Autumnal Thoughts

As a college sophomore (Warren Gamaliel Harding was president, I think) I read this poem by Stephen Crane. It helped to define my world view as few pieces of literature have been able to:

A man said to the universe:
“Sir, I exist!”
“However,” replied the universe,
“The fact has not created in me
“A sense of obligation.”

I thought of those lines the other day, on the Sunday of the great football victory over the Colts, as we walked to an appointment. The sky was deep blue with cirrus wisps and puffs of cotton, floating; the breeze merely a gentle disturbance of hair; leaves swirled downward, beautiful in their death pirouettes, bestrewing lawn and sidewalk with vivid autumnal hues. It was a good-to-be-alive day.

We walked resolutely to meet our guide, sure that we had to take this journey, uncertain as to its results, dreading its implications. We came early to the gate, but there he was, patiently waiting, knowing with a certainty that we would arrive. Though it wasn’t necessary, we got into his car and drove along the paved paths at a funereal pace, as was right and proper, to the new Jewish section. For years my wife and I had strolled the lanes of Swan Point, lamenting that it wasn’t a consecrated Jewish cemetery. The only Jewish cemetery in Rhode Island is half an hour away by car (a vast distance in the minds of locals, of which we have become two) but this place is within walking distance of home; many of its graves are guarded by ancient trees, shading in summer, colorful in autumn, stately, almost magisterial, all year round. But not for us who wanted a Jewish funeral. Then, last year, my synagogue bought land in Swan Point surrounded by a road and declared it acceptable for congregants. So, there we were to look at what might be our permanent abode, within walking distance of the home we’ve lived in for a mere 30 years.

It’s a vast field inhabited now only by two people, their graves so recently occupied as to be not yet ready for headstones, but soon enough they will be joined by others whose plots were spoken for. “Who’s reserved already?” we enquired. “X and Y and Z whom you know,” we were informed. “Where’s X?” I asked. “Where’s Z?” she inquired. “What’s the best view?” In the end we made no commitment. Not yet, anyway. But we’ve reached the age where we have to start looking. Walking home in the still brisk morning, the sun shining on our faces, breathing the air that scattered the leaves and rustled our hair, we talked of inevitabilities, returning to the foolish human questions: What’s the view, who are the neighbors for all of eternity?

In the end none of it matters, of course. The view won’t be enjoyed by us (but we hope that if anyone ever visits they, at least, will find it pleasant). As to whom the neighbors are, do we really expect an eternal koffeeklatch? I don’t. I expect that once dead, I’ll be pretty much … dead. Heaven? Hell? Do they exist? I don’t know (but I doubt it); I’m a Jew. What matters to me is perfecting this world, not entering one already perfect. I live my life here, I protect my children, I love my wife, I teach my students.

So rather than concentrate on the issue at hand—to buy or not to buy and if to buy where and when, I thought of Crane’s poem and realized its flaw. The universe might not care about us, but we do. We have things to say, things to teach, lessons learned, memories treasured in secret mental vaults that ought not to die with us. Someday in retirement I think I’ll open a business. I don’t know yet what I’ll call it but it will give the living the chance to communicate with the universe, to reverse the poem’s cynicism, to allow people to shout “Not only do I exist, but I matter. This is who I was; this is what I’ve learned; this is me!” and I’ll write it down and smooth it out and present it to the speaker as a work in progress to be amended and refined over time and in the end given to his family as a gift as lovely as an autumn day in New England, but more permanent, like those majestic trees in Swan Point Cemetery.

Perfection Becomes Jews

This is my column as submitted for November 2, 2007. The editor thought it a bit risqué in places so toned it down. Alas, the lass tampered with perfection:

Another letter from my atheist friend, Pauly Poopydingus, with a notarized permission-to-publish attached. But first an admission of an error that has been haunting me for the past two weeks. In the last issue I spoke of a lecture I attended on the topic: “Did Primo Levi ever forgive the Germans for their treatment of the Jews?” I then used that as a jumping off point to discuss whether contemporary American policies re: tortures of captives, are something for which we will have to ask forgiveness in the future. Some who support the administration's policies in Iraq took offense, as is their right, but one pointed out what I acknowledge is an error in typing, though not in judgment. I wrote, from the perspective of someone who did not suffer the agonies of Auschwitz, “Is it time to forgive the Nazis? Levi asked. I ask if it’s time to forgive ourselves. Maybe in the first case the answer is yes; the Nazis are dead. In the second, only if we want to avert our eyes, like the good Germans.” My mistake was in conflating Germans and Nazis. I intended to ask, as Levi had, “Is it time to forgive the Germans” but instead of “Germans,” I wrote “Nazis.” To the question I intended to ask, “Is it time to forgive the Germans,” I stick with my original emphatic “maybe;” to the question I didn't intend, “Is it time to forgive the Nazis?” I respond with “NO; not now, not ever!”

