The violence that is going on in the United States today, which is being attributed to white racism, has me very upset.
My thoughts have been going back to all of the contact I have had with people of “color” - black, brown, and all shades in between.
This is simply my experience, and you can make of it what you will. Although my point of view will certainly become clear, I am not trying to convince anyone of anything. I may just be clarifying these memories to understand for myself why I hold the views that I have. Others have different memories and experiences.
I am not trying to represent anyone’s experience but my own. Ultimately, I can only base my perspective on what I have personally experienced. Not what I have heard or been told. Not what I have read. Not what makes it into the news. What I have experienced for myself. I will try to do so as honestly as I can.
1950’s
I grew up in a neighborhood composed primarily of Jews, Italians, and Irish. A white suburban middle-class area outside of New York City. We’re talking the 1950’s and 1960’s.
Once when I was really small, I was at my Aunt’s house watching some crime show on the TV. For some reason, in my little mind, I associated a certain kind of cap with “bad guys”; I think it’s called a “flat cap” or a “newsboy cap”. In any case, a character appeared on the screen wearing one of those caps. I yelled out “that’s a bad guy!”. Wouldn’t you know it, he was black. My Aunt’s black housekeeper was in earshot and took offense, because she thought it was the color of the character that had evoked my response. No one would believe me that it was the cap, not the character’s color, that I had responded to. I really don’t recall whether he was a bad guy or not, actually. But I was made to explain and apologize nonetheless. It’s tough not to be believed, when others decide what you must have meant.
1960’s
Aside from TV, the only black people I came across in those early years were the live-in housekeepers that my parents would hire to take care of me and my brother when they went on the occasional vacation. I remember one named Flossie very clearly. She read me stories, was a great cook, and she taught me how to sing “Buffalo Gals Won’t You Come Out Tonight”. I loved having her with us.
One day, the three of us were throwing a baseball around in the backyard. I was probably about 7 or 8 years old. I tried to throw the ball real hard to Flossie. I threw wild, and it hit her in the mouth. She was bleeding, and I probably broke one of her teeth. I felt like dirt. I ran into the garage out of guilt, shame and self-loathing. I stayed there until Marty came and made me come out. I don’t recall her cursing me out or anything, but she was surely angry, and in pain. But she never held it against me, that I was aware of.
These housekeepers weren’t always black. Mrs. Mancini, obviously Italian, was among them. Great Italian food. She taught me the song “He’s A College Boy”. I can sing it to this day. She always said that the Jews and the Italians had a lot in common.
I remember that one year our family was in Florida to visit my grandmother. I was old enough at this point to know some American history. I was especially aware of the Civil War. I think we were driving through a rural area of Florida for some reason, when I noticed the run down shanties of black people along the side of the road, and the people watching as we drove by. They looked sad to me. I wanted to shout out to them that we were Northerners, not Southerners. I also remember seeing the “Whites Only” water fountains, and the “Colored Served around Back” signs. That seemed so wrong to me.
In the summers, I would sometimes go away to sleep-away camp. It was a camp run by the New York Jewish Federation, in upstate New York. There were always some black kids there, whose summer was being sponsored by the Federation to get them out of the City. I don’t have any recollection of any racial issues at camp. One year, one of the counsellors was a Navajo Indian. Now that was really cool. He was a gentle giant kind of a guy.
During the summer of 1967, I went with this camp on a cross country bus/camping trip across the United States. Our bus driver was black. He became part of the gang. This was during what became known as “The Long, Hot Summer” of 1967. There were 159 race riots in cities across the country. I don’t remember exactly what sparked this. Ironically, this was also the “Summer of Love” of the hippie generation.
We drove west from upstate New York, through Indiana (we stopped at some point for a bathroom break in Indianapolis), and came to St.Louis. We continued through the Ozarks, into Kansas, Oklahoma, Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona, and reached our final destination of the Grand Canyon. We came back through parts of Colorado (saw a rodeo in Denver), and camped in the “Four Corners” area.
