“Rabbi Chanina bar Pappa said: Whoever derives benefit from this world without first reciting a blessing is regarded as if he has stolen from God and the community of Israel” (Berachot 35a-b). The relationship between the recitation of blessings and God is clear, for God is the One who created the fruit of the vine and brought forth bread from the earth. But, why did Rabbi Chanina add that it was also like stealing from the community?

The rabbis understand the act of blessing as not only acknowledging the divine source of that which we consume, but also the human source as well. To consume without acknowledging the individuals who brought an item to our table is to “steal” from them and from the community at large. While the traditional blessings do not explicitly refer to human labor, the rabbis infer the human dimension of the act of blessing. When we recite the blessing over bread, we are not only acknowledging God, but also the farmer, baker, distributer, shelf stocker, and so many others. We realize that our lives our intertwined with people all over the planet – the very people who grow food, make our clothes, assemble our cars, and build our homes. Indeed, Jewish tradition affirms the sacred nature of human labor and demands that we also protect the rights of all workers.

If we have a contribution to make as American Jews, it is to share the wisdom of our system of values – including the protections afforded by Jewish tradition to those who earn their daily bread by the sweat of their brow. The Torah calls us to do “what is good and right in the sight of the Lord” (Deut. 12:28). This includes reshaping laws so that in each generation they can be the best approximation of justice (Elliot Dorff). Our just society should expect no less.

During the days of the Torah and Talmud the work necessary to sustain the community was visible to all. The farmer, the shoemaker, the butcher, the teacher, the seamstress – all were community members and were known to one another. In our modern, global economy, work and workers are hidden from us as consumers – out of sight and out of mind. Indeed there is much work to be done. Perhaps we can begin with a simple blessing. The act of reciting a blessing is a way of making the invisible visible. The first step towards taking action is recognizing the humanity in every individual. With every blessing we recite, we reconnect ourselves to God and to the human community that makes our existence possible.

Sometimes I feel like corporations think we can consume our way to a better world. If we only buy the right (green/local/organic/fair trade) products, we will make things better. Or we buy something and it makes a donation to a cause. What a bargain! I got to take something home and someone else got helped. Those decisions are important—it is still important to buy a fair trade product and know that someone was actually (shockingly) paid a living wage for your morning luxury item. But buying fair trade (or green or organic) is not in and of itself a mitzvah. These buying choices reinforce the pervasive idea that we are consumers above all else—and so to effect societal change, we have to spend money.

To some degree, we reinforce this when we give tzedakkah: we feed someone who is hungry, rather than attacking the root cause of hunger. We spend money to help the causes we care about the most. But we can’t spend our way to a more just society, even if we gave every last penny to tzedakkah. We have to be activists for justice.

Tzedek (justice) is not the same as tzedakkah (charity). If you look at the websites of many corporations, they have a section dedicated to corporate social responsibility. They tout the ability of their employees to volunteer, the millions of dollars in funds they give away, and the products they donate. These acts allow the companies to see themselves as “giving back to the community.” The donations they make have an impact on real lives. But they are not corporate social responsibility. After all, the highest rung of Maimonides ladder of tzedakkah is allowing people to be self-sufficient, and many of the same corporations are involved in paying low wages, busting unions, and polluting the environment.

Whether you see these companies corporate social responsibility as a cynical attempt to divert attention from root causes of poverty or whether you give them the benefit of the doubt (and I do both, depending on the day) companies need to be taught that we expect tzedek first and tzedakkah second.

I see this directly in my work on slavery and human trafficking. Slavery is a nasty word. No company wants to be associated with it, and many are increasingly willing to audit their supply chains to make sure there are no slave made goods (this is the root of the new law in California, the California Transparency in Supply Chain Act). Transparency and third party monitoring is critical in the fight against slavery because it makes corporations take responsibility for their products. But fewer corporations are willing to go further than just transparency and deal with root causes. Slavery, after all, is the extreme of end of a continuum of labor abuses and extremely low wages. To truly end slavery, we have to be willing to fight poverty, and few corporations are willing to acknowledge their role in creating or sustaining poverty. That is why Rabbis for Human Rights-North America’s major partner in fighting domestic slavery is the Coalition of Immokalee Workers and their campaign for justice in Florida’s tomato fields. They end slavery by raising wages and creating a code of conduct for employers: through tzedek and not just tzedakkah.

