Post by Rabbi Neil on Nov 29, 2019 19:11:07 GMT
I was sitting in a very long Santa Fe Public School Board meeting the other evening, just before speaking in defence of small public schools, when a thought popped into my mind, saying, “I’m so tired of fighting.” I’m tired of fighting against Jewish kids having festivals marked as unexcused absences, against kindergartners having standardized tests every week, against recess taken away from children for being disruptive in class, against anti-semitism not being mentioned in the public school curriculum regarding the Holocaust, against the Public Education Department when they wanted to take out from science standards the age of the earth and reference to anthropogenic climate change, or people like Rosa Parks from the Social Studies curriculum, or fighting against the closures of small, community-oriented schools like the one which my children moved to in order to be appropriately supported in their education. And that’s just with the schools in the last five years. I’m tired of fighting for Santa Fe to take proper care of its homeless population. I’m tired of fighting for people to pay attention to mental health issues, especially with the young adults in our society. I’m tired of fighting for people to care about the very planet on which we live. I’m tired of fighting for people fleeing for their lives to be cared for. I’m tired of fighting for equality and against selfishness, oppression and inequality. I’m tired of fighting against anti-semitism. I’m tired of trying to prove that Reform Judaism isn’t Judaism-light but Judaism-invigorated and refreshed. I’m tired of fighting against religious extremists locally, nationally and globally when they couch their words of oppression of others as the will of God. I’m tired of fighting for proper process and against poorly hidden personal agendas. I’m tired of fighting for basic civil discourse instead of soundbites and entrenched views. I’m tired of fighting for a society in which we don’t have to fight.
All that, I recognize, is a reflection of privilege. I’m not tired of fighting to get food on the table for my family, or fighting to find one of a number of jobs to afford somewhere to live, or fighting to not be physically or sexually harassed, or fighting to have the same rights as others simply because of a differing sexual orientation. I recognize that. Indeed, part of what keeps me going is that recognition of privilege, the fact that as a cis white male with a large ego, a loud voice and the backing of a large community, I can influence change more than others, which means that I feel that I have a duty to fight for change. I don’t, of course – I could just sit in my privilege and enjoy life – but that’s not me. That’s not most of us if, in fact, not any of us. That’s because there’s something deeply ingrained in Judaism that leads us to not accepting the status quo, to not standing idly by the suffering of others. To be Jewish means to fight for the good.
I would love to do it another way. I’d love not to fight, but to dialogue, but that’s not the reality of today’s world in too many venues. In the past, when I have spoken about the Torah portion of Lech L’cha, this week’s portion, I’ve spoken about the very beginning of the sidrah. God commands Avram to leave his home and to journey forth, and generations of Rabbis have used that to show the moral imperative for Jews to not settle. Rabbi Tony Bayfield in England used to talk of Dwellers and Seekers and I usually understood him as saying that while there is a moral imperative for us to be Seekers based on our textual tradition, sometimes we all need a rest and to be Dwellers, at least for a while. I totally understand that. What we tend not to focus on is the war that Avram engages in, because we like to be very progressive. But only a very short time after we’re introduced to Avram, only two chapters after we meet him, he fights. Torah says, “Avram heard that his kinsman had been taken captive, and he armed his trained men, those born in his house, three hundred and eighteen, and he pursued them until Dan. Then he divided himself against them at night, he and his servants, and he smote them, and pursued them until Chovah, which is to the left of Damascus. Then he restored all the possessions, and Lot and his possessions he also restored, and also the women and the people.” (Gen. 14:14-16).
It's easy for Avram to fight like this, though, because (a) he has the literal, vocalized support of God and (b) because he’s not real. Avram knows that when he goes to war, he’s going to win, because he already has God’s promise of protection for him and for the generations who will come after him. “I will make you a great nation and I will bless you,” says God in the opening speech to Avram, “I will make your name great and you will be a blessing. I will bless those who bless you and curse those who curse you” (Gen. 12:2-3). It’s not much of a fight when you already know that you’re going to win. It’s easy not to get exhausted when you’re assured of victory in every struggle you face and when you’ve been told by the Creator of the universe that whoever disagrees with you will be cursed. In real life, though, things are rather different. Usually the struggles in our life are more nuanced, involving far more grey than fighting to redeem your relative from enslavement. Politics is a different kind of struggle to war. In war, you win or lose and because blood has been shed, there’s no potential of the enemy returning any time soon. But politics is more like a game of whack-a-mole, in that as soon as one intolerant thing is vanquished, another seems to pop up in its place. It often feels like there’s no down time after every battle.
