Poppies for Remembrance Day

Jewish Canadians love Prime Minister Stephen Harper; the surest way to earn an ovation at a Jewish event is to thank the Prime Minister for his support for the State of Israel. We are glad to live in a democracy that endorses our freedom of religion, and we certainly take advantage of the rest of the freedoms guaranteed by our laws, overseen by our government, and safeguarded by our military...

...so why are November's poppies, marking Tuesday's Remembrance Day, relatively uncommon in the observant Jewish community?

As I've written elsewhere, it seems to me that overt patriotism is somewhat “un-cool” in Torah-observant communities, in Canada and beyond. Perhaps this is a product of centuries of harm wreaked by a range of governments upon our people. Maybe it's due to Jewish law's insistence that the Jews should be "other" when living among non-Jewish neighbours. Or, it could be because of the way that those neighbours have marked us as "other" in painful ways.

Despite all of the reasons why Jews may be uncomfortable with patriotic expression, I believe that Canadian Jews ought to clearly, publicly express our gratitude for those who have given their lives in the Canadian military. Whatever the misgivings of Pirkei Avot (1:10, 2:3 and 3:2) regarding government and its intentions, we owe a great debt to Canada's soldiers, for their historic roles and for their current actions. I believe we ought to wear the poppy.

Within the realm of halachah, I have heard the contention that wearing a poppy may run afoul of the law of chukot akum, prohibiting dressing "in the manner of the nations", but a read of the relevant sources (Sifri Devarim 81, Maharik 88, Shulchan Aruch and Rama Yoreh Deah 178:1) makes clear that the prohibition applies only to (1) immoral dress and (2) dress worn for reasons which might trace back to idolatrous practices. Neither appears relevant in this case.

I wouldn't wear the poppy in shul for davening, because it would be a distraction for me. I also wouldn't insert it on Shabbat, because of concern for the laws of "stitching" involved in pinning the poppy. But for other times, I will wear my poppy in memory of the fallen. Hakarat hatov (gratitude) and darchei shalom (maintaining a peaceful society) trump being cool...

Patriotism

This past summer, I had the opportunity to sit on a Toronto panel of chaplains and religious figures addressing a range of legal/ethical questions – organ transplant, contraception, battlefield ethics and more.

When the discussion turned to the death penalty, another panelist criticized the American use of capital punishment. An Anglican priest took the opportunuty to mock the American practice of giving medical treatment to prisoners on Death Row.

Part of me was upset because her point was morally repugnant – to suggest that prisoners should be allowed to suffer because they are going to be executed anyway is absurd, and would amount to legalized prison cruelty.

But part of me was upset as an American, taking her knock on the government and criminal justice system personally. The setting was wrong for calling her on it [the context was a talk with a group of Canadian, Israeli and Arab medical students – not the time/place to discuss America-bashing], so I had to let it go. But I stewed after that one for a long time.

I'm still surprised by how strongly I reacted. I am proud of much of America, but as someone who has wanted to make aliyah for the past 20 years, and as someone who has a decent degree of cynicism about American government and its system of justice, I would not have expected to take her comment so personally. Go figure.

Banning Muslims and Jews from the US Military

[Note: Haveil Havalim is here!]

I am a big fan of the Treppenwitz blog; David Bogner often makes me laugh as well as think.

The other day he commented on Ed Koch's suggestion that Muslims in the US military be exempt from fighting wars against Muslim countries. An excerpt:

I don't see the value in allowing Muslims to serve in the U.S. military if the only place in the whole world that their expensive training can be utilized is along a 155 mile stretch of the 38th Parallel. And even there, with North Korea, Syria and Iran being all chummy... well you see the problem.

I hear his point (which is somewhat exaggerated, of course; there are a few US deployments that relate to conflicts involving non-Muslim entities). Still, it makes me uncomfortable. I am reminded of the Jewish response to Napoleon's sixth question to his Sanhedrin:

Question: Do Jews born in France, and treated by the laws as French citizens, consider France their country? Are they bound to defend it? Are they bound to obey the laws and to conform to the dispositions of the civil code?

