On Monday, January 20th, I spoke at the Interfaith Prayer Service organized by the Archdiocese of Philadelphia. Included below are links to a video of the event (my part comes around the 30-minute mark), an article in CatholicPhilly.com with a few quotes, and then my remarks as well, if anyone would like to read them.
https://catholicphilly.com/2021/01/news/local-news/mlks-dream-is-now-our-task-to-realize-says-archbishop/
Speech at Archdiocese of Philadelphia Interfaith MLK Service
St. Dorothy’s, Drexel Hill
Monday, January 18, 2021
Thank you very much, Mr. Andrews, and the Archdiocese of Philadelphia, for inviting me here today. I am honored to be a part of this Interfaith Prayer Service, especially at this tumultuous and historic juncture in our country.
Dear Friends,
Four years ago, I was invited to speak at Calvary Baptist Church in Chester, also on Martin Luther King Day. Dr. King himself was a seminary student when he preached from that very same pulpit in Chester, and I will admit, it was daunting and immensely humbling to be standing and speaking there. The previous year, I spoke at Crozer-Chester Medical Center, at their MLK event. The hospital stands on the site of Crozer Theological Seminary, where Dr. King studied, so again, I was awed and felt so blessed to be honoring his memory and his legacy in these places where he walked, where he studied, and where he was formed into the word leader, and indeed the prophet that he was.
As you know, I am a rabbi, the religious leader of my Jewish community of Ohev Shalom, currently located in Wallingford. I say "currently" because the congregation wasn't founded in Wallingford, it has its origins in Chester. Records have been found that show Jews living permanently in Chester as far back as 1859, and Ohev Shalom was incorporated IN Chester in 1920 (in fact, we just celebrated our centennial last year… but our events were all cut short and postponed because of the pandemic), and the congregation only moved out of Chester in 1965. Though Ohev Shalom relocated decades ago, we are still "OF Chester," and we are proud of our heritage.
I was ordained at the Jewish Theological Seminary, JTS, in New York City. One of the great leaders of JTS, in the mid-1950s, was a rabbi by the name of Abraham Joshua Heschel, who originally came from Germany, then lived in Poland, and eventually escaped the Nazi Regime of the Second World War, and came to New York to become one of the primary theologians and teachers at JTS. In those days, he was quite well-known around the country, even outside the Jewish community.
And one of the proudest things that all JTS students know about Rabbi Heschel, that students still speak of to this day, was his close personal friendship with Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. The two men met in 1963, and according to Susannah Heschel, Rabbi Heschel’s daughter: “What brought them together was a piety that transcended differences, forged by their love of the Bible, especially the prophets.”
In 1965, at the start of the Voting Rights March in Selma, Alabama, King and Heschel marched arm-in-arm for social justice. I wish there were more pictures of rabbis from the Jewish community and leaders from the African-American community linked together like that, but unfortunately we don’t see enough of those these days.
But Rabbi Heschel DID march with Dr. King, and it left a tremendous impression on him. There is a very well-known quote from Rabbi Heschel about the march – one that Jews aspire to emulate every time they engage in activism, civil rights, violence prevention, anti-poverty advocacy, or any other act of healing our world. Rabbi Heschel said: “When I marched in Selma, I felt my legs were praying.”
We sometimes erroneously believe that only our mouths can pray, or perhaps just our minds, hearts, or even souls. But Rabbi Heschel powerfully reminded us that activism, the work of our hands and feet, can also be praying, devoted service to the Almighty God of the Universe.
I have to say, I really love how each man, each of these incredible leaders, emphasized the Biblical prophets. It is something I speak a lot about in my congregation, at Ohev Shalom. We sometimes, in the popular imagination, depict prophets as predictors of the future. We read the Biblical books of Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Ezekiel, and we see visions of what will be, almost as if they were soothsayers or oracles, writing about things to come in the near future or sometimes millennia off in the distance.
