Author of "Embracing Auschwitz" and "Mensch•Marks: Life Lessons of a Human Rabbi - Wisdom for Untethered Times." Winner of the Rockower Award, the highest honor in Jewish journalism and 2019 Religion News Association Award for Excellence in Commentary. Musings of a rabbi, journalist, father, husband, poodle-owner, Red Sox fan and self-proclaimed mensch, taken from essays, columns, sermons and thin air. Writes regularly in the New York Jewish Week and Times of Israel.
Showing posts with label religious symbols. Show all posts
Showing posts with label religious symbols. Show all posts
So Auschwitz, the history's most potent symbol of death, is now setting an example in how to protect and preserve life.
Greetings from the - whatever!
Yes, it is time to leave the bunker. I was considering a change in title even before this week's events, but when the White House decided to open its basement bunker for the season, it was time for me to say sayonara to mine. "The Bunker" had its time and place, but now, when people think of bunkers in this racially charged moment, the first thing that comes to mind is Archie. Plus, this is the week when people around here are taking their first baby steps back into the world of Outside, even as the pandemic has not gone anywhere.
So I am looking to you for a new title. "The Front Porch" sounds too relaxing at such an imperiled time, and not engaged enough. "The Home Page" displays our continued reliance on our homes as well as the virtual world. Or maybe I should eschew location altogether and, recognizing the unprecedented crises we are facing, I should simply call it, "In This Moment."
People have compared This Moment to the most cataclysmic years of the 20th century, all in one. The pandemic of 1919, the financial crash of 1929, the social turmoil of 1968. Of those three, I was around only in 1968, and these protests have very few similarities to those riots, and that election was very different as well. I'll leave it to others to dispel the 1968 comparisons.
For me, the most apt comparison is to none of those years, but to 1944. A while back, while I was making one of my road trips to Massachusetts to see my brother (Happy Birthday, Mark!), I transported myself back in time by listening to long segments of the radio broadcasts of D-Day. You can find 24 consecutive hours of that real-time coverage on YouTube. Below is the first four-hour segment of it.
D Day - Broadcast Part 1 - 0250 AM
To listen to this coverage is to place yourself in a world that existed before anyone knew if this enormously risky venture would succeed. The landing had been expected, so when the first announcements came in - from German sources - the world was at the edge of its collective seat. As news began to filter out into the American street, you can hear reports from large cities and small towns, as people went about their daily activities with one ear glued to the radio.
The next several months of 2020 are our June 1944. D-Day (which we commemorate this week), will, for America and for the world, last for the next 152 days (at least). Back then, had thousands of brave soldiers not scaled the forbidding cliffs of Normandy, our bold experiment in democracy would have failed. The same could well be true now. Those who do not feel this way are free to disagree with me, I welcome that - it's your First Amendment right - and I won't retreat to my bunker or call out the same forces that scaled Omaha Beach to fire tear gas at you for protesting.
"How have the mighty fallen - their weapons of war perished!"
Monday night sullied the name of the 82nd Airborne and our distinguished military. Read about these heroes, who fell by the thousands in St. Mihiel and Meuse-Argonne in World War One, then in Sicily, Normandy and the Bulge, and later in the Gulf War. And they helped when the call came after Hurricane Andrew.
And now, Lafayette, we are here. From the defenders of the flag to defenders of the photo op. From the invasion of Nazi-held territory, to the uninvited incursion into the sacred precincts of a church. From fighting a lethal enemy to facing off against unarmed fellow citizens. From Hitler's Wehrmacht to your cousin Louie, his wife and their 17-month old, out for a stroll and wanting to lend their voices in support of those grieving about a grave injustice. Is this where G.I. Joe wants to be?
So what can we do during this imperiled moment? What is clear is after the George Floyd tipping point, there will be no going back to the world that existed before a week ago Monday. This was not "just another incident," or the act of a single "bad apple," but the culmination of centuries of discrimination and neglect. For those who are looking for my perspective on the pandemic of American racism, you can re-visit my 2016 Rosh Hashana sermon or see chapter 11 of "Embracing Auschwitz."
One thing we can do is engage in dialogue. I am happy to announce that during services this Friday evening at 6, we will hear from Reverend Dr. Michael G. Christie, Assistant to the Pastor and Minister of Prison Ministry at Union Baptist Church. The topic: "We Can't Breathe: A Conversation About Race."
Rev. Christie participated in the Interfaith Service held on Monday evening. At that vigil, two very moving passages were recited, which I share for you here:
(RNS) — I just returned from my first trip to India and Nepal, a soul-stretching pilgrimage that was as much mentally as physically demanding.
Along the way, I made my peace with the swastika. Not that swastika, that unrepentant symbol of hate seen most recently on the streets of Charlottesville. No, I’m talking about the original swastika, the ancient Asian swastika, the one you get when you peel away that nasty layer of red and black paint.
I made peace with the “Good Swastika.” There is no better time to explain how than on the days surrounding International Holocaust Remembrance Day (Jan. 27).