As to Poopydingus, he writes from the safety of far-off Cincinnati that “Jews should stop being angry with Ann Coulter. She’s an exhibitionist who feeds off of her own self-created self-importance by spewing forth one quotable stupidity after another (Liberals are traitors; Edwards is a “faggot”; 9/11 widows are enjoying their husbands’ deaths—there are others, but those suffice).”

About then I began to wonder where Poopydingus was going with this, but he never disappoints.

“But her latest foray into fatuousness, that America should be a nation of Christians and that while Jews (I imagine she means, Republican Jews) can go to heaven, Christians look forward to the time of ‘perfecting’ Jews into Christianity. That, Josh, is something Jews should embrace, cherish and adore.”

Which led me to ask, “Why should I appreciate Coulter, exactly? Isn’t this just more anti-Semitic assault, like in the bad old days before toleration, diversity and the commonality of man became the guiding principles of liberalism?” Poopydingus continued:

“We live under the patronizing presumption that there’s such a thing as ‘Judeo-Christian civilization.’ Verily I say unto you, old chum, there ain’t no such thing. There are Jews and there are Christians (and Muslims and Hindus and Buddhists and, God bless us, atheists). But in the search for commonality, to avoid conflict, you monotheists have ignored a glaring reality. Here it is, ready for it? Better put on your sunglasses because you’re gonna be blinded by the truth, knocked off your ass, like St Paul on the road to Damascus: If you believed in the divinity of Jesus, you’d be a Christian! If you believed that Muhammad was the last and greatest of God’s prophets, you’d be a Muslim. If a Protestant believed that the Bishop of Rome is infallible in matters of faith and morals he’d really be a Catholic. But none of these things apply. We all think each others religions are bull___ (will they print that?) don’t we? Except me who says they’re all bull___. Of course Coulter spoke as she did! She’s a Christian who believes that all other religions are bull___. Christians have believed this since the dawn of their religion. Wake up, Josh; smell the incense! They only kept Jews around as witnesses to the success of their Truth or to borrow Money. You guys, anxious to be accepted by the majority, fearful that if they ever remember that you deny the divinity of the Christ they worship they’ll have another pogrom, readily plunge headlong into the canard that there’s such a thing as Judeo-Christian civilization. Pshaw! You Jews can be proud of what you’ve done; you don’t need to hide behind a cassock. So she offended you by reminding you of an eternal truth—that Christians think Jews have missed the boat. Well, you think they’ve jumped ship. Relax; re-assert yourself, now that you know what the true believers really think of you.”

It’s obvious that poor ol’ Poopydingus is on the fast track to Gehenna. But he never disappoints.

A Correction

In the posting immediately below I speak of a lecture I attended on the topic: Did Primo Levi ever forgive the Germans for their bestial treatment of the Jews and others. I then use that as a jumping off point to discuss whether contemporary American policies re: tortures are something for which we will have to ask forgiveness in the future. Some who support the administration's policies in Iraq took offense, as is their right, but one pointed out what I now acknowledge is an error in typing, though not in judgment. I wrote, from the perspective of someone who did not suffer the agonies of Auschwitz, "Is it time to forgive the Nazis? Levi asked. I ask if it’s time to forgive ourselves. Maybe in the first case the answer is yes; the Nazis are dead. In the second, only if we want to avert our eyes, like the good Germans." My mistake was in conflating Germans and Nazis. I intended to ask, as Levi had, "Is it time to forgive the Germans" but instead of writing "Germans," I wrote,"Nazis." To the question is it time to forgive the Germans, I stick with my original emphatic "maybe"; to the question I didn't intend to ask, "Is it time to forgive the Nazis" I respond with "NO, never!"

I was originally thinking of editing the piece as it appears on this blog, so that people would never know of the gaff--but that, it seemed to me, was too much in imitation of the way Winston Smith earned his meager subsistence in 1984, so I leave the original error and ask the reader's forbearance.

On Primo Levi, forgiveness and dangers of complacency

Last week I attended a lecture in Salomon Hall on the campus of Brown University. The lecturer was Alvin Rosenfeld whose talk was on Primo Levi, the Italian Jewish chemist caught up in the Nazi Holocaust who managed to survive Auschwitz and write several books about the experience, most notably but not exclusively Survival in Auschwitz. The question Rosenfeld addressed is whether forgiveness is possible for someone who has undergone Auschwitz, specifically whether Levi ever forgave his tormenters. It’s a good question, but it’s insufficient. If we only ask about forgiveness by others of others we ignore the value of history and literature as predictive mirrors of our lives.

