Though I’ve lived in several cities and traveled across the globe, there’s nothing quite like summer in Milwaukee. It is short and blessed, and appreciated for every moment.
After living through Milwaukee’s long, dark winters, I have learned to never ever complain about the heat or humidity. Never. I rarely turn on the air conditioner and I’ll ride my bicycle on the muggiest of summer days.
As the air chills and the trees begin to turn, there’s usually a sense of sorrow as summer recedes. But not this year. This Rosh HaShanah, I find myself looking hopefully to the future, to change.
As summer ends, I can’t get out of my mind thoughts of the 11-year-old girl who was gang raped by up to 20 boys and men. Unfortunately the violence itself isn’t shocking.
Who can forget the mob beating of Charlie Young Jr. in 2002 or the beating death of a 54-year-old mentally ill man in summer 2004, to name just a few of the most appalling cases?
The current story, which took place on Labor Day, is horrific not only for its violence but also for the crushing circumstances around it. According to news reports, the girl acted on her attraction to a 16-year-old girl by complying with the older girl’s commands to perform oral sex and intercourse with a houseful of boys and men.
The reports are still sketchy, but I imagine that the child would have done almost anything for the older girl’s acceptance and approval. I imagine that the 11-year-old probably thought she was doing the right thing, even as her insides trembled and bled.
I think of her, two years older than my daughter, and I wonder if she’ll ever be able to heal.
Her attackers, too, are broken people, most with previous criminal records. The inevitable question is: What allows a 15-year-old boy or a 40-year-old man or any man to feel okay about raping a young girl?
Children often act in poor judgment but where were the adults to make it end? Where was an inner voice of conscience or compassion? Where is the community that should be holding these children close?
This is far from my life but so close.
This summer I protested after my child learned a song at camp that included the words, “shut up.” As the days become shorter, I walk my children into their school, and delight as my first grader pushes me away so that she can enter her class independently. Those are the expected stages in our life cycle and I am grateful.
And then I remember the 11-year-old gang rape victim. And the 13-year-old who was shot on her porch this summer. And the children among us who will spend their lives two-stepping between the streets and prison. The juxtaposition is heartbreaking.
But these children are our children. No matter how far we move away from the inner city and into Glendale, Fox Point and Mequon, this community is our community and its pain is our pain.
As we enter 5767, our community must wail with our neighbors. We must shout so loudly that the heavens tremble. We must find a way to forge relationships and to effect change.
I admit that I am feeling dark about the world lately. This summer brought bombs falling into Israel, a reminder that the Jewish state is still fighting for survival. It’s just a matter of time before the battle resumes.
Iran is busy developing nuclear weapons and tossing around classic anti-Semitic canards at every opportunity. Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmedinejad has made clear his desire to rid the world of Israel and Jews.
The fifth anniversary of the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks hit hard this year, too. World leaders and American media organizations asked, “Are we safer now than we were then?” and the answer was a resounding no.
As we joke about not bringing bottled water on airplanes, most of us are waiting all too patiently for the next tragedy — either on the streets of our own violent city or on the grand scale of world terrorism.
But Rosh HaShanah comes and allows a breath, a moment, a rest between measures, a cooling of urban tempers. Despair, after all, cannot carry us far.
In fact, according to Rabbi Judith Z. Abrams in “The Secret World of Kabbalah,” Judaism forbids acting out of despair.
With references to Rabbi Nachman of Bratzlav, Rabbi David J. Wolpe writes in “Making Loss Matter” (Riverhead Books, 1999), “Despair is the greatest sin. Despair is the collapse of hope…. To despair is to believe that God’s world is ultimately bleak and dark.”
As we enter 5767, may we be filled with hope. And through our struggles may we find meaning. Shana tova.
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