Women's March 2019: Love, Empowerment, Connection, and Wholeness

This has been an extraordinary weekend of beauty, healing, love, and connection. Last night, I bundled up in many layers, took my sleeping bag out into the courtyard of our 100-year-old building in Philadelphia, and lay down on the grass to be present with the moon in full eclipse. She was so beautiful, so powerful and so inviting. I felt honored and privileged to be with her.

I also felt honored and privileged to participate in the Women’s March in Washington, DC, on Saturday. This was a day of love, empowerment, connection, and wholeness. This Shabbat was also a historic moment for both the American Jewish community and the Women’s movement— Jewish women of color empowered to lead— and they did so with brilliance, beauty, grace, and glory. I was proud to march in support of their leadership and look forward to doing my part in welcoming and supporting their leadership in the communities where I have influence. You can hear the rally speeches of Yavilah McCoy and April Baskin, both serving on the 2019 Women’s March Steering Committee, by watching here.

The Women’s March leaders Bob Bland, Carmen Perez-Jordan, Tamika Mallory, and Linda Sarsour gave moving speeches, available below. What I heard was integrity, courage, and a commitment to build a robust women’s justice movement, led by women from traditionally marginalized communities, and including us all. These women leaders are breaking historic ground and demonstrating a quality of leadership sorely needed in these times.

There has been a media swirl around Carmen, Tamika, and Linda this year, much of it connected to accusations of anti-semitism. I am quite convinced that these accusations have been amplified as a wedge to sow division and undercut the growing influence of the Women’s Movement, and I encourage all of my Jewish sisters and brothers to read the Women’s March Agenda, and not to allow our fear and sense of vulnerability lead us to step away from this vital, growing movement. I felt Carmen’s sincerity when she said, “I vow to Jewish women that there is a place at the table for you.”

As I learn more about the leaders of the Women’s March, I have come to appreciate that the focus of their work is to organize and empower traditionally marginalized communities and to support women to write our own stories. I do not share the beliefs promoted in the media that their agenda is to promote anti-semitism. She, like all of us, is in a learning process of how to build a movement that truly honors each person and community. I recommend getting to know Tamika by watching this half-hour interview on the Breakfast Club.

In the spirit of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., whose birthday we celebrate today, “We must speak with all the humility that is appropriate to our limited vision, but we must speak” (Riverside Church in Manhattan, 1967). May our words be in service of love and justice.

At the 2019 Women’s March in Washington, DC

A letter to my friends following the synagogue shooting in Pittsburgh

We are living in challenging times, times of uncertainty about the future of American democracy, times when so many different aspects of our society make us feel unsafe, from guns to financial insecurity to racism and xenophobia to extreme weather events to the government’s failure to address the causes of climate change.  This all in the context of the mid-term elections next week.  

This has been a particularly difficult week for the American Jewish community, following the shooting in a synagogue last Saturday during prayer.  The gunman’s goal was to kill Jews and he ended the lives of eleven beautiful people, among them leaders of the community, two brothers with intellectual disabilities, and elders, including a 97-year-old woman.   This tragedy hits close to home for me — I know a number of people who have lost loved ones and a number of people who live in that neighborhood.   

This tragedy has also shaken our sense of safety as Jews living in America.  Many Jewish families, including my own, came to this country from Europe about a century ago, fleeing anti-semitism.  The Jewish community has experienced a “golden age” here in the United States— our culture has flourished, we have become integrated into society, and we have been free to worship as Jews.  Yet there has always been an undercurrent of anti-semitism.  Memories from my childhood in New Mexico include seeing a water tower with the words “Kill the Jews” painted on it, being told by a friend that Israel doesn’t have a right to exist, and experiencing an effort to convert me to Christianity in the middle of chemistry class.   The Charlottesville white nationalist rally in August 2017, the increase in the number of anti-semitic incidents, and now the shooting in Pittsburgh, have made my community nervous about what might come next.  Like in the United States, Jews were integrated into German society when the Holocaust began and many educated, economically successful Jews were taken to the death camps.  Could this happen here?   Some friends of mine are thinking about the possibility of needing to flee the country to stay alive.  

None of us know what the future will bring, but I thought that it was important to share some perspective on the fear that your Jewish neighbors might be experiencing.  If you have Jewish neighbors and friends, I encourage you to reach out to them, let them know you’re thinking of them and that you stand by them.  Solidarity at this time really matters.  Visit a synagogue or attend a Jewish cultural event.    It is also worthwhile to learn more about antisemitism.  I highly recommend reading this article by civil rights strategist Eric Ward, which explains the role of antisemitism in American white nationalism: Skin in the Game: How Antisemitism Animates White Nationalism.  

