There’s a concept in Judaism known as “teshuvah,” which means “returning.” The term implies a return to righteousness, and repenting for past sins. In Judaism, when we think of teshuvah during Rosh HaShana (the New Year) and Yom Kippur (the Day of Atonement), we think in terms of collective sin: We ask G-d to forgive us for the sins “we” committed, even if we did not personally commit those sins. We also pledge to right wrongs, even where we did not personally engage in wrongdoing. This is what I am thinking about as we inaugurate the Biden-Harris Administration after four years of President Trump.
In the immortal words of Adam Sandler, “It’s time to celebrate Hanukkah!” But what exactly is Hanukkah, and why is it relevant to us today?
About 22 hundred years ago, a Seleucid king occupied Jerusalem, looted the Temple, and outlawed Judaism. The Seleucids had inherited part of Alexander the Great’s empire, and they were culturally Greek or “Hellenized.” It seems the Seleucids were egged on by a group of assimilated Jews who opposed the more traditional Jews of Jerusalem. As a result of the Seleucid invasion and the sacking of their Temple, the Jewish population revolted, led by Judah Maccabee (a/k/a The Hammer) and his family. The Maccabees ultimately liberated Jerusalem and re-dedicated the Temple. But they found that there was only enough oil to light the eternal flame and keep it burning for one day. It would take eight days to get a new supply of oil. The miracle of Hanukkah is that one day of oil lasted for eight days.
Today, we celebrate Hanukkah by lighting a menorah (candelabra) that holds eight candles, plus an additional candle called the shamash, which is used to light the other eight. On the first night, we light one candle, and on each subsequent night of the holiday, we add another candle until the last night, when we light all eight candles plus the shamash. I suppose to keep up with our Christian neighbors, we also give presents on each night of the holiday (growing up, my presents were usually socks or underwear, but these days, standards have improved!). To remember the oil, we also eat food cooked with oil, primarily latkes (potato pancakes) and sufganiyot (donuts).
There are a few important rules about the Hanukkah candles. For one, they cannot be used for any purpose other than observing the holiday, so we cannot use them as lights for reading, for example. Also, the menorah is meant to be displayed publicly, and is often placed so that it is visible through a window (being careful not to set the curtains on fire, of course). Also, the miracle of Hanukkah is a funny sort-of thing. The Jewish people defeated the powerful Seleucid empire, cleaned up and restored the Temple, and found enough oil to light the flame for one night. The “miracle” that largely defines the holiday is that G-d kept that flame burning for seven extra nights. Of all the events in the Hanukkah story, keeping the flame lit for an extra week doesn’t seem like such a big deal.
Amidst the celebration of Hanukkah and the deluge of presents, we sometimes give short shrift to the story of our ancestors’ struggle for freedom, and certainly the basis of the holiday is not well known outside the Jewish community. But the lessons of Hanukkah are important, and are relevant to our time.
For one thing, there is the fight itself–a rag tag group of warriors defeated a powerful empire. Perhaps this is the less obvious miracle of Hanukkah, as the victory might not have been possible without divine intervention. But even if we attribute the Maccabees’ success to G-d, they still earned their win through tenacity and faith in Jewish values. It reminds me of the old adage from St. Augustine: Pray like everything depends on G-d; act like everything depends on you. The lesson for our own time (and all times) is clear–despite the powerful forces arrayed against us, we must continue to fight for Justice. That is what our ancestors did, and it requires hard work. It also requires faith: Faith in G-d or humanity, or simply faith that right will ultimately defeat might, as long as we stay true to our cause. Put more eloquently, by Rocky Balboa, the patron saint of Philadelphia–
It ain’t about how hard you hit. It’s about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward. How much you can take and keep moving forward. That’s how winning is done!