While we were in Kansas, a stay had been arranged for us on the farm of an older Kansas couple. I remember the woman showing us how to kill a chicken. I’m sure it was odd for them to have a busload of New York Jews (there were 40 of us) and a black bus driver descend on their farm. Our bus driver never slept in the tents with us. I guess he made himself comfortable on the bus, or in a nearby motel. But on this farm, he got to sleep in the farmhouse with the family.
Before we left, I remember hearing the lady of the house saying that they had been wondering about the possibility of a black person being part of one of the visiting groups. She commented that he was a human being just like anyone else.
Late summer of 1967, after I returned from camp, my parents and I moved to the island of St. Thomas in the US Virgin Islands. Marty was in college, so he wasn’t part of the move. St. Thomas was at least 90% black, so I spent my formative teenage years living in a black majority community. I never came across racial tensions in the 10 years that my home was in St. Thomas from 1967 to 1977. And this was during the heyday of the civil rights movement.
When we moved there, the Governor was still an appointee, not elected. The Governor in 1967 was Ralph Paiewonsky, a white, Jewish native of St. Thomas, born there in 1907. He had been appointed Governor of this US Territory by John F. Kennedy. The first elected Governor was Melvin Evans, a black Republican. He served one term as an appointee under Richard Nixon, and then was elected in his own right. The legislature was almost completely black as well. As were the police, fire department, etc.
There was a significant native white minority of “Frenchmen” on St. Thomas as well. They emigrated from St. Barths to St. Thomas in the late 19th century. Then there were other native whites who had been there for a century or more. And then there were the “Continentals”, mostly white newcomers from the USA, and other places, including the Dominican Republic, Nicaragua, Cuba, Puerto Rico, Denmark, and Germany.
I went to a private, non-sectarian high school in St. Thomas. It was mostly not black, unlike the public, Catholic, and Anglican schools which were the other options. I had two black classmates, Carl Husband and Denise Armstrong, and a few Puerto Rican classmates, Nilda Soto, Ana Soto, and Maria Mora. And Valerie King, who I think was bi-racial. And Loretta King, who I think was her sister. Again, there were no racial tensions or incidents. Carl and I both played on the football team. Carl had a white Honda Dream motorcycle, which I admired. He later became a pastor on St. Thomas. Denise was among the top students in the class. She had a terrific sense of humor. We got along well.
Once, a year or two after we moved to St. Thomas, I was back up in New York visiting the old neighborhood. I was visiting the Italian family that used to be our neighbors. There was some discussion about race going on, and, since I was living in a “black” island, I was asked if I would ever go out with a black girl. I answered that, if I liked her, why not? It was not the answer they were hoping for.
I briefly mentioned football. Our team, almost all white, was also the smallest team. I mean that in reference to our numbers, and in relation to our weight. We had 12 guys in the high school from 9th to 12th grade. Every one of us was on the football team. I was one of the heaviest guys on the team, at 150 lbs. We played against the other high schools, which were primarily black. We held our own against the overpowering size and numbers of our opponents. One year, we even came in 2nd place, behind the public high school, which was invariably in first place.
There was never any racial friction over football. In fact, I remember one instance after I had had a particular sterling game (if I say so myself), that two black St. Thomian kids (dare I say “boys”?) called out to me afterwards (“Hey! 41!”) to see if I was going to be playing next year. After I answered in the affirmative, they cheered and jumped up and down.
The first time I ever ran up against the effects of affirmative action had less to do with St. Thomas than with American politics. Along with other members of our class, both Denise Armstrong and I took the National Merit Scholarship Award exam. This was a national test. I scored higher than Denise. She was named a Finalist, but I was only a Runner-up. It was unfair, but that’s just the way it was.
We all felt respected, and American, in St. Thomas. My Mother worked for a while for a cable TV company. I was at her office one day shortly after Robert Kennedy was shot. A black St. Thomian came in and expressed his shock and concern. “What happnin’ to our Nayshun?”, he asked.