I write from memory, not from notes, but my impression is that Levi started out despising Germans, not only Nazis who he saw as microcosms of the whole. The worst Nazi crime was to deny him his humanity by stripping him of reasonable alternatives, of creating a Kafkaesque world. But over time he tried to understand them, even going so far as to learn German so as better to communicate with any Germans who might be so inclined. With the exception of one who died just before a promised meeting, the interviews never took place. In the end, Levi could not forget, could not forgive. Despairing of coming to grips with the destruction of his soul, he may have committed suicide in 1987. He left no note, but Rosenfeld does not doubt that the fall down a flight of stairs was deliberate.

As I listened, I wondered. First I asked myself if is time for those of us who never endured the Nazi horror to forgive, but then my thoughts wandered to a more pressing issue. Suppose we are guilty ones who will be asking our descendents to forgive us. Do we deserve it? Was Walt Kelly right? Have we met the enemy…and he is us? What have we allowed in our name as we have ignored what has been imposed on us and the world by those who claim to reflect darkly our attitudes, in the process perverting our ideals. Nazis took a country that was in the forefront of human cultural development and dragged it down with them into the slime of Auschwitz. Is this Act II of the same crime?

The following Sunday I began my day, as I always do, by opening up Frank Rich’s column in The New York Times. He begins with this broadside “‘Bush lies’ doesn’t cut it anymore. It’s time to confront the darker reality that we are lying to ourselves.” He then discusses torture. That’s done in our name, folk, but denied in our name as well. All of which goes to show that George Orwell’s dystopia is alive and well and living in Washington, DC. Rich reminds that the claim is made that we don’t torture we engage in “enhanced interrogation” techniques. We knew that. What we (I) didn’t know is that the term is from the Gestapo who called it Verschärfte Vernehmung which means “enhanced interrogation.” (And who knew that when Richard Nixon was speaking about the “Great Silent Majority” which supported his war on Vietnam he was inadvertently quoting from Homer who referred to the great silent majority as those who have died? I did!) Rich holds our feet to the fire for countenancing Abu Ghraib and now for turning our backs on the scandal of outsourcing to fight our wars in our names so that we don’t pay attention when Blackwater mercenaries indiscriminately kill Iraqi civilians. In our name. He doesn’t even mention the illegal detentions in Guantánamo, but he does compare our methods with those used by American interrogators of Nazi prisoners. “We got more information out of a German general with a game of chess or Ping-Pong than they do today, with their torture,” says one. Another “recalled that he ‘never laid hands on anyone’… adding ‘I am proud to say I never compromised my humanity.’”

Rich concludes with this: “Our humanity has been compromised by those who use Gestapo tactics in our war. The longer we stand idly by while they do so, the more we resemble those good Germans’ who professed ignorance of their own Gestapo.”

Is it time to forgive the Nazis? Levi asked. I ask if it’s time to forgive ourselves. Maybe in the first case the answer is yes; the Nazis are dead. In the second, only if we want to avert our eyes, like the good Germans.

Yom Kippur reflections (2)

After tempers had cooled (see column below that was not published) I submitted this, which was.

Yom Kippur is one of those Holy days that does not sneak up on us on velvet paws, catching us unawares. Granted, Rosh Hashannah (and Passover) are proverbially always early or late but never on time, with Yom Kippur there's plenty of warning—ten days after Rosh Hashanna, comes Yom Kippur. Like clockwork. You can't miss it.

This year, on the day of Kol Nidre, this newspaper, for the first time in a year and a half, appeared with no column from The Old Olivetti. In response, the Jewish community wept, beat its breast and fasted. Or maybe that was because it was Yom Kippur. It's hard to say. This much I do know, that it was gratifying to be stopped on the street by strangers: “Aren't you the Old Olivetti?” “Yes,” I admitted. “How come no column? I look forward to it.” Well, therein lies a tale.

There was a column, of course, but it wasn't published. It was written as a critique of the newspaper's decision to charge for obituaries, a policy I and others had opposed in its discussion phase. We'd lost that battle but once letters of criticism started to arrive, once the Board of Rabbis unanimously condemned the decision, I took the opportunity to put forth my opinion in print. Editors thought the piece was too abrasive and contained errors of fact. It was toned down, the facts were checked, but at the last moment it was decided to postpone publication until memories were clarified. I was outraged, but losing an argument is as much a part of life as the occasional victory. And, in fact, there was a sort of victory. In response to the letters, in response to the rabbis, possibly in response to my unpublished article, the policy of charging for obituaries was suspended pending a review. It's now again safe to die without the newspaper offending the sensibilities of the Old Olivetti.

