Rabbi Michael Leo Samuel

Our tradition is a tapestry of stories. Every generation weaves its own unique color and threads as we make a mosaic about our history and family memories.

Whenever our family of survivors told us about their experiences in the concentration camps, I used to marvel at their courage and moral fortitude. Despite their experiences, they continued to live positive lives and raised children with a strong Jewish identity; they taught us what it meant to have an indomitable spirit that refused to give in to despair and hopelessness.

Martin Gilbert in his book, The Holocaust, tells the story about a young sixteen year-old named Zvi Michalowski. On September 27, 1941, Zvi was supposed to be executed with 3,000 other Lithuanian Jews. He had fallen into the pit a fraction of a second before the Nazis shot their guns. That night, he crept out of the pit, and fled to the closest village. He knocked on a door of a peasant, who saw this naked man, covered with blood.

• He begged the elderly widow and said: “I am Lord Jesus Christ. I came down from the cross. Look at me—the blood, the pain, the suffering of the innocent. Let me in.” The widow threw herself at his feet and begged for forgiveness and she hid him for three days. The young man managed to survive as a partisan.[1]

One cannot help but compare this anecdote to the passage one of the most famous of the pastoral parables:

• “You may remember, I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.” Then the righteous will answer him, “Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?” And the king will answer them, “Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me” (Matthew 25:35‑40).

What does the human face say to me when no words are ever verbally said? The human face says, “Look at me; treat me with humanity; I am like you.” In the parable of Jesus, the 1^st century rabbi gently reminds his disciples that kindness and compassion must find tangible expression in the language of good deeds.

It is amazing how the stories of our past continue to resurface in the collective unconscious of the human race. Reverberations of history continue to manifest their presence and the memories of our wise forbearers.

When we look at the children who Hitler killed in the millions, what do their faces say to us from their pictures? The human face, as you know, is capable of almost infinite expressions; the face is the mirror to the soul. According to the French philosopher and Holocaust survivor Emmanuel Levinas, the human face always challenges us to respond ethically toward others. No commandment even need be given, when I see the human face looking back at me, I cannot deny his humanity without destroying my own in the process.  In the age of push-button warfare, it is so easy to kill millions without ever having to look at the human face that commands us to be aware of our mutual humanity.

Remembering the victims of the Holocaust must be more than a sentimental recollection of lives that were lost. The act of memory in the Bible is always dynamic as it is transformative. How we remember the death of the six million is important, for as the philosopher George Santayana said, “He who forgets the past is condemned to repeat it.”

All human beings have basic needs that must be met. All of us are fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as William Shakespeare wrote in The Merchant of Venice, “If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die?” continues Shakespeare’s famous passage. “And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that.”

The most important lesson the school of history has to offer goes back to the dawn of humanity. It is the golden rule, karma, the principle of reciprocity: Treat others as you would be treated. Yet, we struggle still to internalize this message, even though the future of the human race depends upon realizing the simple ethic of consideration.

Yet, as we listen to the voices of the survivors, we have learned that it is possible to find friends among our enemies if we take the risk of looking. Gazing into each other’s faces — the eyes, mouth, nose, ears—the common humanity that we all share.

M father Leo Israel Samuel’s experiences in Majdanek and Auschwitz did not scar his buoyant spirit like it with other survivors. No, father’s face always had a smile; he exuded a sunny disposition.

It has been about 16 years since my father passed away. Although my father told us many stories about the Holocaust and his experiences in the concentration camps, there was one story he never told us. Fifty years later, my Aunt Miriam (who recently celebrated her 87 birthday) told us a dramatic story that almost died in silence.

Here’s what happened . . .

One day, after backbreaking work, young Leo received 40 lashes for insubordination. Throughout the beating, he did not cry out in pain. The Nazis found my father’s stoic demeanor amusing, and so they gave him another 40 lashes. At the end of his beating, the commandant went up to him and punched out his front teeth.

Like Jacob’s nocturnal battle with the angelic assailant, father also walked away alive but injured. I will never know how he found the inner strength and will to survive.

I am thankful he wasn’t killed; otherwise, you would not be reading this story.

After hearing Aunt Miriam’s story, I decided to write a new poem in honor of Father’s memory. I realize poetry is not one of my strengths, but the words came to me in a moment of inspiration.

