February 12, 2022
Author(s): Rav Hazzan Aliza Berger,
Parshat Tetzaveh
February 12, 2022 — 11 Adar I 5782
Breaking a Glass at the Olympics Final
by Rav Hazzan Aliza Berger
Temple Emanuel, Newton, MA
Last shabbos, we gathered in the sanctuary to process the rising threat of antisemitism in our world. Officially, we were talking about the recently released report by Amnesty International which condemned Israel in very intense ways. In clearly antisemitic ways. But we were also thinking about Colleyville, about swastikas carved into gym mats and painted on bathroom stalls here in Newton public schools. We were also thinking about the rise in hate crimes perpetrated against Jews, and about the increasingly vitriolic rhetoric against Israel worldwide. We talked about strategies, about how we might fight these forces.
Underlying our conversation, though, was a deep undercurrent of pain. How is it that even after the Holocaust, how is it the world does not see our plight? How is it the world does not see us? Does not see our context, does not see our story? How are we so invisible?
After shabbos, I went home and opened up my newsfeed and was bombarded with pictures stories about the Olympics. There were so many stories, stories about Simone Biles’ courage and willingness to be vulnerable last year in Tokyo and how her willingness to speak out is now empowering athletes to share about their mental health; stories about the role of fear in these competitions; stories about athletes overcoming adversity; stories about dreams dashed but hopefully not for long,
There were so many stories about the Olympics. But there were no stories about protests. There were no stories about people taking to the streets, demanding justice for the people of China. On that, the world was silent.
And the juxtaposition of our conversation in the morning and my experience that night, I just kept thinking, “the world is now doing to the Chinese what has been done so painfully to us.”
Since at least 2014, China has been systematically targeting, imprisoning, and killing its Uighur minority. They have built literal concentration camps where Uighurs are tortured, forced to violate their religious traditions, to renounce their cultural values, and to live devoid of their heritage in solitude and confinement. They have forcibly sterilized women and have sent government officials to infiltrate family homes to ensure compliance. Children have been torn from their parents and parents have disappeared into the system, never to appear again.
This is well documented. There have been countless reports by journalists, private tribunals, and even our own state department, which confirm the systematic oppression and destruction of the Uighur people in China. And yet, the world stands by and allows these atrocities to continue. We have even gone so far as to allow the winter Olympics to be hosted in Beijing, allowing China to parade a Uighur citizen around during the opening celebrations as if everything is ok.
On Thursday night, Elisha Wiesel, Elie Wiesel’s son, posted the following to Facebook.
He wrote:
I know now that we have failed my father in this regard. He did not fail us. He spoke of how he always felt he had to answer to the dead: Did he do enough? And yes. He did. He was there to speak up against atrocities in Darfur, Bosnia, Cambodia, Rwanda. He tried with everything he had to tell us. And all the words he spoke and wrote could not change the fact that five years after his death, one million people are reportedly in concentration camps, because of their race and religion, in the grip of a totalitarian regime.
After the Holocaust, we said never again. Never again will we watch people herded to slaughter like animals. Never again will allow people to be targeted for their race, their religious identity, their culture. After the Holocaust, we said never again. But we’ve watched in our lifetimes, as genocide has unfolded again, and again, and again.
How is it that when it comes to the report by Amnesty International, a report of Antisemitism, we have a clear moral voice, and a determination to gather and work towards righting the wrong, but when it comes to other world-wide travesties, we have somehow abdicated our moral clarity? How is it that we, we who have endured concentration camps ourselves, we who bemoaned the fact that the world turned a blind eye, how is it that we now turn our gaze away?
Last week, in the daf yomi cycle, we were learning the end of the tractate called Moed Katan. Ostensibly it’s a tractate about how to celebrate pilgrimage festivals. But interestingly, a significant portion of the tractate delves into grief, into how to support mourners and what it means to endure a loss. By focusing on grief in the midst of gladness, the gemarra reminds us that no matter how good we have it, we can never ignore the suffering in our midst. At the happiest times in our lives, there will be people suffering and we cannot turn away. If we want people to be there for us when we are grieving, if we want support when we’ve endured a loss, then we must see the people in our midst who are suffering and do what we can to comfort them.
This Torah is true for mourners on holidays and it’s true for the Jewish community in the face of Antisemitism. If we want people to be there with us, we cannot narrow our focus and only see the struggles that the Jewish community faces. As the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. said, “injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” Let’s fight Antisemitism by going out into the streets, protesting what is happening to Uyghurs. Let’s fight Antisemitism by making Judaism synonymous with those who stand up, with who are righteous; let’s fight Antisemitism by standing with all those who are oppressed.
When I was in rabbinical school, there was a horrible racist attack against a young man in a neighboring town. I remember reading the news reports and just feeling sick about it. The next day, I went to class, and we had a guest teacher. ATZUM Justice Works founder, Rabbi Levi Lauer. As we walked in the door, Rabbi Lauer greeted us, I remember this, he greeted every single one of us and then he started the class and he said, “did you see the news? Did you see what happened?” And all of us said, “yes, oh my God, I feel horrified by what happened.” Rabbi Lauer said, “you saw what happened. What did you do about it?” We all looked around, feeling so uncomfortable. Rabbi Lauer paused, looking at us silently. Then he said, “you mean to tell me that you have the chutzpa to show up here and learn Torah when you do not live by her precepts? Get out!” Rabbi Lauer meant it. He told us not to come back until we had done something meaningful to address the wrong we all witnessed.
At the time, we had no clue what to do. I remember sitting together and trying to make a plan, a plan that would help this young man and would allow us to go back to our learning. In the end, we made a petition against hate and got some people to sign it and tried to open some conversations. It turned out that Rabbi Lauer wasn’t looking for us to solve the problems of the world, but he did want us to know that we couldn’t turn our eyes away. You can’t learn Torah when you aren’t living it.
Which brings me back to the Olympics. If ever there were a time to boycott the Olympics, that year is now. We can’t change where the Olympics are being held but we can communicate through the way we direct our attention that we do not condone concentration camps and do not condone genocide.
There’s more. There is Uyghur community here in Boston. Here in Boston, there is a Uyghur school where they are trying to teach Uyghur culture and language. Please join me this week in writing letters to that community. We know how impactful those letters have been for our community. When Whitefish was under attack, one of the most beautiful contributions people offered were letters of support which affirmed that they were not alone. That others stood with them. And we as a Jewish community can see the Uyghur community in a way that no one else can. We know what it is to survive. We know what it is to build again, we know what it is to thriv. So please, write a letter of support, and drop it off here at the synagogue. At the end of next week, we will bring a package to the Uyghur community to let them know we are with them.
After the Holocaust we said, never again. Every time we see an act of Antisemitism we say, “never again. We will not stand for this.” We may have seen this again and again, and again and again, but we can join together. We can stand together, we can raise our voices and join hands, and make good on our promise. Never again on our watch.