For a time, Mom worked for a Korean MD, Dr. Lu. It used to make Mom laugh out loud when he would get annoyed and say “Burrshit!”. There was also Dr. Kim, who was the official Physician for the football team. He attended all of our games, and treated injuries. I once got a puff full of yard marker lime in my eye. As an emergency measure, Dr. Kim filled his mouth with water and rinsed the stuff out of my eye. Thank you, Dr. Kim.
When our family went out to eat, as often as not we would go to one of the local non-tourist restaurants. They were usually in out-of-the-way parts of the island. There you could pick out your own fresh caught fish (Ol’ Wife, Hard Nose, Grunt, etc.), and fresh made funji (corn meal, oil, okra, salt). You could get the fish “biled, briled, or fried”. Delicious no matter what. We were always welcome, and there was never any racial tension.
One summer, I worked for the Virgin Islands Department of Beautification. Our job was to establish and maintain plantings along the roads, and in the parks, and in public areas of the Charlotte Amalie, the capital. Part of our time was spent in the government plant nursery; potting, replanting, etc. There was an on-site caretaker who lived on the property - an old black St. Thomian, who used to take us up to his simple dwelling for tea. When we looked tired he would say, “When you weary, take a res’!”.
I also spent a summer working for a Social Sciences researcher at the College of the Virgin Islands. My boss was a black Ph.D., Dr. Harrington. He was very kind to me, and he appreciated that I would take on whatever task he assigned to me. One of those tasks was converting his research library from the Dewey Decimal System to the Library of Congress System.
We originally lived in a neighborhood toward the east end of the island, named Estate Tutu. Once again, a predominantly black area of individual homes. No problems. Later, Dad built a house in Upper John Dunko, high up and central, overlooking the harbor. Again, no problems.
Tess Bell worked for my father’s company for several years, in the office. She was originally from St. Lucia. A tall, slender, majestic, and very classy black West Indian woman. When Dad built our house, he included a rental apartment in it. As it turned out, Tess and her boyfriend, Werner (a German), ended up living there. We got together with them frequently. Eventually, Tess went into business for herself. I don’t know if she and Werner stayed together or not. My parents and Tess remained friends for many years, even after they moved to Florida in 1977.
The most disturbing incident with racial overtones that I remember happened on Pesach. Dad had become friendly with a family of black Jews. I don’t remember how. Probably from the synagogue. Dad had also met a new Jewish family that had come to St. Thomas from one of the Dutch islands; either Curacao or Aruba. So one Pesach, we had both families over for the seder. It was a seder just like others we had had over the years. But, we learned later, the Dutch Caribbean family had been highly insulted that we should have black people at our table with them, even if they were Jewish.
Once, many years ago, my wife and I went for a short vacation to St. Thomas. While we were there, I wanted to pay condolences to the wife of my former football coach, Eric Winter, who had recently passed away from ALS. We went to where she worked, in the office of an upscale shop near Main Street. While I was there, a black St.Thomian man saw my tzitzis. He was somewhat awestruck, and asked me if I was an “Israelite”. Taken aback, I thought about that for a moment and responded, “Yeah. I guess I am”. He was very polite and respectful, and I was truly happy that he had thought to ask the question.
1970’s
I think this is the right time to mention another affirmative action incident. After I had been away at college for a few years, and I was studying things like botany and ornithology, I applied for a summer job as a seasonal Park Ranger at the Virgin Islands National Park on St. John. I was very interested in the possibility of a career in the US Park Service, or the US Fish & Wildlife Service. I was a resident of the Virgin Islands, and I was familiar with much of the flora, fauna, marine biology, and history of the islands. I knew St. John. I had hiked all over St. John with friends when I was in high school. I was also a certified SCUBA diver.