THE GOLDEN SMILE

When I was a young boy
Father possessed the beauty of the golden smile
He had grace, laughter, and style.

I will never know the degree of his pain,
Even as tears from Heaven, dripped like rain.
When the Nazis whipped him while he stood immobile,
His character intact and with dignity remained ennobled.

Wincing in pain they gave another forty lashes,
He felt the lashes cut into his body, but not into his soul,
Father stood strong and defiant, determined to survive
He felt his breath, he was still alive!

Afterward, the commandant punched him in the mouth,
Knocking his front teeth, from north to south.

So after the war, he had his teeth capped with gold
Demonstrating strength and a spirit bold!

Father, I miss your strength and wisdom,
But memory of your smile etched in my soul,
Will forever remain beautiful and winsome.

As we open our door to welcome Elijah, some of us probably snicker and say “Yeah, right…” The cynicism of our age makes us doubt whether the Messiah will ever really arrive.

People often wonder who the Messiah is going to be. Many faith communities believe it will be Jesus; Chabad Hasidim believe that Rabbi Schnersohn will arise from the dead and save humankind. Personally, when asked, I often like to tell my students, “Here’s the bad news: The Messiah is more metaphor than it is a historical reality–at least with respect to the present or future generations.  Antecedents for this belief appear in BT Sanhedrin 99a:

• Rabbi Hillel said: There is no messiah for Israel, seeing that they already had him in the time of King Hezekiah. Rav Yosef said: May Rabbi Hillel’s Master forgive him. Hezekiah lived during the First Temple while Zechariah prophesied during the Second Temple.

Rashi notes in his commentary that R. Hillel accepted the concept of a future redemption but merely held that there will be no individual who will bring that redemption. Rather, God will do it without a human messenger. In other words, the human aspect of the Messiah is not that important; what matters is that it is God Who will bring about the final redemption. The 15th century Jewish philosopher, Joseph Albo, contends that the belief in a personal messiah is not essential to Judaism. There is also nothing indicative that R. Hillel rejected the futuristic concept of a messianic age—just a human messiah.

In the Tanakh itself, the term Messiah, simply means, “the anointed one,” originally referred any individual consecrated with sacred oil such as the king of Israel and the high priest. But it  the was also applied to any person for whom God had a special purpose – Cyrus of Persia, for example (Isa. 45:1). This passage in particular is especially intriguing, because the prophet suggests that God can designate anyone–even a gentile–to function in an anointed capacity. One could further suggest that in modern times, President Truman was King Cyrus redux, for he alone made it possible for Israel to be recognized as a Jewish state.

One could even argue that the idea of a Messianic age is another metaphor for Utopia.

But then I tell my students: “Now here’s the good news: You’re it! You must act like a Messiah in redeeming the world around you.” To create the Messianic world, each of us must actualize the goodness p that we possess. Nobody is going to do this task for you. Here is a remarkable Talmudic story that speaks about the importance of getting in touch with the kind of redemptive lives each of us must live–if we are to ultimately midwife the Messianic Era that was envisioned by the prophets.

The Sages often wondered when and where the Messiah would appear, and frequently criticized individuals who claimed or believed in a messiah, e.g., Jesus and Bar Kochba.  Despite their reticence to make messianic predictions, the rabbis nevertheless believed that his coming remains an eternal possibility. As for the time when this consummation was to take place, it was generally held to depend on the degree of progress men will have achieved in their moral development.

This point is well illustrated in the well-known Talmudic parable:

• Rabbi Joshua ben Levi met Elijah standing at the entrance of Rabbi Simeon ben Yohai’s tomb.… He then said to him, “When will the Messiah come?” “Go and ask him” was the reply. “Where is he sitting?”—”At the entrance of the city.” And how shall I recognize him? — “He is sitting among the poor lepers, untying and re-bandaging their wounds, while thinking, “Should I be needed, I must not delay.” …[1] So he went to him and greeted him, saying, “Peace be upon you, Master and Teacher.” “Peace be upon you, O son of Levi,” he replied. ‘When will you come, Master?’ asked he. “Today” was his answer.” When the Messiah failed to appear that day, a deeply disappointed Rabbi Joshua returned to Elijah with the complaint: “He lied to me, stating that he would come today, but has not!” Elijah then enlightened him that the Messiah had really quoted Scripture (Ps. 95:7): “Today, if ye hearken to His voice” (Sanhedrin 98a).

