The Hidden Comes To Light: Purim 2021

 The Hidden Comes To Light: Purim 2021

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

As far as the Talmud is concerned, there is only one megillah (scroll): Megillat Esther, the Scroll of Esther. Even though five scrolls were ultimately included in the Bible, only this one has merited the importance of being known just by its form—THE megillah—rather than by its content, and the Talmud devotes an entire tractate to the laws and customs associated with reading this all-important scroll.

The entire thing (the whole megillah, as it were), is a bit like hamantaschen, the Purim pastry that we love so much. For it’s what’s hidden within the form that really matters, not so much the casing (though, admittedly, the entire cookie is delicious, not only its content).

One can find all sorts of messages secreted within the rolled parchment that contains the story of the miraculous (or not so miraculous) redemption of the Jews of ancient Persia. Even Esther’s name contains a hidden meaning. It could obviously refer to the Near Eastern goddess Ashtart, or it could more subtly refer to the Hebrew word hester, meaning “a hiding place.” There is much that is hidden here, including Esther’s Hebrew name—Hadassah—that she is commanded not to reveal. At least until the time comes for that.

Other than that, the Scroll of Esther takes a pretty classical comedic form: There are three pairs of characters: three males (one righteous, another a buffoon and a fool, the third totally and irredeemably evil); and three females (again, one righteous; a second whose pride overcomes her sensibility—the mark of a fool; and the third, totally evil). The symmetry obscures the fact that in most other comedies of this type there is yet a seventh character—often a clever servant who pulls the strings and manipulates the unfolding of the story. In Esther, of course, that missing element is a pretty important one: God. Yet nowhere in the story is God mentioned, and the absence is too conspicuous to be coincidental.

Throughout the Scroll of Esther there are many clues that point to God’s presence, but the moral of the story necessitates that it be not God who arranges the sequence of events—events that at first must seem perfectly random—but rather that it is we, human beings, who are ultimately responsible for the outcome of the story. It isn’t chance so much as our choices that determine the course our lives take. As Mordecai tells Esther, “If you keep silent in this crisis, relief and deliverance will come to the Jews from another quarter, while you and your father’s house will perish.” 

There is no doubt in Mordecai’s mind that the Jewish People will survive the doom planned for it by the evil Haman; we have, after all, outlasted every empire that has tried to annihilate us, from ancient days to the most recent. At the same time, however, Mordecai understands that it is not divine but rather personal intervention that is responsible for the safety of individuals and their families. It is going to be Esther’s heroism that will bring about Haman’s downfall, with God simply sitting there, confident in the knowledge that the outcome of the story is pretty certain, safe as it were in the hands of the wise Mordecai and the courageous Esther. 

Purim means lots, referring to the roll of the dice by which Haman picks the date for the execution of his evil plans. But the reversal of fortune that sees Haman hanging from the very gallows he had built for Mordecai proves the point of the megillah: That very little is up to chance, yet so much more is up to us. It’s as important to understand history as it is to take a stand that might change otherwise-predictable outcomes.

In most Jewish communities it is customary to tell the story of Esther twice: Once in a traditional reading, in Hebrew along with the special chanting tropes. The second is often a satirical retelling called a Purim spiel. It’s telling that in most Purim spiels, at least in modern America, the traditional and literal ending is altered somewhat. No mention is made of how the Jews were granted the right to defend themselves. Maybe that’s because this bloody ending is a bit much for our sensitive and squeamish audiences (though in light of so much pop culture and particularly Hollywood movies, I tend to doubt that). Or maybe that’s because self-defense is so “unbecoming” of us Jews, who are expected to be super-human in our self-control and aversion to violence.

But the message of the importance of self-defense (and that’s exactly how this plays out in the ancient Scroll of Esther) is not lost on any modern Israeli today.

It’s been almost exactly 2000 years since we Jews were last able—or permitted—to defend ourselves against marauding, violent mobs. For far too long Jews have held on to an impossible faith in a God Who parts seas to save us, and Who, at the very last moment, plucks the innocent out of the ovens. The final important message of the Scroll of Esther is that we are obligated to defend ourselves and one another, and NOT wait for God to pull some hidden strings. Yet this message for too long has lain hidden beneath the veneer of comedy and wishful thinking, turning this vitally important book into not much more than a jest or a drunken dream.

Until modern times. Now we know better—or at least we should know better. 