I’d like to share a piece that my teacher, Rabbi Nancy Fuchs Kreimer, wrote Sunday morning, inspired by a well-known quotation of German Lutheran Pastor Martin Neimoller, who was initially pro-Nazi and then resisted Hitler and ended up in a concentration camp. 

Original quotation from Neimoller:

First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a socialist.

Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out— because I was not a trade unionist.

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.

Nancy's version, drawing quotations from the various rallies she has participated in over this last 2 years.  The last quotation "we will outlive them" comes from a vigil this past Saturday night:

First they came for the Muslims and I was not a Muslim. But I said “Not on my watch!”

Then they came for the undocumented and my grandfathers were undocumented. I said “Refugees make America great.”

Then they came for Trans and non binary people. And I said “We are all created in God’s image, no exceptions!”

And then they came for women survivors of assault. And I said “Are you friggin kidding me?”

And they have been coming since before we were a nation for indigenous and black people. And I haven’t said enough.

And then they came for Jews. I am a Jew.

And friends of different faiths and races and sexual and gender identities stood with me and said “We will outlive them!”

Sharing our love for God after the vigil

Window Washing: Preparing for the New Year

My family and I live in a 4th floor condominium in a 100-year-old building with large, beautiful windows.  Window washing happens only once every few years, as it requires the window washer to suspend from a rope while they wash the windows from the outside.  When the window washing project for this summer was announced, I found myself feeling less than enthusiastic about the prospect.  I have not been particularly bothered by dirt on the windows, and the project is time consuming. To prepare for window washing, we have to remove all of the storm windows and screens from our 16 windows, while assuring that our cats are safely out of harm’s way while we open the windows.  In addition, the condition of the wood frames makes some of the the windows difficult to open and close. 

I am in the midst of doing my piece of the window washing project— washing all of the storm windows that have been removed as well as the inside of each main window.  A company has been hired for the outside washing.  As I started washing windows, armed with my squeegee and spray bottle of white vinegar solution, I discovered a joy in removing the splotches and streaks and spots that I had barely noticed before.  I also learned to accept that some spots are not going to come off or are not worth my effort.  

I started reflecting on this project as a potent metaphor for the inner work of this season in the Jewish calendar.  We humans have a tendency to resist washing our inner windows and we may have come to accept the “dirt” on the windows as normal and acceptable.  The month of Elul, which we being today (August 12, 2018), invites us into an examination of where we need to do some “washing” and realigning of our habits and relationships and middot (character traits).  Just as with window washing, the goal is not to become perfectly “clean”, but rather to remove layers that allow more light and beauty to shine through. 

A Season to Engage our Grief through Creativity: The Three Weeks

"It is art that helps us make sense of the world's chaos and disorder (better than science or logic).  What is art good for?  It is good for nothing.  Art is good life itself!" (quotation found in the art room at Pendle Hill Quaker Retreat Center)

"Greed and Fear" by my brother, Mitch Klein

The bad news keeps coming... shooting in a newsroom in Annapolis... children taken from their parents as they enter our country seeking safety... the Supreme Court upholding the Muslim ban... and on and on. We're entering the heat of summer, and in the Jewish calendar, the Three Weeks, the period for communal mourning that commemorates the journey from the breaching of the walls of Jerusalem to the destruction of the Temple. This is a time to slow down, to allow ourselves to feel our pain for our world, for our fellow human beings who are terrorized and homeless and suffering, and for our common future. The Three Weeks, also known as bein hametzarim (in the narrow places), begins Sunday, July 1, 2018, with the 17th of Tammuz, a fast day (dawn to dusk).

Feeling our grief and pain, however hard it is to do, is what keeps us out of despair and opens us to clarity, compassion, and courage.  Avoiding our pain leads us to numbness. 

Join me in embracing these three weeks as a time to engage our grief through creativity. I invite you to keep a grief journal or explore grief through another creative medium, such as poetry, chant, collage, drawing, painting, or dance. Devote time, even if just a few minutes each day, to creatively explore the following questions: 

1. What news stories arouse my sadness and outrage?
2. What am I personally most fearful about? When I let myself consider the worst case scenario, what arises?
3. What does the Temple represent for me at this time? What is at stake to be lost with the destruction of the Temple? What values and institutions do I hold dear whose walls have been breached?
4. In reading the haftarah of admonition/rebuke for each of the Three Weeks, what phrases speak to me? (These can serve as writing prompts or inspiration for creative expression)

1) Jeremiah 1:1–2:3

2) Jeremiah 2:4-28, 3:4, 4:1–2

3) Isaiah 1:1–1:27 (Read on Shabbat Hazon)

This blog post can also be found on RitualWell, a wonderful website for sharing creative rituals, sponsored by Reconstructing Judaism.   I plan to be writing and drawing to move through my grief over this next three weeks and I'd love for us to share our our creative expressions of grief.  One way to do so is by submitting it to Ritualwell (or if you'd like to share what you create and are not ready to go public, you're welcome to send it to me through the contact page).  

