A History Lesson: One we hope won't be repeated

Last Shabbat I was reminded of how American and how Jewish I am. In schul we read of the death of Sarah, first of the matriarchs. We also commemorated the 45th anniversary of the assassination of John F. Kennedy. Ask any person of a certain age (my age) if they remember where they were and you will get a stream of reminiscence. I was just coming out of an art history exam, thinking about going home for Thanksgiving; I overheard a couple of other students talking about presidents elected in years ending in zero dying in office and wondered why they were bandying about that old chestnut. Moments later I knew.

In my lifetime’s memory, I can’t think of a better, certainly not a more inspiring president than JFK whose words were eloquent, whose public actions were on the mark, whose wife added grace and charm to the stodginess of Washington. If things work out as we hope they will, now my children will have the experience of a Kennedy-like president in the White House—a man whose words are eloquent, whose public actions are on the mark, whose wife will add grace and charm to the stodginess of Washington.

At our house we commemorate the mournful event in Dallas as we always do, with song and quotation. We began with a toast made over Jameson Irish whisky, and sang,

“Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From glen to glen, and down the mountain side
The summer's gone, and all the flowers are dying
'Tis you, 'tis you must go and I must abide.

One guest rose to recite a line from Edward Everett, the other speaker at the dedication of the Gettysburg cemetery and now inscribed on the Rhode Island World War II monument. “No lapse of time, no distance of space, shall cause you to be forgotten.” Then, unbidden lines from a poem I’d memorized in 7th grade came to mind. It’s from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s “Decoration Day” a stanza of which seemed appropriate. From Jameson affected mind to quivering lips it passed, including this stanza:

Rest, comrade, rest and sleep!
The thoughts of men shall be,
As sentinels to keep
Your rest, from danger, free.

I don’t know if this will resonate with many, but two historical events, I hope not precedents, intrude into my mind with nightmare vividness. Briefly in 1618 there was a king and queen of Bohemia, Frederick and his English wife Elizabeth who were of the same lofty plane as the Kennedys and the Obamas. So gracious were they, so open to the arts and sciences that this so-called Winter King—for so brief was his reign—was a foretaste of last century’s Prague Spring. But as in 1968, so in 1619 the forces of repressive reaction drove them from Prague and restored unimaginative conformity, while simultaneously ushering in the Thirty Years’ War. Another historical model: The Gracchi, two brothers in second century BCE Rome, children of wealth and privilege who objected to the outsourcing of jobs (importation of slaves) and importing of cheap products (grain which came virtually free into Rome from conquered provinces) and the displacement of the small farmers who could not compete, their lands snatched up by wealthy aristocrats for a song to grow not wheat but olives and grapes—and then when there was no Italian grain the price of the imported stuff went sky high. The Gracchi sought to curb these abuses by, yes, by spreading the wealth, by limiting the size of the great estates and restoring to the displaced farmers new lands confiscated from those who had taken advantage of their poverty in the first place. Naturally the forces of law and order (yes, Virginia, I am being sarcastic) took matters into their own hands and both brothers in their turn were brutally assassinated. John and Bobby were their modern day counterparts. Those who know me know that I don’t actually pray. Usually. But this I do pray—that the Secret Service does its job. The brothers Gracchi and Kennedy were sacrifices enough.

As you read this, Thanksgiving will have been and gone. I hope it, the quintessential New England holiday, the holiday that doesn’t exclude Jews was a joyous one. Already we are being bombarded with Christmas music and decorations, but with the economy so bad and getting worse, who can blame retailers for rushing the season. So, in that spirit, though to me as I write this it’s not even Thanksgiving yet, Happy Hannukah to all, and to all a good 2009.

The Party

On Tuesday we woke early hoping to beat the crowd at the Francis J. Varieur Elementary School where we vote. By the time I arrived it was necessary to stand beyond the outer door—on a beautiful autumn morning, chatting companionably with neighbors and strangers. Promptly at 7:00 we were allowed into the gym; I stood on the R-Z line, took my ballot, walked to an open booth and completed broken arrows with a felt-tipped pen. I voted for the Irish guy—O’Bama, (I was number 37 that morning to cast my vote) and left the building at 7:15. Feeling patriotically uplifted I drove to school where the pro-McCain people were dourly looking at the latest polls, wondering if they could hold the states W. took in ’04 while the pro-Barack throng nervously asked of each other, “How will they steal it from us this time?”

The rest of the day dragged on and on and on and on. Finally it was time to go home to the hopefully celebratory party we’d arranged for some friends, fifteen of us, armed with polling statistics and as each state was reported we checked to see if it was expected for this candidate or that. We ate and swigged and ate some more, occasionally engorging something recognizable as part of a legitimate food group other than chazerie. Swing states were coming in remarkably slowly. Finally Pennsylvania was awarded to Barack, greeted by whoops and a hollers and shouts of “That’s it, that’s it,” to which others said, nervously, “No, not yet, let’s not put a kenyna hura on this.” But then Ohio was reported solidly in Barack’s camp! By the time the networks proclaimed the winner, shortly after 11:00, we had just heard that Virginia, where my son Sam had been working on the campaign since the summer, had come in for Obama.

We cheered, popped the corks off bottles of champagne, and spontaneously burst into song—first “God Bless America/Land that I love/Stand beside her, and guide her/Thru the night with a light from above./From the mountains, to the prairies/To the oceans, white with foam…../God bless America/My home sweet home” and then a modified version of a song that had been going through my head all day—“We have overcome/We have overcome/We have overcome, today/Oh, deep in my heart/I did believe/We would overcome, someday.” We drank to our healths, and to Obama’s, and to the health of the United States. We felt as though America had done something good and noble that day. Tears flowed as freely as the bubbly. I called Sam and shouted into his voicemail, “You did it, you did it, you did it!” My wife and three others in the room took credit for New Hampshire, the swing state they drove up to last weekend to knock on doors and speak to undecideds. It was a wonderful night. Those of us who proudly call ourselves liberals know that we’ll face our comeupance in some future election, but tonight was ours and we savored the feeling of triumph.

McCain made a graciouis and conciliatory concession speech, but I was bothered by two things—while the Democrats had planned their victory party out in the park and open to all, the Republicans met in an exclusive hotel (I’ve seen it; it’s gorgeous) by invitation only. (Someone at my house commented that this was a microcosm of the difference between the parties.) The other grouse was in his reflection that “This is an historic election, and I recognize the special significance it has for African-Americans and for the special pride that must be theirs tonight.” But as I heard these words I immediately thought, “and white people too.” Without an overwhelming number of people of European descent voting for Obama, this political miracle could not have taken place. It was a multi-racial victory, a victory for America, not a victory for black people only. We did this thing also. My pro-McCain students are proud to have been alive when America broke the color barrier—they just wish the black man had different policies. I’m glad he doesn’t.

And so, we enter a new era. Both McCain and Obama made the same point. It’s time to put the bitterness behind and to work together instead to solve the myriad problems that confront the nation. In a way, winning the election was the easy part; now comes the tough work of reconstructing a viable economy and finding Osama bin Laden, hidden in his cave, so long ignored.