For too many of us, especially in America, self-defense is not something we consider every day (or, thankfully, ever). Yet the Scroll of Esther teaches these three lessons: First, of course, to have faith in God’s eternal plan. Second, as we play our part in God’s plans, to be brave and to overcome our doubts and fears. Third and not least, when self-defense is called for, to stand firm with all our might. It’s a basic human right, one denied our People for thousands of years, yet one we must proclaim, insist on and stand for. 

We cannot take our chances on survival. Megillat Esther and the holiday it gave birth to—Purim—are not about philosophy or faith: They are all about the actions we must take and the stand we must make against evil and its perpetrators.

© 2021 by Boaz D. Heilman

Memory and Vigilance: Shabbat Zachor 2021

 Memory and Vigilance: Shabbat Zachor

February 19, 2021

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

By coincidence—or due to the vagaries of the Jewish calendar—my father’s yahrzeit this year falls this week, the week of Shabbat Zachor—the Sabbath of Remembrance. At this Saturday’s Torah service, the weekly portion from the book of Exodus is augmented by three verses from Deuteronomy, including the commandment to remember the evil perpetrated against the Jews by the Amalek. 

Following the Exodus from Egypt, as they were wandering in the Sinai Wilderness, the Israelites encountered many peoples and tribes, some friendly, others not so. One particularly devious tribe, Amalek, attacked the Israelites by stealth, in the depth of night. That in itself would have been bad enough—dayenu. However, they did something else. The Amalekites committed an atrocity of the utmost evil and cowardice, earning them a terrible and unremitting oath of revenge: They attacked at the rear of the camp, where the stragglers were; where the sick, tired and despairing huddled along with women, children and the aged. 

Amalek attacked the defenseless.

Zachor—Remember! “Remember what Amalek did to you on the way as you were coming out of Egypt” (Deuteronomy 25:17).

This verse is embedded in my memory, if for no other reason than that my father, of blessed memory, drilled it into me, year after year at this season.

You see, my father was in Israel during the Shoah, the Holocaust. He had left his home and family in Lwow (now Lviv) and, having managed to evade the British blockade, reached the shores of “Palestine” on a moonless night in April 1939. Throughout the years of the war, he didn’t hear from his family. It wasn’t until the war ended and mail service resumed that he finally received the dreaded news. By a strange and circuitous route, a letter arrived, written by his brother almost two years earlier, moments before he was forced into a cattle car that took him to Auschwitz. The letter told what happened to my father’s father, mother, brothers and little sister, describing the manner in which they were all murdered by the Nazis and their accomplices.

Needless to say, this letter transformed my father. But unlike another member of the kibbutz on which he lived, who received—on the same day—a similar letter, and who took his own life that same terrible day, my father took an oath: To live; to survive; and to remember to the last breath. My father vowed to teach, train and instruct my brother and me, as well as anyone else who would listen (and as a teacher, he had many students): To remember. Zachor—Remember the evil that was perpetrated against the Jewish People. Remember, and always be ready to protect and defend yourself and your people.

Evil is never accidental. It’s always deliberate and premeditated. It may lie dormant for a while, but time and again, ignorance and prejudice make the seeds of evil sprout and spread their poison. Anti-Semitism, one of the oldest, most vicious and deadly hatreds known to humankind, is a disease that has no antidote and no cure. Hence the need always to be vigilant. And we Jews, who have known persecution and violence throughout our history, don’t have the luxury to be complacent in the face of evil and hate. We know all too well how quickly a fiery sermon can turn into violence and how, in an instant, a burning torch can explode into a raging firestorm.

In the Jewish calendar, Shabbat Zachor is observed on the Sabbath before Purim—the holiday on which we read the Scroll of Esther. In this story, the evil Haman (said to be a descendant of Amalek) plots to annihilate the entire Jewish population of Persia. Mustering all her courage and cleverness, however, Queen Esther succeeds in warding off the disaster. By order of the king, the Jews are granted the right to defend themselves. The marauding mobs are turned back, and at least this time, impending doom turns into gladness and rejoicing.

The Amalekites may be long gone, but evil still remains, not bound by time or place. Through the lesson of the three verses from Deuteronomy that will be read this Shabbat, we have learned to recognize evil in every act of bullying and oppression, whenever and wherever weak and defenseless groups and individuals are attacked or assaulted.

In the last few years we have seen racism, gender bias and anti-Semitism turn into a maelstrom. The symbols of hatred appear overnight, etched into doorways, sprayed onto synagogue walls, evident in vandalized cemeteries, screamed in unison by mobs carrying torches and nauseating signs.