There is also symbolism in the Hanukkah candles. They provide a light, which reminds us of the eternal flame and the miracle of the oil, of course. But what about the idea that the candle light cannot be used for other activities, like reading? To me, this represents a singularity of purpose. We have to keep our eyes on the prize, as it were. One criticism of the Left is that we tend to lack focus. Go to a rally for immigrant rights and you might see protest signs related to gun control, choice, and gay rights. I get the idea of intersectionality. But I think we need to be better about forming alliances to get things done, even if sometimes those alliances are with people we might otherwise find unpalatable (in typical Jewish fashion, I’ve also argued the other side of this point, but as they say, consistency is the hobgoblin of small minds).
Finally, there is the idea that the menorah should be displayed in a window. This one makes me nervous. I don’t really want passerby to know that I am Jewish. Maybe it’s because I grew up at a time when the Holocaust dominated our religious school curriculum, but the idea of advertising my religion to the whole neighborhood–which may include neo-Nazis for all I know–seems risky, even irresponsible. Here, though, I think the point is that we should not be afraid to state our values publicly. While there may be some risk in doing so, it is important to stand up for what we believe.
We live at a time when many of our leaders encourage us to hate people perceived as different; to hold “the other” in contempt. They want to divide us with lies and turn us away from the better angels of our nature. It’s easy and self-indulgent to hate, especially when we’ve been given permission to do so. Hanukkah reminds us to keep the light of goodness alive inside ourselves, and to show that light to the world. Living the message of Hanukkah is not easy, and it is not always safe. But it is important. And these days, it is a message we need more than ever.
President Trump recently spoke to the Republican Jewish Coalition in Las Vegas. The speech was vintage Trump: Lies, distortions, middle-school insults. Frankly, it’s no longer news worthy or even interesting. But what’s different here is the audience. They were Jews. And for me, as a Jewish attorney who represents asylum seekers, their reaction to the President’s comments were horrifying:
The President says our nation’s asylum program is “a scam” and claims that asylum seekers are “some of the roughest people you’ve ever seen–people that look like they should be fighting for the UFC.” The crowd laughs.
“They read a little page given by lawyers that are all over the place,” the President continued. “You know lawyers, they tell them what to say.” Imitating one of these allegedly-coached asylum seekers, the President deadpans, “I am very fearful for my life [and] very worried that I will be accosted if I am sent back home!” More laughter.
“No, no, he’ll do the accosting,” retorts the President. Laughter, applause.
Mr. Trump went on to mock those who support our asylum system: “Oh, give him asylum,” the President whined in the persona of one of these bleeding hearts, “He’s afraid, he’s afraid!” “We don’t love the fact that he’s got tattoos on his face–that’s not a good sign [and] we don’t love the fact that he’s carrying the flag of Honduras or Guatemala or El Salvador, only to say he’s petrified to be in his country.” More laughter and applause.
“To confront this border crisis,” Mr. Trump concluded, “I declared a national emergency.” Loud cheering.
Jews yucking it up, as the President denigrates and slanders people who are fleeing for their lives. To me, this is the ultimate in Holocaust denial.
Of course, these deniers are nothing like the anti-Semitic buffoons who claim the Holocaust was a hoax. The denialism of this group of Jews is much more profound and insidious than that of “traditional” deniers. That’s because this group knows better. And because they are Jewish.
They know that the Holocaust happened; that the Nazis and their allies murdered six million Jews and five million other “undesirables.” They know too that the international community largely turned its back on refugees fleeing Nazism. The Jews in Las Vegas likely celebrate Oskar Schindler and other “righteous gentiles” who rescued Jews during the War. They lament the tale of the St. Louis–a ship carrying hundreds of Jewish refugees that was denied entry into the U.S. and forced to return to Europe, where many of the passengers perished in death camps.
Indeed, the story of the St. Louis is just one episode in our country’s shameful response to Nazism. We enforced and over-enforced visa quotas to prevent Jews from finding safety in the United States. This response was fueled by lies and half-truths: The Jews fleeing Germany were enemy aliens, they were spies and Communists, Jews and other southern and eastern Europeans were inferior to Northerners, the Jewish refugees brought disease, they would take American jobs.