One might wonder: Why wasn’t the Messiah worried about ritual impurity? One exposition found in the commentaries suggests that the Messiah is among those afflicted with leprosy (cf. Isa. 53:4); while this is a plausible exposition, I prefer the image of the Messiah ministering to the lepers. The answer to the question is even more remarkable when considering how the ancients marginalized the lepers.

In the days of the Temple, lepers lived outside the cities in special huts, where they all congregated for support. People feared any kind of physical contact with them for fear of contagion, or because of the possibility they might become ritually contaminated.

It was not uncommon for children and adults to throw stones at the lepers because they were the outcasts of ancient society.[2] Anytime a person merely approached a leper, the leper had to say, “Unclean!” in order to avoid contact. One could only imagine the havoc this caused in the leper’s family. The mere appearance of a leper on the street or in a neighborhood meant that everyone had to avoid him.[3] No one could even salute him; his bed was to be low, inclining towards the ground.[4] If he even put his head into a home, that home or building became ritually contaminated. No less a distance than four cubits (six feet) must be kept from a leper; or, if the wind came from that direction, a hundred were scarcely sufficient. For all practical purposes, a leper was like a walking dead man.

Yet, the Messiah of our story seems as though he could care less about ritual impurity; for him, caring for the lepers is a supreme ethical demand that transcends ritual laws.

Learning to heal the lepers—just like the Messiah

The Messiah’s response is intriguing. Redemption will not occur tomorrow, but today when we emulate his acts of selfless love; messianic redemption comes when we bandage the wounds of those suffering in the world around us. It seems as though the Talmud is suggesting, we have a personal role to play in redeeming the human condition. Redemption comes by living a redemptive life.

Bandaging the open wounds of the lepers, one open sore at a time, is the only viable human response to preparing the world for ultimate redemption. This process begins with treating the forlorn and abandoned members such as the lepers, or the AIDS victims, or anyone with a terrible disease with prayer, consideration, kindness and compassion— regardless of the disease.

The Talmud relates a story that is consistent with the ethos of the Messiah passage mentioned above. “R. Helbo was once sick. But none visited him. The Sage rebuked the scholars, saying, ‘Did it not once happen that one of R. Akiba’s disciples fell sick and the Sages did not visit him? So R. Akiba personally entered his student’s house to visit him, and upon finding the chamber neglected, Rabbi Akiba instructed his students to clean up the home and the sick student soon recovered. Thankfully, the student exclaimed, ‘My master—you have revived me!’ R. Akiba began his very next lecture with the statement, ‘Anyone who fails to visit the sick is like a shedder of blood’” (Nedarim 40a). The moral of the story stresses the importance of mutual-aid and responsibility. Simply put, we are our “brother’s keeper.

The French Jewish philosopher Emmanuel Lévinas stresses how God’s face is mirrored in the face of the ordinary people we encounter; when we see the beggar on the street asking for us to help, God’s face is present in the face of those struggling just to survive–one day at a time. Kabbalists sometimes describe the Shekhinah (the maternal aspect of the Divine) as always present among those who experience pain and loss. Jewish tradition teaches us that we become most God-like when we outflow compassion to a suffering world.

According to Levinas, God participates in a “divine comedy” in which God makes himself both “knowable” and “unknowable” in the shape of the Other—neighbor, stranger. The way we care for the Other speaks volumes about our faith in God. Isaiah 58 contains a powerful message that still speaks across the chasm of time:

You fast, but at the same time you bicker and fight.

You fast, but you swing a mean fist.

The kind of fasting you do

won’t get your prayers off the ground.

Do you think this is the kind of fast day I’m after:

a day to show off humility?

To put on a pious long face

and parade around solemnly in black?

Do you call that fasting,

a fast day that I, God, would like?

“This is the kind of fast day I’m after:

to break the chains of injustice,

get rid of exploitation in the workplace,

free the oppressed,

cancel debts.

What I’m interested in seeing you do is:

sharing your food with the hungry,

inviting the homeless poor into your homes,

putting clothes on the shivering ill-clad,

being available to your own families.

Do this and the lights will turn on,

and your lives will turn around at once.

Your righteousness will pave your way.

The God of glory will secure your passage.