 

Memorial Day 2018

I take a walk around the block early each morning, breathing in the fresh air of a new day and seeing the beauty of the roses, irises, and peonies lovingly planted and tended by my near neighbors, most of whom I have never met, yet with whom I share an intimacy through their flowers.  This morning, American Memorial Day, I happened upon the scene pictured here, of a ripped American flag hanging from a tree.  I do not know whether this ripped flag was intentionally hung this morning or whether it was damaged in a recent storm.  What I do know is that it is a powerful symbol of our ripped America...our beautiful, ripped America, where young immigrant children are being ripped from their parents' arms when arriving at the border requesting asylum, where black and brown young people are ripped from their families and placed in prison for "crimes" for which white people are not punished, where our Mother Earth is being ripped open to support the greed of the fossil fuel economy that is bringing us to the brink of a life-threatening and irreversible warming of the planet.  Today is a day for grieving for America's fallen soldiers and for America's brokenness and injustice, for breathing into and honoring the ripped places in our own hearts.  

The Promise that Sustains Us: A Haggadah Reflection

    Near the beginning of the maggid (storytelling) section of the haggadah, we traditionally cover the matzah, lift our wine cups, and recite, “v’hi sh’amdah....it is this promise that has sustained our ancestors and us, for not just once did somebody try to destroy us; rather, in every generation they try to destroy us, but the Blessed Holy One saves us from them.”  

    Several years ago, as I was preparing to lead my family seder, I decided to stop reciting this paragraph, even though I really like the melody for chanting the Hebrew.  I believe that the stories we tell about who we are influences who we become, and I found myself deeply uncomfortable with the statement that “in every generation they try to destroy us.”  Is this really true?  Is this necessarily true?  “In every generation they try to destroy us” has the feel of a curse upon ourselves, inviting destructive forces our way, and also encourages our suspicion of others--of the unnamed “they” who will try to destroy us.  During my medieval Jewish history class in rabbinical school, we learned about Salo Baron’s critique of what he refers to as the “lachrymose conception of Jewish history.”  Baron was responding to a tendency in his day to view Jewish history as all darkness.  Baron taught that “suffering is part of the destiny [of the Jews], but so is repeated joy as well as ultimate redemption.”  I was leaving out the “v’hi sh’amdah” passage to protest the lachrymose view of Jewish history.  

    This year, I took another look at “v’hi sh’amdah” and realized that I had missed the main point of the paragraph.  The essence is not the persecution of the Jews, but rather, our relationship with a benevolent God.  The message is that when others rise up against us, God will save us, in each generation.  God is our Saving Power, and God will not abandon us.  We lift our wine cups when reciting “v’hi sh’amdah”  in an act of faith and hope. 

    Why was I so ready to reject this passage?  I have come to realize that part of my discomfort came from not wanting to consciously recognize the reality of anti-semitism in my life experience. In my mind, the message of “in every generation they try to destroy us” could not be about my generation, and reading this passage during seder was threatening to the thin veneer that allowed me to be in denial that I am part of a vulnerable group.  In reality, I was continually on high alert during my childhood and teens in northern New Mexico, discerning how hidden I needed to be about my Jewishness in order to be safe. One day in the back of my high school chemistry class, while our elderly teacher was presenting a lesson, a classmate tried to convince me to become Christian.  I felt unsettled, and at lunchtime confided in a close friend about this experience, only to hear her say, “I wouldn’t mind if you were Christian, either.”  This was just one of many not-so-subtle messages that our culture that was not fully accepting of Jews.  I recall riding home on the school bus one afternoon past a water tower upon which had been painted, “Kill the Jews.”  Anti-semitism was indeed present while I was growing up in the 1980’s, even as I told myself that it wasn’t.  

    With the rise in overt anti-semitism this year here in the United States, I am challenged to stop denying that it is real.  This is ultimately a blessing for me, for I was expending a lot of effort being in denial, and in the realm of parenting, I was unconsciously communicating my fears about being Jewish to my child rather than openly discussing it in a mindful way.  I will recite “v’hi sh’amdah” this year, practicing the courage to accept the reality of anti-semitism in our times, and then to affirm my faith and hope for the future.  I am grateful for the wisdom of our ancestors to craft these rituals for us.  As we navigate the world today, an important message I want to communicate this year to my 11-year-old son, and other participants at our family seder, is to keep faith in the promise of redemption. 

I wrote this reflection for the March 28, 2018, Jewish Exponent in Philadelphia.  The link is here.