This is a model we have to embrace as ourselves as well. We must make ethical buying choices because it is the right thing to do. But we can’t end there. We must raise our voices and tell the corporations that we will not eat or wear the products of exploitation. It’s hard. It’s paralyzing. It’s exhausting. And it is what tzedek really is.

We are blessed (I think) to live in an age of an endless supply of information on any given subject.  “To google” something means to know, somewhat definitively, an overabundance of perspectives on a topic.  In the Information Age, there is no down time from the possibility of knowing.

It’s possible to research a question throughout the night, seeking more and more potential ideas, results, or opinions.  It’s possible to communicate with colleagues on opposite corners of the globe, in disparate time zones, literally, anytime.  We search the internet at the dinner table, check statistics from bed, and send text messages as we’re driving (even though it’s illegal in many states to do so).

What does it mean, in a society wherein more is more to say “enough”?  It is to say, in the language of our Jewish tradition, V’Achalta V’Savata U’Verachta: you shall consume, you shall be sated, and you shall bless.

Can we create a bracha, a blessing, for having ENOUGH information to make a decision, to turn off the smart-phone, to truly be with the people sitting beside us, rather than always striving for more?

How do we determine how much is enough?

When George W. Bush was up for re-election, and I was certain that a president so universally mocked could never earn a second term, I saw a t-shirt that changed my mind. This shirt had big bubble letters across its front that read “Vote Your Issue.” The bubble letters were colored blue and white. The obvious message of this t-shirt campaign was “vote for the candidate that will best support Israel,” its subtext reading, “even if that means re-instating Bush.”

I remember feeling conflicted—perhaps I should vote for Bush! He supports Israel! -  but was relieved of my ambivalence by not being old enough to vote. In 2008, for my first opportunity to vote, the issue was irrelevant: there was no question that I would vote for Obama. Even when some of my Republican-leaning Jewish friends voted for McCain—for the same Israel-centric voting strategy as I mentioned above—I knew I couldn’t abandon the “Yes We Can” fervor of my generation. I proudly voted for Obama for many reasons, his promises about Israel included, and never harbored doubt that his policies would keep Israel safe.

Now it’s time for Obama’s re-election campaign, and the future seems un certain for our charismatic leader.  My friends, Jewish and non-Jewish, are divided. My boyfriend plans to vote Republican, keeping in line with the “vote your issue” strategy, and deciding that the economy and jobs must be “his issues” this election season. “My issues” usually favor social policies- abortion, gay marriage, death penalty- and on these issues, my vote will always stay with the Democrats. However, many of my Jewish friends tell me that, now more than ever, I must prioritize Israel in my voting strategy. I should vote Republican because keeping Obama in office will disrupt the delicate American-Israel alliance, and isolate the Israeli government in its pursuit of democratic ideals and peace. They want to convince me to place my Jewish priorities above my domestic liberal values because Israel is in peril.

The Republican candidates know that the rumor of “Obama being dangerous for Israel” is spreading throughout the Jewish voter bloc, and they are capitalizing on the potential for Jewish swing voters. Romney swears that Israel will be the first place he visits as President, and Gingrich went so far as to posit Palestinian identity as invented. While a strong commitment to protecting and supporting Israel is certainly a policy I value in my president, I feel repulsed by the candidates’ desperate grasp at the Jewish vote. Using Israel to snatch my vote, and expecting to me ignore the rest of your policies, belittles me as a responsible voter.

Moreover, I refuse to believe that Obama is dangerous for Israel.  His tumultuous personal relationship to Netanyahu aside, I recognize that Obama has been more vocally critical of Israeli policies (especially settlement building) than many preceding presidents. Yet I can’t condemn Obama for his naturally conflicted responses to the complicated realities of current Israeli politics. Maintaining the fragile balance between criticism and support is tenuous, but I have to trust that the Obama administration is capable of remaining Israel’s strongest ally even despite moments where the countries’ leaders disagree.  Look to September for an example: judging from the UDI veto, I see that Obama is able to successfully put aside his criticisms in pursuit of Israel’s greater protection.

