Ferguson and the Empathy Gap - Vayyetze 5775

I have to make a confession. I am guilty of something. I failed to empathize.

Actually, it was not merely a failure to empathize, but rather a failure to pay attention at all to the news out of Ferguson, Missouri regarding the events of the past summer.

In my defense, I was busy paying attention to Israel - the rockets, the bomb shelters, the tunnels, the scenes of destruction and death, the body counts, the anti-Semitic demonstrations, and so forth. I was wringing my hands all summer long, glued to my computer screen, waiting for the next piece of bad news.

So somehow I missed the story that resurfaced, somewhat unpleasantly, this week - the story of Michael Brown, the young man who stole a $46 item from a convenience store, and was subsequently shot and killed by police officer Darren Wilson in that suburb of St. Louis. I was only dimly aware that the community of Ferguson erupted in mid-August, and that it attracted attention all over the world. All of that was crowded out because my head and heart were in the Middle East.

I have not spent the subsequent three months following the story - the protests, which endured for weeks afterwards, the investigations, the grand jury. I was busy with the EmptiNesters retreat, the holidays, the Shabbat Project, the Rabbinic Management Institute that I attended in LA two weeks ago, and so forth.

Besides, I’m a rabbi. My position demands of me to pay attention to issues affecting the Jewish community, right? Why should this story be so important? Most of the world has no concept of the complexity of the situation in Israel, and it is my responsibility to be aware of and speak to that. I only have so much time and brainpower.

OK, so I have a long list of excuses, none of which are very good.

I should have paid more attention to this story because it speaks to the very heart of who we are as a people, and what our tradition teaches us about caring for the disenfranchised in our midst. A better reason, however, has really nothing to do with the particulars of this case, but it has everything to do with our role in American society.

I think we - not just we the Jews, but all Americans - are running an empathy deficit. I think we are so wrapped up in ourselves that we are failing to pay attention to those around us who are in need. This is not just about civil rights or race or ethnicity or religion or gender issues or the fragmentation of the American family, but it does include all of those things. There are so many things that divide us today that it is easy to just give up - to throw in the towel, as it were, and just look out for number one, or become desensitized.

What has happened to our public sphere? Why are our politics so broken? One possible reason is that we have all stopped caring about each other. What happens in suburban Missouri stays in Missouri. I’m just going on about my life here in Minneapolis, or Miami, or Michigan, or Manhasset. And yes, we in the Jewish community are just as guilty as all the rest of us.

Maimonides tells us (MT Hilkhot Matanot Aniyim 7:13) that in matters of tzedaqah / charity, we are first obligated to our family, then to the needy of our own town, then to those in another town. While many of us may find ourselves moved and challenged by the events in Israel, our family, we should also be concerned with affairs in our own backyard.

Many of us have known anti-Semitism personally and globally. Certainly the events of this past summer have awakened within the Jewish community concerns that not too long ago seemed somewhat passé. But most of us are not personally experiencing discrimination on a daily basis. But are we aware of the discrimination that others face?

Please consider this thought experiment for a moment:

• You’re leaving work. You’re wearing a suit. You try to get a cab. Not a single one stops for you, even those that are carrying no passengers.
• You’re trying to find an apartment to rent. You call landlord after landlord, only to find that every single one has curiously just been rented, even the less desirable ones.
• You’re a professor at one of the most prestigious universities in the world. You have returned at night from an overseas trip, and your front door jams. As you struggle to open your own front door, a neighbor calls the police, who come to arrest you.

Imagining ourselves in these situations is not so easy; these kinds of things do not happen to most of us. But they do happen on a regular basis to black Americans, who all suffer from various forms of discrimination and humiliation throughout their lives. With respect to their interaction with the police, this reality has resulted in relatively frequent incidents where an officer shoots a young, unarmed black man in a situation that has gone awry.

Consider Amadou Diallou, the 23-year-old Guinean immigrant with no criminal record, shot outside his apartment in the Bronx in 1999 because he was mistaken for a serial rapist.

Consider Sean Bell, the 23-year-old resident of Queens who was leaving his own bachelor party in 2006 when he and his two friends, all unarmed, were shot by police because they thought they overheard one of the men say, “Yo, get my gun.” Bell died.