I was denied the job. When I met with one of the senior Park Rangers, he was very apologetic, and indicated to me that the job had gone to someone who was black, and who was, incidentally, not from the islands. As a consolation prize, he offered me a job as a life guard. I had absolutely no training as a life guard. I found it insulting to be offered a job for which I was not qualified, but denied a job for which I was qualified. I turned down the offer to be a life guard. Maybe I should have taken it anyway. Who knows?
In my dorm in college, at Colgate University, there was a student name Saba Gessesse. She was from Ethiopia. She was very soft spoken and dignified, and would have nothing to do with the Association of Black Collegians, no matter how hard they tried to recruit her. There was also Kant Au, from Hong Kong. He was a real character. He used to go around the dorm and practice karate. We met him once in Chinatown in NY City, and he took us to a real Chinese restaurant. He ordered this soup for us that looked like grey dishwater. It was delicious. I’m afraid to think of what was in it.
At Colgate, we had a program called the January Special Studies Period. This provided students with the opportunity to spend one entire month focused on one topic or subject. One January, I took part in a study of the Black Panther Party. We studied the available literature - e.g. Bobby Seale, Eldridge Cleaver - and spent a week in New York City visiting Panther headquarters and speaking with some of the leaders. The project was headed by a Professor who was a former Catholic priest. Don’t ask.
My particular study topic was whether the Black Panther Party was anti-Semitic,. Given their ant-Israel platform, and their denunciation of Jewish businesses in the ghetto, one would think it was obvious. But that’s not the way a good, Liberal, Jewish boy thinks. While in New York City, I also visited the headquarters of the Jewish Defense League, and Bnai Brith, to pick up documentation that they had available on the subject. Of course, I ended up supporting what was my preconceived conclusion, that the Black Panthers were anti-Israel, but not anti-Semitic. And somehow that was OK.
A revealing encounter occurred later that semester. While I was part of the Black Panther study group, I naturally made the acquaintance of the other students in the group, both black and white. I also belonged to a student organization known as The Colgate Jewish Union. Now, on campus there was a place called The Coop. The Coop was basically a gathering place for students that included a snack bar, mail boxes, offices, etc. Student organizations often set up a booth at The Coop to publicize events or present ideas. Around the time of Israel Independence Day, I was manning an Israel Information Booth at The Coop. A few of my “friends” from my January Studies group came by and were aghast that I was advocating for Israel. I was truly taken aback. I responded to them that I was Jewish, and that I supported Israel. You mean, I can’t support your rights, and support my own people? That was the end of that conversation. This was my first experience with what is now called “intersectionality”.
Later that semester, Rabbi Meir Kahane came to speak at Colgate. I was all primed to ask him about the Black Panther party. I actually got to ask my question, however I phrased it, at his lecture. I got the expected answer, that anti-Semitism is often clothed in anti-Israel rhetoric. I had the opportunity to speak privately with Rabbi Kahane afterwards when a few students got together with him. I found him to be very sane, rational, and patient with what I had to say. Not at all strident. He was also pretty tired.
After college, I was fortunate to find a job as a Museum Technician at the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History in Washington, DC. On a lark, I had gone to the Placement Center my Senior year, and filled out a Federal Job application form. Sure enough, shortly before graduation, I was contacted, and invited to come to an interview in New York City with Dr. Edward Ayensu, the Chairman of the Botany Department at the Smithsonian. The name sounded Chinese. I met him at an apartment in New York. He was not Chinese. He was Nigerian. He became my first boss, at my first job, after college. One of the reasons I got the job was my connection to the Virgin Islands. Most of the botanical research being done at the Smithsonian was tropical.
I worked on a three person team at the Smithsonian, in conjunction with the Botany Department and the Automated Data Processing Department. The three of us made up the Type Register Project. There was a white woman (Polly Prichard) , and a black woman (Bonita Johnson), and myself. Polly and I collected and enhanced information from the specimens in the botany collection, and Bonita did the data entry. I was new to the DC/Maryland/Virginia area. Bonita used to call a pen an “Ink Pen”. “Please hand me the Ink Pen” she would say.