But, in fact, there is - it’s now - it’s Shabbat. To return to Dwellers and Seekers, we are both, just in differing amounts and at differing times. We can seek a new world, a better society, we can fight for it the whole week long, but without a moment to dwell, we will eventually burn out, and then we can’t fight for anything. So, its okay to be exhausted… in fact, it may be a good sign that the previous week has been well used. We regain our strength for the battle in the week ahead by gathering in community and celebrating each other, by befriending, supporting and loving each other. There is a time to fight, and a time for peace, external and internal. So now we pause, we breathe, we reflect, we cherish that which is good in our lives, that which exists and enriches us and which we don’t need to fight for. We take a moment to re-experience the Divine, not as the call to fight for a better world, but as a comforting friend, a lover, the Divine comforter who supports us and holds us. This Shabbat, let us hear not the cry of the shofar calling us to take care of the world but let us instead heard the still, small voice whisper to us to take care of ourselves. And let us say, Amen.
All that, I recognize, is a reflection of privilege. I’m not tired of fighting to get food on the table for my family, or fighting to find one of a number of jobs to afford somewhere to live, or fighting to not be physically or sexually harassed, or fighting to have the same rights as others simply because of a differing sexual orientation. I recognize that. Indeed, part of what keeps me going is that recognition of privilege, the fact that as a cis white male with a large ego, a loud voice and the backing of a large community, I can influence change more than others, which means that I feel that I have a duty to fight for change. I don’t, of course – I could just sit in my privilege and enjoy life – but that’s not me. That’s not most of us if, in fact, not any of us. That’s because there’s something deeply ingrained in Judaism that leads us to not accepting the status quo, to not standing idly by the suffering of others. To be Jewish means to fight for the good.
I would love to do it another way. I’d love not to fight, but to dialogue, but that’s not the reality of today’s world in too many venues. In the past, when I have spoken about the Torah portion of Lech L’cha, this week’s portion, I’ve spoken about the very beginning of the sidrah. God commands Avram to leave his home and to journey forth, and generations of Rabbis have used that to show the moral imperative for Jews to not settle. Rabbi Tony Bayfield in England used to talk of Dwellers and Seekers and I usually understood him as saying that while there is a moral imperative for us to be Seekers based on our textual tradition, sometimes we all need a rest and to be Dwellers, at least for a while. I totally understand that. What we tend not to focus on is the war that Avram engages in, because we like to be very progressive. But only a very short time after we’re introduced to Avram, only two chapters after we meet him, he fights. Torah says, “Avram heard that his kinsman had been taken captive, and he armed his trained men, those born in his house, three hundred and eighteen, and he pursued them until Dan. Then he divided himself against them at night, he and his servants, and he smote them, and pursued them until Chovah, which is to the left of Damascus. Then he restored all the possessions, and Lot and his possessions he also restored, and also the women and the people.” (Gen. 14:14-16).
It's easy for Avram to fight like this, though, because (a) he has the literal, vocalized support of God and (b) because he’s not real. Avram knows that when he goes to war, he’s going to win, because he already has God’s promise of protection for him and for the generations who will come after him. “I will make you a great nation and I will bless you,” says God in the opening speech to Avram, “I will make your name great and you will be a blessing. I will bless those who bless you and curse those who curse you” (Gen. 12:2-3). It’s not much of a fight when you already know that you’re going to win. It’s easy not to get exhausted when you’re assured of victory in every struggle you face and when you’ve been told by the Creator of the universe that whoever disagrees with you will be cursed. In real life, though, things are rather different. Usually the struggles in our life are more nuanced, involving far more grey than fighting to redeem your relative from enslavement. Politics is a different kind of struggle to war. In war, you win or lose and because blood has been shed, there’s no potential of the enemy returning any time soon. But politics is more like a game of whack-a-mole, in that as soon as one intolerant thing is vanquished, another seems to pop up in its place. It often feels like there’s no down time after every battle.
But, in fact, there is - it’s now - it’s Shabbat. To return to Dwellers and Seekers, we are both, just in differing amounts and at differing times. We can seek a new world, a better society, we can fight for it the whole week long, but without a moment to dwell, we will eventually burn out, and then we can’t fight for anything. So, its okay to be exhausted… in fact, it may be a good sign that the previous week has been well used. We regain our strength for the battle in the week ahead by gathering in community and celebrating each other, by befriending, supporting and loving each other. There is a time to fight, and a time for peace, external and internal. So now we pause, we breathe, we reflect, we cherish that which is good in our lives, that which exists and enriches us and which we don’t need to fight for. We take a moment to re-experience the Divine, not as the call to fight for a better world, but as a comforting friend, a lover, the Divine comforter who supports us and holds us. This Shabbat, let us hear not the cry of the shofar calling us to take care of the world but let us instead heard the still, small voice whisper to us to take care of ourselves. And let us say, Amen.