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Rabbi Norman M. Cohen
Bet Shalom Congregation
Give Me Your Tired, Your Poor
Rosh Hashanah 5768
After hearing about the
pogroms in Russia in the 1880s, Emma Lazarus wrote
The New Colossus engraved at the base of the Statue
of Liberty. Having been raised in a wealthy Jewish
family in New York, she recognized the importance of
welcoming those seeking a better life to the shores
of the country that had made possible such a good
life for her family. The most well known verses
should be familiar to all Americans:
“Give me your tired,
your poor,
Your huddled masses
yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of
your teeming shore.
Send these, the
homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
The American Jewish
community owes what it has become to the ideas
expressed in that poem. Indeed, the majority of
people sitting in this sanctuary would not be here
if not for the process our grandparents and
great-grandparents went through at Ellis Island
generations ago.
The image of America was
and still is one of streets lined with gold. The
push of persecution in other lands combined with the
pull of economic incentive were the driving and
drawing forces for the waves of immigration that
brought most in search of the American dream.
Most of our Bet Shalom
ancestors crossed the shores before the antisemitic
inspired laws of 1921 and 1924 closed the
floodgates. Immigration to America remains to this
day quite restrictive, no longer as open as it was,
and as a result, many, fleeing persecution and
looking to better their lives, find a variety of
ways, some illegal, to enter the United States. Even
with all the negative political images of our
country broadcast and communicated through the
media, America remains in the images of millions of
people, the most desirable place in the world to
live.
An abundant number of
challenges and issues have arisen over the growing
number of illegal aliens. These are not mere
political questions but spiritual issues that go to
the heart of our Jewish identities and the values of
our tradition.
How do we see other
people? The al chet, our list of sins at
this time of the year, includes xenophobia, the fear
of strangers. It is natural human behavior to see
the world as “Them” and “Us”. As Jews in America
today we see ourselves as part of the American “Us”.
Two or three generations ago most Americans looked
at our grandparents or great grandparents as “them”.
More recently, thousands
of Jews from the former Soviet Union came to the
United States and many to our community, making
their particular unique contributions as well,
reminding us of the importance of keeping the doors
of America open.
The Biblical book of
Ruth reminds us that those who might be rejected and
sent back to where they belong may very well make
some of the most significant contributions to our
future. Ruth was a Moabite woman, a foreigner. Ezra
and Nehemiah, the leaders of the Jewish people in
postexilic times had issued an edict commanding Jews
who had married foreign women to send them back,
along with the children they had fathered and
raised.
This xenophobic ruling
not only shocks and offends us today; some scholars
believe it inspired the inclusion of the book of
Ruth in the canon of our Sacred Scriptures as a
polemic against this very human, but misguided
response to the fear of strangers. The punch line of
the book of Ruth reminds us that she turned out to
be the great grandmother of David, who would become
the greatest king in the history of Israel. Had we
followed our human instincts to reject her, we would
have missed out on this era of glory for the Jewish
people. Indeed, we would have eliminated the
possibility of ever hoping for a messianic figure in
the future, descended from the Davidic line, the
line of Ruth the Moabite.
The conversation going
on today is reminiscent of what always takes place
in this debate. Even within the Jewish community
there was tremendous resentment and hostility
expressed by German Jews in the late 1800’s who had
been here for a generation or two and had
acculturated when the East European and Russian
greenhorns arrived, apparently upsetting all that
had been accomplished. Ironically this was exactly
how the earliest Jewish settlers, the Sephardim,
treated their fellow Jews, the Yekkis from Germany
when they had first arrived in the early and mid
1800’s.
Today Jews in America
participate like all other “real” Americans in this
immigration debate. We see the immigrants as “Them”
and ourselves as part of the American “Us”. We Jews
have been extremely successful in living out the
American dream and that remains part of what makes
this country great.
Our historic experience
and our religious tradition both tend to teach us to
identify with the immigrants. We should identify
with those who have fled persecution in Africa and
with those from Mexico seeking economic opportunity.
We who were trapped during the years of the
Holocaust when there was no Jewish state to flee to
should understand what closed doors could mean.
