Dis/Connection and Crown Heights Jews and Blacks - Vayechi

I walked toward the forest in St Ives, this past Monday, as I do most mornings, but this time tentatively. Australia is burning! A place that is usually a refuge for me, teeming with bird sounds, animal life and tranquility, now feels ambiguous, even somewhat threatening, possibly on the verge of igniting with deadly fire. Many Australians have lost their lives, many more their homes or farms and we have lost so many animals.

A week earlier, I walked toward another oasis of nature: Prospect Park, at the edge of Crown Heights, Brooklyn, where I visited my parents over Chanukah.  It is usually a calming walk and I often like to go when I visit. This time was different. Religious Jews were being attacked on the streets of New York, one had been murdered in a shop in New Jersey and another was stabbed at home in Monsey. I hesitated as I thought: was I safe? Would I be attacked? 

These two causes call me as I write. Living in Australia, I feel empathy with my fellow Australians. Their suffering and terror stirs my heart to compassion and concern. Yet, I am also a Jew from Brooklyn, and my recent visit is pulling my attention to the simmering situation there.

Navigating between our ties to, or disconnections from, various places is explored in my Jewish tradition. Our patriarch Jacob, born in Canaan, is said to have only truly been alive during his last seventeen years, living in exile in Egypt (1) where he finally found happiness (2).  Yet, his new home was not where he wanted to be buried, among the fundamentally different Egyptians (3), instead he insisted that his body must be returned to the Holy Land (4). Even when Jacob was alive, he considered it important that his family remain apart from the Egyptians (5).

This way of being in a place but not of the place (6), reflects my own experience growing up in Brooklyn, which came back to me on my recent visit. While I was there I caught up with a black friend from Sydney, Mohamed. I showed him around Crown Heights, starting with my childhood home. I showed him a large apartment building with black families near our old home, and reflected how, in the twenty years I lived there, I never learned the names of any of my black neighbours. This wasn't unique to me. This kind of disconnect from our non-Jewish neighbours was a common feature of growing up as a Chasidic Jew in Crown Heights. 

I find it hard to write about my old neighbourhood. It is simple enough to speak about my experience, to acknowledge that I was racist then, and felt fear and loathing of my black neighbours. It is also a matter of historic fact, that in 1991 an Australian Jew, Yankel Rosenbaum, was killed by a black man, part of a hateful anti-semitic mob. I will never forget the terror I felt in 1991 when I returned from Australia, to what felt like a war-zone, and came to be known as the “Crown Heights riots”. In 2020, another black man from Crown Heights is in custody for  stabbing a Rabbi in his home, over Chanukah. But there is so much more to this tension, both past and present, that is contested and sensitive.

Ultimately, this blog post is far too brief to fully explore the painful history or current dynamic between Jews and African Americans in Crown Heights. However, I want to at least take an interest here in the efforts to bridge the divide between the two communities (7). It is good to see role models of inter-communal friendship going to schools and engaging children in conversation. However, as someone who has been using this approach - going to schools as  Muslim-Chrisitian-Jewish panels modelling goodwill, for almost two decades, I have learned that this strategy, while valuable in its own right, needs to be part of a multi-faceted approach (8). One important element that research recommends is ensuring that participants in intergroup contact, in cases where there has been tension, are assured that this contact is sanctioned by authority figures on “their side” (9).

One suggestion I offer to my old community is to utilise religious education to guide children how to truly coexist, while also honouring our religious traditions of being separate. This is not at all simple, but it is eminently doable. It could begin with discussion of behaviour, such as the halachic principle of supporting needy and sick non-Jewish people, not only Jews, as part of 'the ways of peace' (10). It should involve exploration of what it means to be truly ethical in our ways of thinking and behaving toward one non-Jewish or black neighbours, to strive to make them so “beautiful” that G-d Himself would be proud of us (11). The children might be invited to ponder how it came to be that so many Egyptians deeply mourned the death of a Jewish man, Jacob (12). Perhaps, as one commentary suggested, throughout the years Jacob lived in Egypt, he spent time sharing his wisdom with wise Egyptians (13), not just hanging out with his Jewish grandchildren.

