Chanukah and Christmas After the Holocaust

The Holocaust, arguably, has been the most studied event in human history.  And yet, 75 years after the liberation of Auschwitz, has anything changed?


I would say yes but not enough.  Many of us who have studied what happened in those days, are horrified by what happened and have discovered the capacity for evil inside human beings.  We have learned how an entire society can be overtaken with hatred and fear.  We have been forced to see the capacity of human beings to kill other human beings in large numbers.  And today we are compelled to see the ongoing “lethal obsession” with hatred of Jews.


Let’s be honest: Despite all the hoopla surrounding Christmas and Chanukah, the Holocaust was a time when the darkness overwhelmed the light.  The Holocaust years were a time when human evil defeated the divine purpose of redeeming the world.  And no amount of religious piety should diminish what happened during those days.


If we Jews and Christians keep on talking, teaching and exhorting about the Holocaust, it is because we refuse to believe that human beings cannot be human.  We refuse to believe hate and fear will have the final word.  We refuse.

This Chanukah and Christmas let us commit ourselves anew to remember those days, to teach them to our children, and to do everything we can to prevent the darkness from overcoming the light

The Wounded Memory

There is an old Jewish saying, “In memory lies redemption.”  In many ways this saying rings true.  But memory is not always redemptive.  Sometimes its wounds are old, lie within us and will not go away.  My parents survived the Holocaust, but their wounds accompanied them all their lives.  They wanted to forget but they could not forget. At night my father would scream out loud haunted by those days.


In a recent article in Christian Century, which I highly recommend, Shelly Rambo who teaches at the Boston University School of Theology wrote an important piece, “How Christian Theology and Practice are being shaped by trauma studies.”


In this article, Dr. Rambo is critical of theologies which glorify pain and suffering or use their existence as a way of explaining the will of God.  Her point is the wounds carried by the wounded are not so easily explained or wiped away by justifying theologies or theodicies.  Our job is not to do away with the wounds but to help people figure out how to live with them and through them.


In Jewish tradition we teach: Salvation does not come through suffering, evil or death.  To be saved from the power of sin, death and evil is to consciously and intentionally be honest about and defy these three.  Jews, Christians and Muslims each have their own way but not by theologically blessing the wounds, rather by facing the wounds caused by life and not submitting to their power. 

Can God Evolve?

We do not know much about the mysterious force at the heart of the universe we call God.   In the Book of Exodus, when Moses asks God his name, the Hebrew tells us the best but ambiguous translation is, “I will be what I will be.”


Maybe God is not some paternalistic stable entity sitting on a golden throne with a plan but a God who interacts with human beings constantly evolving to accomplish a particular purpose?  Humans have a certain measure of freedom.  They are constantly making decisions.  Perhaps God agrees or disagrees with these decisions.  Perhaps God is a spiritual energy force which keeps trying to influence our decision making.  Perhaps God is sometimes successful and sometimes not?


What if it’s all about physics?  What if the nature of nature and the nature of human nature is a constant interaction based on the principals of physics?  


It seems clear whatever power God possesses it is not being used to stop all the suffering and evil in the world.  Perhaps God’s commitment to human free will and to letting nature be nature means living on this planet has always been and will continue to be a precarious endeavor.
  

To paraphrase William James, philosophy is a peculiar stubborn obsession to think clearly.   Theology is a peculiar stubborn obsession to believe and speak honestly.  One of the things we can do to remain sane is to pursue these two obsessions with all we’ve got and hope for the best.

Is Anybody Driving the Bus?

We live in a time when increasing amounts of people are concluding there is no God.  More and more of my students are either agnostic or atheist in their religious affiliation.  When I first came to Augustana, most students were either Lutheran with a minority Roman Catholic.  Today, less than half are Lutheran, a quarter Roman Catholic and another quarter with little or no religious tradition.

What can we say about this phenomenon?   

The world is a chaotic place and each day the News media informs us of ongoing catastrophes and evil.  If your expectation is God is supposed to stop these terrible things from happening, then it makes sense to conclude that is no one in charge of driving the bus.  And the bus seems to be careening down the highway, no one at the wheel, with periodic crashes and tragedies.


When we say or pray the word God, what do we mean?  What image do we picture in our minds?  The image we possess determines our expectations or disappointments.  If we assume it is God’s job to keep the world orderly and civil, we will not be happy.
  

Some will argue God gave human beings “free will.”   Others speak of the mystery at the heart of the universe.  Some say there is a hidden plan or purpose which we cannot understand.

But the increasing numbers of atheists tells us the old defenses and explanations no longer work as well.  


Is anybody driving the bus?  Some say, they are convinced someone is there and God is real.  Others are equally convinced no one is there.  We will not know the truth until the day we die. 


Meanwhile, we ought not be frightened of the question.  Let’s admit we have never been sure of what is or is not there.  Is there anybody at the wheel?  

For people of faith this is nothing new.  We have always lived inside this tension.  We were always aware that faith is trusting without knowing for sure.  So it has been and so it will be.

Do Thinking and Religion Mix?

In all my years of teaching I have encouraged my students to think about and understand their religious faith and tradition.  I have urged, provoked, agitated and aggravated them buttressing my words with the quote from scripture, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, your soul and your mind.”  


But there are times when I wonder if I am right.  The more I spend time thinking about parts of my own religious tradition, the more problematic that tradition becomes.  Many of us were brought up to think critically, to ask questions, to assume the authorities could be wrong.  But when we do this in the area of religion, it seems to create doubts, unbelief and abandonment of key parts of our religious tradition. Does thinking about religion work? Or does religion work best when we don’t ask too many questions?


I suppose it depends what we mean by the word, work.   If the goal of our thinking is to defend and support what our religion teaches, then, critical thinking can weaken what has been taught.  It raises questions about why we do what we do.  Did all this stuff come from God?  Or did people make it up and declare that it came from God? And is our tradition always right?


But, here’s the thing, religious traditions have always been mingled with puzzling mysteries, inconsistent stories, unreliable declarations, and allusive and elusive scriptures urging us to trust and act in particular ways. The easiest way to proceed is to bow our heads and believe, no critical thinking required.


But for many of us the old days of just believing without thinking are over.  Thinking and religion do mix if you think and trust that real and truthful religion is not frightened of questions and integrity. Maybe thinking does not support the most naïve faith but it does support and endorse the most honest faith.  


Having said all that, I remember being in India and asking a Hindu holy man, where he thinks the notion of reincarnation came from.  He looked at me with a wry smile and with a certain mellow wisdom in his voice, said, “That is a very Western question.  It will not bring you to the truth.”  For him reincarnation just is and that is all he needs to know.