Then when you pray, God will answer.

You’ll call out for help and I’ll say, ‘Here I am”

(Isaiah 58:5-11).

Continue Reading

Luke Chabner and I composed a Passover Seder Rap. We hope you like it.

 

Table 1

We’re so glad you came to our Seder

We knew you’d come, sooner or later!

Whether by a truck or an elevator,

From China, Alaska & the Equator

 

This is the bread of affliction we eat,

We welcome the stranger from the street

Without you, Seder ain’t complete

We’ve got a tasty dinner, with delicious meat!

 

Table 2

We will soon hide the Afikomen

Whether you’re Conan or just a Kohen

We hope you like our little slogan

We invited our favorite Japanese shogun!

 

We remember the ancient tale of yore

The day after we put blood on the door

Left so fast, our feet were sore

The Red Sea parted, we crossed ashore

 

Table 3

Sit down with Father and Matta

And take out your Maxwell House Hagadah

We can tell by the smile on your Cada,

We know you want a Pesach enchilada-

 

Find the youngest child, ask four questions

We look to the rabbi, to recite the blessins’

As we learn about the Pesach lessons

Before we sit down eat and fressen

 

Table 4

Passover is about leaving really fast!

God took us out of Pharaoh’s grasp

We left Egypt, by coach first class

We celebrate Passover, not a mass

 

Moses’ name is hardly mentioned

God is the hero, deserving of attention

More important than your earthly pension

Everyone left without dissension!

 

Table 5

We drink four cups of wine

East Passover lamb, and not a swine

It’s our history—yours and mine!

So follow Moses, and get in line!

 

We wandered in the desert for 40 years,

A place of bitterness, a place of tears

D’Seder teaches us, banish our fears

We clean out our homes, & throw out the beers

 

Table 6

From Chula Vista to La Costa

We eat lots of flat tasteless matza

More and more, lotsa and lotsas

This ain’t your mother’s Italian pasta

 

We remember herbs that are so bitter

Forget the glamor and all the glitter

Jewish suffering still gives us lots of jitters

Anti-Semites are nasty critters!

 

Table 7

Now let’s all point to the shank bone

We’re here together and not alone!

Kindly turn down your cell phone

Pray that tyrants are soon dethroned!

 

Every person must see himself

Leaving Egypt with Egyptian wealth

We left proudly, not in stealth

Eat your egg, it’s good for your health!

 

Table 8

We will soon eat Gefillte fish

With horseradish on your dish

Stay away from the potato knish

Swallow the horseradish, make a wish!

 

Sephardic Jews love eating lots of rice

But Ashkenazim are afraid of mice

Let me give you some good advice

Make sure you put some spice in your rice

 

Table 9

Take the Afikomen, out of your pocket

Open the door for Elijah the Prophet

He’s comin’ fast with the force of a rocket

Now earthly power can hardly stop it!

Continue Reading

Children have an unusual ability when it comes to confronting our spiritual hypocrisy as parents and as adults; very often they get to the essence of the problem as they perceive things. Frequently, as parents, we often fail to hear the questions our young people ask of us; often we overreact whenever we feel that our beliefs and values are being questioned or attacked. Rather than listening with an inner ear, as parents, we often react with harshness and anger.

Sometimes we wish our children were more respectful and compliant, or at least, “mind their place” at the Seder table and not misbehave or draw undue attention to themselves. As any Woody Allen fan certainly knows, passionate family discussions always have been a part of Jewish life since ancient times. Unanimity never has been the goal of any kind of discussion wherever you have two or more Jews together engaged in dialogue.

Passover is no exception to this rule.

During Passover, this thought finds expression in the question of the “Rasha” (better known to most of us as the “wicked child”). Without his presence and participation, the entire Seder would be a dull experience. Here is a literal translation of this controversial passage of the Passover Hagadah:

• The wicked son says, ‘What is this service to you?’ Note the Torah says, to you, but not to him; because he has excluded himself from the community. He has denied a basic teaching of the faith. Therefore, you shall smack his teeth and tell him, It is because of this that God wrought for me in my going out of Egypt (Exod. 13:8)‘For me–but not him. Had he been there, he would not have been redeemed.”

The smack in the mouth in front of an entire family creates a toxic atmosphere that is not conducive for sharing and celebrating the Passover holidays.