Blame it on the incessant, smoky fog of Delhi or Agra’s dizzying smell of incense and dung. Perhaps it’s because I simply fell in love with a people who steadfastly have refused to abandon their sacred symbol to those who defiled it, people who, through their deep faith, have put the hate of the haters to shame. Perhaps it’s a product of enhanced #MeToo sensitivities that I came to appreciate how even a symbol can be abused.
I don’t know, but I did a complete U-turn on this issue, and my making peace with the Good Swastika has helped me on the path to viewing the Holocaust in a more life-enhancing way.
A swastika decorates an entryway in India. Photo courtesy of Rabbi Joshua Hammerman
India overwhelms the senses and reminds of the fragility of life. Every billow of smoke from the funeral pyres on the Ganges reinforces the message that life is transitory, a message also driven home by any rickshaw joyride through the marketplace.
Symbols are transitory too, and their transformations can be disorienting.
Stars of David are plastered all over Muslim mausoleums such as Humayun’s Tomb in Delhi — except that they have nothing to do with Judaism. The Mughals adopted the hexagram as an architectural motif five centuries ago. So did Buddhists, particularly in meditative mandalas. Some versions of “The Tibetan Book of the Dead” even feature hexagrams with swastikas inside. Take that, Adolf!
In India, swastikas are as ubiquitous as samosas. I first saw them at, of all places, Gandhi’s grave in Delhi, in a simple decorative pattern lining a security fence. From that point on, I became acutely sensitive to their presence, which initially caused me to seethe over why the Indian people were being so acutely insensitive to the millions throughout the world whose nightmares have been stoked by that symbol.
Had the Himalayas so shielded them from the impact of the Nazi scourge that they weren’t even aware of it? Gandhi was killed a few years after the Holocaust — so how could this dreaded symbol have been incorporated into a sanctuary for a murdered man of peace?
But then I recalled a time several years back when a bar mitzvah student came to my office with a Pokemon trading card containing a swastika. He asked if it was “kosher” for a Jew to own it. His grandfather, a Holocaust survivor, had been pained considerably at the sight of this card in the hand of his grandchild.
I pulled a book from the shelf and held up the Pokemon card to a photo of a uniformed Hitler “sieg heiling” the troops. My student looked at the two similar symbols and remarked, “the tentacles face the other way.”
It wasn’t a swastika at all next to the Pokeman figures, I told him. It was a “manji,” a Japanese sign of harmony, a symbol whose meaning evokes for the Japanese exactly the opposite of what a swastika connotes to those of us in the West. Doing some quick research on the Internet, I was intrigued by the claim that the Nazis deliberately corrupted this 3,000-year-old emblem, transforming an ancient Asian symbol of life into a European monogram of death.
A swastika decorates a temple in India. Photo courtesy of Rabbi Joshua Hammerman
I suggested to my student that as we become more crowded on this shrinking Earth, there still must be a place to respect the beliefs of the other. But at that time, I wasn’t willing to give the swastika a pass, noting that while we need to recognize the serenity it brings to the Buddhist, Hindu and Jain, so do our Eastern neighbors need to see the pain on the face of my student’s grandfather.
But my recent trip has helped me to accept the Good Swastika on its own terms.
I saw how, in India, this symbol brings a sense of warmth and protection to tiny village huts, similar to the role played by the mezuzah in Jewish homes. I also saw how it conveys a feeling of grace and order in public art, grand squares and vast temples. In Sanskrit, the word connotes well-being; the four arms symbolize sun, wind, water and soil, the basic elements of existence.
I also noted how the symbol appears in assorted colors and variations, but never in the spider-black of the Nazi flag. One could say, with some justification, that it really is not the same symbol that continues to terrify the other half of the planet. For Indians this symbol hasn’t been reclaimed, because they never let it go.
My last stop was the southern port city of Kochi (formerly Cochin), a place noted for the spirit of coexistence that has prevailed for centuries, and the site of an ancient, tiny, Jewish community. One of the synagogues I visited is situated on a hill that also houses a church, a mosque and a Hindu temple. But the most vivid demonstration of coexistence was reserved not for worship spaces, but for two interconnected apartments, side by side in the neighborhood that is called, without a hint of condescension or irony, “Jew Town.”
Right down the street from one of the oldest synagogues in all of Asia, the Hindu swastika and the Jewish Star of David coexist side by side, like the proverbial lion and lamb.
Swastikas cover windows alongside Stars of David in Kochi, India. Photo courtesy of Rabbi Joshua Hammerman
Making peace with the swastika does not mean making peace with Nazis past and present, nor with their hateful ideology — nor with their corrupted version of that symbol. Rather, it is a statement of defiance to those who so grotesquely distorted an emblem held sacred by half the world. We should treat it much like we treat the other cultural artifacts smeared and pilfered by the purveyors of the black spider — the priceless stolen artwork, the desecrated Torah scrolls, and the countless academic books the Nazis incinerated.