Consider John Crawford, a 22-year-old man shopping in a Wal-Mart in Ohio who was shot and killed by police, just a few days before the Ferguson incident,  because he was carrying an air rifle that he had picked up from a shelf in the store and was carrying it around while shopping.

In all three of those cases, no police officers were convicted of any crimes. Now these are merely anecdotes, and I am not in a position to evaluate these cases in any responsible, legally-correct way. But there are plenty of other examples, and the pattern is undeniable. We have to feel for the families who lost these young men. We should not excuse, but perhaps we can understand the violent reaction that black Americans had to the news surrounding the Ferguson case. We have to grieve for our society as a whole. And we have an obligation to change that reality.

In a report presented to the UN Human Rights Committee by the Sentencing Project, an advocacy organization, statistics show that it is true that young African-American men are more likely to commit certain types of crime. However, it is also true that they are much more likely to be convicted of crimes than whites or Hispanics who commit the same crimes. The report adds the following:

“... [H]igher crime rates cannot fully account for the racial disparity in arrest rates. A growing body of scholarship suggests that a significant portion of such disparity may be attributed to implicit racial bias, the unconscious associations humans make about racial groups...
“Extensive research has shown that in such situations the vast majority of Americans of all races implicitly associate black Americans with adjectives such as “dangerous,” “aggressive,” “violent,” and “criminal.” Since the nature of law enforcement frequently requires police officers to make snap judgments about the danger posed by suspects and the criminal nature of their activity, subconscious racial associations influence the way officers perform their jobs.”

Ladies and gentlemen, we are all saddled with bias. We all make spot judgments about others, consciously or unconsciously, based on their appearance. Any human being who denies this is lying. But one of our tasks as Jews as reinforced over and over throughout the Torah, is to remember what it’s like to be an outsider, as when we were slaves in Egypt, and to treat others accordingly. It is our responsibility to empathize with the plight of the sojourner, the widow, the orphan, the poor, because we understand that as a nation. We may not be able to eliminate our own internal prejudices, but we can certainly challenge ourselves to feel for others and act appropriately.

And this is only heightened by our contemporary reality. Despite the rise of anti-Semitism in the world, we are still living pretty well in America. Except for the rare sideways remark, we are accepted as white (something that was not always true); all doors seem open to us. But that does not give us license to ignore those in our midst for whom many of those doors are still closed. It is all too easy to forget that justice is not necessarily evenly meted out in our society.

To that end, I would like for our reaction to the case of Michael Brown to be something like the moment that occurs at the end of Jacob’s dream at the beginning of Parashat Vayyetze, which we read this morning. Our hero wakes suddenly after dreaming about angels going up and down the ladder to heaven, and is struck with the realization that, אָכֵן יֵשׁ ה’ בַּמָּקוֹם הַזֶּה; וְאָנֹכִי, לֹא יָדָעְתִּי. “Surely the LORD is present in this place, and I did not know it.” (Gen. 28:16)

Jacob’s new awareness leads him to commit to a new relationship with God. In the same way, the Ferguson events might elevate our connection with God by raising our own awareness of what some of our fellow citizens endure every day. That awareness should spur us to action.

My point here is not to excuse either Michael Brown, an alleged petty thief who may have resisted arrest, or Officer Darren Wilson, who may have overreacted to the situation. This is not about race. Rather, my goal on this Shabbat Thanksgiving, a time that we as a nation remember to be grateful for what we have, is to remind us that our gratitude can only be amplified when we remember to feel for the other. It is a primary goal of the Torah to help us to see beyond ourselves, to consider how our actions affect others, and to be aware of our interconnectedness to all our fellow citizens as a part of this society, in short, to be empathic. Even though we all arrived here on different boats, some of us enthusiastically and some of us in literal chains, we are all in the same boat when it comes to building a just society.

Our tradition believes that all people, not just the Jews, are obligated to the Sheva Mitzvot Benei Noah, the seven mitzvot given to Noah following the Flood. One of those mitzvot is the commandment to foster justice. Maimonides suggests that if you do not live in a place with an honest justice system, then you should move away. I do not think that anybody could credibly make that charge about these United States. However, it is surely worth noting that our society is still a work in progress, and that cultivating empathy for all people, and not just our people, will go a long way toward building that nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.