Fortunately most of us today are protected by the law (this wasn’t always the case, and it still isn’t in many places around the world). Additionally, for the first time in two thousand years, we also have an army dedicated to our protection and defense. But these precautions can be misleading. Modern society protects our freedom to say almost anything, yet it doesn’t always put in place the safeguards that are needed to keep words from turning into actions.

And that’s why we are commanded to remember. Zachor! Because sometimes we become too contented, even carefree. We focus on other matters that preoccupy us. We take things for granted—our rights, our freedoms, our safety—forgetting just how easily these can be taken away from us. 

Shabbat Zachor returns on an annual basis for two reasons: first, to remind us that if we let our guard down, if we ignore the warning signs, if we fail to take action against those who call for our annihilation, history will repeat itself. And secondly, that remembrance in itself isn’t enough: We must also call out and defend ourselves against those who seek to emulate Haman and Amalek. That is the lesson of Purim, and that’s why the Sabbath preceding the holiday is called Shabbat Zachor.

© 2021 by Boaz D. Heilman

What--More Commandments? Mishpatim.21

 What—More Commandments?

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

Shabbat Mishpatim 2021

Because obviously one can never have too much of a good thing, the Torah doesn’t stop with just Ten Commandments. (That is so LAST week!). In this week’s portion, Mishpatim (“Judgments,” Exodus 21:1—24:18) the Torah gives us 53 more commandments, 23 thou-shalt’s, 30 thou-shalt-not’s. 

Not all these commandments are applicable today. We no longer fear witches as people did in old days, and we don’t persecute them today as people used to. Thank God for that.

Some other commandments in this portion deal with slavery—not only how we are supposed to set our slaves free every seven years, but also how we are to treat them while they ARE in our possession. They are not to be seen as property—say, land; or animals. They are, after all, human beings, created with the image of God inside them. We do wonder, however, why a people who had so recently been freed from slavery didn’t just outlaw the terrible practice altogether! 

Still, some other of the commandments are important and valid today. What to do if you see a lost animal—even if you know it belongs to a person you seriously dislike. Obviously (or not so obviously to some!) you have to return the animal to its owner. Everyone—even animals—deserve to be in their own home.

With 53 Commandments in these short four chapters, we could spend days discussing them—which ones we can follow, which we can’t, and which need to be changed.

And that’s the whole point of the Torah. While some people interpret the commandments literally, what we are really supposed to do is to study them, understand the point the Torah is making, and then reach a decision about whether they are still valid today or perhaps need to be adapted—or altogether discarded.

But where would we be without this basis for civilization? Without rules we would have chaos; nothing would ever get done, because we would argue about what’s right and what’s wrong. Or else we would have some dictator making the decision—right or wrong—for us.

Democracy is all about discussion, all about give-and-take. It isn’t an easy or simple way to conduct our lives, but it does allow everyone to voice their own opinion, to contribute to the entire community and people by simply casting a vote.

Of course, nothing is perfect—and democracy has its problems too. Over the past few months we’ve been watching our own system of government come dangerously close to collapse. Yet another problematic situation can arise, one that has been termed “tyranny of the majority.” In a government system—democracy—where the majority rules, what happens to the minorities? Are their voices suppressed? Do we listen to the minorities? Do we pay attention to them?

And that too, we have been watching over the past few months. The rights of Blacks; of women; of non-binary gender identification.

The Torah teaches us to listen to everyone’s voice, because everyone matters. Yes, times have changed since the Torah first appeared in our civilization, 3000 years ago. But what hasn’t changed is that its laws still form the basis for our law system. We have changed many of its laws: slavery, thank God—at least in our own country—is now illegal. Some laws, however, such as capital punishment still await for a brave society or leader to amend or annul. 

One of the commandments I see as very important in this parasha is the one that says that we must not follow evil or wrong decrees; that we must not be party to injustice, no matter how many people around us participate in this evil. Just because “everybody” around us does something doesn’t necessarily make it right. It isn’t easy to stand up and say: “This is wrong.” It takes courage. It takes a hero to do that.

One such hero was President Abraham Lincoln, whose birthday we observed today. Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation stands as a huge monument to freedom and liberty today, but when he proclaimed it, it was revolutionary. The Civil War was fought around the idea that ALL people—regardless of color, race, religion or gender—are equal. There were many who didn’t share President Lincoln’s belief, and he paid the ultimate price for it. And yet the changes that he effected are still around today. While we still see inequality and injustice, because of this amazing and important Proclamation we are much closer to the vision the Torah holds before us: of a free and just world, where people, animals, the land, air and water are treated with respect, with dignity, with wonder, with gratitude.