Israeli politics might continue to be a focal point for the upcoming debates as the candidates attempt to capture the Jewish vote. But they can stop trying to convince me. With continued faith in the Obama’s unfaltering American–Israel alliance, my Jewish vote does not need to rest in just one blue-and-white issue.

I find myself asked to defend my song, “I’m Not White, I’m Jewish” just about as often as you might suppose. Maybe more. I understand the critique. I feel it. I certainly have been given all the privileges a beige face is granted in this country. Jews pass as white, no doubt, but maybe passing doesn’t get at the whole story. This month’s Sh’ma Journal takes up the issue of Jewish voting. We vote, Mik Moore tells us in “Jewish Issues, Jewish Votes,” almost 80% Democratic, overwhelmingly more similar to the black voter than the white voter. Consider for a moment that at the ‘63 March on Washington, roughly half of the white attendants were Jews. Same goes for the Freedom Riders and for the lawyers of Jim Crow. The fifty-fifty split of white-black attendants that March on Washington organizer, Bayard Rustin, praised so loudly, falls to a meager twenty-five percent participation rate for whites; hardly a triumphant figure given that whites – minus Jews –  then represented 88% of the US population. I ask why Jews and blacks look so similar behind the curtain of the voting booth as I try to understand the historical intersections between and overlap of Jews and African-Americans.

My exchange with Poet Jaron Varner is another step in that understanding.  Not that one man can speak for an entire people, but I know if one must ask for a people’s ethos a poet’s voice registers more effectively than lifeless statistics. Jaron Hassaan, Poet, entrepreneur and activist is definitely on my top 5 favorite poets who are still alive. It was a privilege to get to ask him about his poems and use them as the jump off for a conversation about Jews, African-Americans and the 2012 elections.

From Detroit, Michigan, Jaron arrived in Iowa City to study at the Iowa Writer’s Workshop. He is the Executive Director and founder of The Renaissance Program. He is also known to rock many stages as a poet and rapper.

Matt Bar: I’m just going to try to isolate what you were thinking with certain lines within the context of the poem from your new book In Transit. The parts that are Bolded I’d like you riff on accordingly.

Poem #1

A LETTER TO THE QUEEN

Your Highness,

How can I find the words to fashion suitable descriptions?

For your impressions simply supersede my comprehension.

Complex yet gracious, magical and mystical you are;

Eternity’s persistent path can’t unfold the enigma. How can I find the

words to formulate my admiration?

So elegant, sensational, you are my hero’s hero.

I could spend my nights counting the stars that light the heavens

and give each one a name that scrapes the surface of your

splendor and still fall shy of capsulizing each vague pseudo-title

with corresponding evidence that puts mere words to shame.

What written utterance may reward majesty with justice?

Incredible? Unforgettable? Sensational? Motivational?

No. For you’ve exceeded incredibility and you breathe

inspiration: Sitting beautifully like so, just waiting to exhale.

You encourage me to excel I must say, You go girl!

You are, stubborn yet sharing, caring and charming, enchanting,

enlightening, thoughtful and compassionate.

If I had a magic wand,

I’d pawn it for its greatest worth and spend it on treasures to

shower upon

You,

Dear Mother Earth.

Still waters run deep, they tell me—

As we drink from the speckled sky, Translucently Tranquil:

Your essence exudes luminescence.

Oprah Winfrey for President!

Maya Angelou for President!

You’re heaven sent. It would take longer than a pair of parallel lines to cross on their

way to meet with infinity for me to fathom your strength, your

courage, your grace and your wonder.

You’ve given birth to emperors, sages and Saviors.

Your majesty precedes your being in undulant waves.

Jaron: When I wrote this poem, it was to be recited at the Delta Ball (In honor of the Historic Black Sorority). At the time, our country had only been run by white men, so I had suggested that an influential, powerful, black woman be elected.

Originally I put Iyanla Vanzant in Dr. Angelou’s place, then I later changed it. In many facets of modern society, black women are both moms and dads. They work hard to provide and oftentimes are left to teach boys how to be men. Single black mothers are, by far, the strongest people I know.