Eventually this discussion arrives at the question of identity. Who are we as Jews and human beings? G-d created humans with a common ancestor to prevent discord (14) based on beliefs in superiority (15) or ideas of purer lineage (16).

As for me, like people of various faith backgrounds and none, I must turn my attention to the needs and suffering of my fellow Australians at this difficult time. 

 

Notes:

 A big thank you to my learned and skillful editor, my son, Aaron Menachem Mendel Kastel. 

1)     Midrash Hagadol, in Torah Shlaima to Genesis 47:28, 81, p. 1724. 

2)     Lekach Tov, in Torah Shlaima to Genesis 47:28, note: 81, p. 1724. 

3)     Old Tanchuma, in Torah Shlaima to Genesis 47:29, 114, p. 1730, "they are compared to Donkeys and I am compared to a sheep..."  

4)     Genesis 47:29-31.

5)     Midrash Hagadol, in Torah Shlaima to Genesis 46:34, 188, p. 1700. 

6)     See also Likkutei Sichos, Vol. 20, pg. 235-242 and especially pg. 241.

7)     https://www.wnyc.org/story/attacks-against-jews-crown-heights-stir-old-fears-and-new-dialogue/

8)     Halse, C (2015), Doing Diversity, report on research project, Deakin University, https://www.education.vic.gov.au/Documents/school/principals/management/doingdiversity.pdf.

9)     Alport, G. in Pedersen, A., Walker, I., & Wise, M. (2005). Talk Does Not Cook Rice: Beyond anti-racism rhetoric to strategies for social action. Australian Psychologist, 40, 20-30.

10)  Talmud Gittin 61a. See Rabbi Jonathan Sacks' elaboration of this concept in The Home We Build Together, Continuum Books. See also statement in the Talmud Gittin 59b. That all of the laws of the Torah are for the sake of the ways of peace.

11)  Kedushas Levi, end of parsha Vayechi, Sifrei Ohr Hachayim edition, Jerusalem, p. 116.

12)  Genesis 50:3.

13)  Rabbi Moshe David Vali, Ohr Olam, Genesis Vol. 2, Hamesorah edition, p. 464.

14)  Talmud, Sanhedrin 38a.

15)  Rashi ad loc.

16)  R. Yosef Hayim (1835 – 1909), better known as the Ben Ish Chai, in Ben Yehoyada, ad loc.

Communication without common language – Jewish Reflection on Abu Dhabi Muslim Peace Forum - Vayigash

My translation earphones went silent for a few minutes, as I sat at the Forum for Promoting Peace in Muslim Societies. For three days in Abu Dhabi, from December 2-4, mostly Muslim, but also Christian and Jewish; religious leaders, academics and politicians spoke to the delegates in Arabic, English and French.

The speeches were simultaneously translated into the other two of the three main languages. That worked, until Imam Abdullahi Abubakar (83) from Nigeria spoke in his native language; Hausa.

This Imam had risked his life when he confronted an extremist gunman seeking to kill two hundred and seventy-five Christians that he had sheltered in his Mosque and home. The softly spoken, bearded, black man in the blue turban had told the attacker to kill him first, and succeeded in saving the lives of the Christians.

While many words were spoken at this Forum, it was his heroic deed and our inability to understand him that captured both the spirit and a challenge of the forum, respectively.

As someone who is concerned about bridging the divide between Muslims, Jews, Christians and others, I found  the forum reassuring. It was convened by one of the most accomplished Islamic authorities in the world, Sheik Abdul Bin Bahya.

There were many hundreds of guests, from a vast number of countries from Mauritania to Afghanistan. They were predominantly Muslim leaders, as the main object was change within the Muslim global community. However, many sessions included Christian and Jewish speakers as part of interfaith panels, demonstrating their commitment to dialogue by putting it into practice.

There was also lively, more informal interaction outside the sessions, between religious leaders of the various faiths present. I noticed the acclaimed US Muslim leader Hamza Yusuf deep in conversation with one of the US based senior Rabbis late into the night. A UK based Imam was delighted to chat with me about Muslim and Hasidic spiritual singing. These are just a few of the examples I saw.

