Rabbi Emanuel Feldman
A major American Jewish Federation, in its desire to help heal the wounds of the Pittsburgh tragedy, invited its Jewish community to come together the following Sunday afternoon at a certain public venue. What would they do there? As a gesture of identification with the Jews of Pittsburgh, they would, as a community, watch — on a special giant screen — the Pittsburgh Steelers football game.
When I first read the notice, I did not know whether to laugh or to cry. To laugh: At the ludicrous attempt to assuage the aching trauma of Pittsburgh by watching their football team. (Fortunately, the Pittsburgh team won. Had they lost, the depression of some fans might have been beyond redemption…)
To cry: At the inability of Jews without Torah grounding to find meaningful Jewish expression for their grief. Why not, for example, call the community together to read comforting Psalms, or to hear a lesson on how classical Judaism helps us deal with tragedy? Or might that be construed as too overtly religious?
What made the gesture so sad was that this was a sincere attempt to help Jews deal with their shock and grief. To come together as a community would certainly be therapeutic. It would help relieve the inevitable sense of loneliness that gnaws at the heart of those who mourn. But unfortunately, it was not only inappropriate; it was devoid of Jewish meaning, and to that extent, it was depressing.
For not only did it trivialize a tragedy; it symbolized the emptiness that results from overexposure to the norms of the society around us and underexposure to authentic Jewish sources. In the display of spiritual floundering and lack of a firm compass, this was a paradigm of estrangement from Judaism. Heartfelt it surely was, but at the same time, heartrending.
To be sure, the Federations nationally did call for all Jews to attend their own synagogues on the following Shabbos morning. But any religious ingredient in this call was diluted by the open invitation to non-Jews to attend synagogue as well. Again this was well-meaning, and on the surface, innocent. But if synagogues were crowded that Shabbos with Jews and non-Jews, it was more of a political statement than a reaching out to the G-d of Israel to ask for His guidance and His healing.
While demonstrations of non-Jewish goodwill and sympathy are welcome and appreciated, surely the sponsors of such events could have found ways to encourage non-Jewish solidarity with us without turning Jewish connection with G-d into an exercise in interfaith goodwill. Prayer to our Creator is not a political or social act, nor is it a matter of public relations. Prayer — davening — is the Jewish soul striving to touch the Divine. But when one’s Jewish sensitivities are dulled, and contemporary values are substituted for authentic Jewish ones, negative sentiments such as those being expressed here are certain to be dismissed as intolerant and narrow-minded.
This column has already discussed genuinely Jewish responses to communal tragedy, and we will not belabor that. My point today is different: When we discard classical Torah norms and seek to live by standards and principles not our own, a price is paid. For whenever we are in narrow straits and we yearn for authentic Jewish comfort and solace; when our Jewish soul longs desperately for a ray of light and a guiding hand in the darkness of despair, we find nothing authentic to grasp onto except the shopworn nostrums of the world around us. Jeremiah 2:13 said it all: “They have forsaken Me, the fount of living waters, and hewn themselves broken cisterns that hold no water.” Has anything changed?
The sadness of Jewish emptiness transcends Pittsburgh. It affects millions of our fellow Jews, and it will not be assuaged by watching football games.
It is praiseworthy to fight anti-Semitism — good luck in that Sisyphean struggle. And it is natural to seek help from non-Jewish friends — and there are such good friends out there. But in the struggle for the future of Am Yisrael, we have seen the real enemy, and — to cite Walt Kelly’s Pogo — he is us.
(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 740)