Matt: Knowing the “father” of our country and leader of our nation is a black man, do you think that has any impact on the young black kids being raised by single mothers? Does it touch their hearts and minds in a particularly poignant or notable way? Do you think the single mothers see Obama in this way?

Jaron: Knowing that the leader of our country is a black man has a tremendous impact on all young black kids in general. I can remember the exact moment when I found out that Obama had won the race, I can remember walking a bit taller, holding my head a little higher, speaking to other black folks a little more in passing, or at least sharing an affirming nod. I thought to myself, wow, this is how white folks feel ALL the time! It was amazing.

For the first time in US history, I can now look a young black child in the eye and tell him or her, with the utmost of certainty, that with hard work and dedication, they can one day be the most powerful person in the world. Rich.

As far as the single mothers, I can’t speak for them. I would reckon that Obama’s winning the election had an effect on ALL blacks in the states (and around the world for that matter). It was a very powerful moment in our nation’s history.

Poem# 2

Have you ever wondered to yourself what else is going on at a

given moment? For instance, what is the president doing right

now? How about the people in Hong Kong, what are they doing

this very second? Are they happy? Are they sad? Are they

awake? Are they sleeping? Are they thinking what I’m thinking?

Is someone doing what I’m doing, feeling how I feel and saying

what I’m saying? What if…what if someone at this moment is

looking how I look but not doing what I do? Is someone getting

killed right now? Probably so. Is someone giving birth right

now? Yeah, more than likely. Is someone feeling pain, feeling

joy, moving out, eating out, thinking nasty thoughts about me,

getting up, falling down, being told that they are HIV positive,

having a near death experience, falling in love, being told that

they were falsely diagnosed with cancer, being put to death for a

crime they didn’t commit, being aborted, laughing loud—but

crying on the inside, cheating, stealing, lying, praying, smoking,

snorting, slanging, balling, skipping, dreaming, licking,

crashing, sticking, throwing up after a wild night, masturbating,

conversating, demonstrating, regulating, reading…I WONDER.

Jaron: They say that when you meet someone, it isn’t them at all but their representative. When I wrote this piece, Bill Clinton was in office…there’s no telling what he was doing at that given moment. I wrote it to suggest that at any freeze-framed, cross-section, split-second of life, there are a myriad of activities going on…and of all the people in the states, the president’s actions seemed to be the most important to the most people.

Matt: It’s telling that one of the questions for the most recent Republican debate was: “If you weren’t running for President, what would they be doing at that moment?” What can a split-second of life tell a voter that is relevant to their choice of a candidate?

Jaron: Well, I would guess that after being through our nation’s most recent struggles together, from our tumultuous foreign wars, to our dismal domestic issues, we all have grown closer together as a group, we feel more connected than before, the OWS movement is proof of that: Folks from all different demographics and backgrounds coming together for the greater good.

When we think of our nation’s leader, we want someone who is of the people, someone who has been through the struggle, somebody that we can relate to. The GOP is only strengthening Obama’s political advantage by making it harder and harder for him to reach his successes. The American people can relate to that, mustering the power to succeed in the face of adversity. He is a hero in many ways. Let’s take the GOP nominees for example, Mitt seems like our sucky boss who was never around. Or like a Lumberg from that movie Office Space, somebody who runs his company well enough, but just lacks the social savvy to pick up on the fact that none of his employees really like it when he’s around. Newt comes off like an old grandfather who you never want to engage in a debate because of his self righteousness and condescending conversation style. Ron Paul is kinda like a crazy uncle who is super cool, but always smells kinda funny and laughs a little too much. All I am saying is, Obama is a man’s man. He is an advocate for Joe Everybody and not just John Somebody.

Poem #3

WRITE WORDS

I wish to write the right words, to connect my brainwaves to the

ink-stained page. I dwell in a link-chained cage and sing like a

captive eagle: An orphan from the American family, the prodigal

son of Babylon on a journey to safely squander inheritance.