On the other hand, there was a lot of potential for dialogue that was not realised. The language barrier was a big factor. The Jewish delegation of more than a dozen rabbis, based primarily in the US and Israel, as well as two women, and similarly, many of the delegates from across Asia and Africa, simply did not have any common language with which to connect. I often felt bad, as I walked past people with unfamiliar cultural dress and we just looked at each other, silently.

Our gracious Abu Dhabi hosts provided us with certified Kosher hot food that was served in a side room. On some occasions, some of us took our food out to the area where others were eating and joined them for meals. On other occasions many of us chose to stay with our fellow Jews during the meals.

One day over lunch we discussed an alternative approach to a tradition that seems to legitimise a view of non-Jewish people as inherently antisemitic. One of the rabbis raised an alternative version of that passage, which applies only to a particular person in a particular time. Perhaps more such internal conversations occurred within each faith group, complementing those held between people with different faiths.

One strategy that facilitated dialogue was the small group breakout session.  I joined twenty delegates in the South East Asia group. We discussed local words that carry the spirit of the forum. In Indonesia they have a word for “religious moderation”: Wasatia.

As part of Wasatia they strategically moved the study of the caliphates from the religious law syllabus to the history section. An evangelical minister from Mindanao, in the Philippines, taught us the word Kapua that combines being a good neighbour with seeing oneself in the other. I offered the term Ahavat Ha’ger- love of the powerless stranger.

On reflection, I think I was too worried about words. The most moving part of the breakout session was heartfelt sharing in Arabic by an older Mufti, also from Mindanao, whose people have finally reached a peace agreement with their government. I did not understand what he was saying but it touched me because I could feel it came from his heart, rather than an artificial performance from his head.

Another highlight was the Koranic singing and message of Farid Ahmed, in a wheelchair, from Christchurch. His wife was murdered in the attack but he forgave the killer. His heartfelt message to the white supremacists was: we don’t hate you!

The forum culminated with the signing of a charter for a new alliance of virtue. It is hoped that this covenant between people of all faiths will enable us to relate to each other as partners rather than as the “other”.

So I am less concerned about how much the words, spoken or unspoken, at the Forum will matter in the implementation of this noble effort. Instead I look beyond the words, to the sincerity in the hearts of those present, and to the deeds already being undertaken by many in that room and beyond it.

This reflection was first published in plus61J.

Postscript: Shortly after my experience in Abu Dhabi I spent two weeks with my parents and four of my children in Crown Heights, Brooklyn. Recent alarming Antisemitic violence, including murder and stabbings - perpetrated by many Black individuals - made me feel less safe walking some streets there, but more importantly, highlights the need for engagement between these communities. Yet, the primarily English-speaking Hasidic Jews and Blacks, who live there side by side, have such profound cultural differences that they might as well be speaking different languages.

In the Torah reading this week we read about a plea for the life of a Jewish youth, by the Hebrew speaking Judah to the Egyptian speaking Viceroy. “I beg of you my master, may your servant please speak a matter, into your ears?” (1). This is interpreted as a specific request: can I speak to you directly rather than through the interpreter (2). Judah’s deep respect for the viceroy (3) combined with his sincerity and pathos in making his case would come through despite the language barrier and touch the heart of his listener (4). There must be some implications in this insight, for Jewish and black communities in the New York- New Jersey area at this time. I am still mulling over what is happening and my experience there, however, it is clear that gaps between the communities can be bridged if deeply felt goodwill and respect will be in evidence in the unspoken communication between the vast majority of the members of these communities.

1) Genesis 44:18.

2) Midrash Habiur, manuscript cited in Torah Shlaima on Genesis 44:18, 65, p. 1636; Kedushas Levi, in 2008 Ohr Hachayim edition, Jerusalem, p. 100.

3) For example: his comparison of the Viceroy to the Pharaoh in Genesis 44:18, as understood by Rashi (first explanation), Seforno and R. Moshe Dovid Vali, Ohr Olam (Genesis Vol. 2), second explanation, Hamesora Publishers, Jerusalem, p. 364.

4) Kedushas Levi, ibid. [ It should be noted that the Kedushas Levi states  that Judah assumed that the viceroy would understand Hebrew, unlike the approach I've taken to make this point in this article. However this point of his, regarding the emotional impact of direct interpersonal communication, is really an independent insight, that it goes beyond that which is captured in the words themselves..]