And of course, blatant anti-Semitism also helped shape American attitudes towards Jewish refugees. Witness the words of Charles Lindbergh at an “America First” rally in the autumn of 1941: “Leaders of the Jewish race are not American in interests and viewpoints,” he declared. There were three groups pressing the U.S. towards war, Lindbergh continued, “the British, the Jewish, and the Roosevelt Administration.” In other words, the Jews were a threat to the United States. Certainly, we should not be admitting more of them into our country.
Luckily, not all Jews were kept out. My wife’s grandfather was released from a concentration camp after he secured a U.S. visa. If not for that visa, his children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren (including my wife and children) would never have been born. Three generations of Jews exist today because some unknown consular official issued a visa, and saved a life.
On a grander scale, the magnitude of the Holocaust, and the world’s indifferent response, led to the creation of international laws protecting refugees. Our own country’s asylum system derives directly from our commitment to “never again” sit idly by as innocent people are slaughtered on account of their religion, race, political opinion or ethnic group. In that sense, the sacrifice of the Six Million was not in vain. Their deaths helped galvanize the world to try–however imperfectly–to prevent future Holocausts.
Despite this history, the Jewish audience in Las Vegas laughed and cheered to affirm President Trump’s false statements about asylum seekers. Perhaps by pretending that today’s refugees are a threat to our country, or that they are mere economic migrants, the Las Vegas Jews hope to avoid the burden of history and the burden of Passover–to welcome the stranger and to comfort the widow and the orphan. These Jews should know better. When they mock desperate men, women, and children who have come to our country seeking protection, they mirror those who mocked us in our hour of need. In so doing, they dishonor the memory of our martyrs and–in the most fundamental way–they deny the lessons and sacrifices of the Holocaust.
The massacre at the Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburgh hits home for me, as a Jew and as an immigration lawyer. The murderer shouted anti-Semitic slurs as he gunned down innocent parishioners. His on-line rants point to his motivation: Hatred of HIAS (the Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society, a Jewish resettlement agency) and “invaders,” i.e., refugees seeking protection in the United States.
The synagogue attack did not happen in a vacuum. According to the Anti-Defamation League, incidents of anti-Semitism increased 57% between 2016 and 2017. We’ve also seen a rise in hate crimes against immigrants (and people perceived to be immigrants), and there is good reason to believe that anti-Semitism and anti-immigrant sentiment go hand in hand.
What to do about all this?
On the macro level, we as a nation need to do better. We need to be more civil and more truthful. We need to listen more, and we need to think critically and be less wiling to accept the version of “reality” that comports with our own narrow prejudices. These are important policies points, but they are not really what I want to talk about in the wake of the massacre in Pittsburgh.
I want to talk about defiance.
The murders in Pittsburgh were motivated by hatred of Jews and hatred of immigrants. This was an act of terror, designed to intimidate us. It was the violent manifestation of the same hate that has, of late, become prominent in our country. Politicians–most notably our President, but many others as well–have fanned the flames of this hatred for political gain. The animosity has largely been directed at Muslims, Mexicans, and immigrants, but many “outsiders,” including Jews, have also been targeted.
The reaction I have observed from my friends in the Jewish community has been unified and powerful: We are not intimidated by the haters and we are not afraid. We will not compromise or cower. We will continue to attend synagogue and engage in all the social, charitable, and religious activities that have been the hallmark of our vibrant community. We have survived persecution by Romans, Crusaders, Inquisitions, programs, Nazis, and terrorists. We are still here and we will carry on.
I saw this determination last week at a vigil at my synagogue. Over 3,000 people came to honor and remember those murdered and injured in Pittsburgh. The mayor of Washington, DC spoke, so did the governors of our neighboring states, Maryland and Virginia. Leaders of the local and national Jewish community were there, as was the Israeli Ambassador. Also present were clergy and lay leaders from many faiths. And so while the pain inflicted on our community is very real, the support we feel is overwhelming.
