Protesting the Anthem

There's been a whole lot of ink spilled over Colin Kapernick and his refusal to stand for the National Anthem. As I'm sure you know, he's doing so as a protest against the treatment of African Americans in this country. Many have joined in that protest in one form or another, many others have refused to, often condemning him, and those who have joined him, for being disrespectful to the flag, to the military, and to our country.

This morning, the news was filled with another story about an unarmed black man being gunned down by police. Another. Words fail, so I'm not going to even try to respond specifically to that incident, at least for now.

Here's what I want to say to anyone who is mad at Kapernick et al for what they're doing. Let's concede, at least for the moment, what you're complaining about. Let's concede that Kapernick is a whiny, privileged hypocrite. That he's aggressively disrespecting the military which has kept him safe*. That anyone who feels this way should just be quiet or (as ridiculous as this is on its face) leave the country. Let's, for a moment, let the worst version of Kapernick and his protest be what we accept as true.

* Although, I'll admit to being unbelievably frustrated that we've let anyone turn this into a debate about the military. The flag is not the military, and the military is not the flag. Unless and until someone actually calls out the military for something, conflating a protest against the anthem/flag with criticism of the military is just specious.

How bad is it? I mean--if Kapernick is everything his critics claim he is, what is he doing that's so bad? He's disrespecting a flag, and an anthem, and a country. I'm not a huge fan of that--I love our country, and as a religious person, I take symbols seriously. So, I'm somewhat ambivalent about the way he's protesting. But, that's all he's doing--protesting against symbols and institutions. Quietly and peacefully. That's as bad as it gets.

And, why is he protesting? Because black men keep getting shot by police when they've done nothing wrong. Because that's just the most heinous, egregious, awful, disgusting, unthinkable, evil manifestation of the larger reality, which is that racism is real, and it's present, and it affects people of color every single day in myriad ways, large and small. And that most of us who don't live daily with racism don't seem to be too bothered by that.

Disrespecting a flag vs. systemic racism. And, we're focussing on that disrespect.

If you don't like what he's protesting, or how he's protesting--fine. That's your right. But, if you think that the form of his protest is what's really important here, then we've got a bigger problem.

The world is on fire; let's stop protesting that we don't like the sound of the siren.

A Thought About Interfaith Work

Just a quick thought about Interfaith work...

For the first time, and more and more, I'm having some success building Interfaith relationships here in Tampa. That's how I found myself having an early lunch today with Fr. Stephan Brown of St. Paul's church, and then attending the afternoon mass he celebrated with his congregation.

While he and I were talking, I remembered a metaphor for interfaith work, which really stuck with me while sitting in the congregation during mass. I can't say that I'm always good about using this framework, but I'm trying to! Here goes...

When I hear someone talking about their spouse in a loving way, I never get jealous, or defensive. If someone tells me that they're married to the best woman in the world, I don't feel the need to argue that, no, in fact I am! When someone tells me about how they met their partner, I don't think, "That's not the right way to meet someone." And, no matter how much someone extols the virtue of the person they love, I never find myself loving that person, or wishing I was married to them. But, what does happen is that it makes me think about my wife, and about our stories. And, that makes me happy. And, much of the time, hearing someone else wax rhapsodic about their partner makes me want to be a better partner myself--to make sure that my wife knows that I love her. Your stories of love aren't a challenge to my relationship; if anything, they're an aid to it, because your stories get me to focus on my own.

Ideally, it's the same with religion. Sitting in church today, I had no desire to be Catholic. I didn't want to accept Jesus as my savior, and I didn't wish that I had been brought up in the church. But, watching Fr. Stephan preach, and watching the faithful approach for the eucharist, did make me stop and think about my own religious life in a slightly different way from how I normally do.

The mass and the words of my new friend weren't my religion, and they didn't make me want to give up my religion, and they didn't feel like a challenge in need of a defense from to my religion. They were someone else's religion, and a beautiful example of that. And they made me love being Jewish, watching someone else loving being Catholic.

Ice Cream, Race and Privilege

Earlier today, I posted a little video on Facebook of a cop in Halifax who is pulling people over, ostensibly for some traffic violation, and then citing them for "driving without ice-cream," before giving an ice-cream cone to everyone in the car. I offered it as a feel-good counterpoint to all of the very serious (and very real) trouble with policing and race in America (and Canada, I presume).