In the recent bestseller
about Supreme Court Justice and my fellow Holy Cross
alum Clarence Thomas, Supreme Discomfort, the
authors take him to task for having been a
beneficiary of affirmative action programs and
attitudes and throwing down the ladder behind him
after he had reached the roof. Do we Jews want that
reputation as well? More importantly, is it morally
justifiable?
There is no phrase more
prominent in our liturgy than “Remember that you
were strangers in the land of Egypt”. Next week we
shall read from Leviticus, “The stranger shall be to
you as the homeborn.” Our people’s history begins
with a call from God to Abraham and Sarah, “Lech
Lecha MeiArtzecha, Umimoladtecha, Umibeit Avicha”,
to leave “their land, the place of their birth, the
house of their fathers.” Our holidays remind us what
it feels like to be “the other”. Deuteronomy
describes the sacred history of our people, which we
recite as part of the Passover Seder. We proclaim, “Arami
Ovaid Avi’ “My father was a wandering Aramean.”
This morning we read
from the Torah of the binding of Isaac. The very
next event is the death of Sarah. After Sarah dies,
Abraham seeks to buy a grave from the residents of
Hebron. He says, “Ger V’toshav Anochi Imachem”
“I am a stranger and a resident among you.” The
rabbis comment that in some ways he is a stranger,
an alien, and an illegal immigrant. In others he
has established his bona fides, he has resided among
them and brought them blessing. They respond, “N’si
Elohim Ata” “You are a prince of God among us”.
Shall we treat the immigrant as a prince of God or a
stranger, an alien?
How can we at Bet Shalom
ignore the primary message in the dramatic entrance
of our own building? The flap of the tent rolled up
over the doorway, reminding us of the Jewish value
of hachnasat orchim, hospitality at the tent
of Abraham and Sarah, as they looked out in every
direction, eager to bring the strangers into their
tent, offering warm hospitality, food and care to
the strange travelers who needed to wash their feet
and eat a bit and sit and have some respite, which
we are in a position to offer. That story alone
should always make us cautious about xenophobia.
One of the first Jews to
be influenced by Abraham and Sarah’s example was
their nephew Lot, who risked the honor and safety of
his own family to protect the visitors in Sodom who
turned out to be angels sent by God. We have some
obligations to help and sustain those who come to
our home.
Thousands of people come
to the United States to do labor we do not want to
do. In the pioneering days of the Wild West, the
Chinese came to cook and do laundry, yet their
descendants are still treated as second class and
suffer bigotry and discrimination. In the present
generation, dark skinned immigrants with or without
green cards are coming to America in huge numbers.
Many provide vital health care, sanitation, and take
jobs that are often considered by many as
undesirable. Do we not have some responsibility to
provide for their basic needs? It was not so long
ago that John Steinbeck wrote about some of these
issues in a different context of the Grapes of
Wrath, speaking to the mistreatment of migrant
workers in California. Woody Guthrie sang a song
about the tragedy of an airplane crash in which the
newspaper listed the names of the deceased pilot and
his wife but referred to the rest of the dead
passengers as “deportees”.
When Jews came to New
Amsterdam in the days of early Colonial America, the
governor of New Amsterdam, Peter Stuyvesant,
suspecting the worst about us, forbid us from
serving on guard duty, and tried to deport us back
to Europe, where we came from! In his eyes and in
the eyes of many others, we were the so-called
“undesirables”. What does that mean? After much
pressure, he agreed to accept our residency, but
only on the condition that we were responsible to
take care of our own!! That revealed his ignorance
about Jews.
Let us give him the
benefit of the doubt and not assume bigotry.
Perhaps he did not want our presence to take away
from the limited resources he had to look out for
those who were already here. Indeed, this is
something that needs also to be considered from our
tradition’s point of view as well. Those who come to
America should not only reap the benefits of our
nation but also have some responsibilities of their
own as well. They do need to contribute to the
culture and economy and not just be a drain on our
resources.
The Midrash expresses
this concern when it tells us what to serve to our
guests depending on how long they have been
staying! Rashi and Tosafot suggest that “it
sometimes happens that when a person receives a
guest, he feeds him fattened fowl on the first day,
more ordinary meat on the 2nd day, fish the 3rd day,
cheese the 4th, vegetables the next day, and only
greens after that. The intent is clear: Visitors
pose an economic responsibility, but there are
limits especially when your own welfare is
overburdened.