And part of the Jewish response:
The love of the country is in the heart of Jews a sentiment so natural, so powerful, and so consonant to their religious opinions, that a French Jew considers himself in England, as among strangers, although he may be among Jews; and the case is the same with English Jews in France.
To such a pitch is this sentiment carried among them, that during the last war, French Jews have been seen fighting desperately against other Jews, the subjects of countries then at war with France.

(For the full text, go here.)

I believe many modern observant Jews would not follow this pseudo-Sanhedrin's formulation, in the absence of a direct threat. So should Jews be banned, publicly declared persona non grata, as well?

In truth, David does distinguish between Jews and Muslims. He notes that the US deploys a significant portion of its forces in conflicts involving Muslim countries, but does not currently deploy forces against Israel - and that even were such a thing to happen, that would still leave many other places a Jew could serve. According to this argument, the issue is not moral philosophy, but military utility; a Muslim will have few places to serve, a Jew will be able to serve more. The Jew would be the equivalent of a Catholic during a conflict against Vatican City; he could avoid this war, and still fight in others.

But I think this still misses a key point; the issue is fundamentally about morality.

I believe that what offends the American mind about Nidal Malik Hasan, even before the horror of his mass murder, is his distinction between Muslim and non-Muslim. Apparently, he is comfortable with the idea of going to war for the US to kill Jews, Christians, Buddhists, Hindus or atheists, but he would not be comfortable killing Muslims. Loyalty to the US can justify killing anyone except a Muslim.

That Muslim/non-Muslim distinction is what brings about the call to exclude Muslims from the US military - the fear that they are Muslim first, and American second.

And in this regard, Jews may be no different - we might have difficulty shooting at a co-religionist over a territorial dispute, too. Therefore, an exclusion of Muslims must also lead to an exclusion of Jews. That's why this idea makes me uncomfortable; I'd rather see an exclusion from this war rather than an exclusion from the military.

One question, though: Why are Protestants and Catholics different in this regard?

Of Rabbis and Poppies and Remembrance Day

I’ve noticed more than a few people walking around with felt poppies attached to their lapels over the past week, in honor of Remembrance Day (November 11). I don’t recall ever seeing this in the US, but upon investigation I have found it to be the standard way to mark Remembrance Day/Veterans Day/Armistice Day in Canada, as well as several other countries.

The question, of course: Will I wear a poppy?

I’m torn on this issue. (No, this is not another semi-serious post about being an American in Canada. This one is serious.)

Why wear it?

1. I believe patriotism to a secular government is an important value for the Jewish community, on levels both moral and pragmatic.

2. Further, as a friend has pointed out, lack of overt patriotism in our institutions may contribute to the delinquency of those few but notorious Jews who violate the laws of the land.

3. I also feel personally patriotic, as I wrote here.

4. And how could one not feel and display gratitude to people who knowingly risked their lives – and lost that gamble – for the sake of fighting Nazism and other scourges? It would seem to me that the Jewish community should produce poppies en masse, and make them mandatory garb.

Further, this is clearly not “chukot akum (the ways of the nations - the Torah prohibits us from emulating the nations around us),” for two reasons:

A. As the Sifri (Devarim 81) points out, the major concern of the prohibition against emulating non-Jewish ways is about being drawn into acting like them, and I would be hard-pressed to apply that to the poppies. (Rashi also introduces the similarly inapplicable concept of superstition in Shabbat 67a.)

B. The halachah is fairly clear that we would not apply the rules of chukot akum to an ornament that is not, in its nature and definition, an irrational חוק. See Rama Yoreh Deah 178:1: This is all prohibited only as far as conduct they practice for the sake of immorality, such as the red clothes their aristocracy wears, and practices they have inaugurated and made into rules for themselves, without reason; there is cause to be concerned for Emorite superstition or idolatry behind these practices. If they have a beneficial practice, though, such as that expert doctors wear a certain garment which signifies their expertise, then one may wear such a garment. Similarly, one may wear garments which are worn for honor or for some other reason.

And yet, and yet…

Overt patriotism is still somewhat “un-cool” in the observant community, perhaps a product of centuries of harm wreaked by a range of governments upon our people, as well as our externally and internally imposed sense of being “other.” Although I have seen many observant Jews around Toronto wearing these decorations, my sense is that they are the minority. (This may change on November 11 itself; we’ll see.)