~
Rabbi Seth Adelson
(Originally delivered at Temple Israel of Great Neck, Shabbat morning, 11/29/2014.)

Thanksgivukkah (sp?) Recipe: Spaghetti Squash Latkes!

Ah, the latke! It hits the Jewish palate with an unfettered, pleasurable mix of memory, satisfaction, and fried wonderful-ness. Of course, the use of oil reminds us of the Hanukkah miracle. But who can argue that this culinary treasure is an icon unto itself, a ritual that engages body and soul with Jewish history and peoplehood, pressing the savory, sweet, and holy buttons all at once.

Here’s a new twist on an old favorite, appropriate for Hanukkah and Thanksgiving: Spaghetti Squash Latkes!

• 1 average spaghetti squash
• 1 large egg, beaten
• 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour (use more if necessary for binding)
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• Black pepper to taste
• 1/2 cup olive oil (you can also use coconut oil for crispier results)
• Optional toppings: Sour cream, apple sauce, salsa, Sriracha, etc.

1. Cut squash in half, remove seeds, place on a baking tray, and bake at 350˚ for 30–45 minutes. Remove from oven and let cool for at least 10 minutes.
2. Remove spaghetti-like squash strands with a fork. If necessary, cut strands on a cutting board to make them more manageable.
3. Place squash strands in a bowl and mix with beaten egg, flour, salt and pepper.
4. Heat oil in a nonstick pan. Drop squash mixture into 3-inch round patties. Fry until brown and crispy.
5. Remove latkes from oil and place on a platter layered with paper towels to absorb extra oil. Serve hot! Savor the taste of Hanukkah, and remember the miracle. (Don’t forget to light the candles!)  

 בתיאבון! Beteiavon! Bon appétit!


~
Rabbi Seth Adelson

Getting Back to the Table by Letting Out the Goat - Shabbat Thanksgiving 5773

On this "Shabbat Thanksgiving," there are many things for which we should be thankful.

First, that we survived the devastation of Hurricane Sandy. Many of us were inconvenienced by the storm, and some of us had major damage to our homes. But by and large this community was spared the devastation that parts of the South Shore of Long Island, Brooklyn, Staten Island, and New Jersey suffered. We should not forget, even as we celebrate two benei mitzvah today, that there are now many in our region who lost everything.

Second, many members of this community have been forthcoming in helping others in need in the wake of the storm. That is what makes us a qehillah qedoshah, a holy congregation, and I applaud those of us who have taken the initiative to contribute in every way possible to relief efforts.

Third, that the Iron Dome defense system in Israel was quite successful in shooting down rockets that were headed to residential areas. Some reports said that the success rate was near 90%.

Finally, that the cease-fire in Israel is (mostly) holding for the third day. This is very good news for the members of our partner Conservative congregation in Ashkelon, Kehillat Netzah Yisrael, where life had more or less come to a standstill for eight days. It is also personally good news for me, since my son lives in Nes Tziyyonah, out of range of the Qassam rockets which make up the bulk of those coming from Gaza, but within range of the larger rockets like the Fajr-5 rockets supplied by Iran. (During the eight days of rockets, there was only one air-raid siren in Nes Tziyyonah; my son and his neighbors gathered in the stairwell, the safest part of their apartment building, until it passed, thankfully uneventfully.)

It is worth noting, by the way, that this is, in fact, the second cease-fire in 2012 brokered by the Egyptians. Back in March, after four days of less-intense rocket attacks and Israeli airstrikes, a similar deal was struck. And here we are, eight months later, in the same place. And so, while we might be grateful for this lull, we should also fear the next shower of rockets and what will come from it. Because there will be more rockets, more sirens, more lives lost and disrupted; the only question is when.

Or maybe there is a way to break this pattern.

There is a well-known folktale from Jewish tradition that goes like this: A man goes to his rabbi. He says, “Rabbi, my house is too small! My wife and I and our four children are barely able to live, because we are constantly in each others’ way. What should I do?”