Readers might ask: What's so awful about charging for obituaries? The ProJo does it, so do other Jewish newspapers. To which I respond, the ProJo’s obituary section is not a community service and if other Jewish newspapers err, that's a reason not to follow their example. And Yom Kippur is exactly the wrong time of year to start imposing a fee, even a nominal one. ($45 is nominal to me, but it might not be to a poor person. One of the facts in dispute concerned whether the poor would have to pay; “no” was the official answer, but this did not appear in the announcement of the impending charge.)

And how does Yom Kippur heighten sensitivity? In traditional Jewish fashion I'll answer that question with questions of my own. Is Yom Kippur merely an exercise in self-restraint demonstrated by fasting? Is it merely a superficial show of ritual breast-beating remorse for sins? (Here's my confession: I didn't actually do any of those things I confessed to. I wouldn't even think of doing most of them. But, still, ritualistically I rose and recited; I beat my breast with the congregation around the world. Somebody had done those things. In case he was busy and couldn't make it to shul, I asked for him to be forgiven.)

On Yom Kippur we read from the book of Isaiah. To me that's the highlight of the day (that and the special tunes sung only in the penitential seasons, tunes that linger still in my mind as I drive to school, shop at the grocery, walk the dog, write this column).

“This is My chosen fast: to loosen all the bonds that bind men unfairly, to let the oppressed go free, to break every yoke. Share your bread with the hungry, take the homeless into your home. Clothe the naked when you see him, do not turn away from people in need...If you put yourself out for the hungry and relieve the wretched, then shall your light shine in the darkness and your gloom shall be as noonday.” It's thoughts like those that define a Jew as a Jew, that produce a Samuel Gompers, an Abe Cahan, an Andrew Goodman and a Michael Schwerner. Having been oppressed for centuries, Jews have always championed the little guy; charging his family to recognize his life and achievements is simply wrong.

As I sat in shul on Yom Kippur I did ask for forgiveness—Avenu Malkenu, Our Father our King, forgive us for even thinking of trying to balance our budget on the backs of our grieving Jews.

Censored

NB: This article was not published, neither in this form nor in a drastically watered down version. It was felt that it was offensive to the Jewish Federation of Rhode Island. That which might have been offensive, I agreed to omit. Nevertheless, the September 21, 2007 edition of the Jewish Voice and Herald appeared without its usual "From the Old Olivetti" column. People noticed.

If the postal service is on the ball, you'll receive this shortly before or on Yom Kippur. Around the globe Jews rise and confess their sins. “Avenu Malkenu (Our Father our King) forgive us for the sin of...” and then there is an alphabetical recitation of crimes against man and God. Here's my confession. I didn't actually do any of those things. I wouldn't even think of doing most of them. But, still, ritualistically I rise and recite; I beat my breast with the congregation around the world. Somebody did those things. In case he's busy and can't make it to schul, I'll ask for him to be forgiven.

But this I do confess in sincerity: Avenu Malkenu, I did not fight hard enough to prevent a stain from besmirching the Rhode Island Jewish community. I tried. Really I did. But I lost. This newspaper was conceived as a tool to aid the campaign of the Jewish Federation, and so it remained for several years. But for the past dozen years the editorial board has been struggling to give the paper credibility by expanding coverage beyond pictures of rich people at fund raising events, and puff pieces on the good work done by Federation and its agencies. Those still intrude, but of late we've diversified into hard news covering stories of Jews in local, national and world events that didn't make it into the ProJo. We have added columnists whose job is to express an opinion, not to serve as cheerleaders, sometimes critical of Federation and its agencies, sometimes critical of Israel. We've doubled our output, going from a monthly to a bi-weekly, increasing the number of pages, adding color, etc.

A few years ago the then editor, the late Jane Sprague, suggested we publish obituaries. The editorial board approved. The obituaries were a community service, a gift of the Federation newspaper to the bereaved. Rich or poor, important or unknown, what we received we printed. For the first time in their lives, the little guys in the community got recognition—though they had to die first.

Concurrently it was decided that the paper should break even. Now, half the paper is editorial content, half is adverts. But still there's a shortfall, covered by Federation. A business committee was established to figure out ways to reduce Federation's subvention. One idea was to charge for obituaries. “No!” I railed when this was brought to the editorial board. “The ProJo does it.” “I didn't care. It's not Jewish.” “But Jewish papers do it.” “I didn't care—they are not behaving as Jews.” I lost the argument and a few weeks ago an announcement was posted that we would start charging for obituaries beginning September 1. (The implied suggestion, of course, was you were smart enough to die in August you'd beat the fee.)

