THE POWER OF PRIDE

SERMON  September 16, 2023

Erev Rosh HaShanah 5784

As many of you know, this summer, we fulfilled my promise last Rosh Hashanah to have a campaign against antisemitism that included signs on local buses.  With a generous donation from someone who is not Jewish but who wanted to help us fight antisemitism, a small group of us worked with a graphic artist to create our Halt H8 campaign.  In doing this, we were also fulfilling something we’ve heard again and again in conversations with groups of congregants as we worked on our strategic plan for the coming years: you want Temple Sinai to be more visible in the community and be a leader in the local community.  I’m very proud that we were able to do this.  

The feedback from the larger community was excellent.  As a direct result of those buses, several leaders in the community and in the schools reached out to me to talk about how to better fight antisemitism. 

But I was surprised – and disappointed- when some in the local Jewish community said we shouldn’t do it.  They felt it was drawing too much attention, or that it might make antisemitism worse, or didn’t feel we should bring up antisemitism unless we also included racism, transphobia, and other forms of hatred on the poster.  (Interestingly, misogyny never came up.  I guess we’ve solved that.)  

It was clear that some were worried about what their progressive friends would say.  

To me, I couldn’t help but see that reaction as a form of internalized antisemitism, where we take on a sense of fear and shame, often without even realizing that is what we are doing.  

Like when we secretly feel flattered when someone says we don’t look Jewish.

Or we say, ‘I never date Jews.”  

Or we are too quick to point out that we eat pork or shrimp so people won’t think we are one of those Jews.  

I grew up with this, and I think internalized antisemitism is pretty common in progressive and Reform Jewish spaces.  To be honest, when I read the writings of some of the early Reform movement, it is clear that while they are moved by passion and belief, they were also working out their own internalized antisemitism.

My father would absolutely not wear a kippah, even in services, and a tallit was out of the question.  A first generation American, it was deeply important for him to be like everybody else, one of the guys, and not to stand out for being Jewish.  

My brother and sister internalized this.  I reacted by going the other direction, and my family was never fully comfortable with me being a rabbi and would often tell people I was a teacher.  I used to call his work and say Rabbi Edleson was calling for his brother. 

And in the progressive Jewish communities rush to lead the condemnations of Israel, I also see a profound fear of how we will be perceived as Jews.  I see internalized antisemitism.  

We come by this internalized shame and fear honestly.  It has been learned and woven into our epigenetics for 2,000 years.  

But what if instead of giving into fear, we actively worked on our Jewish pride?   What if we dared to have our own Pride movement? 

Last week, we celebrated Vermont Pride, and as a gay man in my 60’s, I have personally lived through the miraculous transformation of the LGBT community brought on by choosing actively to be proud and open instead of hiding and carrying a sense of shame.  We would not let the AIDS epidemic make us hide or retreat.  We made pride a cultural value.   

As Jews, we need to do the same.  

And it is happening.  In the past two years, Michael Steinheardt and Ben Freeman have come out with books calling for Jewish Pride.   This week, Deborah Lipstadt had an editorial in the Times about the importance of being proud of being Jewish and leaning into Jewish tradition as the best way to fight antisemitism. Others like Bari Weiss and Dara Horn have made the same argument. 

Ben Freemen wrote  “We must create a sustainable and multigenerational Jewish Pride movement that guards against the evils of internalized antisemitism and acts as a buffer against the pressures of assimilation. We must raise our children to feel proud of their Jewishness, to understand the innate right they possess to advocate for themselves and to be proud of themselves.”

And we have so much to be proud about.  

Every year I teach an Intro to Judaism class focused on people interested in converting to Judaism, and each year I continue working individually with six or seven people who have committed to the process.   Through their eyes, I have been given a new appreciation of our tradition and why it is so valuable in the world.  

This past year, I had a student who grew up in Argentina, but was now living and working with his husband in the US Foreign Service in Azerbaijan.  At his Beit Din, the interview with three rabbis or leaders to approve of the conversion, he was asked if rising antisemitism worried him.   

He said yes, but that one of the things he loved most about Jews and Judaism was our resilience and stubborn refusal to abandon who we are.  And when asked about his feelings about Israel, he again said that he thought it was amazing that the Jewish people after pogroms and genocide managed to build a modern country despite war after war.  He said he was proud to become part of the Jewish people and hopes he can show the kind of strength and resilience that the Jewish people have shown the world. 

We have so much to be proud of. 

We have created a diverse and fascinating culture born of being exiled in every part of the world.  

We gave the world the original day off and the seven-day week. 

We gave the world the greatest single collection of literature  – the Bible – which has such depth and breadth of thought and style, it still shapes the way we understand ourselves through story. 

Our Talmudic legal tradition is one of the greatest in history, and we should be proud that our tradition didn’t end up canonizing the decision, but canonizing the arguments.  

Our tradition allows a wide range of beliefs by focusing on what we do in this life to make this world better and to help the most vulnerable in our community. 

We have a musical tradition that weaves together music styles from across the many places we have lived and sung. 

We have a tradition of literacy and learning that is unequalled. 

And we have beautiful traditions and ritual objects like mezuzahs and tallitot, lighting candles on Friday night, or coming together to ask forgiveness each year.  

We have nothing to be ashamed of and everything to be proud of. 

Michael Steinhardt says it this way: “Our most burning problem is spiritual: the strengthening of Jewish identity through the inculcation of pride.  Jewish pride, once you’ve tapped into it, is an incredible thing. It’s invigorating, it’s life-changing, and it’s beautiful.”

Just north of Tel Aviv there used to be the Diaspora Museum, that led you through a series of dioramas demonstrating different cultures and moments in Jewish history outside of Israel.  That museum has been completely rebuilt and reimagined and is now called ANU:  the Museum of the Jewish People.  Our large group going to Israel in October will see it.  After several floors of exhibits and interactive educational stations, you end with a series of quotes by non-Jews about Jews.   Several of them moved me a great deal, and as you know, I’m a cryer, but there was one by Mark Twain in 1897 that put me over the edge and I wanted to share it with you as a gift to start this new year: 

If the statistics are right, the Jews constitute but one quarter of one percent of the human race.  It suggests a nebulous puff of stardust lost in the blaze of the Milky Way.  Properly, the Jew ought hardly to be heard of, but they are heard of, have always been heard of. They are as prominent on the planet as any other people, and their importance is extravagantly out of proportion to the smallness of their bulk.

Their contributions to the world’s list of great names in literature, science, art, music, finance, medicine and abstruse learning are also very out of proportion to the weakness of their numbers.  They have made a marvelous fight in this world in all ages; and have done it with their hands tied behind him. They could be vain of themselves and be excused for it.  The Egyptians, the Babylonians, and the Persians rose, filled the planet with sound and splendor, then faded to dream-stuff and passed away; the Greeks and Romans followed and made a vast noise, and they were gone; other people have sprung up, and held their torch high for a time but it burned out, and they sit in twilight now, and have vanished.

The Jew saw them all, survived them all, and is now what they always were, exhibiting no decadence, no infirmities of age, no weakening of their parts, no slowing of their energies, no dulling of their alert but aggressive mind.  All things are mortal but the Jews; all other forces pass, but they remain."

- September 1897, gender changed from “he” to “they” by D.E.

Am Yisrael Chai.   Shana Tova.