We were definitely diverse. Polly could trace her family to the Mayflower. She had graduated from the University of Maryland. Her father was a high ranking retired Naval Aviation officer. Her mother was originally from Iowa. Bonita was born and raised in Maryland, and a high school graduate. I was this Jewish guy from NY and the Virgin Islands, and a graduate of Colgate University.
After 3 1/2 years at the Smithsonian, I left and started graduate school at William & Mary. For a time, I shared an apartment with another student. It wasn’t a good match. When I found a better arrangement, I found another roommate for him, to take over my part of the lease. This new roommate was a black student. I remember that my soon to be ex-roommate was not thrilled about it, but he consented.
Our Department Chairman was from Mississippi. This is between 1977 and 1981. When he first came to teach at William & Mary, it was “ethnic” groups that he had to get used to. “Mr. Jaffee”, he said to me, “in Mississippi, we didn’t have ethnic groups. We had whites, and we had blacks. And everyone had Anglo-Saxon names. I never met anyone with a non-Anglo-Saxon name until I came to William & Mary”. I had the opposite experience. I never met anyone named Jones or Smith until I came to William & Mary. I thought they were joking.
Now here is a funny story: at William & Mary, I was working on a Master’s degree in Biology. I had been awarded a Teaching Assistantship to help cover my tuition. I was teaching a lab section of BIO 101, Introduction to Biology. During a section on genetics, we were discussing physical traits that are genetically determined. One of these is ear lobes. Some are attached, and some are free, that is, they hang down. There was one black student in the lab section. His name was Jesse.
So, I’m standing facing the board, and calling out each student by name to find out if they have free or attached ear lobes, and I was making a count of how many of each we had in the class. When I got to Jesse, I asked, “Jesse, are you free?”. There was a long pause. I asked again, “Jesse, are you free?”. After a moment, Jesse answered, “Free at last”. Talk about embarrassed. But it was taken well, and no one accused me of racism or micro-aggression. I did not lose my job, and I was not brought up on charges, and I did not have to do community service so that I could become “woke”.
One of my colleagues in graduate school, a white woman, was married to a man from India. I think his name was Raj. She was really nice, but I never really liked him. He was arrogant. Could never figure out what she saw in him. Once, some of us grad students were spending an evening at the home of one of our professors. As I recall, Raj was expounding upon the superiority of his newly acquired Christianity. Raj had been a Brahmin, the higher Hindu class. This somehow led us to start talking about our various religious affiliations. When I shared that I was Jewish, Raj blurted out, “Jewish! That’s the worst one!”. His wife was mortified. It was years before I got over my distaste for Indians.
Now we get to more recent history - within the last 30 years!
1980’s and 1990’s and 2000’s
In 1981, I had finished grad school and wasn’t finding work in my field. I decided to sign up for a volunteer program in Israel, called Sherut La’am, and in the intervening months, I moved to Charlottesville to stay with my brother and his wife Cheryl.
At one point, I found a job doing data entry for a company called Commonwealth Clinical Systems. My supervisor was a black woman, and I was the only male on the team. I worked there for several months, and then left for my volunteer program in Israel.
On my return from Israel 10 months later, I stopped into my former employer looking for a job. I was told to come back in a month, and they would have a job for me. A month later, I showed up to find that there had been a major shake up in the management staff. The owners had me start by working the operations night shift. After a few months, I was promoted to Assistant Director for Customer Service. This was awkward, because the data entry supervisor, whom I had worked for previously, was now technically under my supervision.
She was not happy one bit. A congenial relationship became one of resentment. It’s clear to me that this new position was what the owners had in mind for me when I was re-hired. I don’t believe that she was ever in consideration. There were other issues. Nevertheless, a white male was promoted, but a black female was not. Based on what I know about the company and who made the decision, I don’t believe that racial distinctions were part of the decision process, but superficially it might appear to be the case. But I have no way of knowing for sure.
