Upon receiving the Emily Georges Gottfried 2018 Lifetime Achievement Award from the Human Rights Commission of the City of Portland. 

A parable from Hasidic Judaism:

Once upon a time, the king’s star gazer saw that the grain harvested that year was tainted. Anyone who would eat from it would go mad. “What can we do?” said the king. “It is not possible to destroy the crop, for we do not have enough grain stored to feed the entire population.”

“Perhaps,” said the star gazer, “we should set aside enough grain for ourselves. At least that way we could maintain our sanity.” The king replied, “If we do that, we’ll be considered crazy. If everyone behaves one way and we behave differently, we’ll be the abnormal ones.

“Rather,” said the king, “we must eat from the crop, like everyone else. But we will make a mark on our foreheads. In this way, whenever we look at each other, we at least will remember that we are mad!”[1]

I am grateful to the Human Rights Commission of the City of Portland for the honor of this award, because their choice to honor me is a decision on their part to lift up the work I do, the work to which I have dedicated whatever strength and support I have to give. In these extraordinary days, as we endure the violence of a dysfunctional society, I am among those who find the meaning of my days in Resistance. There are human beings kept in cages. There are human beings sleeping in the cold. There are human beings who are being murdered by those who are sworn to protect and serve them. And there are people in power who want only to keep their power, who seek to silence or discredit those who cry out in their pain.

This world of ours is full of pain and loss for too many of us. The grain has been tainted, and we are surrounded by madness. To know this is to Resist.

I am a Rabbi, and as such I see my Resistance work in a historic context which reaches directly back to the Prophet Isaiah, who called for justice to roll down as waters, sweeping evil before it as a flash flood obliterates all in its path. I am inspired by the Prophet Jeremiah, who declared to the government that if a society does not care for the vulnerable, it will be without cohesive civic strength, and will decay and collapse under pressures of outside aggression and inner disaffection.

I am a Jew, and I find my strength to Resist as I am grounded in my tradition. There is an ancient Jewish perspective depicting our world as an island of order floating in an endless abyss of chaos. We are taught that the stability of our world depends on three things: study, prayer, and what is called hesed. This last term is difficult to translate, but in a moment I will attempt it.

I believe that the ancient wisdom of these three pillars can help all of us make some kind of ordered sense out of the chaos in which we live.

The first pillar that can help you hold your world steady is that of learning. I cannot act for the greater good simply based upon my own sense of what is good, something that is likely to be tainted by the bias of what is good for me.  Real learning requires the humility of knowing you don’t already have the answer; it requires a willingness to hear all voices and contemplate all perspectives, especially those that contradict the clarity we want so badly to reach. Only slowly do we come to learn that our own well-being is wrapped up in each other’s.

My learning comes from so many brilliant, brave sources: from the Oregon ACLU, from Don’t Shoot Portland, from Empower Portland, from the NAACP, and from Portland United Against Hate. It comes from Portland Resistance, from the Oregon Justice Resource Center, from the Interfaith Movement for Immigrant Justice, from APANO and IRCO and from Basic Rights Oregon; from Black Lives Matter and from Jewish Voices for Peace and from the Democratic Socialists of America. Downtown at a demonstration, it comes from the Unpresidented Marching Band, from the National Lawyers’ Guild, from Rose City Antifa, and from my own Portland Interfaith Clergy Resistance. I am grateful for all the learning.

The second pillar that holds up our world is prayer, in the best sense of that reality: not the repetition of rote words, but the piercing clarity of finally realizing their meaning.  A good prayer moment is a time of quietness, when one listens for a voice which speaks of the complexity of truth. It is the time after learning when one sees the fullness what one is discovering, and knows it is changing one’s sense of self and purpose.  You may call it meditation, or musing, or a walk in the park, but it requires a willingness to face one’s own soul, and one’s own solitude.

The third pillar is called by the word hesed. This Jewish word refers to the kind of caring that we extend to another person whom we recognize as part of our group; a member of our tribe; a companion upon who we can depend. While the ancient Hebrew term was never meant for a multi-cultural society, nevertheless in it is a key to our survival and thriving: unless we come to see everyone as an equal companion on our path, worthy of the same kindness and support we need, this third pillar that supports our lives will not stand.

The third pillar can only be understood in terms of the first two. The humility that comes with real learning echoes in the quiet moments of a single life, and perhaps to the realization that we are, after all, all connected. In my tradition we are all born with a beautiful and perfect soul, and all of us join in that purity, connected one to the other. My tradition rejects the idea that any human being is less than human – even the human being you find most odious. Every soul has a part to play, every human being is irreplaceably precious.

In this way of thinking, no one can be demonized as “other” and therefore dismissed; someone may be a deeply damaged human being or a highly developed one, but we are all human. This is disconcerting, because it means that I am no different in my potential than a racist or a murderer; on the other hand, it is encouraging, because I’ve got their number – I can find a way to stop that evil, because I recognize it.