As a parent, I often have wondered how anyone could call their child “wicked.” The glaring meaning of “Rasha” is arguably offensive. If we are to choose a less offensive title, let us describe him or her as a “Wayward Child,” or perhaps more accurately a “Rebellious Child.” At any rate, our “Rasha” is a person who is a young person who stands perilously close to the edge of his/her Judaism.

Without a wise pedagogical response, the “Rasha” may grow up to disaffiliate as a Jew. Calling him a “Rasha” could become a self-fulfilling prophecy. So we wonder: Why does the “Rasha” strike such a visceral note? The anger of the father deserves special attention. Why does he get upset? How could a simple question push a parent to act so violently at the family Seder? Clearly, the “Rasha” has touched a raw nerve in his father.

If my conjecture is correct, the “wicked” son’s question now begins to make more sense, for she/he may be a child who is dissatisfied with superficial answers. The father may love tradition, but he lacks the ability to articulate to his rebellious adolescent child what it means to be a Jew, especially in a modern age. Of all the children who are present at the Seder table, the “Rasha” is asking the best question of them all.

On a deeper level, the question, “What does this service mean to YOU?” Put in different terms, the child asks, “If the Seder has no deeper meaning for YOU, why should it have any special meaning for ME? How can I make this Seder a self-authenticating experience if the Seder is nothing more than a mechanical exercise? Until I find out the answer, I will not be subject to you or any tradition until I know for sure what it really means, assuming that it means anything at all.”

Regardless of his son’s attitude, he must respond wisely and compassionately—and not with anger and violence. He might have considered saying, “Son, your question is an excellent question—it is precisely the question of this evening. Although I can only speak for myself, but I think the message of Passover applies to you as well. None of us would be celebrating this festive meal had it not been for this important celebration all of our ancestors’ experience of the Exodus. Had our ancestors opted not to leave, you would not recognize the world of the present. Freedom resonates in our soul precisely because our ancestors chose freedom over slavery. They chose the insecurity of freedom over the security of slavery. That is what the holiday means to me—and it might mean the same to you, if you really think about it.” Wise parenting can bypass the Oedipal  conflict that parents routinely experience with their adolescent children.

As I mentioned in the beginning of this article, children have a way of discerning a parent’s Achilles’ heel. A child intuitively knows when parents are just breezing through the motions of religious life—especially in when it pertains to religious ritual. Maybe the rebellious child has a good reason to rebel, for she/he instinctively knows when a parent is real or unreal. The “Rasha” may well see something hollow about his “religious” father.

As parents, Passover reminds us that we need to reexamine what it means to celebrate freedom. Hassidic mystics speak of Egypt as the place of limitations (as intimated by the name “Mitzraim,” the land of straits. On Passover, it is time for us to break out of our narrow-minded way of looking at the world. Passover reminds us to show compassion toward all who are disenfranchised or marginalized.

In all honesty, a wise and loving response from the father might inspire his rebellious son to rethink his attitude about the holiday. There is obviously more to the Seder than the matza ball soup! Continue Reading

 

As we prepare ourselves for the celebration of Passover and give thought to the meaning of freedom. The Passover Hagadah brings us to an important realization: We are not merely the products of the present. In the words of the Hagadah, “And had the Holy Blessed One not taken us out of Egypt, then we, our children and grandchildren would still be slaves to Pharaoh.”

What do these words mean? Think about it . . . The events of the past impact the events of the future. Imagine how history might have changed, were it not for this seminal event of our people? There are turning points of history that forever alter the course of civilization, which creates the stage for the world we now live in.

The question of “What if?” is one of the ancient rabbi’s tools for enhancing our understanding of human history. This simple question may seem counterfactual, but the process of questioning is the vehicle that takes a past event and makes it come alive.

The question of “What if?” reveals the startling stakes that our ancestors faced in a land that disenfranchised and dehumanized them as people. This question is not the only one that the Passover Seder raises. For example, if the Israelites fail to cross the Sea of Reeds, Pharaoh and his hosts would have brought them back to Egypt where they would live out the rest of their lives serving their masters.

One event changes history. Without the Exodus, there is no revelation at Mt. Sinai. By the same token, there would be no “Promised Land,” no prophets, no Kings of Israel, no Temple, no Second Temple, no Maccabees, no Christianity, and no Islam to speak of.

