|
|
|
|
|
Keep Current - Sermons
|
 |
|
"Us" and "Them"
Rabbi Jonathan Miller
Temple Emanu-El
Birmingham, Alabama
January 18, 2008—Shabbat B’shallach
I am not a southerner. Even after living here for 18 years, I am still not a southerner. But I have learned to love the south. This is my home. My life is here. But in my head, I am still a northerner. My family is from New York and I grew up in New England, in Boston. I am one of the only people in this country south of Connecticut to still be rooting for the New England Patriots, the big bad bullies of professional football—go Pats!! My family lives in New York City, upstate New York and Vermont, and my children went to college in Massachusetts and Connecticut. And every time I head up north, I feel that I am going home. I am going home to the place where I understand how people think and talk and drive their cars and relate to the world. I am used to walking on the street too quickly and avoiding acknowledging the presence of other human beings. I am used to speaking too quickly, in clipped tones, and pushing my way around rotaries in traffic. I can do these things. I am a pro. Growing up, my world was divided between Reform Jews and Orthodox Jews and Irish Catholics and Italian Catholics and the only things I knew about Protestants, I had read in books. I know those hometown folks.
And that is why it is also so nice to get back on the plane and come back to Birmingham every time I leave. This is a beautiful city with gentle people who are kind to each other. I have come to appreciate the warmth and pace of the south, and would not choose to live back up north, even though I feel quite at home in Boston and New York. Years ago, my family made a road trip through Mississippi and Louisiana on our way to New Orleans. On the road, we stopped to tour the Beauvoir Confederate Soldier’s Home, an antebellum estate that was converted into a convalescent home for soldiers of the confederacy. There was a famous battle there. I don’t remember the details. But my daughter Alana shared with us enthusiastically. “Mommy, Daddy—I studied about this in school when we studied the Civil War. This is where we ambushed the Union soldiers and sent them retreating into the woods.”
I listened carefully to her words. “We” Alana? The folks you are talking about are “they”. We are the Union soldiers. We are the ones who were defeated at Beauvoir and killed during this battle. “They” are the Confederates. We root for the guys wearing blue. They root for the guys wearing gray. And we won the war and they lost the war.” She looked at me like I was crazy.
We and they. Isn’t that the way we divide the world? We and they. We are Alabama, they are Auburn; we are Auburn and they are Alabama. We are southerners and they are Yankees; we are Yankees and they are southerners. We are Democrats and they are Republicans; we are Republicans and they are Democrats. We are white and they are black; we are black and they are white. We are Jews and they are Christians; we are Christians and they are Jews. We human beings create this binary of us and them, inside and outside, to define us. This is a natural differentiation. If we are everybody, the universal human being—than we are nobody. Our very definition of self, of ego, has us stand in opposition to others.
Psychologists affirm this. The first mark of an individual’s development as a unique human being is the awareness of the other and the individual’s separation from the universe she experiences. For the infant, the realization of the existence of the mother and the father—that the breast and the bottle are not an extension of the infant’s cries, but rather that there are others who wait on her and tend to her and comfort her and bring her what she needs—this understanding of the other enables the self to develop its ego—its differentiated self. The child stands in opposition to her parents. And the parents stand in opposition to their child. This is the way of the world. In a healthy family system, the child’s happiness is bound up in the well being of her mother. And the mother’s happiness is bound up in the well being of her child.
This Monday, the nation will be commemorating the life and dedication of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. So much can be said about Dr. King. As a child, I had a picture of him on the wall in my room, and I admired his dedication, leadership and self-sacrifice for his people, particularly in the south. I remember watching his 1963 “I Have a Dream” speech on our black and white rabbit eared television in the family room. I was eight years old. I don’t really remember the speech, but I remember watching my mother and my father watch the speech, and how moved I was because they were moved too. The African-Americans in 1963 were “we”, and the segregationists, the Ku Klux Klanners, the White Citizens’ Councils, the Bull Conners and George Wallaces, the States’ Rights Folks were “they”. And we were in battle. And “we” were going to win, and “they” were going to lose. This would be an epic battle between the good guys and the bad guys.