I should mention that my brother’s second wife, Leah, was a Filipino convert. I believe she also had Japanese (or Chinese) and Hawaiian in her genealogy. No one in the family ever considered this to be an issue. Unfortunately, they divorced. My niece from that marriage, Aviva, is a beautiful young woman with a Pacific/Asian appearance. She made aliyah, and served in a combat unit in the Israeli army. She now lives in Seattle, and is engaged to an Israeli.
In 1991, I started working at the Social Security Administration in Baltimore. I worked there for about 20 years, until January of 2012. I worked under multiple black supervisors, men and women, as well as one hispanic and one Japanese American. I would say at least 1/3 of my colleagues, as well as those I supervised, were black, hispanic, oriental, or south asian. Racial issues were not part of those relationships. Except once.
There was one black woman, who had been on long-term sick leave from SSA, but she had decided to return to work. It turns out, that she had returned in order to have enough time on the job to retire. She really resented being there. She would find any excuse to complain to the union, and claim racial discrimination.
Government employees are all aware that there are often certain employees whose work is so poor, that they just are not given any serious work to do. It is extremely difficult to fire anyone, and it practically takes up all of a supervisor’s time to deal with the documentation, paperwork, and hearings. So it is just easier to ignore them. Eventually, she decided to retire, to everyone’s relief.
Anecdotally, there was a “famous” case brought against SSA called “100 Black Men”. The lawyer who represented them was a disgruntled former SSA employee. I knew the guy. They alleged discrimination in hiring and promotion. They won the case, and the lawyer earned a million dollars. In all of my 20 years of experience at SSA, I personally never saw or experienced any form of discrimination. If people were nasty, and they sometimes were, it was strictly personal.
In 1995, I completed my training as a Massage Therapist. I saw clients in the evening in my home office, in my basement, for almost 18 years. One of my favorite and most regular clients was a black man, Arschel Morrell. Arschel was married to a colleague of mine at Social Security, of Italian extraction, Mary. Arschel was a native of Baltimore, who grew up in the 40’s, 50’s, and 60’s. His mother had worked at one of the major department stores downtown. He remembered how blacks were excluded from the store, except as employees. He remembered white only amusement parks. Yet he came to me every month and said, “Norm, make me feel good”.
The main Jewish neighborhood in Baltimore, Upper Park Heights, bordered the black neighborhood of Lower Park Heights. Baltimore is a largely black city. We were all aware that anything left outside, even during the day, was subject to being stolen by young black kids who walked through the neighborhood. Kids on bicycles were at risk of being accosted and their bikes stolen. You would often see some black kid 5 feet tall riding a little kid’s bike. A sure sign that it was stolen. But any action taken was construed as racist.
The past few times I have been in Baltimore, I have been warned not to go out walking at night by myself. Burglaries and muggings are common. These are not white on white crimes.
But there were funny experiences, too. For example, one Shabbos afternoon, I was walking down the street in my bekishe and streimel. A black kid across the street saw me and shouted, “Hey! You got a cake on yo’ head!”. I agreed. It has become one of my stock stories.
At our shul, we had more than a handful of black Jews as congregants over the years. A few black women, and a really nice guy named Efraim Relerford, originally from Michigan. Soft-spoken, intelligent and dignified. There was also Yisroel (Jerome) Bethea, who was a former actor who converted later in life. Then there was Gerry Gilstrop, married to Becky Pepkowitz (white).
Another well known black member of the Baltimore Jewish community was Dovid Davis, who ran a pest control business. His mother was Jewish. He was a snappy dresser. He beat a squirrel to death in my house once. And he would bring Johnnie Walker Blue to the kiddush at the hashkama minyan on Shabbos.