How would the world look today?

Given that the plenitude of dictatorships we see in the world today, it is probably safe to presume that democracy and freedom would be rare. Scholars and rabbis may question the exact historicity of the Exodus, but there can be no question that the entire Torah is predicated upon the memory of the Exodus. For our ancestors, the experience of ill-treatment was real.

If the Israelites choose the security of slavery over the insecurity of freedom, there would never have been an Exodus. Freedom began with a choice.

And so the world changed in the twinkle of an eye . . .

Physicists and meteorologists sometimes speak about a concept known as the “butterfly effect.” According to the meteorologist Ed Lorenz, the earth’s weather systems are perfectly tuned so that even a butterfly’s stirring the air with its wings in the African jungle today will later generate consequences for the storm systems affecting Boston within a few weeks. (By the way, this same kind movement can also be applied with respect to economics, as seen this past year’s gyrations of the stock market.) The effects of the Exodus continue to reverberate over the ages—from ancient times—to the present. The mythos of the Exodus has become embedded in the collective unconscious of all peoples.

The world is still changing as a result of the Exodus. This wonderful holiday beckons all of us to fight for the freedom of all oppressed peoples.

Indeed, God’s glory becomes manifest whenever people free themselves from tyrants. Our sacred stories teach us another important lesson. God does not act unilaterally to free the Israelites from their misery. For freedom to occur there must be a Moses, an Aaron, a Miriam, a Shifra and Puah—good and brave people must take a stand.

Memory in Judaic tradition is never passive. Memory is active, dynamic, and transforming. The Passover Hagadah makes it a point to get the participants imagine themselves as if they were personally present at the original Seder. The Torah makes it a point to reiterate:

• If your kinsman, a Hebrew man or woman, sells himself to you, he is to serve you for six years, but in the seventh year you shall dismiss him from your service, a free man. When you do so, you shall not send him away empty-handed,but shall weight him down with gifts from your flock and threshing floor and wine press, in proportion to the blessing the LORD, your God, has bestowed on you.For remember that you too were once slaves in the land of Egypt, and the LORD, your God, ransomed you. That is why I am giving you this command today (Deut. 15:12-15).
• You shall not violate the rights of the alien or of the orphan, nor take the clothing of a widow as a pledge. For, remember, you were once slaves in Egypt, and the LORD, your God, ransomed you from there; that is why I command you to observe this rule (Deut 24:17-18)

This morning on NPR, I heard the news about Egyptian women fighting for their civil rights. After marching in the streets for more freedom (the more you have, the more you want), the military authorities arrested a large number of women. The Egyptian police took these women to a room where they had to strip. These brave young women had to undergo a “virginity test,” in front of their tormentors.

Samira Ibrahim, 25, a victim of a forced virginity test after being detained in Tahrir Square a year ago, decided to take the Egyptian authorities to court. However, a military tribunal cleared the doctor of all charges.

The Muslim Brotherhood is no friend of the Jews; they despise Western values. After listening to other dissidents who complained about being beaten and incarcerated for weeks, I wondered: Why is our government giving 1.3 billion dollars to a government that despises freedom? Our President needs to be more assertive and make it clear to the Muslim Brotherhood: All financial aid is contingent upon democratizing Egypt.

I am certain our ancestors also experienced this type of treatment in Egypt.

For us, we must do our part and fight for the freedom that the Arab peoples deserve—whether they be in Syria, Egypt, or Iran. Continue Reading

A few weeks ago, we heard President Obama condemn the accidental burning of the Qu’ran. With great interest, I went online to see what the President had to say about the murders that took place in the French city of Toulouse, where three Jewish children along with their father were killed at gunpoint by a crazed Jihadist. The only reference I found was a statement from White House spokesman Tommy Vietor, who said:

• We were deeply saddened to learn of the horrific attack this morning against the teachers and students of a Jewish school in the French city of Toulouse . . . Our thoughts and prayers go out to the families and friends of the victims, and we stand with a community in grief . . . We join the government of France in condemning this unprovoked and outrageous act of violence in the strongest possible terms.

