My friend’s late mother didn’t have much use for God or religion but nobody could say that she wasn’t a good Jew.
Like so many New York Jews of her time, she was a left-leaning social activist who came from the tradition of Yiddish, knishes, sour pickles and a commitment to justice that was deeply Jewish. She taught her children to be proud Jews and to work to improve the world.
And she taught them by example what it means to be part of the Jewish people. Come the High Holidays, nobody in her household went to school or work. Perhaps they didn’t go to shul either, but by sitting out workaday life, they defended the right of other Jews to spend the day in prayer.
Like my own parents and grandparents, she felt inextricably bound to other Jews, regardless of their level of observance or station in life.
She knew that how she lived had the power to help create opportunities or obstacles for others.
That solidarity — and robust sense of peoplehood — is something I’d like to see more these days.
Next week, First Stage Children’s Theater opens their production of “Hana’s Suitcase,” a play that follows a Japanese Holocaust educator and her young students as they learn about World War II through the experience of a 13-year old Czech Jew, Hana Brady.
The theater company should be applauded for bringing the Holocaust to its stage and feeling the duty to help educate children about it. The need to share such stories becomes even more pressing as Shoah survivors age.
But the play has been scheduled to open on Friday night during Rosh HaShanah. Cast members will certainly need to arrive at the theater well before the 7 p.m. curtain time and before sundown marks the end of the New Year and the beginning of Shabbat.
According to Rob Goodman, First Stage’s managing director, the theater company consulted with members of the local Jewish community before finalizing the show’s dates. The consensus apparently was that opening on the night of the second day of Rosh HaShanah was OK.
But it’s not. And members of our community should know that.
A Jew on the road
I don’t begrudge First Stage their decision. The theater company is not a Jewish organization and their prime commitment is not to the Jewish community. Further, audience members can choose when to see the show and young actors may indicate dates when they cannot take the stage.
Rather, I question those Jews who, unlike my friend’s mother, apparently considered their own observance rather than a wider, more embracing sense of solidarity with other Jews.
But do we really represent all Jews as we make our way in the world?
The highway tells me yes. Though I — a solid member of Generation X with its fundamental philosophy, “it’s all about me” — intensely resist representing anyone but myself, driving in Milwaukee has changed my perspective.
My last car’s rear bumper held a sticker of the Israeli flag with “I love Israel” written in Hebrew. In spite of my supposed fierce independence, the sticker often reminded me to mind my driving manners or risk being tagged a “pushy Jew.”
I’d like to believe that I became a gentler driver because of that sticker. But what is certain is that, de facto, I became a Jew on the road. (When I bought a new car, I chose to maintain the burden of representing my people from behind the steering wheel; my newer car has a Hebrew sticker that reads, “Life is beautiful.”)
As American Jews, we are free to observe as we wish. Some of us go to synagogue and some do not. Some live according to Jewish law and some question God’s existence.
Some connect to Judaism through learning and others through social action and a charge to heal the world. Still others feel a relationship that is woven with family sentiments, nostalgia and the flavors of a traditional Jewish meal.
But our community needs to be a safe place for all Jews from all denominations and at all levels of observance. We are only as good to the rest of the world as we are to each other. The message that we send about our respect for other Jews has repercussions; it may encourage tolerance and opportunity or give the world permission to disregard those Jews.
As we enter 5768, we would be well served to ask ourselves how far — or how near — does our sense of social action reach? Does it include those that we deem “too Jewish” and those who are “not Jewish enough?”
Though we may do the holy work of donating food to the poor or serving meals to the homeless, do we also reach out to those in our community? Are we sensitive to those suffering in our presence?
We are now finishing the month of Elul, which is intended to be a time of intense reflection and preparation before the High Holidays. On sundown, Wednesday, Sept. 12, we will enter Tishrei, the month of renewal, fresh starts, opportunity and hope.
May we find meaning in the holidays, however we choose to mark them. May we celebrate our connections to each other and defend others’ rights to be Jewish in their way — through prayer, study, or the simple act of staying home. Shanah tova.
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