But I tell you now, we’ve got it all wrong. The role of the prophet was NEVER really to emphasize the future. They would foretell gloom OR hope, depending on the audience and the need, to try and spur the people to change RIGHT NOW. The point isn’t the vision; it’s what the vision is cautioning you about your actions TODAY, in this very moment.
And believe you me, it was TOUGH being a prophet. They would tell it like it is. They held up a mirror to society and demanded that people see themselves for who they were and how they were behaving. And when people in Ancient Israel would tell the prophet to stop, to keep those stupid predictions to themselves, the voice would only get louder. Sometimes prophets wished they could stop; wished they didn't have this impossible job. Jeremiah tells us, in chapter 20: “Then I said, I will not make mention of God, nor speak any more in God’s Name. But the Divine word was in my heart as a burning fire shut up in my bones.” Prophets had - and maybe even today have - no choice. Once he or she sees the true nature of things, and sees the pain and suffering in the world, it has GOT to come out.
A prophet stands in the breach, caught between God and humanity. Sometimes the prophet speaks to us on God’s behalf, and sometimes to God on our behalf. It is a TOUGH job. In March of 1968, just a few, short weeks before he was killed, Dr. King spoke to a gathering of rabbis, honoring Abraham Joshua Heschel. Heschel himself introduced his friend, Dr. King, and in those opening remarks he said the following: “Where in America today do we hear a voice like the voice of the prophets of Israel? Martin Luther King is a sign that God has not forsaken the United States of America.”
I think each of them saw the other as taking up the call of the prophets of Israel. They saw in one another a kindred soul, someone else who saw the way things were, and who could not refrain from speaking out against violence, oppression, hate, or injustice. They each felt that fire in their bones; perhaps it was comforting to see someone else who carried that same burden.
Dr. King was supposed to attend a Passover Seder in Rabbi Heschel’s home mere weeks after that ceremony. Instead, Rabbi Heschel found himself with the tragic and heart-breaking task of reading a psalm at Dr. King’s funeral.
As you are likely aware, Passover celebrates the story of the Exodus from Egypt. In fact, in the Jewish community right now, we are reading that story in our annual cycle of Biblical readings. Starting in the fall, Jews around the world read one small section of our Torah, the Five Books of Moses that are the first five books of our shared Bible, each week, so that we end up back in the fall at the end of Deuteronomy, ready to restart our cycle again at the beginning of Genesis.
Next Saturday, on our Sabbath, we will read the story of the final three plagues, rained down on the Egyptians by God, and then the glorious story of the Israelites finally escaping slavery.
Exodus, chapter 12, verse 37, informs us that “the Israelites journeyed from Rameses.” THAT, seemingly minor statement, is actually the precise moment where they finally leave. (Pause) And that is NOT the verse I want to highlight for you here today. The NEXT verse adds, “Moreover, a mixed multitude went up with them.” In Hebrew, the text uses the term “Erev Rav.” “A mixed multitude.”
I don’t know if you were already familiar with this statement. Perhaps you were. But if you weren't, it might have surprised you to hear that the Israelites, in fact, did not leave alone. MANY other people left with them. Other disenfranchised people – possibly slaves captured in one Egyptian conquest or another – seized the opportunity and escaped bondage WITH the Israelites. But I recently had another thought. Maybe some of the Erev Rav, the mixed multitude, were also Egyptians. They watched their leaders allow plague after plague to decimate them, stubbornly refusing to relent. Never caring enough about their people’s suffering to let go of their own foolish pride and self-interest. Pharaoh could never apologize, never admit defeat, never just put a darn mask on already for the good of his people! Oh, sorry, my mistake. That’s a different Pharaoh...
Anyway, so maybe the Erev Rav were non-Israelite slaves… but maybe they were just Egyptian citizens who felt abandoned and betrayed by their leadership. Whoever they were, this Mixed Multitude threw their lot in with ours, and we took responsibility for their ultimate destiny. Our fates were intertwined, and this motley crew of freedom-seekers had to learn to coexist, and even rely on one another for their very survival.