Since the attack in Pittsburgh, I have been to my synagogue four times–for regular events and special events related to the massacre. Maybe the best way to honor the martyrs in Pittsburgh is to continue to live our lives as Jews, and that is what we are doing.
As for my friends in the immigrant-advocacy community, I have also seen our determination. The attack in Pittsburgh was motivated by hatred and fear of “invaders,” who the murderer thought were coming to the U.S. to “slaughter” his people. He specifically mentioned a refugee resettlement agency, HIAS, which has been helping displaced Jews and others since 1881.
The murderer’s fear of these “invaders” does not come from nowhere. The President and many others have been lying about the alleged threat of refugees and other foreigners. They have been ginning up hatred and anger. I suppose this is their way of motivating their supporters to vote. But it also seems related to the attack in Pittsburgh, and it apparently has inspired private militia members to bring their guns to the border and fend off the “invasion.” And why not? If we are being invaded by terrorists and gang members, armed resistance is the logical response.
The torrent of hate has effected immigrants and their advocates, and not just at the border. The HIAS office now has armed guards. Other immigrant advocacy groups have increased their security as well. The Pittsburgh attack and the regular threats received by advocates demonstrate that the danger is real.
But the lies and the hate have not stopped immigrant advocates from doing our jobs. Indeed, the situation is quite the opposite–more people than ever are donating and volunteering to help immigrants and refugees. In part, this is simply because people want to help others who are in need. It is also a response to rising xenophobia, and to the hatred and mendacity we see from some politicians and pundits. The bottom line, though, is that we are continuing our work to support immigrants and refugees despite–and because of–the current political environment.
Eleven Jews are dead. Other Jews and law enforcement officers are injured. There is no escaping this tragedy. But to the extent that the attack was designed to terrorize us and to prevent us from living our lives and pursuing Justice, it has failed. I have faith that even in these difficult times, we will never surrender to the forces of hate, and in the end, we will prevail.
Donald Trump has repeatedly promised to bar Muslim foreigners from the United States. More recently, he’s called for “extreme vetting” of such people. Given his pronouncements, it’s not surprising that Muslim immigrants and asylum seekers are worried. But fear not – there is an easy solution for people affected by the ban: Convert to Judaism.
“What!!??! How can I change my religion? I don’t know anything about Judaism,” you say. Do not fret; I am here to help. I will explain to you how to be Jewish. It’s really not that hard. Jews and Muslims are already a lot alike. We both hate pork and love hummus. We’re both perpetuating the War on Christmas by wishing others, “Happy holidays.” And we both really want to own Jerusalem. See, we’re practically cousins.
Besides, converting to Judaism is the perfect cover. Donald Trump’s own daughter converted, and he hasn’t tried to ban her from anything.
So how do you “pass” as Jewish?
The first thing to know is that a Jewish person never answers a question. Instead, he responds with a question of his own, often followed by a complaint. So for example, if someone asks you, “How are you doing today?,” you don’t say, “I’m fine.” Instead, you say something like, “How should I be doing? What with my bad stomach. My fakakta doctor prescribed me some pills, but they do bubkis.” Get it? Let’s try an example in the immigration context. Here’s a common question that you might encounter:
Immigration Officer: “How many children do you have?”
Non-Jewish Answer: “Three.”
Jewish Answer: “How should I know? They never call, they never write. My youngest is running around with some shiksa. And my oldest! Don’t even get me started. I told her, ‘Go to medical school, like your cousin Herbie,’ but what does she do? Majors in Liberal Arts. Feh! Her father and I spend $50,000 a year on college so she can work as a barista. Oy, what tsuress. Just thinking about it, I’m verklempt already.
You see – It’s easy. Here’s another one. Let’s say that someone asks you a question that you want to avoid answering. One way to do that is by minimizing the importance of the question, and then making the questioner feel guilty about asking it. We Jews do that by taking the most important word in the question, replacing the first letter in the word with “schm” and then repeating it back. Often, this is followed by a reference to the Nazis. Here’s an example in the immigration context to help clarify what I mean:
Immigration Officer: “Hello sir, may I please see your visa?”