What does this mean? It means that even in death the little guy and his family are to be marginalized. At least three people were so upset about this outrage that they wrote to the paper in protest. The Rhode Island Board of Rabbis voted unanimously to oppose the decision.

The business committee asks, “How else can we raise the money to meet the deficit?” Well, frankly, that's their problem, not mine, but here are some answers. Make the fee optional; start charging Federation for the advertising it puts onto our pages; increase the cost of commercial advertising; find an angel willing to make a whopping contribution (give the person naming rights—The Menachim Pupick Jewish Gazette has a nice ring to it); start charging a subscription fee; sell donuts in the lobby; cease publication.

But in the end all of these solutions fail to recognize that the job of Federation is to give money away! It raises $4,000,000 a year, keeps some to pay salaries and expenses and then apportions the rest to the Bureau of Jewish Education, to the Family Service, to schools to the JCC, and to this newspaper, no longer merely its shill, but now a valuable resource to the community. Every dollar Federation spends on the paper is not spent at the Seniors' Agency, but every dollar spent at the Senior's Agency is not spent at the Bureau. Which is more important, seniors or students? It's a stupid question. They are equally important. So is this newspaper, the one that contains this column you have read till nearly the end.

Avenu Malkenu, forgive us for even thinking of trying to balance our budget on the backs of the grieving poor.

On teaching history

Much of today's paper concerns education. I've been engaged in the process my entire life, from first grade at the Yeshiva of Flatbush (I was expelled) to the present as a college professor. I'm vain enough to think that some might like to know what professors (or at least one history professor) thinks of the process. I do not pretend that what I think of education is universally held, but I hope it is.

Let me begin with a negative. I don’t teach to the student present; I teach to his future self. I don’t only teach what happened, I teach methods of determining what happened; it’s not the same thing. Some students take one course with me and love it, while others hate it, some take multiple courses with me either out of love for the way I present or as evidence of masochism. In all cases the goal is the same—to make of them thinking human beings.

I assign grades, but I know that their grade can only be determined in a dozen years. Do they remember the facts beyond the course? If “yes,” fine; if not, it may not be important. Do they remember that they are part of history, not the end of it; that they are products of a chain of human endeavor inheriting from the past, contributing to the development, and then leaving the world to the next and the next and the next generations for as far as can be imagined? If so I have succeeded. If after a dozen years they are still asking of something they read or hear, “is this true?” then I have succeeded. If they become teachers and pass along the knowledge and the perspective I’ve taught, then I’ve succeeded. But whatever profession they enter, if when they hear a politician speak they can also hear Pericles, and Cicero and Caesar saying the same things, even if they don’t remember exactly where they heard all that first, I’ve succeeded. If when entering a polling booth they take their obligations seriously, I’ve succeeded.

It is to them I teach, the students who are not yet there but the people they will be in a dozen years, hearing the echoes of the lessons; they are the ones to whom my class is aimed. How successful I am can only be judged by them. This past Fourth of July I met a middle-aged man who asked if I remembered him. I said his face and voice were familiar but that I couldn't place them. He had been a student of mine in the early 1970s and he said that what he had learned from me was vital in his career. I asked what that career had been, expecting that his reply would be “teacher” but, no, he said he had been employed in the defense intelligence establishment. What was useful to him was not the facts I taught, but the questions I'd taught him to ask of documents, the process of discovering truth. He remembered. I had succeeded.

Teaching, to me, is the transmission of the accumulated wisdom (and failed attempts at wisdom) of mankind from antiquity to yesterday. It is the role of the teacher in society, especially the historian, to distill this accumulated knowledge and present it in readily digested portions. I do not know everything that happened in Europe; I do not teach everything I know; I hope to stimulate my students to want to know more than I have taught them, more than I currently know, to understand their role in history, to understand what and how the present receives from the past and contributes to the future.

I encourage my students to challenge me when they disagree and to prompt me when they want more than I have given them. In the process I hope that they learn that authority may be challenged, should be challenged, and how best to challenge it. This process intimidates some students. They don’t like their core ideas threatened and some don’t like my making them think about things they have always taken for granted. Some realize that raising uncomfortable issues is to their benefit, allowing them the opportunity to confirm with knowledge that which they had previously held only as an opinion. Some appreciate new perspectives (new to them) and change their minds about the issue at hand. I always require them to think about what they believe.

So, when I'm not typing columns on this old Olivetti, that's what I do.