We cannot do this alone. None of us can. The story of the Exodus teaches us that we can only escape slavery and oppression together. As Dr. King so prophetically reminds us: “All men are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality.” OUR lives, all of us, NEED one another. All people desperately praying for herd immunity and an end to this modern-day plague; every voice that declares Black Lives Matter and who rejects the plague of systemic racism; every person living on earth, terrified of global warming and our looming environmental crisis; our survival and success is dependent on one another. It is inescapable.
Today, WE are the Erev Rav, the mixed multitude. There are A LOT of things that enslave and oppress us, but like the ancient Israelites AND their fellow sojourners, desperately clamoring for a better future, we need to band together to defeat these plagues. And if we cannot defeat them right away, we must at the very least face them together.
And YET, we actually have to strike a difficult balance. It is true, We need to be like the prophets, with our eyes wide open and our hearts ready to tackle the truth of our situation. But what I also think is SO powerful about the teachings of Dr. King is his refusal to despair. So often today, I read articles and talk to people who say the situation is hopeless. Racism is too ingrained in us. Hate is too powerful, corruption too widespread, and the people too disheartened. Coronavirus cases mushrooming daily, insurrections at the Capitol, and just fear seemingly everywhere. But Dr. King would NEVER accept hopelessness. Dr. King faced unimaginable obstacles, hate, and oppression… yet he maintained his hope. We need that same attitude - to look honestly and starkly at our situation, AND never allow ourselves to lose hope.
Valerie Jarrett, senior advisor to President Obama was once asked about a famous quote by Dr. King, and a more contemporary rebuttal, offered by the profound writer, Ta-nehisi Coates. Dr. King said, “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice.” And in his book, Between the World and Me, Coates retorted, “the arc of history bends towards chaos.”
And when she was asked about this, Jarrett said Coates wasn’t necessarily wrong, but that she refused to see the world that way. She refused to accept that the lesson of history is everything turns towards chaos. Like Dr. King, Jarrett said she insisted on staying positive. Not because she was ignoring the problems in our world, but because she maintained faith that we are moving in the right direction, and things ARE getting better. Today, it is easy for us to lose hope… but I yet urge us not to.
Once again, we must engage in a balancing act. Honest, yet hopeful. President Obama, in fact, expressed this same sentiment in his book, "The Audacity of Hope," where he wrote: "To think clearly about race, then, requires us to see the world on a split screen... to maintain in our sights the kind of America that we want while looking squarely at America as it is, to acknowledge the sins of the past and the challenges of the present without becoming trapped in cynicism or despair.”
Today, on Martin Luther King Day in 2021, I must turn to all of you, and ask if this is something you can do. I think perhaps it is harder to do than we could ever have imagined. Nevertheless, can you maintain this split-screen with me? Can we talk about systemic racism, gun violence, the war on immigrants, the opioid epidemic, and all the massive problems that plague our society, YET all while refusing to become SO bitter, jaded, or cynical that nothing changes? Can we come to the table and speak honestly, holding up mirrors to one another, and challenging each other to be our best selves, to form new relationships and bonds across our various divides, to heal our country and our world together?
I am not saying this to you because it is easy. It is challenging for me as a white, Jewish, male, straight, cisgender (let's face it) privileged person to speak about oppression and invoke the name of Martin Luther King, as if I've lived ANY of the hardship he endured. Or to represent a congregation, Ohev Shalom, that is "of Chester," but moved away half a century ago, and hasn't always maintained relationships in the community the way it could have, or should have, done all along. This isn't easy. In fact, maybe we do this BECAUSE it’s hard. The only way to begin this Exodus together, is to speak honestly, openly, and vulnerably.
I share all of this with you today, because of my ancient ancestors, the Israelites, who marched out of Egypt arm-in-arm with a mixed multitude of people who rejected the status quo. I stand here proudly, because of my rabbinic role model, Abraham Joshua Heschel, who marched arm-in-arm with Dr. King. I speak aloud my own vulnerabilities and short-comings, because the ONLY way to start is with introspection and uncomfortable truths. And even though I know you can’t grasp it - because of Covid and such - I stand here with my arm (proverbially) extended, to ask others to link arms with me in this Erev Rav.