Jaron: The black experience in America is very unique. We have been burdened by the harsh realities of our history, here in the states and have felt the reverberations, even in today’s societal events. To say that I am “an orphan from the American family” illustrates the dual identities that I am forced to grapple with regularly. Take a job application for instance, Are we Africans? Or African Americans? We certainly are not just Americans. What if I were a British speaking white man from Africa, now living in the states…? Would I, then, be an African American? Of course not. I have come to the conclusion that to qualify as an African American, your ancestors are to have been brought here against their will.

Matt: As a black man, I wonder what the election of a black man to the Presidency means to you and how that emotion is informed by the fact that Barack Obama is, according to your definition, a black man but not an African-American?

Jaron: Black Americans and African Americans experience a similar plight. A man from Kenya can be racially profiled just as easy as a gangsta  from Compton. The election of a black man to the Presidency means that America has evolved a bit. It shows that MLK stood for more that just having a dream and that our ancestors’ struggles were not entirely in vain.

Poem #4: A 3rd verse…

Now I’ve got a few lawyers and some new suits.

Gold coins keep the IRS from getting cute.

Player hate,

I bought a barbershop and real estate. Who says you can’t live and graduate from slinging weight?

I thank God for the blessings that He’s given me:

From the Trinity, to Purple Haze and Hennessey—

They both helped thru the pain and the rainstorms

when I was hustling and had to wear the same clothes.

Now I’m a General with soldiers that’s gettin’ dough

and a penthouse with a studio in Cali, yo!

Jean Paul Gaultier spray fills the air.

It’s not the millions that you make,

it’s the millionaires.

Still beware.

Demons creep up on you when you sleep.

I’m three deep bangin’ Pain in a Benz jeep;

Insomniac knight, crawling thru a daydream,

America’s streets have made a beast out of me.

You’ve gotta make it

from the rocks to the woods,

the woods to the plains,

the plains to the hills and the hills to the heavens—

You’ve ran through the water and you’ve crawled through the

flame,

the game’s changed you now it’s time to change the game.

Spark a revolution! Get your voice heard!

Through choice words, subjects, predicates and verbs:

The veterans have served now the cheddar is deserved,

I bet I’ll strike a nerve when I bean you with a curve.

Jaron: Self explanatory.

Poem #5

You Gotta Make It

v.1 I’ve got my back against the wall, both feets in the streets.

Nobody cares when you’re struggling with nothing to eat.

I’ve got beef but my stomach’s still growling and all my friends

called more often

when I was flossy and ballin’

but, the game’s the same, the names have changed and

I’ve realized I must maintain my fame.

I’m a survivor, so I gotta tighten my shoes

‘cause dude, when you’ve got nothin’ you’ve got nothin’ to lose.
My man hit me with an ounce of hay,

I doubled up, now I got a Q.P. and an ounce of yey’.

I bought an old burner and took the blow a step further,

I’m a Hustler Babay! And it’s murder!!

Listen, that’s the American Way: Kill the competition; build a pot to piss in

for a better today.

Look here, I came from the gutter, kid

and I got all my game from the government, I’m lovin’ it!!!

Matt: How does coming up on America’s streets shape your unique vision of the American Way and what lessons you have learned from the government?  Why do you think the vast majority of the American streets vote for the Democratic vision of the American Way vs. the Republican vision of the American Way. In what ways can Detroit’s ghettoes, hoods, streets, where you came up, be generalized as the same as the hoods from Philadelphia, NYC, Chicago, LA streets?

Jaron: Growing up in America’s streets have given me a crash course in networking savvy, courage and entrepreneurship. The motto of a hustler is, “You make a way to make a way.”

Politics have intrigued me for quite some time now. Take the Presidential race for example: If it isn’t the ultimate popularity contest, then I don’t know what is…and for someone to gain popularity, they must be well liked and respected among the masses. The crux of this, of course, is what will people do to gain favor from others?

The vast majority of the American streets vote for the Democratic Party, rather than the GOP because, again, they want someone who will advocate for them. Someone who will stand up and speak for those who feel beat down and voiceless. Detroit’s ghettos are no different from any other across the states; There is poverty, crime and desperation. We are no longer looking for a hero, we are looking for some hope.