So, are we Westerners asking the wrong questions?  If we want our religious faith and tradition to have integrity, what else can we do?  For us thinking and religion must and do mix whether such thinking bolsters our faith or not! 

The Complexity of Faith

Sometimes we are given the impression that faith is a simple thing.  Just close your eyes, trust, sing a hymn, and you’re done.  God is at work and nothing bad will ever happen to you.  Trust in the reliability and promises of God and your life will go well.  Everything happens for a reason.  Heaven is waiting.  Faith is simple.  Keep singing the old hymns.  Every day brings new hope.


But it’s not true.  Faith is complicated.  It has to do with trusting without knowing for sure and trusting when trusting makes no sense.  

We have five senses by which we comprehend and decode reality.  Theology, talk about an invisible God, is not simple.  It is complex and it becomes extremely complex when we are living through chaos.  Chaos is the feeling of being out of control or forced to live with little or no order in our lives.


In the scriptures God is pictured as constantly wrestling with chaos, the chaos of nature and the chaos of human nature.  Sometimes God succeeds and sometimes God fails.  Chaos is chaotic and hard to control. It is an inexorable part of life.


Sometimes we need to ask ourselves what it is we are trusting God to do.  Some will assert, God gives us the strength to survive the chaos.  But that is not always true.  Some people do not survive the craziness of life and are swallowed up in its tumult.


All I’m saying is trusting in the providence of God is not easy.  Atheists and agnostics have a point we ought not ignore.  Trusting in God is a risk we take, hoping against hope, God is there and cares about us.


Faith is complex because it occurs despite the chaos of life, in spite of the chaos of life, and to spite the chaos of life.  Faith and doubt are two sides of the same coin.  And there will be times when the doubt side of the coin makes the most sense.


I am not against faith.  I am a person of faith.  But our faith needs to be honest and steeped in integrity.  Faith is not simple.  Faith is complex.

Religions are Fine But Not Divine

Why is there religion and where did it come from?   The world’s religions did not drop down from the sky.  Religions were invented by human beings because they responded to certain vital questions and experiences.


Since human creatures have been wandering on the earth, they have wondered how did we get here, what are we doing here, how shall we live our lives, is there a God or gods, is there life after life?  Great spiritual minds wrestled with these questions. 


These great minds had faith they had received certain true revelations from the beyond in the here and now.  They came to believe the invisible is more important than the visible.  That what does not meet the eye is greater than what meets the eye.  And if you believe you will see the truth.


Stories, rituals, holy people came to articulate the revealed truths.  And from there, religions, scriptures, liturgies, creeds and traditions developed. 


What and if God had anything to do with all of this is hard to say.  Each of us within our respective religions believe our revelation has the truth or at least a proper glimpse of the truth.


Religions are fine but they are not necessarily divine.  If anything, the major religions of the world may be a glimpse of the truth.  But there is so much extraneous material in each religion, it’s difficult to figure out what is true and what is not.


The religious questions which began all this are still with us.  How and if God interacts with these different religious traditions and believers is impossible to say.


Let’s all then be humble and honest about what we trust and remember we could be wrong.  Another religious tradition may be right.  Since our religious knowledge is tentative at best, believe what you want to believe, defend it to the hilt, but respectfully disagree with those who differ.  This seems the better part of wisdom.

The Secret and Mystery of the Shofar

Soon, it will happen again.  In a few days during the Jewish holidays of Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur, the shofar will be blown.  It is always a special and holy moment when the shofar or ram’s horn is blown.


As a boy I remember being mesmerized by the beautiful sacred haunting sound.  It was part of the majesty and mystery of the high holy days.


The Rabbis teach us many reasons for the blowing of the shofar.  Some say it stems from the ram caught in the thicket which Abraham offered instead of his son, Isaac.  Others say it is a cry of repentance on the part of the Jewish people.   Still others say it is reminiscent of the shofar being blown during the giving of the Torah on Mount Sinai.  And there are many other reasons . . .


The one I appreciate the most: the shofar creates the sounds of the victims throughout history wailing their pain, struggle and faith in a desperate attempt to awaken God from his slumber. The shofar is a plea of hope and sanity.  It is a sigh, a cry, and a prayer too great for words.


More than anything the shofar brings Jews across the world together again.  If there is anything Jewish in your soul, you will come to hear its sound.


This year, Rosh Hashanah (literally head of the year), is the Jewish New Year 5780.  It begins a ten day period of introspection and reconciliation with those you have hurt during the past year, leading to the holiday of Yom Kippur, the day of atonement, when Jews as a community ask God for forgiveness and implicitly forgive God for his silence in their suffering.


Soon, it will happen again. The shofar will sound its eerie notes encouraging us to trust against trust and imploring God to act like God.  It is indeed a holy moment.

A Leap of Faith

Faith is trusting without knowing for sure.  


Our scriptures exhort us to love God with all our heart, soul and mind.  We are commanded to love the deity with all our intellect.  We do not have faith by believing mindlessly, thoughtlessly and without questions.  I cannot believe that we have been given a brain in order to disregard its ability to analyze and question when it comes to God and religion. 


Whatever God is about and indeed if there is a God, he, she, it is invisible, complicated, mysterious, inscrutable, unpredictable and methodologically questionable.  It is not a violation of trust to have such thought or questions.  It is an inherent part of trusting without knowing for sure.

And any God worth the name would encourage such questions and doubts as an expression of our faith.


So, do not feel guilty about wondering if any of this religious stuff is true.  Count yourself as normal and alive.
  

A friend of mine who works with the poor in the inner city cautions me: There are those whose lives do not possess the privilege of sitting around, thinking and asking questions.  They are the poor whose questions have to do with whether they will have food or shelter or a bed for the coming night.  For them any small bit of good news is a blessing from God.  They do not have time to doubt or the inclination to ask God questions.


Some would say these people live a simple faith, a trust which says, “God is in control, everything happens because God wants it to happen for some mysterious plan or purpose, we are unable to decipher.  Questions and doubts are contrary to faith.   All we can do is trust that God knows best.”
  

But I wonder, is it possible, these people with the simple faith are not blind or stupid or leaping into the darkness.  Those who continue to trust despite what they see are implicitly by the nature of their faith and trust confronting and accusing God with their own implicit questions, doubts and hopes.  It takes courage and wisdom to have such a faith and to live such a life.  The simple fact is:  there are just different ways of questioning the justice of God.  Their expectations, theology and faith are their way.  And maybe that will have to be enough.  What do you think?


Have a restful rest of the summer.


P.S.  The blog will be on break for the month of August.  Thank you for reading and thinking with me.

Respectful Stubbornness

We live in a world where there are different ways of being religious.  People can decide to practice their religion or have no religion as they each see fit.