That’s what the Torah contributes to our lives. That’s why we still study it, still looking for the truth behind its many ancient and perhaps primitive laws. It still holds a beacon of light and hope for all humanity, no less today than it did 3000 years ago. It still gives us hope and courage to be God’s partners, to make the world a better place for all its inhabitants.

© 2021 by Boaz D. Heilman

 

Moral Guidance For The Ages: The Ten Commandments

Moral Guidance For The Ages: The Ten Commandments

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

Shabbat Yitro, February 5, 2021

How do we see God? Where can we find a force so great that can cause the universe to come into being—yet has no form or shape itself and is unmeasurable by any instrument we know?

From the day humans uttered the first “why?” people have tried to create an image of this force we so wanted and needed to believe in.

From the crudest and most primitive clay figurines to Michelangelo’s magnificent mural in the Sistine Chapel, visions of gods and goddesses fill our art and literature.

Individuals claimed to see the Divine in dreams or visions; they heard voices in the wind; they saw God’s presence in fires, plagues and other natural events.

And that’s why the Ten Commandments stay so unique in all of human experience. 

It isn’t only that God was revealed to an entire nation—in fact, both to those who were present there at the moment, and to those who were not yet born! It’s that we didn’t see God. We heard God. For while the stone tablets that Moses brought down with him from the top of Mt. Sinai still are a visual wonder (don’t you love the way they take form in Cecil B. DeMille’s movie of The Ten Commandments?), it is the contents that matter, not their shape.

Set apart from all other commandments in the Torah, this list of rules stands iconic in more ways than one. On several occasions, individuals have tried placing a monument of the Ten Commandments either on courthouse lawns, public squares, and even in the rotunda of the Alabama Supreme Court building. Though these displays were declared to be in violation of the First Amendment of the U.S. Constitution—specifically the clause that is often interpreted to require separation for church and state—people haven’t stopped trying. 

What is it about these rules that make them so basic to our culture and civilization?

Maybe the answer lies in our genes: both our desire to believe in a supreme being and our need to get along with other members of our community are currently understood to be embedded in our DNA. The Ten Commandments pretty much symbolize, in tone and in content, both of these needs .

And yet, despite the clarity and forcefulness in which they are stated (actually twice—once in the book of Exodus, a second time in Deuteronomy), the Ten Commandments still leave room for interpretation. The commandment usually translated into English as “You shall not kill” actually states “You shall not murder.” The difference is essential to our understanding of this law today. What counts as “murder?” Is unintentional manslaughter murder? Is killing in self-defense murder? And how do you prove such cases? In these examples, the commandment is not an endpoint, but rather the beginning of the process that we call justice.

The 613 Commandments included in the Torah are understood to be God’s laws; yet few of them remain part of our legal system in their original form. “An eye for an eye,” often quoted by literalists, is no longer seen as valid punishment. Similarly, many other commandments that appear in the Torah have shown evolution and interpretation. 

The Jewish belief is that the Torah was given by God to human beings not only to uphold and observe, but also to serve as guidance for future cases. Our understanding of human psychology and diversity has enabled us to progress since the days of Hammurabi and even Moses. Our modern law system reflects humanity’s growth and maturation.

And yet, the Ten Commandments stand, fundamental, set in stone. 

What is it about these words? Perhaps the answer lies in the fact that language is how God chose to reveal Godself to humanity. Visions and dreams were and still are common; but hearing God’s voice rising above the thunder and lightning, even beyond the sound of the great shofar that sounded at the time of this Revelation—a sound that is taught as having been heard around the world, hushing all other sounds including the chirping of birds and barking of dogs—that sort of “vision” of God must stand alone and separate among all other human experience. 

All the other Torahitic commandments were relayed to the Israelites by Moses. These Ten were spoken by God, directly and through no intercessor or agent. That, if nothing else, gives them extra validity.

As such, they deserve to be studied and understood as standing apart from all the other commandments. They are fundamental to all human morality, to every system of ethics, to every moral code that exists as part of human culture and existence. 

Judaism allows no visual representation of God. Much as we try to imagine it, we have no idea what God’s physical form might be. Yet what we have been granted is God’s words. It is by hearing and comprehending these words that we bring God’s presence—God’s holiness—into our life. In themselves, they are not God. But they do tell us what God wants of us, how God expects us to guide our steps, to chart our course through our daily life: With meaning, with dignity, with love, and with a sense of holiness.

© 2021 by Boaz D. Heilman

 

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