And then there is the added factor of my role as Rabbi, even sans synagogue. For those who do see the poppies as a sign of assimilation, I would be written off as left-wing, and that would make teaching in those parts of the communities impossible. (And, let’s not deny it – I don’t particularly cherish the possibility of personal unpopularity. I imagine teenagers go through the same thing re: poppies. Peer pressure lives.)

But I do think it's the right thing to do.

So I don’t know what I will do. I'm inclined to wear it... but I'm still mulling.

[Update: In the end, I did wear a poppy on my coat.]

"Bless this our country, the United States of America"

There is a near-universal practice, in traditional Orthodox synagogues, of blessing the local government and praying to Gd to provide it counsel and support. From East Asia to Russia to Europe to North and South America, in languages varied and with diverse texts, Jews call upon Gd to benefit the lands in which they live. (I'm not sure about Africa.) There are many motivations for this practice, including simple gratitude, a recognition that all citizens benefit from law and order, and a solicitous desire to demonstrate patriotism.

Our shul recites a version that appears in the siddur (prayer book) compiled by Rabbi David deSola Pool several decades ago. This prayer begins, “Heavenly Father, bless this our country, the United States of America.”

The “Heavenly Father” invocation is always jarring for first-timers, but it makes sense as a translation of Avinu sheBashamayim – and it is certainly less offensive to the Jewish ear than a more literal rendition: “Our Father who art in Heaven.”

The more jarring part of that opening line, for many, is the word our. If we term America “our country,” is that a demotion of Israel, and/or a rejection of the fundamental Jewish longing for the arrival of Mashiach and kibbutz galuyot, the ingathering of Jews to Israel?

I've mulled and debated this question for the past seven-plus years, and overall I have made my peace with this dubious “our.” The word describes a relationship, yes, but not in an exclusive sense. In my view, our accurately describes both our relationship with Israel and our relationship with America.

If "our" described ownership, I would reject this our; there is only one Jewish land. But, to my mind, “our” is less a statement of possession than a statement of loyalty and responsibility. Our families, our homes, our lives, our careers, our friends – these are ours which are less about owning than about being owned, more about fealty than about property. In this sense, both lands are “our” lands, for both lands may rightfully claim our hearts and our powers.

Israel is “our” country in the sense that it is the only land which is truly attached to a Jew. It is the land in which our genetic and spiritual ancestors lived, loved, worshipped, were born, died and were buried. As we have been taught for millenia, it is the true locus for all that is Judaism, the theater where mitzvot have their greatest meaning as well as application, the earthly soil where a Jew can most fully connect to the Divine. Israel has been promised to us, and we have been promised to it; this land lodges a claim upon our lives as great and as permanent as our own claim upon its soil.

But America is also “our” country, in the sense that it is the land which absorbed us, which afforded us the freedom to live as Jews when no other polity would do likewise; which came, over the course of centuries, to recognize Jews as worthy of education and position and political authority; which bucked the trend of human history and divested religion of government imprimatur and military enforcement; which provided social and economic support for the founding of some of the most vibrant Jewish communities and Torah yeshivot in the world.

More: American values heavily influenced the founders of the modern state of Israel, and American ideology yet recognizes the kinship between the two lands; this connection is another strand in this “our.”

Certainly, my heart - and, one day soon, Gd-willing, my body - is in Israel.
Certainly, the relationship between sectarian Jew and universalist United States, and between America and Israel, is perennially conflicted and inherently insecure.
Certainly, not every government and governor has been as generous of heart toward the descendants of Avraham and Sarah.
Indeed, I am penning this essay on a day when the vast majority of my neighbors celebrate the birth of a man whose ideology I declare anathema, and whose theological descendants have massacred millions of my kin over the past two thousand years.
Still, for all of the reasons above, there is little doubt in my mind that America, even on the twenty-fifth of December, is “our” land.

And so I continue to bless “this our country.” When new people enter our shul, I continue to explain to them, to the best of my ability, why I agree with “our.” And when I spend Shabbos in a different community, one which does not verbalize an “our” in its prayer for the government, in my own mind this expression of loyalty and responsibility still attaches itself to the name of that more perfect union, “our country, the United States of America.”