But we know, it does not mean everybody therefore gets along.  Religion has to do with truth.  It explains why we bother to get out of bed in the morning.  Our religions tell us how we got here, the meaning of our lives and deaths, the truth about God and how God has or has not been revealed to us.  Religion is not just something made up long ago; some would say it is the truth as revealed by God to each respective tradition.  So, while it sounds harmonic to say we are all part of the human family and we should agree to disagree, it’s not that easy.
  

I propose we admit that multiple religions mean multiple conflicting revelations.  The world’s major religions have been around a long time and their believers trumpet the revelation they possess and that possesses them.  So, what are we to do?   I suggest respectful stubbornness.
  

We each confess our religious beliefs, articulate them as clearly as possible, learn from each other where we can but feel free to dispute where we disagree.  This includes those who are atheist or agnostic.  The freedom to respectfully disagree comes from our necessary and inherent religious humility, the sense that we can be self-serving and could be wrong.  Absolutizing our religious beliefs is an act of idolatry. We are, after all, human beings and human beings make mistakes, believe all sorts of crazy things and are sometimes just plain wrong.


 I am a Jew.  I cannot understand myself apart from the Jewish people and the Jewish tradition.  But I have studied and am willing to listen to other religious truths because I know my religious beliefs are tentative and only a glimpse of what could be the ultimate truth.  I hope you will admit the same is true for your beliefs.


We have so much to learn from each other if we can put aside our instinct to guard and protect the purity of our beliefs.  So, I say, maintain your beliefs stubbornly but be open to learn where you could be wrong.  Respectful stubbornness can work.  By the way, this is true for politics as much as religion. 

Writing a Book about Elie Wiesel

I have decided to write a book about Elie Wiesel.  Elie Wiesel is arguably the most important theological writer in the past fifty years.  Wiesel wrote fifty-three books as a witness to what happened during the Holocaust.  In many of these books he grappled with his understanding of God.  I am planning to write a book dealing with Wiesel’s understanding of God during those days.


In his first and most celebrated book, Night, Wiesel declares his problem with the justice of God.  As he says, “I was no longer the accused.  I was the accuser.”  Wiesel wrote his many books in the name of those millions of Jews murdered during the Holocaust.  Their voices had been stilled but their questions could not be silenced.  Wiesel wrote on their behalf and asked questions about the character and methodology of God.  The strange part about Wiesel’s work is he did not see his questions as a sign of unbelief but as part of a commitment to God and God’s promises.


Whenever a writer writes, the blank page or screen stares back and makes him or her wonder if they have anything worthwhile to say.  But this book has been cooking inside me for many years.  So here it goes.

Vacation is Fine, But . . .

I love to travel but I do not travel well.  My circadian body and brain waves know when I have left the comforts of home and they insistently and anxiously enquire as to why I have vacated such a pleasant place.  I explain that it’s called summer vacation.  You travel to northern Minnesota to experience the shimmering beauty of Ten Mile Lake.  You relaxingly walk through the quaint shops and eating facilities of Walker and Hackensack, Minnesota.  In the house you rent, you sit on the deck and stare at the water, listen to the loons communicating with each other, get away from the everyday and come down a bit from the usual tensions of life.  All of this is true.


Vacations are fine but they take you away from the one place where you have some control and comfort.  That place is called home.  Yes, I have travelled throughout the world, from India to Israel to Poland to Slovakia to Montreal.  But, as I get older, I find myself increasingly becoming a homebody.


It is well said that the opposite of faith is control. At home, you feel mostly in control and relatively safe. On vacation, you are less in control and forced to trust without knowing for sure.  Along with all the wonders of the lake are its uncontrollable aspects: the weather cloudy and cool with chances of rain each day, the hungry voracious mosquitoes who inhabit your bedroom and seem to delight in waiting until you go to sleep before they attack,  the low seat uncomfortable toilets with which my becoming older body is less than pleased, and the indigestion and stomach aches which kick in whenever I indulge in a lot of junk food.


And, think about it, the word travel itself originates from the old French word travail meaning “work.”


Vacations are fine but . . .  they are a lot of work.  I give massive credit to my wife for getting everything ready for the trip and organizing the schedule of what to do and where to eat up there.  And, don’t get me wrong.  I love sitting in front of the lake and watching the sun touch the water creating a sparkling diamond effect.  Just plain spiritually beautiful!  But when I come home, I feel my whole limbic system take a sigh of relief and relax.  The work is done, now the true vacation begins.

Believing and Not Believing in God

Years ago, I was traveling to Salt Lake City to deliver a lecture at a conference dealing with “The Aftermath of the Holocaust.”  Sitting in the courtesy van after arriving in Utah, I was seated next to a gentleman from Israel, also attending the conference.  As we talked, he asked me what my presentation would be about.  I told him the title of my paper was: Speaking of God After Auschwitz?”  He gave me an odd paternalistic look and then in the kindest solicitous voice said, “My good sir, there is no god.”  It was as if he were telling me as a child, there is no Easter rabbit or Santa Claus. 


Such events make me wonder if indeed, as a religious affirming person, I am wrong.  Have I invested my life in nonsense? Am I just another human being distressed by the thought of being alone in the world, fearful of death, and controlled by fear, imagining myself being accompanied by a parental character called, God, when there is nothing there?


This, of course, is our contemporary dilemma.  We hear the voices of those who are convinced there is no God and no meaning to our existence.  We wonder if they are right and we are wrong.  Those of us who think about such things know we must ask the questions, though they may cause doubts and even unbelief, because they bring integrity to our faith.  Our scriptures are aware of our existential plight: “Lord, I believe, help my unbelief.”
    

My sense is this:  If you’re going to be a person of honest faith, trusting without knowing for sure, you are going to have to live in the tension between belief and unbelief.  Some days you will think all this talk of God is part of some religious mythology made up and imagined by the ancients, while other days you will wonder if something of purpose is going on in our lives.  Such is the life of trusting in an invisible, mysterious, inscrutable, puzzling force at the heart of the universe, who we hope is for us and not against us.  

We are either fools afraid of our own shadows or among the wise who believe what seems ludicrous to believe.  Of course, we may be both.  Don’t run away from this tension, embrace it!

Why I Keep Studying the Holocaust

For the past forty years I have been obsessed by the Holocaust. It may be because my parents were survivors.  Maybe because I am Jewish.  Maybe because so many of my relatives were murdered over there.  Whatever it is, I teach the Holocaust in my classes.  I read what I can on the subject.  I have visited Auschwitz and Buchenwald.  I have been to the Holocaust Museum in Washington, D. C.  I am presently thinking of writing a book on the works of Elie Wiesel.
  

