that land for they are as our bread; their protection is removed from them, and Adonai is with us. Do not fear them” ( Numbers 14:9). Unfortunately, by now, having heard and come to believe the frightening vision of the first ten spies, the Israelites are ready to stone Joshua and Caleb, as well as Moses and Aaron. Only God’s interference saves them, while God condemns the faithless and rebellious people to be wanderers in the wilderness for forty years—one year for each day that the spies were touring the Land.

According to the Rabbis, that fateful day was the Ninth of Av, the day ordained for all the major disaster to befall the Jewish people. History, it seems, is written by the victors, but God determines the date.

So why fight it? Why look forward at all? Why not just live one day at a time?

Because we are human beings, endowed with imagination, with fears as well as hopes, with dreams as well as nightmares. 

Yet what this Torah portion teaches us is that as we look ahead, we have to do so judiciously, combining equal measures of practicality and optimism. 

Today, as we listen to the talking heads on the various media, the future is indeed painted in grim hues. Between climate change, costly cyberattacks, and the possibility of deadly pandemics erupting in hot spots all around the globe, we are totally doomed. 

Yet while—yes—there ARE giants in the sky, and while the earth does indeed hurtle into darkness at unimaginable speed, we don’t have to give in to defeatism. Our vision as human beings goes in two directions: past and future. We can take lessons from the past and apply them to everything we do going forward. That of course does not eliminate the random events that punctuate our lives, both happy and sad moments. But to give up hope a priori, from the get-go, is no solution.

What Joshua and Caleb remind us is that faith is valuable armor. 

Jewish existence would be nothing more than a short-lived dream if it weren’t for the practical, hands-on philosophy that the Rabbis devised. The Maccabees taught us that if our people is to survive our enemies, it is OK to fight even on Shabbat. Or even on Yom Kippur. 

Yet what we also learned along our long path is that Judaism without meaning is nothing more than hevel—so much hot air, steam or vapor that disappears in the morning sun. (Ironically, Hevel is the Hebrew name of one of Adam and Eve’s first two children, the one who was murdered by his brother, Cain. Perhaps the Torah’s first lesson about survival is contained in this famous tale of fratricide).

During the Shoah, the Holocaust, Judaism underwent the cruelest example of auto-da-fe, a test of our people’s faith. And out of the horror, what we also witness are some of the most uplifting stories: of Jews saving bits of wax to make Shabbat or Hanukkah candles, or finding ways to smuggle flour into the ghetto, for making Passover matzahs; or insisting on saying Kaddish—the mourner’s prayer—on behalf of a murdered parent, child or brother.

Hope and faith are more than the invention of feverish minds. They actually give us untold strength.

Maybe that’s why God ordained those forty years of wandering in the Sinai Wilderness. It was exactly the amount of time we needed to learn the lessons vital for our ongoing existence: Hands-on practicality along with glorious visions of justice and equality; dreams of sun-lit green pastures along with the all-too-real darkness that surrounds us while walking in the valley of the shadow of death.

Our days on the earth may be numbered, and none of us knows exactly when we might be called to return to the Maker of all. But even as we look forward, along with all the anxieties and uncertainties, we can fortify ourselves with our traditions. We strengthen ourselves not only physically but also with our faith, with that vision of a Promised Land first offered us so many thousands of years ago. 

May we continue our march forward, undaunted by the challenges ahead, fortified with the knowledge that God is at our side—as long as we keep God there, close to us, in our hearts, minds, and in the deeds of our hands.

© 2021 by Boaz D. Heilman