The rabbi thinks for a moment, then says, “Do you have a goat?”

“Yes,” says the man cautiously.

“Bring the goat inside the house,” suggests the rabbi.

“But...”

“Just do it,” says the rabbi.

So the man brings in the goat, which takes up more space and wreaks havoc within the tiny house. He goes back to the rabbi.

“Do you have a cow?” asks the rabbi.

“But rabbi, it’s already crowded and miserable! If I bring in the cow, it will just get worse!”

“Bring in the cow.”

The man reluctantly does so. The animals are now eating their food, sitting on their tiny couch, keeping them up at night. He goes back to the rabbi.

“Bring in your chickens,” says the rabbi.

“But rabbi...”

“Just do it.”

So he does. He’s now at his wits’ end, tearing his hair out from the stress of a small house filled to the brim with people and animals. He goes back to the rabbi.

“Now take all the animals out,” says the rabbi.

The man sprints home and gets rid of all the animals. A day later, he returns to the rabbi.

“Rabbi, I want to thank you so much! Our house is now so roomy!”

*****

Did the house change? No. But the man’s perspective changed.

In the summer of 2000, when I was working in Jerusalem as a music specialist for the Conservative movement’s Ramah day camp, talks between Israel and the Palestinian Authority broke down.  Fatah Chairman Yasir Arafat rejected PM Ehud Barak’s offer of a state that would include almost all of the West Bank and Gaza, plus control over Palestinian neighborhoods of Jerusalem. Immediately after, Arafat ordered the violent Intifada, and years of suicide bombings hardened Israeli resolve against peace talks. Israel decided that the PA was no partner for peace, and has not engaged seriously with them since.

In 2005, Israel pulled out of Gaza unilaterally.

In 2006, the Palestinian territories held free elections. Hamas won a majority of seats in Gaza, and soon after seized control over the Strip.

In 2008, after thousands of Qassam rockets had fallen on Sderot and other communities near Gaza, Israel launched a ground offensive, Operation Cast Lead, to demolish terrorist infrastructure in Gaza. There was a heavy toll of civilian and combatant lives.  Rockets have continued to fall sporadically in the south of Israel, but in the intervening years Hamas has grown more powerful and more deadly.  

And then came the events of the past week and a half. Meanwhile, PA President Mahmoud Abbas watches on the sidelines from the West Bank.

Over the past 12 years, our perspective has changed. Everybody has grown more and more pessimistic about the chances for peace. Current PM Netanyahu is far more interested in saber-rattling over Iran than talking with anybody on the other side of the Green Line.

Ladies and gentlemen, there is only one possible way out of this, and it’s not a sure thing, but it is better than the current situation.

The only possible solution is the two-state solution. Israel and the PA, supported by all the major international players, must swallow their pride and sit down at the table and talk. All other outcomes are unsustainable; let me explain:

1. Maintaining the status quo. Every few years, Israelis are shelled heavily, and then retaliate until the next cease-fire. Obviously, this cannot continue forever, because each time the rockets fly, they are more accurate, more intense, with bigger payloads and longer ranges.

2. The one-state solution. Israel annexes all the territories and grants citizenship to everybody in the territories. This is suicide - Israel will not be able to maintain itself as a democracy with a Jewish character when the largest political group is Palestinian.

3. Unilateral withdrawals from parts of the West Bank. As many have pointed out, Israel’s withdrawal from Gaza may have yielded an economic benefit for Israel by no longer requiring heavy military protection from the settlements in Gush Qatif, within the Gaza Strip. But whatever benefits reaped have been negated by the thousands of rockets that have been launched by Gaza-based terrorists.

But the reason that the Gaza withdrawal did not have a positive effect on the region is because of its unilateral nature. Israel did not consult with anybody; no peacekeeping forces were installed; no structure was in place to make a smooth transition; no other governmental powers were there to support either side. This vacuum led to the rise of Hamas, and we all know how that has turned out.

Ladies and gentlemen, I think about this a lot. And as far as I can tell, the only other possible path is the two-state solution. Those of us that balk at the idea of sitting down at the table with any Palestinian group should recall that we do not make peace with friends; we make peace with enemies. We don’t have to like each other, but we do need to talk.