]]> http://www.shma.com/2012/01/shma-blog-jews-and-african-americans-inside-the-voting-booth-a-discussion-with-black-poet-jaron-varner/feed/ 0 http://www.shma.com/2012/01/shma-blog-politics/ http://www.shma.com/2012/01/shma-blog-politics/#comments Thu, 26 Jan 2012 06:45:36 +0000 admin http://www.shma.com/?p=4819 BY: EMILY GOLDBERG

I despise politics.

Between the Democratic hippies and the right-wing Republicans, I consider myself somewhere in the middle, where most of the ignorance lies. I simply do not see the point for politics to consume the lives of average Americans. Because of politics, families have been torn apart; something as futile as a misunderstood speech or discussion creates more wars than unity. Past presidents have had their lives jeopardized by extremists who disagree with their personal and religious values. Therefore, I do not believe that established politics of any form should be preached from the bimah or voiced in a synagogue.

My genuine odium toward politics was not derived from my own Jewish community. In fact, I was blessed with a synagogue whose spiritual leader refrained from sharing his political views altogether. My rabbi’s sermons regarding Israel presented every political angle of a situation, but never concluded with one formal approach. When interrogated about upcoming elections, my rabbi refuses to share his preferred presidential candidate.  While many congregants find his confidentiality to be unnecessary in the modern rabbinic world, I admire him for it. I can only hope that one day, when I stand before a Jewish community of my own, I will remain impartial and open-minded.

As a spiritually seeking seventeen year old, I just want answers. I am always formulating questions regarding the existence of God, faith, and new approaches to spirituality. When I take these questions to the Jewish leaders that surround me, I only want religious opinions. Unfortunately, I have been told that there are too many political boundaries between different Jewish denominations to break in order to find the answers I need. “Don’t listen to that rabbi’s answer; he’s doesn’t support Israel!” “That congregation does not serve Kosher Kiddush lunches; we cannot eat with those ‘goyim.’” “That synagogue plays music on Friday nights; how could that rabbi teach you about God when he, himself, won’t even follow the laws of the Torah?!” I learned to abhor politics when they hindered my personal connection to Judaism. Never again will I settle for anything less than the theological answers I need in order to grow in my faith. When cruel gossip is incorporated with one’s religious opinion, I simply shrug and keep searching for truth. It is a shame, however, how politics both inside and outside a Jewish community can diverge its future generations rather than unify them.

Is it even possible to eradicate politics entirely within our own Jewish communities? Will we ever see a day where congregations can be unified based solely on faith?

Until that day arrives, it should be our obligation to avoid the political flaws that distract us throughout our respective faith journeys. Judaism may be an ever-evolving faith, but its values of kehilla kedosha, a holy community, are everlasting. Let us take our faith to new heights while we grow closer as a Jewish community, completely void of the politics that attempt to diverge us.

May Judaism become an apolitical faith once again; let our leaders be inspired to guide spiritual communities of any size, and let those communities reconnect to the solid roots of our faith.

When I was the director of Santa Monica College Hillel, my husband, Ami, and I (both rabbis: he, Conservative, and I, Reform) co-led a popular lunch-and-learn we called “Ask the Rabbis Adler”.

The program was an opportunity for the students to ask us anything: no holds barred.  Aside from the expected questions about our differing religious practices and beliefs about subjects ranging from pre-marital sex to Israeli politics, I was pleased to be asked by a particularly precocious 2nd year student whether Ami’s and my differing religious denominations also meant we had different opinions with respect to political party affiliations and voting practices in civic elections.

My husband and I looked at each other and smiled.

“Not at all,” I replied, fairly certain I was speaking for us both.  Ami nodded vigorously.  I continued, increasingly emphatic, “our strong religious beliefs about the centrality of tzedakah, the importance of justice, the sanctity of human life, make both of us extremely progressive in our domestic political convictions. It’s because we believe that every person is created in the image of God, and that God wants a just society, wherein the helpless are helped and the powerless are empowered, that we agree that all people deserve access to affordable health care; that GLBT people and their partners deserve the same rights as heterosexual people, including the right to marry; we agree that every woman has the right to choose what’s right for her body and her family.  But most of all, we agree that whatever our personal (or even religious) convictions about things like capital punishment or abortion may be, our supposedly secular government should not be allowed to dictate– or prosecute– others’ civil liberties.”