It follows, then, that for resisting the effect of that tainted grain we must work together. Your path must be my path or ultimately it is no path. Learning by listening rather than speaking, deferring to others, and sharing space, is essential. Acting with open hands and heart, putting down the defensive posture and the certainty that I know already all I need to know, and to let go of the need to be noticed, to be first, to get credit – because we all get there, or none of us do.

Twenty years ago the sociologist Robert Putnam noticed that less and less of us are able to talk to our neighbors. The scale of our lives doesn’t allow us to stop on our way and chat. Less time spent in each other’s presence translates to less ability to see each other as approachable. Divides between different communities became wider, and within communities as well. Rather than talk to each other, some are now more likely to call the police, expecting them to make up for our increasing lack of ability to learn outside our comfort zone. That comfort zone becomes a pair of blinders, and we don’t even know what we don’t know about each other.

These are terribly upsetting days. Everyone, it seems, has eaten tainted grain, and it’s hard to know which way is forward, and what will confront each of us next in society. In my experience it is too easy to believe that those who disrupt are the problem, when they are actually serving in the role of symptom. There is no cure for what ails us if we don’t consider the symptoms a valuable warning.

I believe it’s not only a Jewish value to stand with those who are being trampled upon, even when they are upset enough to act in ways which are seen as disruptive and unpleasant. No one really wants to spend their time marching downtown when they could be hiking in Forest Park. The traffic jams and the vandalized buildings and the embarrassing headlines should be seen as a signal to all of us that something systemic is very, very wrong, and disruptive and unpleasant change may be inevitable.

One has to be willing to consider the upsetting voice truthful, even prophetic, in the sense of the Prophet Jeremiah. He was jailed, and even thrown down a well for saying upsetting things, such as declaring that his corrupt society would be destroyed. But it was anyway. You do not change the facts because you silence them. A prophetic voice is perhaps simply that voice which says something that we all know is valid, even though we may not wish to think about it.

No one really wants to think about the fact that the entire harvest is tainted, and that radical change may be necessary, lest the pillars give way and our world sink into chaos. Yet the work of resisting the tainted grain will always be uncomfortable, upsetting, and disruptive.

The Rabbis said to Rav Hamnuna Zuti at the wedding of Mar the son of Ravina, “sing for us!”

He sang, “Woe for us that we are to die!”

They said to him, “what shall we respond?”

He sang, “Where is the Torah and the Mitzvah that will protect us?”[2]

A mitzvah is a sacred obligation. Someone like me, given access to the dais because of my position, whether I have earned it or not, is obligated to use that advantage for the nurturing and thriving of all the life on this dirt raft we share together. The mitzvah of being present downtown at a protest is to simply act upon my belief that in a city which respects and protects all its residents, all of us should be equally able to be present, at all times, anywhere. I come downtown whenever I can (note to organizers: please plan a Sunday sometimes.  Jews like me take Shabbat off).

I am downtown and I will be present where voices are raised against the violence we would rather not see, because it disturbs and disrupts us and we can’t fix it all. I will continue to join those who do something, anything to voice protest, because I find my common path to lie with those who are raising up the prophetic voice of our day in declaring that

Killing is evil.

Compassion is good.

Violence is evil.

Patience is good.

Separating children from their parents is evil.

Empathy is good.

Using tear gas is evil.

Listening is good.

Racism is evil.

Humility is good.

Justice is not justice if it is just us.

This is what I think works: getting grounded in one’s own traditions of finding one’s way and one’s balance. Keep learning and seeking community, so that we can stay strong and centered in these days. Figure out your own Shabbat, your own down time, and use it to think deeply about what you are learning and doing. Keep learning; try to get used to being uncomfortable. Find a delight in learning that all you thought you knew on an issue was actually wrong, and now you know better. Remember the kindness and mutuality of hesed, and try to be gentle with others, and with yourself when you realize how much more work there is to come before we can bring in a good harvest of nurturing, healthy grain, and celebrate it together.

Thanks for this honor: it really belongs to all from whom I have learned, and I will try to be worthy of it. I do hope that it’s neither indicative of the lifetime I have yet before me, nor the achievement toward which I still hope to grow.