By reclaiming the Good Swastika, we can render this Nazi perversion as vaporous as those pyres of textbooks in Berlin or the corpses along the Ganges. Yes, everything is ephemeral, and the Nazi incarnation of evil must never be reincarnated. Perhaps our ability to make peace with the Asian swastika – the Good Swastika – can be our way of showing that there is one true way to escape the endless cycles of hatred and death: with coexistence and love. On International Holocaust Remembrance Day, no message could be more appropriate.
(Rabbi Joshua Hammerman is the spiritual leader of Temple Beth El in Stamford, Conn., and the author of “thelordismyshepherd.com: Seeking God in Cyberspace.” The views expressed in this opinion piece do not necessarily reflect those of Religion News Service.)
On a day when the headlines scream of innocents being brutalized throughout the world and of a revered pastor being buried in South Carolina, at the same time we see signs, here in America, at least, that society has become more inclusive and caring. This week’s landmark rulings by the Supreme Court have only intensified that sense, including today’s approving same-sex marriage nationally.
I attended a local vigil this week for Charleston victims, with people representing several different faiths coming together in shared sadness and love. Nothing that comes as a result of such madness can ever be called good, but the fact that this tragedy has brought communities closer is one positive that can’t be denied.
I’ve always had trouble with the idea of forgiving someone who does a heinous act, especially when that person is so filled with hate. Turning the other cheek is not a Jewish thing – we forgive, but not instinctively, and especially when the act is so evil.
Still, a speech at my community’s vigil by Inni Kaur, a representative of the local Sikh community, helped me to understand what this is about, as she reflected on her own faith group’s experiences.
It should be noted that the Sikh community suffered a similar massacre, at a temple in Oak Creek, Wisconsin in 2012. Unfortunately, no religious group is immune to such attacks. Among the most appalling recently was the shooting at the Jerusalem synagogue in late 2014.
Mosques too are often attacked, including today’s massacre in Kuwait. In many cases, it is Muslims attacking Muslims, just as the Charleston attack involved a Christian attacking Christians. But whether the attacks are racially, ethnically, religiously or nationalistically motivated, attacks on houses of worship are simply unacceptable in a civilized society. And I also include the so-called Price Tag attacks by Israeli Jews against mosques and churches in Israel and the West Bank, the most recent being the torching of a famous Galilee church (the place where the miracle of the loaves and fishes is said to have occurred) just last week. You can see the full list of Price Tag attacks here.
The image of people at prayer or study seeing their sanctuary violated, having the pastoral serenity and love of neighbor represented by the prophet Balaam’s vision of the “goodly tents of Jacob” being rendered instantaneously into a garish nightmare, is one that cuts across cultures.
Here is what my Sikh friend said, recalling Oak Creek, and how for the perpetrator there, “Our turbans and brown skins were foreign and threatening.
”“We forgive you,” were the words that resounded in Oak Creek.
“I forgive you,” said the daughter of one of the nine victims that were killed at the Church in Charleston.
But let us not make the mistake that their forgiveness is forgetting. Rather their forgiveness is freedom from hate.
In both cases, these acts were not random and they were not isolated. However, the way the families of the victims and their communities chose to respond, have raised our consciousness.
In Wisconsin, the community rallied together and preached love over hate, and even forgave the perpetrator of the violence. Similarly, the noble community of Charleston and the Emmanuel AME Church has humbled us with its compassion and its incredible acts of forgiveness.
We marvel at these communities’ generosity and strength because it helps us draw some inspiration from such a tragedy. These communities’ have shown us that: Faith helps endure any hardship, even the most unspeakable suffering. Faith does not mean we forget pain or grief. Faith means that we live free of hate.
These monumental acts of forgiveness compel each and every one of us to work towards ending the racial terror that exists in our country today; to find ways to look beyond the boundaries of race, color, ethnicity and see the Oneness in all.
So forgiving enemies is not about letting them off the hook – it’s about telling them, loud and clear, that they have not succeeded in driving a wedge between groups. They have not succeeded in forcing us to hate.
The best “revenge” against the Charleston perpetrator (aside from not mentioning his name), is that he must be positively bristling to see how his act effectively accomplished what people had been unable to do for 150 years. He singlehandedly took the Confederate flag off the grounds of public buildings and off the shelves of Walmart. Imagine how he must be tortured to know that his act brought people together as never before. Perhaps the lowering of the stars and bars from state capitols, not just South Carolina, but even Alabama, could be a better deterrent for the next hate crime than any form of punishment.
This crazy young man accomplished in one evening what Martin Luther King could not accomplish in a lifetime, at least with regard to the shunning of this symbol.
The removal, with bipartisan acclamation, of a great symbol of hate, and the Supreme Court’s officially ending discrimination against a long-persecuted group. Not a bad week for the survivors and descendants ofSelma, Stonewall, Seneca Falls – and Sinai.
For the first time I understand what it means to forgive one’s enemy – and why forgiveness can be the best revenge of all.