My history reminds me that we cannot do this alone. We all need one another. We all share an "inescapable network of mutuality." Every year, on this day, we should recommit to Dr. King’s prophetic work of battling oppression and speaking out against injustice, AND, through our split-screen view, we should also defiantly refuse to lose hope that someday peace, love, compassion, acceptance, and inclusion will win. Let us recommit again and again, as long as it takes, through plagues, pandemics, violence, crises, and pain, to build a better world. Let us use the visions and exhortations of the prophets - ancient and modern - together with the work of our hands, hearts, minds, and even our feet, to forge a new and better future that indeed will bend towards justice.
Thank you.
If you ever gave it much thought, you might assume that the biggest I-told-you-so's in all of history were the Biblical prophets. I mean, these people knew exactly what was going to happen, when it would take place, and what the outcome would be. Rarely were their warnings heeded, and so their predictions frequently came true. And how tempting then to stand on top of a rock, throw your hands in the air, and belt out with all your might, "I TOLD YOU SO!!" Yet remarkably (and thankfully), they rarely took that approach. 
More often they saw it as a failure in themselves, and repented along with the rest of the people. And if they did point out that they knew the future all along, they probably employed a little more subtlety than what I depicted above. And it's very possible that they learned the more humble approach from the Torah itself. This week, we see a very graceful (almost hidden) "I told you so" uttered by the Biblical narrative, and I think it teaches us something very valuable.
This week, the Israelites have escaped slavery! However, they may technically be out of Egypt, but they are not out of the proverbial woods yet. They are instead running for their lives; marching day and night to escape the pursuing Egyptian army. It is only when they successfully cross the Sea of Reeds (commonly, and erroneously, referred to as the Red Sea) that they taste true freedom. And at this point, the Bible states, "Then Miriam the prophetess, Aaron's sister, took a timbrel in her hand, and all the women went out after her in dance with timbrels" (Exodus, 15:20). Since when is Miriam a prophetess? And why is she referred to as Aaron's sister, and not Moses' sister?? What's going on here?
Well, one possibility is that this enigmatic verse is meant to remind us of something that was only revealed in a midrash (rabbinic story), and not in the text itself. When Pharaoh, long before, first decreed to kill all male Israelite children, the parents of Miriam and Aaron decided to get divorced (or so the story goes...). "Why bring more children into this terrible world?" they asked. And Miriam, their daughter chastised them both. "You're worse than Pharaoh!" she proclaimed. "At least he only intends to kill the males, you want to end our people's story altogether!!" And then she added, "And who knows? Maybe the next child to be born will be our savior..." And wouldn't you know it? They got back together and had one more child: Moses. This is "only" a story, but it suddenly comes to life when we read that right at this moment, standing on the banks of the Sea of Reeds, the Israelites are FINALLY free. Miriam has finally become a prophetess, since she predicted that Moses would redeem them. And when she made that prediction, she was only Aaron's sister, because Moses had not yet been born. Subtly, gently, and with a hint of a smile, the Torah is saying: "See? I told you so!"
Right now, as we look at wars, destruction, and horrific earthquakes, we are tempted to think like Moses' parents. "How can we bring children into this world?" But we human beings are here for a reason. We are here to work towards repairing God's earth. To create a better, more harmonious place for all the people, animals, and plants that share this world. It is an enormous task, and not one that can be done quickly. But who ever said it would be easy? All I know is, God gave us each the tremendous gifts of life and of ethical thinking. We must repay God by doing the most we can with it, and trying each and every day to make the world a better place. Who knows? Maybe one of us will merit to be the next Moses, charged with the task of leading an entire people to freedom. Moses was 80 years old when he first confronted Pharaoh, so you truly never know! And maybe, just maybe, one day I can turn to you with a hint of a smile and say, "See? I told you so!"
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