If Israel sits with Mahmoud Abbas and hammers out a peace agreement such that a Palestinian state is established in the West Bank, soon enough the economy will improve, employment will improve, Palestinians will be able to have some kind of normal life, and they will (as they have done in the past) go about their business and focus less energy on hating the Jews.

And what about Gaza, you ask? This is the important part. Hamas not, at least right now, a partner for peace, because from where we sit right now it is unlikely that they will acknowledge Israel’s right to exist.  As Israel’s ambassador the US and military historian Michael Oren stated in an op-ed piece in the New York Times a few days ago:

“Negotiations leading to peace can be realistic with an adversary who shares that goal. But Hamas, whose covenant calls for the slaughter of Jews worldwide, is striving not to join peace talks, but to prevent them. It rejects Israel’s existence, refuses to eschew terror, and disavows all previous Israeli-Palestinian agreements.”

Ambassador Oren goes on to speak optimistically about the chances for peace with the PA:

“Egypt and Jordan tried more than once to defeat Israel militarily, only to recognize the permanence of the Jewish state and to sign peace accords with it. Similarly, the Palestine Liberation Organization, guided by nationalism rather than militant theology, realized it could gain more by talking with Israel than by battling us. The result was the 1993 Oslo Accords, the foundation for what we still hope will be a two-state solution. By establishing deterrence, Israel led these rational actors toward peace.”

What Oren fails to say is that while deterring Hamas, Israel can at the same time reach out to the PA and build that Palestinian state. Once that state is built in the West Bank, then the people of Gaza will see the benefits of peace that their cousins are reaping, and throw of the yoke of Hamas and the curse of eternal war.

We have to set aside the fear. We have to look above the comfort zone of “no” to get to “yes.” We need to take bold steps. Cooperation right now between Israel and America and the PA on economic and security matters is at an all-time high. Now is the time, during this cease-fire, for Israel to look east to the West Bank, rather than south to Gaza, and reach out. It is time to take out the goat and the cow and the chickens, and work from a new perspective.

Otherwise, it will all happen again, sooner and stronger and more deadly.

Oseh shalom bimromav, hu ya’aseh shalom aleinu ve’al kol Yisrael, ve-imru Amen.
May the One who makes peace on high bring piece upon us and upon all Israel, and let us say Amen.

Shabbat Shalom, a Shabbat of peace.

~

Rabbi Seth Adelson

(Originally delivered at Temple Israel of Great Neck, Shabbat morning, November 24, 2012.)

Hodu Ladonai - Invoking God on Thanksgiving

To regular readers of this blog, it may be obvious that I do not eat turkey (or anything that was born with legs), and so as the appointed Thanksgiving chef chez Adelson, I served a gorgeous eggplant parmesan with all the trimmings (roasted sweet potato, asparagus with lemon and olive oil, orange-cranberry sauce, and our favorite butternut squash soup; the squash, as well as the tomatoes in the main course, were from our garden). Before we made motzi (the blessing over the bread, which was in this case a pumpernickel bagel), we all expressed gratitude for the most important things in our lives. My three-year-old, in a moment that I now regret not capturing on video, gave thanks for "silly things."

This quintessentially American holiday is nominally about gratitude, but as it is a secular occasion, we do not tend to associate our giving thanks with God. In fact, many of us refer to Thanksgiving (somewhat ironically) as "Turkey Day," removing the thematic element altogether and limiting the festivities to the merely physical.

Judaism is rife with opportunities to be grateful. Jewish liturgy in particular is saturated with variations on the theme of thanks; hodayah / thanks is one of the five major modes of tefillah / prayer. Each Amidah (the silent prayer recited while standing at the three statutory services every day) includes standard "thank-you" language toward the end, and many of the Psalms include themes of gratitude. One of the warm-up passages of the morning service (Pesuqei Dezimra / verses of song) opens with the following (I Chronicles 16:8):

הוֹדוּ לַיהוָה, קִרְאוּ בִשְׁמוֹ, הוֹדִיעוּ בָעַמִּים עֲלִילֹתָיו

Hodu ladonai qir'u vishmo, hodi'u va'amim alilotav

Acclaim Adonai; invoke God's name / Make God's deeds known among all people.