A friend and classmate of mine gently but directly pushed back on me, pointing out how cruel it is to pull someone over when that person will almost inevitably fear for their safety. Even if the resolution is good, there's surely a moment when the driver thinks "Is this it?" Even if the intentions are good, which I assume they truly were, getting to the "good stuff" required playing on this woman's deeply seated fears. If I'm splitting hairs, I might challenge my friends use of the term "sadistic" to describe this, because the intent was to cause joy, not pain. But, that's a minor quibble--whether through cruelty or thoughtlessness, the pain that can be caused by this kind of thing is very, very real.

Here's another thing, though. When I first saw the video, I had that same thought. It wasn't as well developed, and certainly wasn't as strong, but I did think about that moment when the person in the car must have been afraid. I don't think I thought of it in terms of "feared for her life," but all of us who have been pulled over know that wrenching feeling of fear. For those who have seen like-skinned people killed for minor (or non-existent) traffic violations, that nauseating feeling must be incalculably greater. But, despite my learning more and more about what it's like to be a person of color in a situation like this, it just didn't fully register in this incident. It didn't seem like the main point. I mean, the interaction ended well, and she laughed, so all was good, right? It's just oversensitive to focus on that "little" moment when the cop was just trying to do something nice.

Still think it's not a big deal? Give this one a read:

To the untrained eye and ear, the black woman captured in the video sounded full of joy. But to black people everywhere, we know what loud, uncontrollable relief looks and sounds like. That relief that Maya Angelou once talked about that black women have perfected. That relief that forces you to laugh because you haven’t had the space to cry just yet. That relief every time we interact with police officers because we never know if we will leave that interaction alive.

Watching a situation, and being able to forget that for someone who looks like that, as opposed to someone who looks like me, it might have induced absolute, real-life panic? Thinking about the fear, but only briefly, and lightly? Thinking that a false pull-over might be, overall, funny and fun? There's a term for that.

Privilege.

Thanks, LR, for helping me see mine.

In Praise of Slacktivism

A quick post, because I don't have much time, but I keep promising myself to get back to writing on this blog more regularly...

I'm sure you remember the Ice Bucket Challenge from a couple of years ago--it was a fun, silly way to raise money and awareness around ALS, and it pretty well exploded across the Internet. After a while the hardest part was finding people to challenge, because it seemed that everyone had already done it!

My timing may be off, but I also remember that as around the same time that I started hearing people deriding "Slacktivism," a cute term to describe people who engage in lazy forms of activism. This was a perfect example--all you had to do was pour some freezing cold water over your head and post a video of it to Facebook and, boom, you were done. Of course, you could opt out by donating some money to research, or you could do both.

The problem with slacktivism, according to the critics, is that it gives people the feeling of being involved and making a difference, but without having them actually, you know, make a difference. It let us feel good about ourselves without actually doing something which deserves feeling good about. And, it's not a complaint without some merit.

But, let me say a word in praise of slacktivism. First of all, while doing lazy acts of activism is certainly not as good as doing energetic acts of activism, I'm not sure it's bad. I mean, yes--some people will use it (probably without realizing it) as a way to dodge doing more. But, we live in a age of viral trends and memes--is it the worst thing to put an issue, and an effort to help, at the forefront? Is it bad to make caring and helping cool, even momentarily? I mean, people could be passing around videos of the cinnamon challenge or bad videos, if they wanted to. At least with this, they were raising awareness, and a few dollars.

And, let's remember that, in the end, it wasn't a few dollars. It was $115,000,000. It turns out that when millions of people care a little, and a good number of them care a lot, it adds up to something. Something significant, even.

You may have seen the news that some of that money went to fund research which has just resulted in a major breakthrough in ALS research, and could lead to better treatments or, possibly, a cure.

Let that sink in. All of those people who dumped water on their heads, and donated a few (or many) dollars, and posted the video of it all? They may have just been a part in (eventually) curing a terrible disease.

Sometimes, being a small part of a big thing can be great. Sometimes, it can even be holy.


p.s. If this didn't convince you, just remember that the Ice Bucket Challenge also gave us this:

Nice and Numb

The last time I looked, the death count was up to 84 in the horrific attack in Nice, France. 

Once again, I’m at camp during a horrific attack. I was at Camp Coleman last summer for the horrific massacre in Charleston. I was leaving for Coleman this summer when the horrific news broke of 50 people being murdered in the Pulse club in Orlando. And, I’m ensconced at Kutz now, getting dribs and drabs of horrific news about the dozens dead on a beautiful plaza in France. It’s so strange—camp is, by design, a bubble, cut off from most of the world. The Internet stinks up here, so it’s hard to get updates, but more than that—camp is its own world, and even when I’m absorbed in the news, the minute I step outside, camp-life seems to take over. I’m back to thinking about teaching Mindfulness, or laughing with a kid, or complaining about the food. Horrific as it is to say, it’s like it didn’t really happen.