But my all-time favorite is Daniel Shaw (San-San). San-San moved to Baltimore from Jamaica, sometime in the 90s I guess. He has an Aunt in Baltimore. He got a job working at Tov Pizza, in the Jewish neighborhood. As a child in Jamaica, he had always been more interested in Old Testament stories than the Christian bible. Over time, he became more interested in Judaism, and ultimately converted. We had a great time together because we could share West Indian culture. He’d come to our house, and I’d make fish and funji, and we’d drink Jamaican Red Star beer. Eventually, he made aliyah. In Israel he met and married an Indian Jewish woman from London. They eventually moved to London. He has a beautiful daughter.
2010’s
Marietta and I passed through London for a few hours about 5 years ago, in transit from Baltimore to Tel Aviv. He met us at the airport. We grabbed a cab, and drove to nearby Windsor Castle, and took the tour. We took a bite to eat with us, and sat down in a park, reminiscing and watching British people enjoying a rare sunny day. We still keep in touch.
In Israel, I spent some time learning about Breslov Chassidus with Rav Dror Moshe Cassouto, at what was then the Emunah Center in Jerusalem. One of the people who I met there was Nissim Black, a black Jewish musician, and Breslover Chasid, and his cousin, Mr. Brown (no joke).
Today
I haven’t yet become friends with any Ethiopian Jews here in Israel, but I hope that it is just a matter of time. I see them in uniform, and walking as families, even occasionally here in Efrat. I should resolve not to let the opportunity pass me by again. However, I feel self-conscious about approaching someone just because of their color. It seems self-serving to me. I’m hoping for a more normal introduction.
One of my best friends is Moroccan. I don’t know if this “counts”, but he is of a darker shade, as are many Moroccans and other Sefardim. He’s married to a nice Jewish girl from Indiana. His father escaped that North African country not long after the founding of Israel. It’s a hair-raising story. He was only 16 at the time.
One of my favorite places to doven is the Moroccan shul, which is practically next door. They are always warm and welcoming to us Ashkenazim, and they doven b’simcha. One of the Moroccans, Daveed, likes to greet me in Yiddish, which he learned through his work. He knows a lot more Yiddish than I do. Go figure.
Living in Israel means being in contact with Arabs - both Israeli and PA. Many in the West speak of Arabs in the same category as American blacks. Actually, nothing could be further from the truth. And that goes for color as well. A dark Arab is physically indistinguishable from a dark Jew. This racial distinction is completely false. I was at a mall in Jerusalem the other day. The mall was full of Jews and Arabs. Two Muslim Arab women were sitting together at a cafe having a bite to eat. In the stroller next to them, was a beautiful baby - as white as any European baby I have ever seen.
Only yesterday, I ended up in the Emergency Room at Shaarei Tzedek Hospital in Jerusalem, for what turned out NOT to be a cardiac issue, BH. I was at the hospital from 1 AM on Shabbos morning till 9 PM Saturday night. The composition of the staff, as well as the patients, was around 50/50 Jews and Arabs. It was heartening to see everyone working together to get the job done, without making distinctions. This was particularly easy to spot with religious women. There were Jewish female doctors, nurses and technicians, with their hair covered, working along with their Muslim colleagues in hijab. This to me was a vision of how it could be. How it should be.
I want to say at this point something significant, that writing all this has made clear to me. It’s not necessarily so profound. My experience has taught me that differences in skin color (or culture or ancestry) become insignificant when there is a common bond - be it, for example, as classmates, teammates, colleagues, Americans, Israelis, or as Jews. What is shared makes other differences merely incidental. This has been my experience, as I see it, from my earliest memories. What binds us together, ideally, makes other distinctions of secondary import. I would suggest that in our time, in contrast to155 years ago, racial distinctions should have much less relevance than our common vision. Compared to 1865, people of the various racial groups in America have much more in common.
One of the achievements of Martin Luther King, Jr., was to articulate a vision that we all could share. That he was able to articulate this vision, despite the difficult times which engendered his words, was a victory of character. Is there hope that character, as well as his vision, are not a thing of the past??