However, a friend of mine later brought to my attention a news article that appeared in today’s Yahoo’s News that said:

• US President Barack Obama has called up his French counterpart Nicolas Sarkozy, to express his solidarity with the people of France as they deal with the aftermath of the “tragic and unprovoked attacks” at a Jewish school . . . “Obama expressed his solidarity with President Sarkozy, and the government and people of France, as they deal with the aftermath of the tragic and unprovoked attacks that left seven dead, including three French soldiers, and three children and a teacher at a Jewish school,” the White House said in a statement after he spoke by phone with Sarkozy while aboard Air Force One en route to Nevada yesterday . . . “Obama welcomed the actions taken by French authorities in identifying and locating a suspect in the killings, and their continued efforts to prevent further acts of violence,” the White House said, adding that Obama underscored that the American people stand shoulder to shoulder with its French allies and friends in this trying time.

This article could have appeared a couple of days ago, but it didn’t. “Better late than never,” I suppose. I think that a  public statement from the President would have made a much greater impression on the international community that America stands shoulder to shoulder with the Jewish victims of terror.

President Obama had nothing to lose politically by offering a Presidential condolence to the French Jewish families and to the American Jewish community would have given all Jews in this country a sense of solidarity.

The President’s advisers made a serious blunder here in failing to advise the President properly–especially in a year where he ought to be concerned about the Jewish vote.

Many American Jews tend to think of anti-Semitic attacks as a part of our past—it’s something a lot of us would much rather forget. However, France, Germany, Italy, and other Eastern European countries have a long history where the Jew suffered for the “crime” of being different.

According to the NY Post, the killer Mohammed Merah may have been in U.S. custody while he was in Afghanistan! “The stunning revelation that the mad Jihadist was once in the hands of the US Army came as the Rabbi Jonathan Sandler, 30, his two boys Arieh, 5, and Gabriel, 4; and a cousin Miriam Monsenego, 8, were laid to rest in Jerusalem in a funeral that drew 1,000 mourners, including the French foreign minister.”[1]

If the NY Post allegation is indeed correct, the President ought to consider making another apology–but this time–to the Jewish community.

Somebody dropped the ball.

“There is a time to speak and a time to be silent” (Eccl. 3:7). When the Palestinians shot 500 rockets at Israeli cities, President Obama also chose silence. I hope that  the loss of Jewish innocents means something in the political world.

One last note:
The Republican candidates running for President had even less to say about the Toulouse attack than did the White House. Perhaps some politicians don’t read or pay much attention to the newspapers. Sen. Santorum can lecture us all he wants about American values,” but empathy for others does not seem to be a part of his moral or religious teachings. Surprisingly, Gov. Mitch Romney also had nothing to say. Still and all, making a public condolence at the time of the attack, or shortly after, is really the job of the President.

Sometimes a story is told as much by silence, as it is by speech.

Notes:

[1] http://www.nypost.com/p/news/international/french_police_turn_out_lights_around_M3gTWTgzc9KDddy8t8jw5N#ixzz1ptJqzP6a

Once there was a rabbi and soap merchant who were debating the pros and cons of religion. The soap merchant said, “Frankly I really don’t see the good of religion. Observe how corrupt the world is because of religion!”  The rabbi listened and said nothing. As they were walking together, they came across a youngster that was playing in a mud puddle. The rabbi said, “My goodness, I really don’t see the value of soap, why doesn’t soap keep the mud off of him? Just look how filthy that child is!”  The soap merchant said, “But rabbi, owning soap is not going to make you clean; you must use the soap daily in order for it to be effective!”

The rabbi, replied, “So too is it with religion. It’s not good enough to simply have or own a religion—you must use it daily in order for it to be effective.” Continue Reading

At our downtown TBS Jewish business ethics class, we discussed an interesting subject dealing with the problem of suspicion. The beginning of Parshat Pikudei (Vyakhale-Pikudei), Moses presents a complete inventory of what all the items that he and the priests collected for the Tabernacle (Exod. 38:21ff. Moses gives a precise accounting of the raw material brought to the Sanctuary: gold (29 talents, 730 shekels), silver (100 talents, 1,757 shekels), copper (70 talents, 2,400 shekels), and so on . . . One might wonder:  If we can’t trust Moses, who could the Israelites trust? If Moses is not above suspicion, then who is?  Why encumber Moses with a ledger?