But, I realize that it’s not just because I’m at camp. A young staff member here said something which resonated deeply with me, when we were processing this news last night. He said that he’s at the point where the news doesn’t even evoke an immediate emotional reaction. He has to search for it. 84 dead? Oh, that’s awful, I say to myself in an almost matter-of-fact way. I have to stop for a minute and really focus, really think about what it means for 84 people to be murdered at once. Maybe try to picture some bodies. Then I can start to feel appropriately horrified. But, these atrocities have become so commonplace that my normal, instinctive reaction has been numbed. One of the other faculty members here wondered if that’s what’s behind the need to actually see graphic photos and video of these kinds of attacks—the spare, objective text doesn’t get to us. We need something more visceral, more assaultive of our senses, to get us to the place where we know we’re supposed to be: horrified.

The thought that I could hear the news of 84 people being killed and, if I’m not attentive and careful, walk away as if nothing really happened is a deeply frightening thought. Disturbing as hell, to be honest.

I had the chance to teach some Heschel this week (to some truly amazing kids). I explained to them Heschel’s idea that religion was, in large part, a program for maladjustment to the world around us. That is, in the course of ordinary life, we tend to get numb to the world—acclimated. That means that we don’t see it in all of its depth. What was once so impactful on us becomes that which just is. Unremarkable. And so, we have to have systems and programs in place which will help us to become de-acclimated, so that we can again see things as if for the first time. Usually, Heschel is talking about the good stuff—about training ourselves to not take anything in this world for granted, from a beautiful sunset to a small morsel of food. But, it also goes for the bad stuff—we have to face each horrific tragedy as if it were the first horrific tragedy. We have to refuse to shrug our shoulders and world-wearily ask, “What is the world coming to?” as if that were a reasonable question to have to ask. We have to refuse to accept that this is what qualifies for normal, no matter how normal it actually becomes. 

It’s painful, to see the world in all of its depth. But, the alternative seems even more painful, in a much deeper way.

It’s been reminding me of one of the poems which I learned through my time with The Institute for Jewish Spirituality:

Behaving Like a Jew Gerald Stern, This Time: New and Selected Poems 

When I got there the dead opossum looked like
an enormous baby sleeping on the road.
It took me only a few seconds—just
seeing him there—with the hole in his back
and the wind blowing through his hair
to get back again into my animal sorrow.
I am sick of the country, the bloodstained
bumpers, the stiff hairs sticking out of grilles,
the slimy highways, the heavy birds
refusing to move;
I am sick of the spirit of Lindbergh over everything,
that joy in death, that philosophical
understanding of carnage, that
concentration on the species.
--I am going to be unappeased at the opossum’s death.
I am going to behave like a Jew
and touch his face, and stare into his eyes,
and pull him off the road.
I am not going to stand in a wet ditch
with the Toyotas and the Chevies passing over me
at sixty miles an hour
and praise the beauty and balance
and lose myself in the immortal lifestream
when my hands are still a little shaky
from his stiffness and his bulk
and my eyes are still weak and misty
from his round belly and his curved fingers
and his black whiskers and his little dancing feet.

I’m not trying to imply (and, I’m assuming that the author wasn’t either) that this kind of constant openness to pain, and to caring, is unique to Jews. But, it is characteristic. At least, it’s supposed to be. That is, it’s not that only Jews care so much. But, if you are a Jew, and you don’t care, then what does that say about you, as a Jew? Or as a human being?

Today, I will not be numb. Today, I will behave like a Jew.

AIPAC and Trump

For those who don't know, there's been a debate roiling around AIPAC's annual policy conference. AIPAC, the pro-Israel lobby, always invites all candidates to its conference in an election year. This year, that means inviting Trump, a decision which has rankled many within the Jewish community. Far from being a regular case of disagreeing with a candidate, many feel that Trump is beyond the pale--that his hateful and incendiary rhetoric make him inappropriate to include.

AIPAC is in a tough spot. They always invite all the candidates, and to disinvite one, or to put up preconditions (e.g. that he renounce hateful rhetoric) would run counter to their goal of working with all elected leaders in order to support Israel. And, there's a real possibility that Trump could be the next president. What would happen to AIPAC (and, potentially, to Israel) if a candidate got elected after having been publicly shunned by AIPAC? On the other hand, there must be a line--would AIPAC invite a neo-Nazi candidate?* I certainly hope not, no matter how strong his/her polling numbers were. It's a genuinely tough call; I'm glad that I'm not the one who had to make this decision.