Non-Jewish Answer: “Here is my visa.”
Jewish Answer: “Visa, schmisa! Do you think I’ve been sitting on a plane squished up like a sardine for the last 12 hours just so some Himmler-wanna-be can ask for my papers? My family didn’t survive the Holocaust, not to mention the pogroms, just to have some shmendrick treat me like a gonif. Next thing you know, you’ll be deporting me to a camp. The whole thing makes me want to plotz.”
At that point, your interrogator will likely let you pass through customs just to get rid of you, which is another advantage of converting to Judaism.
OK, I think you’ve got it. But here’s one last example. This one’s a bit more advanced, so pay attention. If you can master it, no one will ever question your newfound Judaism. In English, most sentences are constructed with a noun, followed by a verb. We Jews often reverse that construction. So we wouldn’t say, “She is a fast driver.” Instead, we might say, “Fast, she drives.” But typically, we’d try to be a bit more colorful: “Fast, shmast. Like Marrio Andretti, she drives.” And here it is in the immigration context:
Immigration Officer: “The fee for your green card is $1,070.”
Non-Jewish Answer: “Here is $1,070.”
Jewish Answer: “Nu? One thousand and seventy?! What am I, a Rothschild? Why don’t you take my first born son while your at it. Maybe you can get some schlemiel to pony up that kind of money, but not me. Anyway, gelt like this, I don’t have. Maybe the big machers can afford your fees, but not us little pishers. Now, be a mensch and hand to me your brochures about moving to Canada?”
So that’s it. Look, it isn’t pretty to have to convert (or pretend to convert) to survive. We Jews have done it before (remember the Spanish Inquisition and the crypto-Jews?), but I suppose it beats the alternative. Anyway, in four years, when Michelle Obama becomes president, you can always convert back.
The Jewish community around the world has recently been in mourning for the loss of three young Jewish men, kidnapped and murdered in the West Bank. Their bodies were found on June 30, more than two weeks after they were taken.
Israel blamed Hamas for the kidnapping and, since the three teens disappeared, has been engaged in a crackdown against the terrorist organization. For its part, Hamas did not claim credit for the crime, but praised the kidnapping. The event has sparked Hamas rocket fire from Gaza into Israel, retaliatory airstrikes, and the revenge killing of an Arab teen by Jewish extremists.
The discovery of the young men’s bodies also led to mass mourning within the Jewish community in Israel, around the world, and here in Washington, DC. Last week, 1,200 mourners attended a memorial service in suburban DC for the slain teens. Most of the attendees were Jews, but representatives of several local Christian communities were also present. All expressed solidarity with the family members and deep sadness at the loss of “our boys.”
Of course in times of tragedy, it is the nature of communities–even fractured ones like the American Jewish community–to come together to mourn and comfort one another. But this recent tragedy in my own community, and our response to it, has gotten me thinking about whether the way we mourn–and what events we choose to mourn–contributes to the problem of violence between communities.
One area of concern for me is the us/them mentality of the Jewish community’s response (and obviously this is not unique to the Jewish community). The idea that there is an us and a them. Our expression of grief over the loss of “our boys” seems to me symptomatic of the problem. We grieve for “our boys,” but not for “their boys.” Maybe this is a trite point, but I can’t help but think about some of the people I have represented; people who have faced senseless losses as horrible as those suffered by the Israeli teens’ families.
For example, I am representing a Syrian couple whose newborn baby was asphyxiated by dust and poison gas during a battle. I also represented (successfully) an Iraqi mother who watched her son gunned down in front of her and in front of his own wife and young child. We recently attended an asylum interview for an Afghan man who saw dozens of his relatives and friends killed and maimed by a missile strike on a family wedding. There are no public memorials for these victims. No one even knows about their stories. Indeed, maybe because stories like these are so common in places like Syria, Iraq, and Afghanistan, no one pays much attention. But I have met all these people and heard their stories, so when I see the outpouring of grief for the three Israeli boys, it is difficult not to feel that the solitary suffering of my clients (and millions like them) is unfair and that failing to fully validate the humanity of such victims is unjust. Perhaps if we thought of people like my clients as “us” rather than “them,” we would be more willing to take action to help them (and that goes for all the unaccompanied minors arriving at our Southern border–what if we thought of these children as “our boys and girls”? How would our approach to them differ?).