Why do I care so much about an event that is almost eighty years in our past?  Isn’t it enough?  What more can possibly be said or discovered?  Let it go.  But I cannot and will not.  Why?


Eighty years ago, in the heart of Europe something happened which revealed to us the light and the darkness of the human soul.  The Nazi revelation teaches us the capacities of the human being to commit evil and to be rationally convinced that doing so is right.  Yes, there have been other horrific events which could also function as a revelation but none so well documented and unprecedented as the Holocaust.


There is book entitled: The Nazi Conscience by Claudia Koonz.  She describes how Nazis woke up each day, went to their jobs, day after day after day, murdered Jews and others in massive numbers and were convinced they were right.  Their consciences were clear.  Many were lifelong Christians who did not see any contradiction between the mass killing and the Gospel of their faith.  For all their training in religious faith, their love of classical music, their education steeped in the liberal arts, none of it prevented the evil which occurred. Some of Hitler’s most prominent supporters were university professors in the Humanities and Natural Sciences not to mention prominent Christian pastors, theologians and philosophers. 
   

The Holocaust is a warning to us about what can happen.


As time goes by and the survivors continue to die, will the memory of the Holocaust also diminish, decline and fade away?  Today, the younger generations tell us they have not heard of it. 


So, I cannot and will not let go because I hope against hope if we keep studying, it may cumulatively have some effect.  Maybe, some of my students will eventually teach the Holocaust themselves.  Maybe a student who became a Pastor will remember, in his or her sermon, to caution the congregation to be aware of anti-Judaism in the New Testament.  Maybe some will teach their children to remember.  Maybe some will not forget. I hope so.


If I keep studying and teaching the Holocaust it is because I am puzzled and dismayed by the amazing power of fear in our brains.  That fear seems to resist taming by love, religion, the arts, the sciences, theology and philosophy, psychological therapy, and of course common sense.  There is something in our brains that resists taming the fear of the stranger.


To be honest, remembering and studying the Holocaust may not prevent other mass murders.  Since 1945 there have been many catastrophes, from the Cambodian Khmer Rouge murders to the Rwandan genocide and much more.  The killing has not stopped.  We feel helpless and it may be hopeless, but that is precisely why we must do what we can never to forget.  It is why I cannot stop studying the Holocaust.  The old Jewish saying is correct, “In memory lies redemption.”

Remembering My Father

My father, Bernard Haar emigrated to America in 1947.  Having survived the camps which were part of the Nazi madness, he never spoke about his experience.   He married my mother Pola whom he had met in a DP camp in Germany. In New York City, he worked long hours, six days a week, as a clothing operator in a sweat shop but he hated the work.  And he constantly exhorted and encouraged me saying, “Get an education so you won’t have to do this.”  He came home from work each day tired, worn out, falling asleep on the living room chair after supper.


He was Jewish but not very religious though he never ceased to exhort me not to forget I was Jewish.   He could be stern, and he had a temper, but he could also be kind and caring with a humorous twinkle in his eyes.  When I was ill, he had this most wonderfully concerned and caring look on his face.   But, when I had not behaved well during the day, he could, when he came home from work, and at my Mom’s instigation, go after me with his belt.  Such was parenting in those days.


Despite all that, many days I would go to the Moshulu train station on Jerome Avenue and wait for him to come home from work.  I loved him but did not know him and I am not sure he knew what to make of me.  I was rebellious and questioned his authority.  It was the 1960’s and I embraced that era and was embraced by it.  


 He liked to play pinochle on the weekends in the park with “the old men.”  On Friday and Saturday nights he was gone late into the night to play poker with other survivors from those days.
  

At home he and my Mom argued in Yiddish and Polish a lot, mostly about money, my Dad’s constant card playing and who knows what else?  They did not have much and lived from paycheck to paycheck.  They had come from Europe but had never really acclimated to the States.  All their lives they lived in one-bedroom apartments and slept on a hide-a-bed in the living room, so their kids could have a real bed in the lone bedroom.


My father and I did not talk much, but we played Stratego, Rummy, went swimming together, and walked to Crotona park to have a catch.  He would throw the Spalding ball high in the air and I would try to catch it.  What a grand memory!  One time we went to Yankee stadium, but he did not enjoy the experience.


After I joined the Air Force, he would write me many letters exhorting me not to forget I was Jewish.  When I was twenty-one and at the height of my adolescent wisdom, nothing my parents said could dissuade me from what I knew was right; I decided to become a Christian.   My Dad tried to talk me out of my great wisdom.  But I was stubborn, foolish and determined. Only with age did I discover how wrong I had been and how I had hurt my parents, especially my Dad unnecessarily.  I am sorry, Dad.


When my father was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in 1979, I went home to see him.  We talked and I confessed that I now realized my mistaken decisions.  We went for a long walk on a beautiful sunny Fall day in the Bronx, father and son just talking.  When it was time for me to leave, and as the taxi waited outside the apartment building on Gates Place, we hugged, I said, “I love you Dad”; we kissed on the lips and said good-by.   There is so much more I still wanted to say to him.  

Up until the day he died, my father had black hair.  He looked twenty years younger than he was.  But when I told him, “Dad, you look young.”  He would routinely answer, “Yes, but I feel old.”


I hope my own children realize the fragility of life.  I hope we will talk and say what we want and need to say.  Life is indeed short.  You’re here and then you’re not here.  Btw, I think my Dad did the best he could with what he had and what had happened to him. I forgave him his human flaws as he forgave me mine.  Here’s to Bernard Haar.  May his memory be for a blessing.  I miss him.

Life After Life

Having entered my seventh decade, I think about what it all means.  While the human brain is amazingly agile, it has problems with mortality.  I know intellectually that getting older and eventually dying is part of life.  But my brain is not at home with that reality.  Maybe I fear the process of deterioration, the thought of saying good-bye, and let’s be honest, disappearing is a strange phenomenon.  Intellectually I understand it but emotionally I fear it.


There is an old word used by theologians called prolepsis.  A future event holds us in its grip for good or for bad though it has not yet occurred.  Christians tell us of their hope that when we die, we shall be raised to live with God eternally.  Jews talk about the “olam haba”, the world to come, where we shall live with God and study texts in that realm.  And Muslims also trust in a life after life where the way we have lived our lives will be examined.  So, why are these words not comforting?
  

Because I am not sure I believe it.  Is there really something else going on?  I hope so but I am not sure.  Some of you have more certainty or stronger trust than I do.