The students, many of whom came from politically conservative, traditionally religious Persian families, seemed surprised and looked to Ami for confirmation.

“It’s true,” he said.
There was silence in the room as they shifted their gazes from their plates of kosher pizza to us, and then to each other.  Undoubtedly this was a new (and potentially unwelcome) perspective for many of the young people who’d been taught at home as well as at their orthodox Jewish schools and synagogues that many of the things I’d just said amounted to heresy.

I’d spent the greater part of my tenure as the rabbi there dodging conversations about politics, as I had thought my role was to teach Torah, not politics.  But in that moment I realized that it’s often the rabbi’s job to complicate that which at first seems simple and to simplify that which seems complicated.

I maintain that there is an important role for us– personally, as rabbis; but in general, for all of us as Jews– in a country starkly divided by harsh socio-economic realities.  The inheritance of our teachers who marched alongside the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., elected Harvey Milk into public office, and fought for women’s rights, is calling out to us, their descendents, to continue to defend the rights of those who lack the political, educational or financial clout to do so for themselves.   Anything else is shirking our responsibility to the modern day widow and orphan in our midst.  To advocate for a conservative domestic agenda in the face of sweeping injustice in our cities is to push aside our mandate to remember that once, we were slaves in Egypt; that we were strangers in a strange land; and that the God who freed us is the One who cares for the welfare of every being made in the divine image and expects us to do the same.

There are always heroes, and they walk among us.  Great figures from the past live in our hearts and minds for generations to come.  Images stirring recollections of old, and we breathe their spirit back into us as we need wisdom, guidance, and courage.

For the past year, I spent time in the desert, the Negev, just north of Eliat in the heart of the first lands the Hebrews walked, guided by their leaders Moses, Joshua, and Miriam.  Reading tales of their ways in the Torah, it was clear that the Jewish people walk in the grace of these great lives, today, now, in their actions, deeds, songs, and celebrations.

I saw them live, in the communities of kibbutz, I heard them breathe, in the songs and fires in the sand, I walked the desert, I felt the tales in my feet.  And these great voices, among them Solomon and Heschel, whose words touch us from not so long ago, were there as well.

But then there is today, now we have choices to make, and… we are lucky.  We select our leaders by election, we have democracy, we have votes, we can choose.  We also have a lot to consider.

Today, be it in the United States or Israel, we have many values that reach beyond Israel and beyond the Jewish people.  There are great challenges facing us all collectively.  Consider potential environmental collapse, difficult economic times, war, the suffering of fellow human beings.  Yes, we as a people must consider survival, we must consider Israel in the grand scheme.  But then, when pulling all of this together, I hear the voices from the past calling, as though passed to me through my heart.

“Stay to your teachings,” they might say.  “Love the Earth, love each other, share in what you have.”  This is my inspiration to choose wisely this coming election year.  Consider the long term, consider the next 1000 years of our shared existence; our ancestors did.  As a writer, a Jew, a friend of Peace, I would not presume to make choices for others in their democracy.

What I pray for is broad consideration, in all elections, for all candidates, regardless of your personal philosophy.  Be it for Prime Minister of Israel, your local school board, or President of the United States, open to possibility, to peace, to tolerance and understanding.  Consider the hearts of your heroes as they have been passed to you, as they speak through you, and when you hear the voice of a candidate on the pulpit calling for a greater, more peaceful future, please, act on it.

Let heroes sing through your decisions this coming year, let their spirits live again.

I was studying abroad at Hebrew University when Bush bested Kerry in the 2004 Presidential election. A Brandeis alumna living in the neighborhood of French Hill (near the University’s Mt. Scopus campus) graciously opened up her home to Brandeis students to watch the returns come in. And so I tagged along as we got up before dawn to watch the returns come in. A missing signature on my absentee ballot request form, discovered too late to rectify, had kept me from voting and though it was no surprise, I felt some measure of guilt dissipate upon learning that New York State went blue.

