Times Have Changed

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A thoughtful Jew is always challenged to hold multiple thoughts and perspectives in mind simultaneously. As I have discussed before (see “Easy Livin’,” Kol Emunah Summer, 2012) our modern experience of summer is contradictory. The summer is the time of trips to the shore (- “beach” in my language), going to camp or just sleeping late. It is a time of barbecues and parties. But, in traditional Jewish culture it is the time of the Three Weeks, a period spanning from the 17th of Tammuz through the 9th of Av (Tisha B’Av). And during those three weeks partying is not done. By the week of Tisha B’Av meat is avoided. Why the contradiction?

In the general calendar of our culture, summer is a sunny time of vacation and relaxation. But, in the Jewish calendar it is a time of dark memories, as we recall the destruction of our two ancient commonwealths and their temples, the exile of the Jewish people from their homeland, and the wholesale loss of so many lives from war, oppression and deprivation. In the Jewish mind two contradictories live together. On the one hand summertime is carefree. But, on the other hand, summer is a time of heavy and deep caring.

It seems to me, however, that this conflict is no longer merely reserved for traditional Jews. I believe that the current situation in our country is one that should call every caring person to grapple with their conscience and acknowledge that this is not a time to be care free. The challenges to our democratic values are too urgent to take a vacation from caring about them. We are so fortunate to enjoy so many blessings (- a current term for that is “privilege”)! But we should not dare think that our own blessings can be preserved while others are deprived of their rights and their basic humanity.

Our tradition, as it recalls the tragedies of centuries past, sought to learn some lessons from them. The Sages advanced numerous explanations for why the Jewish people suffered such enormous catastrophes. What is striking about our tradition is that, while it acknowledges the hatred and cruelty of our enemies, it chooses, instead, to focus on self-critique. That means that it chooses to point out various ways that the Jewish community failed to act as a good society, leading up to the dismantling of that society. Many moderns feel very uncomfortable with this approach. It sounds too much like “blaming the victim.” Indeed, it is deeply odious to blame a victim for being attacked by someone evil. But that is not what our tradition is trying to do. We are not pointing fingers at others. We are examining ourselves. To continually dwell on one’s victimhood is unhealthy and morally problematic if it forecloses any sense of one’s one moral responsibility in life. The peculiar glory of Jewish tradition is that it does not avoid recognizing our own sins, as it celebrates our capacity to grow and do better.

One of the criticisms put forward by our tradition faults the Jewish community in a surprising way: “Rabbi Yohanan said – Jerusalem was destroyed for no other reason than because they insisted on following the laws of the Torah.” (BTBava Metzi`a 30b) The Talmud, itself, is shocked by this comment. It responds: “So, should they have administered the justice of torture and force?” (-as understood by Rashi) The Talmud clarifies Rabbi Yohanan’s meaning: “It means that they followed the letter of the Law and did not follow the spirit of the Law.”

The Talmud’s exercise in Jewish self-critique is not to be dismissed as ancient hyperbole. It is all too relevant to our present situation. Our United States government has formulated and implemented inhumane policies in the name of enforcing the law. Our Attorney General has defended cruelty and the use of force against innocent people in the name of the law, and he has even appealed to the Bible as a mandate for all to “follow the law.” Our Supreme Court has supported the deprivation of protections and rights in the name of the law.

Rabbi Yohanan expresses his condemnation for such a perversion of the sanctity of the law “in the name of the law” by looking back, in retrospect, and declaring that no society – not even our own – deserves to flourish when it debases its most sacred legacy, the law.

The perversion of the law so that it becomes the instrument of powerful oppression, rather than protection from oppression, is the hallmark of an evil regime. The collapse of the integrity of the German legal system during the years of the Third Reich is one extreme and clear example. The cooperation of the courts in numerous totalitarian societies is a depressing commonplace. Our Rabbis describe the evil society of Sodom in this way:

“They set up for themselves judges who judged falsely, so that any visitor or stranger who would enter Sodom they would oppress with their perverted laws, expelling them, stripped naked.” (Pirqei deRabbi Eliezer 25)

Our Jewish tradition is often a source of great pride for us. But it is also often an inconvenience that we prefer to ignore or work around. We wish to enjoy our modern lives without the encumbrances of an outmoded set of demands. “Times have changed,” we like to say. Specifically, the summer lessons of our tradition have always been inconvenient obstacles to our summer enjoyment. But I think that the times have changed. The documentary about the life of Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg (RBG) tells us that the majority of justices on the current Supreme Court justified the de-criminalizing of racist discrimination in voting with the disingenuous message, “the times have changed.” What has changed is that we have entered a period of dangerous manipulation of the law for the sake of oppression. What has changed is that our ancient tradition is making our lives inconvenient in a newly relevant way. Will we recognize that the times have changed? During this sunny summer, as we party and relax, can we really afford to ignore the gradual degradation of our society?

The problems we face are numerous, grave and urgent. It is tempting to fall into sadness and despair or waste one’s energies in futile venting. But there are many valiant individuals and groups who are finding ways to stand up for what is right, as Americans and as Jews. We can join them and give them our support, and derive strength and support in return. We have such people in our Shomrei community. I believe we can do more – if we want to.

 

image: “Families Belong Together” by Jonny Goldstein, licensed via Creative Commons.

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