In our annual observance of the holiday of Pesakh (Passover), we retell the biblical narrative found in the book of Exodus. The Exodus story is often called the “master narrative” of the Jewish people because it tells the story of mei’avdut lekheirut — how a people can move from slavery and oppression to freedom and liberation. In the Haggadah, we say, “All of us are required to feel as if we ourselves have been enslaved and delivered from Egyptian bondage.” As we experience these turbulent times, this message is poignantly relevant.
Pharaoh is not the only thing that stands between slavery and freedom. Moses learns early on that perhaps the bigger obstacle is to convince his own people that you can never resign yourself to your own oppression. Even after leaving Egypt, the children of Israel continue to romanticize all that was good that they left behind. It reminds us that freedom can be more frightening than slavery.
In the past year, we have witnessed rising antisemitism along with rollbacks on many initiatives that sought to rectify the social and economic gaps between white Americans and Americans of color. It reminds us, yet again, that despite some tensions in the relations between Jews and Blacks, the fates of our respective communities are deeply intertwined. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was a modern-day Moses, and his job was just as challenging. Not only did he have to make a nation realize that it could not be a true democracy while racial discrimination and hatred were tolerated in both the hearts of American citizens, as well as in the laws of this country. He also had to convince Black Americans that non-violent civil disobedience was the only path to liberation.
Redemption Is Slow and Hard
We are living in a time that provides far too many reminders that the path to redemption is slow and hard. Sometimes, we take two steps forward. Recently, we have been taking at least that many steps backwards.
All hatred and intolerance — against Jews, against Blacks, against Muslims, against immigrants, against LGBT-identified people, against anyone — is of one piece.
In January of this year, an arsonist set fire to Beth Israel, Mississippi’s oldest and largest synagogue. Two Torah scrolls were destroyed, five more damaged. The library became a charred ruin. It was not the first time that Beth Israel of Jackson, Miss., was firebombed. The Ku Klux Klan set fire to the same synagogue in 1967, and several weeks later, bombed the house of Beth Israel’s rabbi, Perry Nussbaum. Why? Because Rabbi Nussbaum was a prominent activist in the fight for civil rights and desegregation. He also helped to raise money for the dozens of Black churches in the South that were vandalized and/or bombed by the KKK.
Rachel Fink, a Tel Aviv based journalist who grew up in Baton Rouge, La., and who knows about the nature of Southern Jewish life, wrote this about January’s bombing in Jackson:
Within hours, faith leaders from across the city had reached out, offering the dislocated Jewish community their spaces for services. Outside the charred entrance, bouquets of flowers lay on the ground. Someone left a simple note: “I’m so very sorry.” The arsonist sought to destroy the most prominent Jewish building in Jackson. But he grossly underestimated so much: our long legacy of resilience; the unbreakable commitment we have to our faith and our values; and most importantly, the Jewish — and Southern — tradition of caring for one’s neighbor, of standing arm in arm to overcome injustice and hatred.
What could be more heinous than to bomb a house of worship? One of the greatest tragedies of the civil-rights struggle led by Dr. King was the bombing of the 16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, Ala., by the KKK in 1963. Four young Black girls died in the bombing: Addie Mae Collins (14), Cynthia Wesley (14), Carole Robertson (14) and Carol Denise McNair (11).
These, of course, are not the only Black fatalities in the fight for civil rights in this country. Just take a trip to the Legacy Museum, created by Bryan Stevenson in Montgomery, Ala., and you will learn that there is hardly a county in the United States that did not see Black people lynched simply because of the color of their skin.
Signs of Tyranny
It is time to proclaim loudly that all hatred and intolerance — against Jews, against Blacks, against Muslims, against immigrants, against LGBT-identified people, against anyone — is of one piece. Dr. Jonathan Judaken, a professor at Washington University in St. Louis, is a Jew who was raised under apartheid in South Africa. He argues persuasively in his book, Critical Theories of Anti-Semitism, that there is no such thing as “the new Anti-Semitism.” It has been with us for centuries. And, he argues, its roots are intertwined with the history of racism and xenophobia, the ever-present fear of the outsider.
There is hardly a county in the United States that did not see Black people lynched simply because of the color of their skin.
Indeed. All around us are signs of tyranny, echoes of Pharoah. We ignore them at our very peril. The Trump administration is actively trying to rewrite American history, suppressing the story of America’s racist past as they change signage at national parks and now, at the Smithsonian Museums. But as we read in the 85th chapter of the book of Psalms: “The truth will rise up from the earth.”
Jews and Blacks have long worked together to advance freedom and opportunity in this country. For both of our communities, the biblical story of Exodus is a model for how we move from slavery to freedom, mei’avdut lekhheirut.
We need to reassert that alliance and broaden it to include people of every race, religion and class, so that we can say, as Dr. King often quoted the Hebrew prophet, Amos: “Let justice roll down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.”