* To be clear, I'm not saying that Trump is like Hitler. Yes, I know that there are points of similarity, but until he actually starts planning the mass execution of a group of people, he's not another Hitler. There are plenty of valid ways to compare him, appropriately, to odious historical figures. My point, instead, is to show that there IS a line which, presumably, AIPAC won't cross. Now the question is simply whether Trump is over that line.

At the same time as the "Should AIPAC have invited him?" debate has been raging, there's been a parallel debate about what we, Jews and Jewish leaders, should do now that he is invited, and is planning on speaking. There have been some who have called for a boycott of the whole conference--just don't go. Others have called for loud, angry protests--to try to drown him out. Many are calling for silence--just sit there, without applauding or cheering, greeting him with silence.

To me, the boycotting won't work--too many people are going to go, and the relatively few who won't, won't make a real impact. Angrily protesting? I get the idea, and I instinctively love the impulse, but Trump feeds off this kind of animosity. Plus, I'd worry about the real possibility of violence breaking out, which serves no one's purpose. As for sitting in silence--again, I love the idea, in theory. A room full of people, stoic and silent, could make for a powerful image. But, not everyone is going to join in a silent protest, and that means that everyone who is sitting silently is now, for all intents and purposes, just attending the speech. If 3/4 of the room are cheering, or booing, or whatever, then the silent people aren't really doing anything, and aren't going to get noticed. Unintentionally, they'll get counted in with the majority. The headline will simply be that X number of Jews attended Trump's speech at AIPAC.

Ultimately, the best idea (I think) is from a diverse group of rabbis who are organizing a walkout. When Trump enters, they'll simply stand up and silently walk out, and they're encouraging everyone who is willing to join them. Imagine what that will look like! Even better, they're organizing a teaching session in the lobby on Derech Eretz--civility and decency, as a counter-program to Trump. Beautiful.

I'm not attending the conference--not out of protest, but because of schedule and budget. But, if I were going, I'm pretty sure I'd be part of that group. The title of the conference this year is "Come Together." The response to Trump is being called "Come Together Against Hate." I'm an unabashed lover of Israel, and I greatly appreciate the work which AIPAC does in trying to support our homeland. But, there do have to be lines. I'd be proud to stand against hate, and against anyone who peddles in it.

Wasted Environmentalism?

Yesterday was Tu Bishvat*, the Jewish "Birthday of the Trees." For a while now, I've been a bit of a curmudgeon about this holiday. Most of what you see about it focuses on Jewish environmentalism — which seems appropriate on holiday about trees. But, the environmental angle to this day is really pretty recent. Originally, the "birthday of the trees" was just about a kind of fiscal year – any fruits harvested before this day counted towards last year, when we were calculating our required donations to the Temple. Anything picked afterwards is calculated as part of the next year.

* Not Tu B'Shvat. If you really want to know why, and or if you love picayune discussions of transliteration, click here.

A few hundred years ago, the mystics in northern Israel revived Tu Bishvat and updated it heavily. It was now a deeply mystical (and therefore confusing!) day focussing on personal transformation, our relationship with the Divine Worlds and so on. Still, not really an environmental day. The "green" aspect of the day doesn't really show up until the 20th century when environmentalism became a popular topic. Hence my curmudgeonly feelings about the day--it feels to me like forcing a trendy peg into a round hole to talk about planting trees and reducing our carbon footprint because of this ancient fiscal-religious marker.

But, I've had to admit that I'm being unfair--over the centuries, Judaism has been great at reworking, often quite profoundly, our holidays and commemorations, in order to fit new and emerging themes. Heck, the later mystics that I love so much pretty much re-read everything they can get their hands on, often drastically. There's really no reason that we can't choose to re-invent this otherwise unnoteworthy day into one which supports a theme in which I do believe--the Jewish imperative to take care of the Earth. Because, even if Tu Bishvat "really" has nothing to do with environmentalism, Judaism sure does!

But then, today, I came across an attack on Tu Bishvat from a different angle. Writer, activist, and Tampa-alum Jay Michaelson writes that, whatever day we're on, Jewish Environmentalism is pointless, and often potentially destructive.