The word here translated as "acclaim" might also be translated as "thank," thus rendering the verse as a statement of gratitude for those things that God has done for us. When coupled with the curious fact that the Hebrew word for turkey is "hodu," one might suggest that this verse is the perfect Jewish encapsulation of Thanksgiving: giving thanks for the good things that God has given us.

When you celebrate Thanksgiving, don't forget to mention God. Happy digestion!


~
Rabbi Seth Adelson

The Best of Both Worlds - Toledot 5772

There are several Shabbatot throughout the year that have a special name related to the calendar.  For example, there is Shabbat Shuvah, between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.  There is Shabbat HaGadol, right before Pesah.  And so forth.  Today might be called Shabbat Toledot, after the parashah that we read this morning, or it might be called “Shabbat Thanksgiving,” for obvious calendrical reasons.  Regardless of what you might call it, this is a great Shabbat to be thinking about being both Jewish and American.

A few days ago, a member of this congregation was telling me about a Persian synagogue in Los Angeles that has “an American rabbi.”  
“But we’re all American,” I pointed out.  
“You know what I mean,” she said.

Since Napoleon granted the Jews of France emancipation in 1789, one question that Diaspora Jews have constantly struggled with is that of national identity.  Napoleon’s intent was to make the Jews of France French.  A primary goal of the German haskalah, or Enlightenment, in the late 18th century was to encourage German Jews to be thought of as Germans.

But really we have always wrestled with identity.  In the beginning of Toledot, Rebekah is troubled by the twins wrestling with each other in her womb.  Ya’aqov and Esav are not only foreshadowing the struggle between the two brothers that spreads over three parashiyyot in the Torah, but also physically demonstrating the ongoing struggle that Jews have always faced when grappling with the non-Jewish world.

Ya’aqov, of course, represents the Jews.  In next week’s parashah, he will be renamed Yisrael, and it is for him that the people of Israel are named.  Esav is considered the father of Edom, the people who live across the Jordan river to the east of Israel.  In rabbinic times, when the rulers of Israel were Roman, the name Edom was used as a euphemism for Rome.

Ladies and gentlemen, we continue to face this struggle today.  And particularly right here in Great Neck, among those of us who identify with Temple Israel and the Conservative movement.  Let me explain:

Orthodox Judaism, in general, expects that its adherents will always choose Jewish law and practice over secular options.  For example, there is no question that children in Orthodox homes will not attend school on, let’s say, the first two days of Sukkot when they fall on weekdays.

Reform Judaism, meanwhile, expects that its adherents will make educated Jewish choices, understanding that halakhah, traditional Jewish law, is no longer binding on them.  Secular concerns are thereby given a seat at the table when engaging with Jewish life.

Our environment, the Conservative movement, is where things get really complicated.  On the one hand, we accept halakhah as valid and binding.  We work within the halakhic system, not outside of it.  The service that we are all participating in today is, with a few small exceptions, the same as what you will find in most Ashkenazi Orthodox synagogues.  This is a kosher building; we observe Shabbat here traditionally, and thus we don’t, for example, take money or turn lights on and off and we ask people not to use cell phones or cameras in the building on Shabbat.  

But all of us are engaged with the rest of the world, the non-Jewish world, as well.  And it is that struggle that most of us face on a regular basis.  Do we keep kosher at home, and how?  What about outside the house?  Do we come to synagogue regularly?  Do we celebrate holidays, particularly the less well-known ones?  How do we educate our children Jewishly?  Do we continue to learn Jewish tradition after bar/bat mitzvah?

I read a report this week from Brandeis University about Jewish teen engagement in the New York area.  It’s really a fascinating portrait of teen involvement in Jewish life, a subject that many of you know to be of utmost importance to me.  The 344 teens surveyed were among the most connected to Jewish life - all had celebrated a bar or bat mitzvah in a New York-area synagogue between 2006 and 2009, and two-thirds had continued their Jewish education after bar/bat mitzvah.  It’s possible that some who were surveyed even came from this community.  Among the more interesting findings were:

About 80% of those surveyed said that being Jewish was very important to them, and nearly half had some involvement in a Jewish youth group, but only 7% cited Jewish activities as being their top priority; the majority cited team sports as receiving the greatest priority.  Few had an interest in Jewish ritual or synagogue participation.  “Many give high importance to family and to making the world a better place,” says the study, “but they do not attribute their sense of personal or societal right and wrong to Jewish teachings.”