Maybe I am hoping for too much here. How can we acknowledge so many losses? Why shouldn’t we honor and support “our own” before we deal with everyone else? I don’t know, but it seems to me if we could do better about recognizing the humanity and the value of “the other,” we would take a big step towards preventing future harm for everyone.
A second concern I have about my community’s response to the deaths is more about what we didn’t do. We mourned “our boys,” but not the Palestinian boy who was killed in a barbaric revenge attack by Jewish extremists. Israel quickly arrested the culprits and Prime Minister Netanyahu and many others have condemned the killing. These are obviously important steps, but it is a bit different than mourning the loss of the young Palestinian. Mourning the young man’s death is important not only because “our side” is responsible for his death and thus it reflects on us, as Jews, but also because we need to recognize the boy’s value as a human being.
Again, maybe it is asking too much–especially in the heat of conflict–for Israelis and Palestinians to mourn each others’ losses, but I believe that this is what we must do if we hope ever to end the violence. Indeed, family members of one of the Israeli boys and of the Palestinian boy have been in contact with each other, and some Palestinians and Israelis have been crossing the lines to offer condolences to each other. If people so close to these tragedies can see the humanity in each other, perhaps one day the rest of us will too.
A new bill in the House of Representatives seeks to link resolution of the Palestinian refugee situation with the plight of Jews (and Christians) expelled from Arab lands. Both Palestinians and Jews suffered as a result of expulsions from their home countries during and after the creation of the State of Israel. Palestinians left and were forced to leave Israel (and the West Bank and Gaza). And most Jews living in Muslim countries left or were forced to leave their homes as well. The bill is designed to ensure that these Jews are not forgotten by linking resolution of their issues with resolution of the on-going Palestinian refugee crisis. The bill’s supporters state:
Any comprehensive Middle East peace agreement can only be credible and enduring if it resolves all issues related to the rights of all refugees in the Arab world and Iran, including Jews, Christians and others.
The legislation has bipartisan support in the House and calls on the Obama administration to pair any reference to Palestinian refugees with a similar reference to Jewish and other refugees.
While I agree that it is important to remember and address the grievances of Jews and others expelled from Arab lands (I recently wrote about this issue), linking the resolution of that problem with the issue of Palestinian refugees sets a dangerous precedent and undermines international law related to the protection of refugees.
The United Nations Convention Relating to the Status of Refugees (1951) defines a refugee as:
A person who owing to a well-founded fear of being persecuted for reasons of race, religion, nationality, membership of a particular social group or political opinion, is outside the country of his nationality and is unable or, owing to such fear, is unwilling to avail himself of the protection of that country; or who, not having a nationality and being outside the country of his former habitual residence as a result of such events, is unable or, owing to such fear, is unwilling to return to it.
The majority of Palestinians who fled Israel and now live in various Arab countries are “refugees” according to this definition. They do “not [have] a nationality and [are] outside the country of [their] former habitual residence as a result of such events.” Of course one reason they remain refugees is because the different Arab governments have refused to grant them citizenship. The other reason is that Israel does not permit them to return home.
As opposed to the Palestinians, the large majority of Jews who fled Arab countries are not “refugees” as that term is defined in international law. Most (if not all) such Jews have been granted citizenship in their new country of residence (be it Israel, the U.S., France or some other country). Also, for the most part, Jews expelled from Arab lands do not wish to return to their home countries. This does not mean that these Jews do not have legitimate claims for compensation for lost land, property, and the lives of loved ones. They most certainly do. But this is not the same as being a refugee. Thus, the new bill is factually incorrect when it refers to such Jews as refugees.