But, here’s the deal. Every night I lay down, let go, and disappear for about eight hours and the world seems to get along quite well without me.  When I go on sabbatical from the university, they keep right on teaching Religion without me.  And if or when I become seriously ill, how would that be different from what happens to everybody else? The fact is, we are engaged in “perpetual loss” and we are compelled to figure out how to keep going day after day.


This fear of getting sick and dying is sobering and real.  We all feel it.   But I do not intend to let it control me.  We are here to live our lives as well as possible.  I say to you and myself, be honest, express your fears and doubts but don’t let them run your life.  Live your life as well and full as you can and, life after life will take care of itself.

Speaking in Chapel

This past week, I spoke in chapel.  As usual, it was a nerve-wracking experience.  Why?  First, I am a Jew and a former Christian speaking in a Christian Lutheran chapel under the shadow of the cross.  I have about 8-10 minutes to say something worthwhile.  And, I feel like the insider/outsider stranger speaking. 


I spoke about faith being a problematic and unsure endeavor.  Faith means trusting in an invisible mysterious unpredictable being with an inconsistent record.  It means trusting without knowing for sure, with the distinct possibility of being wrong.  As much as I believe there is something going on, that there is meaning and a God behind all that is happening, I could just as easily be deluded. 


After the Holocaust, how God is present in the world is problematic and we ought to be honest about it.  Acting like nothing has happened and we can just turn the page and go on doing what was always done is problematic, a betrayal of the victims, and terribly unjust.
  

So, chapel is a troubled and anxious space for me.  But I appreciate the honor of being asked, and the willingness of students and faculty to listen. 


As always, I bolted out the side door right after the service, because I feel like an intruder into somebody else’s faith tradition and need to exit quickly.


So, why do it? Why speak in chapel if it produces so much anxiety?  Because after all that has happened between Jews and Christians, between me and the Christian Church, after the Holocaust, it is important to have one Jew, maybe the only one ever in this place, to speak up with all due respect, and say again the ever important Jewish no and yes.

Why Antisemitism?

Why does it go on from day to day, month to month, year to year, and generation to generation?  Jews are assaulted or killed, a synagogue or temple is attacked by a gunman, all sadly unsurprising.   Why?


The answer is not so hard; the remedy is more problematic. The answer is fear through ignorance, undergirded by obsessive hatred and conspiratorial thinking, exploding with violence by readily available weapons.


The remedy is not so easy to come by.  We have tried and are trying education, cultural pressure, emphasis on love being more powerful than hate, religious interfaith dialogues, Holocaust studies, and a myriad of other attempts to stop the killing.  While there has been some success, the hatred and murder go on.  Again, Why???


Because in our brains, fear and hate are more powerful than all the attempts to stop it.  Whether you or I like it or not, some people continue to believe there are a group of Jews sitting somewhere, meeting and plotting to control the world.  It’s a belief, a faith, a trust they think is true despite anything else being reported.  And in an era of “fake news”, some are skeptical of anything reported or taught. 


Antisemitism is indeed “the longest hatred.”  Despite the fact the killings go on, we must do all we can to teach, to preach, and to educate.  There may not be much hope of completely stopping the fear and hatred.  We may feel helpless.   But that is precisely why we must do whatever we can.
  

I will keep teaching, you do what you can where you are; speak out, refuse to keep silent.  The potential for evil in our hearts and brains may not be eradicable, but we must struggle to keep it at bay. Human beings have the capacity for evil, but they also have the capacity for good.  Do what you can where you live.

Remembering Duane Addison

Duane Addison died this week at the age of 88.  In the 1970’s and 80’s, he was a member of the Religion department at Augustana.  He taught the introductory Religion course, a course on the Prophets and World Religions.  When I first came to Augustana he was a kind, helpful and welcoming presence.


Duane was a passionate supporter of social justice issues.  He cared and felt deeply about those who had been oppressed.  In his classes social justice always played a prominent role.  He was known for being moved to tears in class whenever he felt touched by what he was teaching. Some students were uncomfortable with Duane’s prominent display of emotion.  But he was who he was, a “tender soul” who cared deeply about those who were in pain.


For some years my family lived next door to him in Sioux Falls.  We had some fine conversations, would periodically help each other clean the gutters in our respective houses and shoveled each other’s driveways when it snowed.  I officiated at his marriage to his bride Eva.  The talk was entitled “Back to the tent,” and dealt with the biblical Isaac meeting Rebecca for the first time.


Duane Addison was not without the usual human flaws, but he was a good man, a mensch.  His was a life lived in the service of social justice and I am remembering him.

The Fool Says in his Heart, There is no God

A refrain throughout the Psalms and Proverbs in the Bible calls out “the fool” who says there is no God.  I have been puzzled by the inclusion of these verses in the Bible.  At first, I suspected there actually were people over two thousand years ago who thought there was no God, ancient atheists being called out.  But I was wrong.
  

When you look at the Psalms (particularly 14 and 53), you will notice the criticism of these so-called fools or better “scoundrels” (Robert Alter’s word) was not that they intellectually had concluded there was no God but that their actions, which were corrupt, displayed their lack of faith.  The “fools” were not atheists in our sense of the term; they were people who lived their lives as if no one was watching.  They were individuals doing what they wanted, when they wanted, however they wanted, assuming there was no community, only their own self-interest.  The scoundrels were pure ego obsessed humans.  Nothing else mattered.
  

Today’s scoundrels park their cars in the designated disabled areas, feel free to ignore speed limits and red lights, respond to emails and texts late or never at all, are consumed and obsessed with their phones regardless of the effect, lie at will, live as if there is no God watching and they and only they are the center of the universe. The list could go on and on.


James L. Kugel, in his thoughtful book, In the Valley of the Shadow, talks about the amazing smallness of the human being and the “looming outside” of God.
  

Passover and Easter are two holy days which declare, “God is God and you are not.”  In the confluence of these two moments, we hear again about the power of God, the mortality and smallness of the human being.
    

May this Passover and Easter be a time when we will resolve not to be the scoundrel or act in a foolish way.  After all, what we do reflects who or what we trust.

Spring Blizzards and Air Force Memories

As we endure yet another Spring blizzard, I recall my arrival in this part of the world many years ago.  I remember the day well.  It was May 17, 1968.   I flew into Minot North Dakota wearing shorts and a short sleeve shirt to discover it was snowing.  I wondered what planet I had landed on, and what I had gotten myself into.  I was nineteen years old, in the Air Force, young, naïve, and lost.  I even wrote Senator Javits in New York to get me out of this place.  My letter did not work.


