When the tragic synagogue shooting occurred in Pittsburgh, it was a given that every law school in the country would talk about it in some form. I can guarantee you that the secular professors and students discussed freedom of religion with as much intellectual theory and doctrine as possible. What I can’t guarantee is that they understood the personal pain that every Jew feels when we hear of anti-Semitic events both great and small. And why should they?
By the same token, the word Holocaust cannot possibly mean the same thing to them as it does to me, someone who cannot ask her Bubby about the multitude of family members killed in the Holocaust without it causing her Bubby to cry. Oh, yes, you’ll find that the Holocaust is a very common comparison used in both undergraduate and graduate discussions. When these discussions come up, I rarely express my personal connection to it. Usually, my colleagues know that I’m Jewish, and to me, it’s important that I don’t complain about what the world did or what it has come to. Instead, I choose not to be a victim. I choose to be a solution. The question then becomes, how?
In the last issue, I discussed the importance of championing your Judaism. It’s the only thing that will carry you forward in a world that, quite honestly, doesn’t always make much sense. Well, here’s another little worldly insight: Too many people victimize themselves. Some current political stances are based on this. There are those who complain that the world will just never accept them and thus special treatment is necessary to overcome the differences. I disagree. To be heard, you have to be strong. You have to be a leader, no matter how many times you are targeted as a victim.
In one of my most recent classes in law school, everyone was scheduled to talk on a certain day of the semester, arranged according to the alphabet. Essentially, everyone has one day when he or she will be tested on the material in front of everyone. This didn’t frighten me. I did find it eerie, however, that my name fell out on the day we would be discussing freedom of religion. Call it one of those hmmm-Hashem-is-there-something-you-want-me-to-do? moments. Add a horrific shooting a few days before my turn in class, and what do you have? One determined Rena Neuman.
I wanted to show my class a little bit of what religion means to a Jew. Granted, I couldn’t hi-jack the class discussion to present my personal opinions. (Unsurprisingly, professors frown upon such conduct.) But steadfast debating would do the trick. During class, my professor asked one student what “religion” means. The student answered, “Religion is a belief system in a higher being.” Not a bad answer but not entirely accurate, so my professor wasn’t satisfied. Here, I step in.
“Religion,” I answered, “is simply a belief. So, essentially, even one who doesn’t believe in G-d is still religious. They still believe in something, even if they don’t want to admit it.” My teacher agreed with me. I wasn’t finished, though. We were discussing freedom of religion in the context of government endorsement of religion. So everyone was stating how the Pledge of Allegiance, as well as the words “In G-d we trust” on American currency contradict the Constitution. Even though I can understand that point, I honestly don’t like the idea of ignoring G-d (probably because I’m religious, but I digress). So, when I thought of a counter-argument in favor of mention of G-d, I couldn’t stop smiling.
“I’m going to muddy the waters,” I continued. “As I’ve stated, not believing in a religion is in fact a religion. So, if the government doesn’t mention G-d, aren’t they just supporting one religion – atheism – over another, belief in G-d? What then?” When my professor asked the class for any rebuttals, the room remained silent.
If you haven’t figured it out yet, strong arguments that make my class take pause make me very, very happy. In essence, I wanted to show them that it’s very easy to follow modern thought about what religion is: a “silly” belief in something you cannot see. Now, I’m not going to tell them to convert to Judaism, of course. I may have decided to go to law school, but I’m not that crazy. But I wanted to tell them that really, they’re all religious – because they believe in something. As humans, we all do. The point isn’t to get them to step into my shoes as a Jew; they can’t realistically do that. The point is to persuade them not to fear religion, just as they don’t fear the apparent absence of it.
After the discussion, a student came up to me in front of other classmates and told me that the student agreed with my definition of religion. The student then asked me what religion I am, so I guess I took the champion-your-Judaism concept to a whole new level: I stated that I’m an Orthodox Jew, which then led to conversation about the Pittsburgh shul shooting. I told the student and the other students who were listening that the shooting had really shaken my community. I expressed what it meant to me as a Jew that acts of hatred – against all colors and creeds – should stop. The students answered with sincere condolences.
I could have told my class that the world is just anti-Semitic. But what would that do? By expressing myself as a victim, it would only leave everyone with the conclusion that this is just the way the world is and change is impossible. Sometimes, indirect arguments that apply to everyone are the best way to make people understand where the source of hate comes from: oblivious and blind intolerance, where others believe that someone else’s targeted religion has nothing to do with them. But if the secular world understands that the basis of religion is belief, something that everyone has, instead of focusing on the differences between creeds, perhaps they can relate to each other and to us, as Jews. As law students, it is very likely that some of my classmates may be future senators and legislators, so to promote favorable religious legislation in the future, it is important to me that my classmates understand what religion actually is.
Now, my two objectives were complete: first, get others to think more critically about what religion actually means, and second, to point out the detrimental and widespread effect that anti-Semitic acts have on every Jewish community. But really, both of these objectives can be rolled into one: turning pain, confusion, and hurt into power. The power comes from choosing to never express yourself as a victim, though you’re targeted.
Supreme Court Justice, Justice Black, stated in a majority opinion: “With the power of government supporting them, at various times and places, Catholics had persecuted Protestants, Protestants had persecuted Catholics, Protestant sects had persecuted other Protestant sects, Catholics of one shade of belief had persecuted Catholics of another shade of belief, and all of these had from time to time persecuted Jews.” [emphasis added] Everson v. Bd. of Educ., 330 U.S. 1, 9 (1947).
We may be targets, but as long as we are, I say, let’s be moving targets. Let us continue to move – to show the world what we mean to each other and what Hashem means to us. Then, no matter how many times they try to shoot us down, we will never be victims, rather, leaders of a better and brighter tomorrow.