Here is a glimmer of hope from a recent trip to Baltimore. As we have often done, we flew into Newark, and took the Amtrak train from there to Baltimore. It’s a comfortable 2.5 hour trip, and a nice transition time from the craziness of airline travel and airports. On this particular trip, I did something I’d never done before. I went to the Dining Car to get a cup of coffee.
A young black man was working behind the food service counter. Somehow, in conversation, it came out that I lived in Israel. He became very excited, and told me that he and his girlfriend had made plans to travel to Israel, and they were really looking forward to it. He was so enthusiastic, that I decided to give him a 20 Shekel note to spend on his trip. Now he was REALLY excited!
Standing next to me was an elderly black gentleman, dressed in what appeared to be African clothing - what we used to call a Dashiki, and various ornaments. He, too, was very enthusiastic about meeting a Jew from Israel. The source of his interest was a little different, though.
He proceeded to ask me why it is that with the Jewish people returning to Israel, that the Messiah hadn’t yet come. He thought that maybe we weren’t doing a good enough job, and he wanted to know what we intended to do about it! I had to tell him that I had the same question, and explained to him that we were like any other nation - we had our internal disagreements and hadn’t yet perfected our relationships with each other. I explained that Moshiach would definitely come, but in his own time and in his own way.
I walked away from these conversations with a satisfied smile on my face. I could see that there was a reason that the Master of the Universe had sent me up to the Dining Car to get a cup of coffee, something which I had never done before. To this day I do not know what the purpose was, but I’m sure it will have repercussions that are way beyond my perception. And I was basking in the warmth that these two black men had showered upon me.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
It has been close to seven decades since those growing up days in New York until now.
I’ve lived through the unrest of the Civil Rights movement.
I’ve lived through the strife of the Viet Nam War.
I’ve lived in a black majority community in the West Indies.
I have worked with and for black men and women.
I have been directly effected by affirmative action and intersectionality.
I’ve lived through the Presidencies of Truman, Eisenhower, Kennedy, Johnson, Nixon, Ford, Carter, Reagan, G Bush, Clinton, W Bush, Obama, and Trump.
I’ve seen JFK, RFK, and MLK assassinated.
I’ve seen the election of the first black Governor of the Virgin Islands, and the first black President of the United States.
I’ve marched on Washington to protest the Viet Nam war..
I have seen the vision of Martin Luther King, Jr. - to be judged by the content of one’s character and not by the color of one’s skin - literally go up in smoke.
The toxic philosophy of racial identity politics has, at least temporarily, overcome. That’s not what “We Shall Overcome” was supposed to mean. It was supposed to bring all Americans into the historical process of bringing about “a more perfect union”. It was not meant to pit race against race. It was meant, ideally, to eliminate that.
It’s not what I have stood for, or believed in, or acted upon.
And this is what I’ve learned:
Be wary of simple answers to complicated problems. There are only partial answers. And each partial answer produces new problems. Prepare to address the problems you expect to arise from your solution, and be ready to recognize the ones you won’t be likely to predict.
Be aware that no person, family, community, party, movement, philosophy, government, or country is perfect. Don’t expect perfection, but never stop trying.
All people identify with one group or another. That is normal and healthy. It is in the nature of every human being. It is how we act upon that inclination that determines if our actions represent a pathology. Pride in one’s people is not racism.
The way to resist racism, which surely exists - it has existed, and it will always exist - is not to behave as a racist.
Those who are quick to accuse people of racism, are often the actual racists. As a corollary to this, be suspicious of any cause that includes in its doctrine an anti-Israel platform. There’s usually no real reason for it to be there. That should be the perennial litmus test.
Our task, to the extent that it is humanly possibility, is to see the common humanity in each person, as well as what distinguishes them from ourselves. And to take responsibility for how we react to that. Don’t blame someone else, or some other group for your actions or situation. Neither should you accept the blame for something you did not create. You are as much a victim, and a beneficiary, of the past as anyone else.
Or is it just me?
Or is it just me?