Another factor enters
into our tradition’s values system. What is the
intention of the guest? Has he come here to live or
just to visit? Will she be contributing to society
or just taking what we provide? Does this help the
rest of the community or reduce our ability to take
care of the needs of those who have already
contributed? This question must have been quite
common in ancient days as we read in the
commentaries of the book of Ruth that Elimelech
moved his family to the fields of Moab. The rabbis
point out that he stayed in the fields and did not
enter the city to dwell as he had plans only to stay
there temporarily and return to his native
Bethlehem. But he died before he could return and
his family stayed on for more than a decade,
potentially creating quite a burden to the
community. Are immigrants residents or aliens? What
is their intention and what is our expectation?
Naturally, Judaism has something significant to tell
us about this as well. In the Talmud Baba Batra,
page 8a we read: “If a person resides in a town for
thirty days, that person is responsible for
contributing to the soup kitchen; After three
months, that person is responsible to the charity
box; After six months, to the clothing fund; After
nine months, to the burial fund; And after twelve
months, that person is responsible for contributing
to the repair of the town walls.”
Another significant
issue involved in immigration is the issue of law.
With all of its flaws, the American legal system is
still the best in the world. Based in part on the
advice of Moses’ father in law, Jethro the Midianite,
the United States operates on one of the central
ideas of Judaism: that without law and order, there
can be no civilization.
It is important to
insist that immigration be done legally. If the
first act of a newcomer to America is to cross the
border without respect for immigration laws, then
how can we expect them to respect any law once they
are here? If the laws are untenable they must be
changed, but until they are, Judaism would say they
must be observed.
Many of our ancestors
came from countries where the rule of law was
ignored, where might made right. This is what
happens when there is lawlessness and disrespect for
the mores of society.
Yet, while some
immigrants become outlaws and join gangs,
contributing to an increase in crime, the vast
majority become law-abiding, contributing,
productive citizens. While one can point to a
variety of individuals who end up in jail, one can
also easily point out that the man who saved the 50
children on the bus on the I-35 bridge last month
had a Hispanic surname. If we judge people on
ethnicity alone, we miss out on some of the greatest
contributions to our lives in America. There were
Irish American, Italian American and yes, even
Jewish immigrants from Eastern Europe who became
criminals in this country and were a burden to
society. But most immigrants then as well as now are
a benefit to our culture and society. Many
immigrants even pay taxes but claim no benefits for
fear of being deported.
The immigration issues
of the day are so confusing. Probably the most
valuable Jewish advice on this as well as most
matters of tension and confusion, where our emotions
and our intellects sometimes clash, is to recall one
the earliest Midrashim on one of the earliest
stories of our tradition, that of the creation of
the world.
The Lord God [made earth
and heaven]. This may be compared to a king who had
some empty glasses. Said the king: "If I pour hot
water into them, they will burst; if cold, they will
contract [and snap]." What then did the king do? He
mixed hot and cold water and poured it into them,
and so they remained [unbroken]. Even so, said the
Holy One, blessed be He: "If I create the world on
the basis of mercy alone, its sins will be great; on
the basis of judgment alone, the world cannot exist.
Hence I will create it on the basis of judgment and
of mercy, and may it then stand!"
We must strive for a
balance between justice and mercy. We must have law
and order, a way that everyone’s rights can be
protected and preserved even in the midst of
unforeseen circumstance. And we also need to
administer that law with compassion and caring,
remembering that we once stood and may stand again
in that place, where others, and in the end God
himself, will make the judgment over us.
The greatest caution I
can offer is against the very human inclination to
demonize the other, to create an image of the
stranger, the immigrant that evokes the worst
possible scenarios. While it is important after 9/11
to be on guard against terrorism, we cannot use that
with such a broad brushstroke that we allow fear to
make us cold and unwelcoming.
Judaism teaches that we
need to avoid demonizing our enemies or the stranger
or those who are different from us. Pirke Avot
demands: Judge every person for merit. Give everyone
the benefit of the doubt…until they prove you wrong.
We Jews are so blessed
to have such a rich textual background that can
inform our opinions, rooting us in our heritage and
connecting us to our ancestors. We should put on our
Jewish glasses and try to see the world through
Jewish eyes and act as mensches, the ideal
toward which all of our teaching points us. |