I came to be in Minot because the Air Force had promised to show me the world.  They did not.  I was first sent to San Antonio, Texas, Lackland Air Force Base for basic training.  I was barely 18, Jewish and in Texas.   Basic training was a kind of reparenting.  I was the youngest in my unit and frightened.  We were told again and again, “There’s a right way, a wrong way and our way.  And our way is the right way.”  No questions were allowed.  It took me quite awhile to adjust.  They shaved our heads, gave us a uniform, and began shouting orders.  I was young and scared.  What was I doing here?  Then I remembered.  I had joined the Air force to run away from home and I had succeeded.  But where had I landed?


I was transferred next to Biloxi Mississippi, another hub of Jewish activity, for radar training.  From there I was sent to a remote isolated radar base in Iceland.  After spending a year there, my final assignment for the next two and a half years was Minot.


Stationed at a radar base south of Minot, I did my job as a radar operator but was in truth a New York Jew in North Dakota, a fish out of water with few other fish and not much water around.  And I say again, I was young and lost, trying to figure out who I was and what to do with my life.


For all the craziness of the Air Force years, I tip my hat to them.  They forced me to grow up. They taught me to make a bed, to shave, to drive a car, most important to be disciplined and to not always think I was right.  This was also a time when I acquired many questions about life, faith, war and God. 
      

It’s been quite a trip for this Jewish boy from the Bronx.  I ran away from my home, my religion and my community only to return years later and know the place and tradition for the first time.  T. S. Eliot was right, “We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.”


By the way, while I did not settle down in Minot, I came to love this part of the world, the open skies and beautiful plains, and of course the four uncertain inconsistent indistinct seasons that make up our lovely weather. 

A Tribute to Bert Tiesen

I first met Bert Tiesen at Hy-Vee on Minnesota Avenue in Sioux Falls.  He was distributing tastes of apples and pears.  He had a gentle spirit about him; he took time to walk over with me and recommend the best of each fruit.  As we talked, he told me how he had been a chiropractor with his father for many years near Freeman. He retired at the age of 70.  But, now in his 70’s he felt he should be doing something in the community.  Besides he liked meeting and talking to people.  So, he took a job at Hy-Vee.


He asked what classes I was teaching at Augustana and seemed quite interested.  I told him to come and sit in on one of my courses.  For many years after that day, every Fall, Interim and Spring, Bert sat in my classes, purchased all the books, participated in class discussions, took the exams, wrote the essays, and was a fine intelligent student.  In his mid-80’s he still drove himself to Augie, took classes, was excited to learn, continued to read all the books, wrestled with their content and engaged the questions raised in the class.  He was a true student.


Bert died this past week at the age of 92.  To the very end, in pain, he read books in hospice care about World War Two, discussed their content, eager and loving to learn something new even then and even there.


Bert was my friend, his gentle spirit, his thoughtful insights, our lunches at the Golden Bowl, his comments in class appreciated by students, his advice to me, over twenty years his junior, about what he had learned as he’d gotten older.  It was my honor and privilege to be his friend.  In Jewish tradition, we call Bert Tiesen, a mensch.  I’ll miss you Bert.

From Esther to Easter: Confusing Images of God

The Jewish and Christian scriptures have different confusing images of God.  This confusion is similar to our present-day puzzlement as to, if and where and how God is at work in our world.  The people who wrote the Biblical texts also got up in the morning and asked themselves: Where did we come from?  Where are going?  Is there any meaning to our lives?  Is there really a God up there, out there, right here?


Examine the holidays of Purim, Easter and Passover.  They each picture God differently.  Purim celebrates the Jewish victory over the evil Haman.  God is not mentioned in the book leaving commentators and believers to debate whether there are times when God is not present or unable to stop catastrophe from happening.  The book celebrates human ingenuity in defeating evil.


Easter celebrates the Christian faith that God was and is incarnate in the world through Jesus.  This image tells us that while life may be crazy at times, we are accompanied by a God who loves us.  Through the resurrection of Jesus, believers are assured God is at work in their lives daily to bring resurrection out of death.  Of course, how this happens is inconsistent and unreliable.


Then there is Passover, a time to remember and trust that God is actively at work in history to achieve justice, though again we have God’s strange methodology and problematic timeline.  God delivers the Hebrews from slavery in Egypt, brings them to the promised land but does so through a long circuitous route. 


Each of these three holidays establishes a certain faith but they are not all the same.  Purim points to the silence of God.  Easter points to the love and presence of God.  Passover celebrates God’s marriage to the Jewish people and God’s historical activity on behalf of justice. 


My point is: No matter how sure and certain some Biblical texts sounds, those writers were as unsure and puzzled about God as we are.  God has always been a puzzling, incomprehensible, mysterious actor in our world.   No one knows the will of God but God, and that will is inscrutable.  The Biblical stories offer us glimpses into the activity of this God.   But human beings have always been caught; trusting without knowing for sure.  The contemporary wonderment about God is as old as humans walking on the planet trying to stay sane from day to day.

Remembering Esther

This past week Jews celebrated the holiday of Purim. As you may know, this holiday derives from the strange biblical book of Esther. In this book a man named Haman plots to kill all the Jews.  Sadly, in our day, this does not surprise us.  It’s nothing new. The biblical stories relate how the Pharaoh tried to kill Jewish babies and in the New Testament Herod tries it as well.  In fact, there has not been a generation in the past two thousand years when someone was not trying to kill Jews.  How can we explain the tenacity of the killers and the tenaciousness of the survivors to keep on?


Why didn’t the Jewish people at one point say to God, “Listen, Master of the Universe, it is clear you don’t like us, other people don’t like us, wherever we go people hate us. Ok, we will quietly disappear into history.  And, good bye.”  But we didn’t do that, and I’m not sure why.


Maybe it’s because we remembered Esther.  We remembered Haman and the word “pur” which means lot.  Haman had concluded the Jews were different and a threat.  He cast lots to determine when he would order the murder of all Jews in the country.  As it turned out on that very day, Haman himself was hanged.  Because of the plotting and planning of Esther and Mordechai the mass murder of Jews did not happen in those days.  On Purim, we Jews remember this story because it happened then, and it happens now.


In the book of Esther there is no mention of God.  Some would say God was there and what happened was his will.  Maybe, I’m not so sure.  If the word God was omitted from an entire book, there must have been a reason.  Others assert, “Evil is from humans and must be fought by humans.”


If Jews have survived over the centuries it is because we have learned, “In memory lies redemption.”   If you remember and learn from what happened, you will not become lost.  We learned from Esther there will always be those who want to kill us.  We learned about the silence of God.  We learned to defend ourselves.  Maybe God is particularly present in the Jewish obsession with remembering.  Remembering Esther has indeed helped us survive.

The Lord's Prayer: A Jewish Perspective

There is a powerful prayer which Christians routinely pray when they get together to worship.  They bow their heads, close their eyes, and in respectful solemn hushed tones say the words they believe Jesus taught them to say.  It is perceived to be a Hebrew prayer which quietly petitions God for daily bread and forgiveness.  It is all that but much more.