The pointless part? Put simply--we're attacking an enormous problem with pointlessly, infinitesimally small measures. It's like trying to put out a forest fire with a squirt gun:

The overwhelming causes of climate change are macro-scale, not micro-scale: specifically, fossil fuels in power plants and vehicles. In the United States, according to the EPA, power plants are responsible for 37% of all human-caused carbon emissions. Coal is by far the worst offender. Transportation is another 31%, industry 15%, residential/commercial 10%.

Carpool all you want, lower your heat a few degrees if it makes you feel better; you aren't really doing a blessed thing to make the world healthier. To use a different old metaphor, it's like eating a double cheeseburger with extra fries and a big dessert, but drinking a Diet Coke. I guess it's not hurting, but don't kid yourself that it's helping you lose weight, either.

But, Michelson argues, it actually does hurt (the environmentalism stuff, not the Diet Coke. Although, that hurts too, but that's a different story…).  Because, when we do little things, we often fool ourselves into thinking we've done enough. Small changes which have no meaningful effect make us feel that we don't have an obligation to do something larger, which might have had an effect. And so, these acts actually lead to more damage to the environment, on whole, rather than less.

There's a lot to argue with in his article. He doesn't play out the math, so he leaves open the question as to whether any amount of combined micro-efforts might actually make some impact. I'm willing to accept, without much hesitation, the idea that all the carpooling in the world won't save our environment. But, I'm not 100% convinced that it won't mitigate the trouble, at least somewhat.

More troubling to me is that he mentions but then dismisses the religious value of doing the right thing, whether or not it makes a difference.

As a religious or ethical matter, there is something to be said for refusing, personally, to be part of the problem. Congratulations, you are morally pure.

That "morally pure" line is pretty snarky. But, I don't think that my small acts of environmentalism make me morally pure. I do, however, think they have a value, at least to me as a religious being. I think that doing the right thing, regardless of what everyone else is doing, is good. I think there is a moral and spiritual value in being part of the solution, or at least not part of the problem. But, I do think he's right that this is only true if we can keep ourselves from ignoring the larger, systemic trouble while acting more locally.

But, my arguments and quibbles aside, I think his larger point is important, and has to be made. The environment really is facing a crisis. It really is, in very large part, caused by human action. And, there is basically no chance that it will get better unless we find a way to engage in large, systematic change.

Jews have always known of the importance of acting in community, rather than individually. We've always understood that the mission that we're on — whatever that mission might be — is too big for any one person, or even any small group. That's why we have community, and that's why we have an ancient religious tradition — were only going to accomplish anything we do it together, across the generations.

It would be pretty ironic if a holiday which has the potential to drive us to help the world instead makes it easier to forget our ancient lessons, and to turn away from the world, instead.

Shouting "Fire!"

Today, Pres. Obama signed 23 Executive Orders aimed at curbing gun violence in this country. In his speech about these orders, he talked once again about the reasonable idea of finding reasonable limits on our rights — even our most dearly held rights. And, he uses one of the oldest clichés in the book — we all understand that, as important as free speech is in this country, we still aren't allowed to shout "fire!" in a crowded theater.

I'd like to suggest that using that example actually does a disservice to the point. Because, that one example is fairly extreme and, maybe just as importantly, it's used so often that it becomes the canonical, and seemingly only, example. So, the argument implicitly becomes, "We will accept rare restrictions on our fundamental rights when absolutely necessary." But, if you look at free speech you'll see that we actually accept quite a wide range of restrictions on those rights, for reasons which are far less than existential.

Slander and libel laws tell me what I can and can't say about other people in public. Copyright laws dictate that I can't say something if someone else has said it before. Obscenity laws limit my free speech simply because someone might be offended by it. Truth-in-advertising laws-- doesn't the First Amendment give me the right to claim that my snake-oil will cure your all of your ills? Cyber-stalking and bullying laws. And so on.

I'd argue that the First Amendment is actually more fundamental to American society than the Second — I can imagine a free society functioning without guns, but I can't imagine one without free speech. But, even with that, I accept that the society of which we dream can't really exist without lots of restrictions on that fundamental right.

The language of the First Amendment is absolute, without the confusing (poorly written) ambiguity of the second: "Congress shall make no law...abridging the freedom of speech." No room for debate there. But, still, despite that clarity, we ignore the plain meaning of the text and enact exactly the types of laws that the First Amendment prohibits. We do so because, as fundamentally important as the First Amendment is, it isn't our only value. It isn't our God. It's an incredibly useful ideal, intended to push us towards a better society. But one which, taken to the extreme, becomes destructive. So, we limit it.

That sounds eminently reasonable to me.