We were convinced that Bush could not possible win a second term in office, and reacted with the naiveté and righteous anger of the young when it seemed the tide was turning in the other direction. We had to go to class before the final results were in, throughout the day kept holding out hope that the swing states would turn Kerry, and finally coming to terms with the fact that our incumbent President would be serving another term.

Unlike most of my American classmates, however, the majority of the Israelis I spoke to were thrilled with the Republican victory. This trend continued in conversation before and after Obama’s presidential victory. From cab drivers to shop keepers, Israeli Jews seemed convinced that the Republican candidate would better support the State of Israel than a Democratic candidate would. They also assumed that as a Jew, the primary issue on my mind when approaching the ballot box would be support for the Jewish State. Trying to explain that I voted (or, as was the case up to that point, voiced support for candidates) not only as a Jew, but also as an American, with concern for domestic issues as well as foreign policy was met with incredulity and argumentation.

As a Jew I support the state of Israel, but as an American I feel an obligation to support the candidate who I believe will be the best leader of the country in which I was born and in which I live. Lucky for me, those two facets of my identity: Jew and American, Israeli-supporter and citizen, are generally not in conflict at the polls. As multiple articles in Sh’ma make clear, support for Israel crosses party lines in American politics. Combine that with my opinion that indiscriminately backing all choices made by the Israeli government isn’t the best kind of support Americans can offer, and I don’t feel as if I have to make any sacrifices (at least when it comes to my Jewish/American identity) when participating in the American political system.

My American soul is still in its infancy.  I have been living in this wonderful country for only six years.  This coming April I will celebrate one year of becoming a citizen. As far as being and feeling American, I am just but a baby.  I came to this country, like many others, as a victim of religious discrimination.  I had been living in Israel for three years and as a Conservative convert, under the legislation of that time, could not apply to make aliyah.  Being married to an American and having been accepted at a prestigious American Rabbinical School, made the move to these golden shores a very appealing move.  During my first years of adaptation to the American way of life, I must confess that I found many things confusing.  Chief among them, was the seriousness with which young people took politics and the democratic process here.  Having grown up in Colombia  during one of the country´s most violent and unpredictable periods, my attitude towards politics was at best aloof, if not outwardly cynical.   Hailing from a country where virtuous politicians were unfailingly assassinated and where voting was an exercise of choosing the lesser of two evils, I could not understand why my American friends and family were so passionate about their votes.  Did they really think that their small choice could alter the life of their country?  How could they think that their actions had an effect on that distant ivory tower of global power called Washington DC?

President Obama´s election changed all of this.  I remember watching his victory speech on the television, while outside my Harlem apartment crowds were celebrating.   Even though, I had not followed the electoral process carefully, and, despite of being left-leaning in politics, I was not really invested in the victory of either candidate, the election of the first African-American president shook my cynicism to the ground.  Indeed, it was possible to change things with the humble and modest act of voting.  The people have a voice and that voice can overcome insurmountable obstacles. I compared what my eyes were seeing with the situation of my own country where there are no Afro-Colombian bishops or generals, and I felt ashamed of my own cynicism.  I remember turning to my wife and telling her, “I think I am ready to become American now. “

A lot has changed since then.  I do not longer live in New York City but in the buckle of the Bible belt, the reddest of states, red-dirt Oklahoma.  I love it here.  My neighbors are a rare mixture of piety, patriotism, and solidarity.  They  are proud of their country (our country, now) and are not afraid to show it.  The red white and blue flies everywhere, from the front porches of the houses, to the excessive size of the car dealerships  to the rear bumpers of dirty pick up trucks. It is in this context that I will cast my first ballot as an American this coming November.  And although my almost certain liberal vote will be drowned in a sea of red votes, I confess that this will be the first time that I vote and feel strongly that my voice is heard, even if it is not hearkened to.  Maybe this is the enthusiasm of the newly naturalized.  But as I could see in the eyes of the other 120 immigrants that became American with me in an Oklahoma City courthouse: America ist anders!  America is different.  This is the place where unique ideas may not succeed overnight, but are given a fair chance and in a generation or two rise to power to change the country and, with it, the world.  As a Jew and as an American, I hold that profoundly Jewish idea to be one of great simplicity, beauty, and power.