Think about what the words of this prayer are saying.  The prayer begins by reminding God of God’s intimate familial relation to the community, “Our father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.”  The next verse is what the prayer is all about.  “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done.”  This is a prayer calling on God to act like God and bring in the long-awaited kingdom of God.  “On earth as it is in heaven” says the prayer.  Implied is the message: There is so much craziness in this world; You, God must act and act now!


There then begins a series of imperatives directed at the deity: “Give us this day our daily bread, forgive our trespasses, lead us not into temptation, deliver us from evil.”  These are imperatives directed at God encouraging God to act like God. 


The prayer concludes with a later added ending, reminding God “for thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory.”  That is, you, God have the power and the glory to bring in the kingdom.  Get to it and get to it now!!!


This is a prayer from people who are aware of the ambiguity, fragility and unpredictability of life.  This is a prayer from people who have experienced the silence of God.  The Lord’s prayer is indeed a respectful plea for God to act like God.  How such prayers effect God are beyond our ken.  But the prayer is intended for us more than for God.  It is intended to keep us sane in the midst.
  

Here is a prayer Jews and Christians can pray together, and together wonder if anyone is listening, trusting against trust someone is.

On the Shelf

I love my books.  I love being surrounded by my books at my office.  But, on occasion students will come into my office and marvel at all my books.  Then they ask that terrible question, “Have you read all of these?”   I answer, “Some of them twice.”


Academics collect books and they read some of them.  For me and maybe for you too, books can be aspirational.  I want to have read them and their being on my shelf speaks of their potential chance of being read. 


There are books on the shelf I have read.  There are books I want to read.  There are books I think I should read.  There are books I will never read but I want them there on the shelf like people I hope to call one day and see how they are doing.  On the shelf is a place of honor. 


The shelf is a special mysterious place.  Over the years there are thousands of books that have not been allowed to live on the shelf.   Some do not make it.  Over the years I have removed them from the shelf.  Having a limited shelf involves mulling and culling.


In the end, I suspect it has largely to do with literary triage.  What I think is most important right now gets read.  The rest are compelled to wait.  Most books sit there patiently waiting, day after day, hoping against hope they will be read someday soon.


If you, like me, have collected books on the shelf, be proud of your books.  Read what you can and forgive yourself for those you haven’t read.  There is only so much time.  Surround yourself with books and you will never be alone. The shelf is a holy sacred place where only a few get to wait.

The Five Seasons of Baseball

Judaism and Christianity have various holy days which occur during specific seasons of the year.  The purpose of these seasonal holidays is to cause people in their respective communities to remember, celebrate, and live out key events within the tradition.  These holy days remind us to be hopeful despite what is going on.  While Baseball is not a religion, it has its own seasons and functions in a similar manner.


In fact, Baseball has five seasons. We are presently living through the Spring Training season.  This is a distinct time when the various teams gather together either in Florida or Arizona to remember how to play the game.  Pitchers remember how to pitch and hitters hit, fielders field, catchers catch and everyone tries not to get hurt.  There is a long and cherished tradition of meeting in the Spring to examine young and up and coming players and for older players to get into shape for the next season.  Fans travel to these sites, surround the players with love and grace along with financial contributions or offerings.


The second season is what some have called “the regular season”, 163 games played over six months.  During this time teams or denominations compete against each other to see who can score the most runs.  Fans, mostly with grace, forgiveness along with copious amounts of sacramental beer and hot dogs, attend the games, sometimes in large number and sometimes as a small congregation.  As soon as they step into the other world of the holy stadiums, they immediately begin to relax.


The next season is where the best few teams compete in a short series of games in a conclave called the playoffs.  These short tense meetings, akin to synod conventions, do not necessarily prove which team is best, but which team has the best pitching and can be effective over a few games.  Some people are happy with the results.  Some are not. Some never will be.


The Fourth season is the World Series.  Even unbelievers in Baseball pay attention during these high holy days.  This is a best of seven game contest which ultimately crowns the World Champions of Baseball, the kings of kings and Lords of lords of the sport.


Finally, there is the off-season or sabbath where everyone rests a bit except for general managers who are always busy with money and personnel issues. 


Baseball is a game and a business, big business, sometimes too big.  But it is also a sacred and holy part of our culture. It is where we remember who we are, our imagined youth, our pretended innocence and our yearning for simplicity though there is nothing simple about Baseball.  


As the famous speech from “Field of Dreams” asserts, “And they’ll walk out to the bleachers and sit in shirt-sleaves on a perfect afternoon. They’ll find they have reserved seats somewhere along one of the baselines, where they sat when they were children and cheered their heroes.  And they’ll watch the game, and it’ll be as if they’d been dipped in magic waters.  The memories will be so thick, they’ll have to brush them away from their faces.  This field, this game, it’s part of our past, Ray.  It reminds us of all that once was good, and it could be again.”


The five seasons of Baseball allow us to yearn for simpler times, to hope against hope, to trust once again.   In that way, it is quite religious.

But I Respectfully Disagree

I understand the Christian faith, but I respectfully disagree.  For many years I have struggled with my decision, as a young man, to convert to Christianity.  My decision produced deep guilt, shame and many sleepless nights.  Eventually I returned to my community.


While conversions are a reality and some people need to convert, for me that was not true. I could not run away from myself.  The longer I hung around with Lutherans, the more Jewish I felt.  Over many years I became aware of the visceral toxic anti-Judaism inherent inside Christian scripture and tradition.  During those days, I told my closest friends, “To be a faithful Christian, it felt like I had to shoot at myself.”  


But there were other reasons as well.  The Christian faith which proclaims Jesus to be divine and the Messiah was no longer viable for me.  Jewish expectations concerning the Messiah are:  1) The temple will be rebuilt in Jerusalem, 2) There will be peace all over the world, 3) The Jewish people will all live in peace in the land of Israel and 4) Non-Jews will flock to Israel to study Torah with Jews.   These expectations have not been met in Jesus and Christian attempts to redefine those expectations have not been convincing.


All these reasons were intensified by my study of the Holocaust in which many of my relatives were killed. My own parents had survived by accident.  In this event which occurred in Germany, a country half Roman Catholic and half Lutheran demonstrated how hatred and murder of Jews could be supported by a majority within a Christian land.  Only a small extraordinary minority resisted and helped some Jews escape.  During the 1990’s, I visited the concentration camps in which many Jews had been murdered.  During the winter of 1999, I was in Boston, met with Elie Wiesel and sat in his classroom.  I decided I must return to my community, which I did in the year 2000.