Far worse than the semantics of “who is a refugee” is the problem of politicizing a humanitarian benefit. Anyone who meets the definition of “refugee” is a refugee. Period. Such people are entitled to protection in the host country because they are refugees. There are no other requirements (though obviously there are exceptions for persecutors, criminals, and terrorists).
By linking the fate of one refugee population to another, the bill adds an external contingency to international refugee law. We no longer protect refugees because they are refugees. Now, we only protect them if some other conditions are met. Does this mean that we should deport legitimate asylum seekers from Mexico until Mexico compensates us for Pancho Villa’s 1916 invasion? Can Great Britain deny asylum to all Egyptians unless Egypt returns the Suez Canal? Is Japan permitted to reject all Chinese asylum seekers until China returns “Manchukuo?”
This is not how international refugee law works. We do not blame the victims and hold them hostage until some outside contingency–in this case a contingency not of their own making–is satisfied. In other words, it is not the fault of Palestinian refugees that Jews were expelled from Arab lands. So why should the Palestinians’ fate be tied to compensation for the Jewish “refugees” (something over which they have no control)?
I think the real motivation for this bill is not to help Jews from Arab lands. Rather, it is to justify Israel’s refusal to allow Palestinians to return to their homeland by demonstrating that there was suffering and loss “on both sides.” This seems to me a cynical and sinister use of international refugee law. I hope the bill will be soundly rejected.
Gal Beckerman’s new book, When They Come for Us, We’ll Be Gone: The Epic Struggle to Save Soviet Jewry, has been widely touted as the definitive work on the subject, and earlier this month, it was crowned Jewish Book of the Year by the Jewish Book Counsel. As far as I know, Mr. Beckerman is the youngest author (age 34) to receive such an honor.
I just completed the book, and I fully agree that it deserves this high praise. Mr. Beckerman eloquently explores the breadth and depth of the effort to free Soviet Jews, and makes a convincing argument that the movement launched the modern human rights era. It’s a fascinating story, which alternates between Soviet Jewish activists, American Jews, who until now have received little recognition, and national figures, such as Senator Henry Jackson, co-author of the Jackson-Vanik Amendment, which linked human rights and American foreign policy (over the objection of President Nixon and Henry Kissinger).
But more than this–and like any great book–it taught me something about myself. I had not really thought about it before, but the effort to help Soviet Jews is what initially sparked my own interest in human rights and social justice. The book also reminded me of another struggle taking place as we speak–the effort to pass the DREAM Act.
First (since blogs are for navel gazing), a bit about me. Like Mr. Beckerman, I had a “twin” Bar Mitzvah–In 1982, I was matched with a Jewish boy from the Soviet Union who was not permitted to have a Bar Mitzvah himself. As my “twin,” he was mentioned several times during the ceremony, and was symbolically Bar Mitzvahed with me. Whether he ever learned of this, I don’t know, and I basically forgot about him until I read Mr. Beckerman’s book.
Years later, during my first job after college, I helped find jobs for refugees who had settled in Philadelphia. About half of them were from the Soviet Union, the product of the struggle to save the Soviet Jews. While it was an interesting and rewarding position, the job was fairly prosaic, and I did not know much about the context of what I was doing. Again, Mr. Beckerman’s book illuminated this chapter of my life.
Finally, while reading the book, I kept thinking about parallels between the Jews of the U.S.S.R. and DREAM Act students in the United States. While Russian Jews wanted to leave and DREAM Act students want to stay, both groups faced (or face) arbitrary arrest at any moment, both lived (or currently live) in fear, both were viewed as dangerous outsiders, and both suffered these difficulties not because of something they did, but because of who they are.
I’m proud to say that the organized Jewish community–led by HIAS–has worked hard to help DREAM Act students. It is a fitting continuation of the struggle to save Soviet Jews. I hope Gal Beckerman’s superb book will remind us of the power of an organized community to work for social justice, and of the ethical imperative that all of us have to continue the struggle.
The best place to purchase the book (and read an interview with the author) is here.