Rabbinic tradition observes that Moses had more than his fair share of critics. People would look at Moses and say, “Look at his neck, look at his thighs – he is obviously eating and drinking from the property we have donated to the Tabernacle!” Moses’ healthy, strong appearance provided a basis for the cynical charge that he was pilfering. To ensure that the job would be carried out with fairness, Moses delegated the accounting to Itamar, the son of Aaron (Midrash HaGadol, Parshat Pikudei).

Accordingly, Moses responded to his critics by giving a precise accounting for every single coin and article contributed to the Sanctuary. The ethos of the Torah portion stresses the importance of maintaining honest records. Leadership–whether it be spiritual or political—demands transparency and accountability.

Rabbinical literature contains numerous discussions about this particular theme. In one ancient text, the Sages discuss the meaning of a passage, “Be sure to keep the commandments, decrees, and laws that the LORD your God has enjoined upon you. Do what is right and good in the sight of the LORD, that it may go well with you and that you may be able to possess the good land that the LORD your God promised on oath to your fathers.”[1]

The rabbis wondered: What do the words “Do what is right and good” mean? What are its practical implications? They discussed a practical problem that the priests used o encounter in the days of the Second Temple:

The Tosefta records the following law:[2] Whenever someone went in to take the terumah offering from the Shekel-chamber, they would search him before he entered the chamber—and after he exited the chamber.[3] They made it a point to engage him in conversation the entire time he would enter and come out. Why was this procedure so necessary? They went through this procedure in order to fulfill the biblical imperative, “You shall be clear before the LORD and before Israel.”[4]

The Tosefta implies that when dealing with public monies, the priests of the Temple must keep a watchful eye upon anyone who enters the shekel (money) room at all times. The Sages feared that the access to Temple funds might prove to be a temptation for greedy individuals.  Ergo, the Sages decided to create safeguards to prevent theft or the accidental co-mingling of personal monies with the Temple monies. To ensure honesty, they conducted a body search of the officer’s  body and clothing. This view was championed by Rabbi Ishmael.

The Tosefta in Shekalim 3:2 continues exploring the theme of “being clear before the LORD” and what that practically means:

However, according to a different rabbinical view that the Tosefta attributes to R. Akiba:

• The collector may not enter dressed in a loose-hanging garment [with sleeves in which money can be concealed—so that he would not be suspected of stealing from the Temple office] nor wearing boots or sandals or phylacteries or an amulet [in which money can be hidden], lest he become impoverished and people will say that he became impoverished because of his transgression in the Temple office [i.e., stealing its money], or lest he become rich and people will say that he enriched himself from the money in the Temple office. For a person must be as blameless before his fellow man as before God, as Scripture states: “You shall be clear before the LORD and before Israel,” and “You will find favor and approbation in the eyes of God and humankind” (Deut. 6:18).[5]

Based upon this opinion, the Temple officials did not subject a person to demeaning searches of his clothing and body; it is adequate if he takes care not to enter the office wearing clothing and objects that could possibly make him suspect. The Halacha follows Rabbi Akiba.

The moral of the rabbinical discussion boils down to one simple principle: Leadership–in all its guises–needs to be beyond suspicion.

Classes in Jewish law and Talmud often lead to some interesting digressions. In one discussion, the lawyers of the class raised the question about the TSA body searches. One of my students observed that in her opinion, the Mishnah seems to also suggest that body searches conducted by the TSA in many of our airports violate both common sense and human dignity.

Her point was well taken.

Performing a body search on a six-year little girl, or a 93 year old woman often involve the kind of groping that authorities would identify with child-molesting, or sexually exploitation. After considerable complaining, it seems that the TSA is beginning to look at other methods that have been used in Israel for years with great success. As mentioned earlier, body searches are not necessary for cases that are obvious to the naked eye. They are necessary only if there appears to be an element of impropriety and suspicion (e.g., wearing loose fitting clothing). All other things being equal, we do not subject people to a body search because it demeans the individual, and for that reason it is also considered to be demeaning to God.

A more practical and prudent approach involves talking to passengers, observe their body language, watching their eyes as they respond to basic questions. Such methods do not diminish the value of a human being–and this method works quite brilliantly for the Israelis. It is amazing to see how some of the Mishnaic methods of antiquity offer practical guidelines that can help us preserve human dignity while working to solve the problem of terrorism. Continue Reading

Who says  that a picture is not worth more than a 1000 words?