In this battle, Dr. King was the general commanding us, the good guys. And Birmingham, Alabama was the central address for them, the bad guys. And here I am, living in the bosom of “them”; the bad guys, the oppressors, the bombers, the fire hose truckers and the policemen who put all those kids in jail—here I am living among them and with them and dependent upon them—and to some degree, “they” have become “us”. The world for this rabbi in Birmingham, Alabama is not quite so clear cut. I am not sure where the “we” ends and the “them” begins.
That is a good thing. I know that Dr. King was not entirely a saint. Only men and women of modest talents and modest drives can aspire to sainthood. But Dr. King was as great as great men come. If I had it to do over again, I would still have hung his picture in my room. What made Dr. King so outstanding was his ability to see beyond the “we” and understand the “them”. Dr. King appealed to us and said to us that he could envision a life beyond the moral tawdriness of segregation, and he shared that vision with us. He inspired people who were taught over and over again that they were in so many ways inferior to others to believe in themselves and to stand tall in the face of those who would belittle them and denigrate them. He preached the liberation of the African-American from evil by appealing to the conscience of their oppressors. His message of love and non-violence (God knows that in the case of the oppressive South, violence was certainly a justifiable and understandable response) transformed the oppressors into seeing beyond their hatred. His rhetoric and example moved the hearts of both the oppressed and the oppressors, and transformed the victory of the African-American into the victory of the white man.
Simply put, only after the civil rights revolution did the South have the opportunity to grow and develop unencumbered by the hatred and backwardness that enshackled us for generations. The oppressors woke up, as though from a bad dream, and were able to say, for the most part, that we are better enriched when we care for everyone, that no one is better or entitled to more because of the color of their skin. After the battle, the white man and the black man were both victors, both winners. And the more that we treat each other kindly, the more that we treat each other equally, the more that we treat each other with respect, the more that we treat each other with grace, the more that we treat each other in ways that we ourselves wish to be treated; the more we will all be enriched by the experience. At the end of the civil rights movement, there was no longer a “them” and an “us”. We become one people. That was the greatness of the civil rights movement, and that is why we should all celebrate the life and achievements of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. His achievements are our achievement.
It is fitting that Dr. King’s weekend falls this year on Shabbat B’shellach, the Torah Portion that recounts the parting of the Red Sea and the Israelite’s freedom from Egypt. It would appear that this is the quintessential “us” and “them” story. We are freed, and Egypt is vanquished. We are alive, and Egypt is destroyed. God protects us and leads us, and God utterly destroys them. This is our victory and their defeat. But if that were the case, if this story were only about the victory of Israel and the defeat of Egypt, it would be absolutely unimportant to anybody alive today. Israel over Egypt more than three millennia ago would only be a footnote in the history books.
Instead, the story of God’s deliverance, the story of Israel over Egypt is a story with a universal appeal. It is not just the story about “us” Israel over “them” Egypt. This story is the story of redemption, the story of freedom, the story of hope, and the story of justice—not only for us, but also for everyone. This story is about God’s freeing those who are captives and those who are enslaved. This too, is a universal story. Israel is a winner because it can make its way to the Promised Land, and Egypt is a winner too, because they are no longer the oppressors. Egypt after Pharaoh can become a much better place than Egypt during Pharaoh. The story of the Exodus is the story of Birmingham, Alabama: When we provide freedom and opportunity for the oppressed, we provide freedom and opportunity for the oppressors. All of us are transformed to be the best we can become, the kindest we can become, and the greatest we can become. The distinctions between “us” and “them” diminish, and we are all of us blessed.
Let us celebrate this Shabbat and this weekend with the blessings that we learn, that we are bound up with each other; Bull Conner and Dr. King, Pharaoh and Moses, Israel and Egypt. Dr. King said it so simply and so eloquently:
Life is interrelated. We are caught in an inescapable web of mutuality; tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly. As long as there is poverty in this world, no [person] can be totally rich …. I can never be what I ought to be until you are what you ought to be. This is the way the world is made. I didn’t make it this way, but this is the interrelated structure of reality …
Dr. King read the Torah and was inspired by message of liberation. Let’s celebrate.
Shabbat Shalom
Back
|
|
|
|
|
|
|