As we orient ourselves to the new realities facing our country and our society, all of us, of whatever political persuasions and convictions, will need to examine our values and commitments. All of us have many values that we cherish. But it is a fact of life that we cannot satisfy all our desires and values. Some values or desires will come into conflict with others. We make choices. We may compromise, saving a part of one value in order to preserve a piece of a different, competing one. Or, we may decide that compromise is an unacceptable betrayal of a value that is too precious. We prioritize one value over another. We sacrifice one value in order to preserve another. The decisions we make have far-reaching effects upon ourselves and others, now and into the future.
Our choices are not always the choices that others make. Since (- not “if,” since our disagreement is guaranteed to happen) we will disagree with others about fundamental choices, how will we be able to get along together? One of the glories of democracy is its humane confrontation with this problem. Historically, conflicts between people have been decided through the exercise of force and violence. But democracy offers the alternative that, imperfect as it is, allows people of diverse values and opinions to live together without bloodshed or oppression. Many people think that democracy simply means that the majority rules. But this is only a small piece of the definition. In order for the majority to rule peacefully, democracy grounds itself in basic principles that are not open to challenge by the majority. These principles include the concept of human rights and the application of that principle to allow for minority rights. When these principles are ignored there is no democracy. That is why we all recognize that elections in totalitarian countries are not an expression of democracy. Democracy demands that even the majority must make sacrifices for the sake of the entire community. Those sacrifices are necessary in order to preserve freedom and human rights as much as possible.
It is fitting that this month, in our continuing discussion of our prayers, the next blessing we arrive at is the following blessing, found in the weekday standing, silent prayer, the Amidah. It reads:
“Sound a great shofar for our freedom, and lift a banner to gather our exiles, and gather us together from the four corners of the earth. You abound in blessings, Eternal One, Who gathers the far-flung dispersed of His people, Israel.”
What does this blessing mean to us? A traditional understanding is that we are praying for the ingathering of the Jewish exiles to our homeland in Israel. This is certainly correct. Yet, if we are honest, most of us do not really subscribe to that traditional desire. We are not all packing up and moving to Israel. We are not trying to persuade other Jews to do so. Most of us are quite pleased to enjoy our lives in the “far-flung dispersion.” So what meaning is still available for us in these words?
I think that the underlying value that motivates this prayer is what we proclaim at the start of the blessing: the value of freedom. It is the desire for freedom that drives the dream of the ingathering of exiles, for, while in exile, we did not enjoy elementary rights and freedom. The fundamental reason most of us are not passionately praying for our return to Zion is because the freedom that we once thought would only be possible in Zion is now openly available for us here, in the United States.
Until modern times it was very clear to the Jews that their freedom would only be attained and assured when all the Jews were extricated from the oppressive exile and brought together to live in Israel. It was further believed that only a fully Jewish polity could bring about freedom for the Jews. This would necessitate a separation from the non-Jewish world, geographically as well as religiously, culturally and politically. The hardcore commitment to the Jewish return to Zion requires a commitment to Jewish immigration to the Holy Land. Of course, our prayer, written when the land of Israel was not in Jewish hands, and when the ruling authorities did not allow Jews to immigrate to Israel, raised a difficult question: For centuries Jews struggled with the challenge of whether “illegal” immigration to the land of Israel was justified in the name of the quest for freedom.
Modern times have undermined those assumptions for many of us. The modern Zionist revolution was deeply involved in the controversy over illegal immigration. But, while there is still a hard core commitment to returning to Zion among some Jews, with all the traditional corollaries described above, most American Jews have opted to prioritize the general value of freedom over the return and concentration of the Jewish people to Israel, legally or otherwise.
If, then, we do not honestly pray for Jewish freedom alone and against all opposing forces, what is our alternative concept of freedom? Whose freedom are we praying for? One answer was given by the great Jewish American, Emma Lazarus (1849 – 1887). In 1883 she wrote a sonnet that was eventually placed (in 1903) on the base of the Statue of Liberty. It reads in part:
“Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
Image(s): courtesy of National Park Service
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Thanks to Rabbi Greenstein for articulating what I and many others in our congregation have long thought about our place in the world. I confess that in the wake of the election I opted to apply to emigrate to Canada. For good or ill, I discovered that I am not eligible even to apply for permanent residence in Canada.Thus I am in effect “stuck” in the United States (aliyah not being a realistic option for me because of family circumstances). In consequence, I am determined to make the most of the freedoms and rights that are still available to me to become a more self-conscious and active citizen. What exact form this will take has yet to be determined. But thank you, again, Rabbi Greenstein.