I could cite interesting statistics all day, but the fundamental message that emerged for me was that our teens are, like all of us, engaged in a kind of wrestling match.  We all straddle this fence of Jewish vs. secular activities, understanding, belief, and of course identity.

…

We who are seated together in this room are quite an unusual mix of Americans.  Some of us were born here; some in Europe, some in Iraq or Iran, a few in Israel and elsewhere.  On my father’s side, I’m the fifth generation in America.  Although my maternal grandmother was born in what is today Ukraine, my mother’s grandfather on the other side fought for Uncle Sam in the Spanish-American War in 1898.  My wife’s first language is Hungarian, although her parents came to this country by way of Israel in the late ‘60s.

It is a fundamental human quality to separate ourselves according to national identity.  The Greeks are distinct from the Turks who are distinct from the Mongols who are distinct from the Chinese, and on and on.  The Torah itself, a particularly human document, is obsessed with classification — not only about what is kosher or not, but also about categories of people: tribal affiliation, man, woman, child, slave, rich, poor, and so forth.

A century after Napoleon granted the Jews citizenship, French army captain Albert Dreyfus was convicted of treason on the basis of falsified evidence.  The question that roiled France was, are the Jews really French, or does their allegiance lie elsewhere?  (The trial and its aftermath inspired the secular Hungarian-Jewish journalist Theodor Herzl to pursue Zionism as a solution to this problem.)

In my lifetime, nobody has ever questioned my loyalty as an American.  I don’t think anybody will doubt that we live here in America at least as well if not better than in any other place and time in the last two millennia.  We are well-integrated into society; there are few barriers to Jews even at the highest echelons of politics, business, and academia.  And few of us would argue that this is a bad thing.

But looking around the American Jewish world today, one must marvel at the various communities to our right on the religious spectrum that are, in some ways, isolating themselves from wider American society.  They attend their own schools, live in their own neighborhoods, and avoid contact with people who are not of their community.  There are American Jews who do not celebrate Thanksgiving because to do so is to assimilate, and they are studiously trying to avoid doing so.

Our community, however, is not like that.  Most of us celebrated the non-religious, secular American holiday two days ago (I hope that just as many observed Shabbat, the second-holiest day of the Jewish year, last night with a traditional meal).  We are integrated into the fabric of American society.  We are as much American Jews as Jewish Americans, and as much Americans as our non-Jewish neighbors and colleagues.

So that raises the question in my mind: when few of our teenagers, our most connected teens, consider Jewish activities a priority and fewer still have an interest in Jewish practice, how will we maintain firm ground in the eternal struggle that we as Jews have had with the non-Jewish world?  How will we continue to maintain our customs and our traditions moving forward?

My suggestion is the following: seek out the best of both worlds and grab it.  Jewish tradition is rich with family-centered activities, valuable life lessons gleaned from ancient texts, and moments to connect with God.  American life, meanwhile, highlights the spirit of independence, stellar opportunities for education and advancement, and plentiful cultural offerings that go far beyond what’s on TV.  Leaving aside this season’s commercial fervor for shopping, being an American is a blessing that can only be elevated by the principles that Jewish tradition teaches, like expressing gratitude for what we have, taking care of the needy among us, and judging others fairly.

While I would not go so far as to call this the Promised Land, and you know how important the modern State of Israel is to me, I cannot deny that America has been good for the Jews.  As we stand here looking into the future as immigrants and the children of immigrants, we must find a thoughtful way to balance Ya’aqov and Esav, to embrace the elements of Jewish life and American society such that the former part of that equation is not eclipsed by the latter.  

Happy Shabbat Thanksgiving!  

~Rabbi Seth Adelson

(Originally delivered at Temple Israel of Great Neck, Shabbat morning, 11/26/2011.)