I felt deep guilt and shame for having left my community.  I have worked through the guilt and shame, but it can still rear its head.  Today I wear a skullcap every day to remind myself never to forget that I am Jewish.  I am a healthier saner person these days and I am sleeping well.

To be clear, the Christian faith has its place, but I respectfully disagree.

I Remember Four Rabbis

When I was a boy, I attended a modern orthodox Yeshiva, a Jewish parochial school.  I remember well the Rabbis I had in that place.  The bus picked us up for school at 7 in the morning.  We started school at 8 a.m. and studied Hebrew subjects until noon when we ate lunch and went up on the roof for some recess.  In the afternoon, we had English subjects, until 5 p.m. I loved the mornings and tolerated the afternoons.

In the first grade my Rabbi was a man named Steinberg.  He was a gentle but strict teacher.  He was an older man with white hair who cared deeply about his students and who loved the Hebrew language.  He taught us the aleph bet, or ABC’s.  More importantly he taught us to recognize the power of the Hebrew letters.  He told us the letters themselves were holy and to write them with pride.  We had these blue flimsy lined notebooks in which we practiced and practiced and practiced the script of each letter.  He told us the letters had the power to hide us when we were scared and the power to give us courage when we were frightened.  Years later, Rabbi Steinberg would teach me what I needed to know for my Bar-Mitzvah.

Second grade brought a very serious and demanding teacher, Rabbi Frost.  Rabbi Frost was a younger red faced man who walked around the room carrying a ruler.  Anyone misbehaving or not paying attention was told to hold out his hand which then received a swift hard swat from an angry teacher. Rabbi Frost never joked or smiled, as I remember.  He was engaged in serious business.  We studied the Book of Genesis and Rabbi Frost told us to pay attention to the white spaces between the letters because that is where the truth was hidden.  I do not remember ever feeling his wrathful ruler, but I do remember his deep concern for the scripture and the holiness of the letters.

Rabbi Lipshutz was my third-grade instructor and I loved him.  He was a kind, caring man with a good sense of humor.  He was tall with a full black beard.  I sat right next to his desk as the class explored the book of Exodus.  He taught us to love the questions the scripture raised and to never let the answers destroy the questions.  He trained us to ask good questions and to feel free to dispute even the most honored sages.  He was convinced the scripture intentionally left gaps for Jewish boys to explore akin to investigating a cave.  To me it was like a great adventure!

Rabbi Eisenblaat’s fourth grade class was memorable.  The Rabbi was a short portly black bearded man who taught us to chant the text in Yiddish and Hebrew.  As with Rabbi Lipshutz, questions were vital, and he forcefully compelled us to find the questions in the stories.  One day we were studying a text in Genesis.  He asked me what the great commentator, Rashi said about a problem in the story.  I told him but then he pursued me and asked, “Was Rashi right?”  I was in fourth grade and he forced me to consider the question if Rashi was right.  Because of his persistence, I finally had to admit Rashi could be wrong.  Whereupon Rabbi Eisenblaat smiled.

These Rabbis taught me the beauty of being Jewish and the wonderful questions within the Bible.  It gives me great pleasure to remember them today and to give them honor for the power of their teaching.

The Problem With Mr. Trump

It has been two years and we have had a good chance to see this man and what he is about as a human being.  We have given him a chance.  What can we say?

He seems to lie at will.  He prides himself on his unpredictability to a fault.  He takes offense easily and attacks others without much thought or civility.  He disturbs us with his obnoxious crudity.  He does not like to read, he does not think very well but he thinks he knows; whatever he thinks he knows, he knows emphatically.   He seems to skirt the law when he can, occasionally getting caught.  To say it most accurately, he’s not a nice person.  And when he tweets and speaks, many of us are embarrassed. Such is the public persona he has cultivated.

Whatever his policies, some worthwhile, some not, certainly arguable, I think what most upsets thinking people about Mr. Trump is the character of the man.  We want our Presidents to honor us by their presence or at least act like it.  The problem with Mr. Trump is he has not shown himself to be an honorable man. 

Our upset with his behavior is not merely political, it’s religious.  Our religions teach us what it means to be a human being.  We care about the civility and morality of our leaders.  Over the years, we have had a variety of characters in the White House, some better than others.  But we took one thing for granted.  Republican or Democrat, we naively assumed or wanted to assume most of our politicians were decent caring public servants.  And so, we expect our President to be an honorable person.  Mr. Trump has disappointed us. 

Churchill was correct:  Democracy is the worst form of government but better than all the others.

Mr. Trump is here and one day will disappear.  What must we learn from this experience?  It’s not only important to vote, it’s important to vote with wisdom.   And we need to move away from being impressed by celebrities, by the most entertaining, the best orator, or most good-looking candidate.  Enough of us need to care about the soul of our national leaders.  We ought not vote merely out of self-interest or national interest but an abiding interest in wisdom, integrity, character and above all honor.  Mr. Trump is a warning to us all.  Be careful.

We will survive Mr. Trump and I hope our better angels will learn the lessons well.

Friends and Friendship

The Biblical text declares, “It is not good for Man to be alone.”  What’s the problem with being alone?  I know introverts who love to be alone, who tell me they do not need to be around other people to survive and thrive.  Alone can be peaceful.  Alone means no one is aggravating or exasperating you.  Alone declares, I am self-sufficient.  Alone is solitude without loneliness.  Alone has its place.  I respect alone.

So, why do the scriptures warn us against being alone?  Because when you are alone, you can deceive yourself.  You can worry about things when worrying will not help.  You can have all sorts of unnecessary anxiety.  You can convince yourself of almost anything.  You can make bad decisions.  You can think you are right when you are wrong. You can drive yourself crazy.

I work hard, sometimes too hard, to maintain my friendships.  My close friends are what keep me sane.  My friends listen to my ramblings, my “serious” concerns, my ridiculous worries, and are honest enough to tell me where I’m full of it, where I'm wrong, where I am sounding crazy.  Left to myself and only myself, I find it too easy to go to a bad spiral place in my mind. 

Having friends takes me away and off myself.  Asking how things are with them, listening to their struggles, sharing their pain and their good fortune rescues me from the introspective sickness of, “I, me mine.” 

The human brain is agile but also fragile.  When we are not getting enough sleep; when we are not eating well, when we are overstressed, we are not thinking well.  I wish for you a friend who will walk through your craziness with you, someone who will cry and laugh with you, someone who knows you better than you know yourself.

Harold Kushner says it well: “Human beings are God’s language.” 

A variant of the old poster saying is also true,

“Friends are people who know everything about you and still stay with you.”  

"It is not good for Man to be alone."