[1] Tales of Rabbi Nakhman of Bratslav

[2] BT Berakhot 31a

May Day Portland 2017

On Monday, some of us gathered at the Park Blocks at 1pm. We witnessed an hour of dancing – skilled indigenous dancers and drummers in beautiful costumes demonstrating their art in honor of the international workers’ day. Then at about 2pm we heard an hour’s worth of speakers: leaders and activists in communities such as immigrant, Muslim, migrant worker, and labor union – including a woman who tearfully asked if we could help her free her son from detention, since his own small son was missing him for these last six months.
Did you know that the observance of May 1 as International Workers’ Day began in Chicago in 1886? You can learn more here: http://time.com/3836834/may-day-labor-history/
All this time, people continued to gather. The light rain had stopped and many milled about in the growing crowd, greeting each other, distributing newsletters and petitions. The May Day Coalition had brought together so many groups under its umbrella for the gathering that it took two speakers five minutes to read all the organizations’ names. We were asked to donate toward the work of creating solidarity among so many, and all who gave got a button to wear.
Then around 3.15pm it was time to line up in the street and begin the march. Just in front of me a man with a megaphone began a regular chant: what do we do when immigrants are attacked? “stand up, fight back!” we responded. What do we do when women are attacked? “stand up, fight back!” He included all you might have suggested to him: LGBTQ, Muslim, Trans people and more – a long list, unfortunately, of all those who have been targeted and made to feel vulnerable.
We carried signs: הנני Here we are – Jews for Justice; Jews demand צדק, justice. I wore my tallit for greater visibility, and ended up giving an interview to a nice young Jewish woman from the socialist workers’ newspaper. A young Jewish man came over to say “Hello to Shir Tikvah!” Parents, children, even some dogs marched (one wore a sandwich board). Many people stood on the sidewalks as we passed by – I saw a few members of our congregation in the mix. We passed a young man holding a case of Pepsi and holding out one of the cans (if you are unaware of the reference, look here).
I had an appointment I had to keep on the East Side, and the women I was marching with also needed to get places, so at a corner where the march made a turn, we headed toward our cars. It was not until I had reached the place where I was to meet a local civil rights attorney (who is kindly helping me to learn Portland racial relations and local government politics) that I had a chance to check my trusty Twitter feed and see that the march was disintegrating into chaos.
I was sad, and extremely disappointed. Sad for the organizers of our local expression of support for International Workers’ Day, and for all those who had worked and organized to be part of this celebration of workers’ solidarity. It was truly amazing and heartening to see the number of different groups that had come out.
And disappointed in the extreme: at the small minority of people who clearly were bent on destruction from the moment the march began. Men – some young, some old enough to know better – with megaphones, hurling abuse at the police who stood alongside the march. Some were content with words, but others were eager to do damage.
I am also disappointed in the police, for behavior that is reminiscent of that which ended the first May Day gathering in Haymarket Square in Chicago. On that day, one projectile aimed at police caused them to target the entire crowd for reprisal. Yesterday we saw the same indiscriminate escalation from the police, including the throwing of tear gas – by definition a weapon that cannot discriminate between the thug and the peaceful marcher.
How to understand all of this? As Jews, how to respond?
Although we were immigrants, some of us don’t feel that connection viscerally. And although our ancestors in the U.S. were radical, many of us feel ourselves far distant from that identity. We don’t celebrate the names of the Jews who led the fight for fair working conditions, who formed unions, and who led strikes and walkouts – consider even the name of their newspaper, the Forward!!!  We today, distanced from the Jewish culture and traditions that nurtured their ethical energy, aren’t as confident that we know a Jewish way forward for ourselves – and so we go to all the safe, high-profile (and pretty much white) marches on Shabbat, ironically enough. Although we have to leave our Jewish practice aside for such a march, that feels like where we are comfortable.
We are not those expressing the stress of the culture today; we are watching others express it. Their terms are loud and violent and upsetting – perhaps because they are expressing an outrage we are distanced from, have learned to live with, or barely register from our safe distance.
There are those who argue that demonstrations and marches will win no allies when mass transit is disrupted and people can’t get home after putting in their long day of work, and there are those who argue that targeted people in our communities live under stress far worse than transit disruption every day. If a family is torn apart because of any kind of injustice, should any of us be entirely comfortable?
As Jews, let’s suspend judgment, as our tradition urges. As Jews, let’s resolve to learn more about our place in this time of upheaval – wherever you decide yours is, let it not be out of fear, or a desire to stay separate from it. That is not tikkun olam, that is not doing our part to repair the world.
This was a disappointing May Day. I am committed to working through the Portland Interfaith Clergy Resistance and other venues to demand that the City of Portland do more to change the tone of police interaction with such crowds as marched, mostly peacefully, yesterday. They did not deserve to have their permit revoked and their march ended because a few people set fire to a trashcan.
And, just as importantly, I remain committed to working to understand how to influence the small group of those who are destructive, and attempt to help to move them toward more constructive demonstration.
I don’t approve of the destruction in any way, nor the hateful rhetoric toward the police, of course. But we need to understand that those who are so alienated from our society (although they apparently enjoy many of its perks, they looked well dressed and well fed) are not the problem. If you consider systems analysis, you might see them as a visible manifestation of the stress, horror and anguish many of our fellow residents of the United States are suffering.

As the Associated Press put it: May Day demonstrations, celebrated as International Workers’ Day, were far more peaceful in other international cities, which saw protesters demanded better working conditions.

But the widespread protests in the United States were aimed directly at the new Republican president, who has followed up his aggressive anti-immigrant and anti-socialist rhetoric on the campaign trail with action in the White House.

I will continue to offer you chances to learn how to ground yourself in meaningful and safe engagement. I hope you will join me in this terribly important work at the level which is right, and righteous, for you.
Hazak v’nit’hazek, be strong and let us strengthen each other…