Tag Archives: hope

Open Letter to My Students 83: The Passing of a Quarter Century

At midnight tonight it becomes official: A quarter century will have passed: 25 years of our lives, now water under the bridge, and unlikely to elicit admiration or pride.  

There are positives, the amazing advances in technology, first and foremost: smart phones for example, and now AI. Technological breakthroughs inevitably evoke mixed reviews at first, but in the end, we rarely want to go back to what we had antecedently. Do we really miss the days when we needed to find a phone booth in an emergency? As for AI, think of what it promises for medical research alone. Remember the days when we discovered the genetic code and everyone worried about cloning for racial superiority? What we got instead is genetic mapping and new hope for curing cancer. The covid pandemic was a huge negative, but those covid vaccines that came about in record time? Another medical miracle and a big-time entry in the positive column. 

I am not so buoyant about cryptocurrency, but I am not a fan of anything crypto (from the Greek kryptos) meaning “hidden.”  Cryptocurrency enriches a few wealthy insiders and encourages other crypto pursuits like tax evasion and money laundering. “Don’t look at the bottle,” the Rabbis warned; “but at what is in it.” What happens, however, when you can’t do that, because the bottle is opaque?  What goes for a bottle of wine goes also for the big stuff like international finance and governmental decision-making. I am for transparency, thank you. 

The century had barely begun when the 9/11 trauma announced radical Islam’s appearance on the world stage. Then came ISIS, a worthless war against the Taliban, and Iranian fundamentalism exported across the Middle East. Horrific wars in Iraq and Syria sent refugees streaming into Europe and North America. In response, the world retreated into nationalist tribalism: right-wing parties brandishing the flag of ethnic solidarity at home and reviving ethnic distrust (if not downright hatred) for everyone else. The fullness of democracy is now under attack, even in Israel and America.  

American leadership has turned its back on leading the planet toward anything positive: instead we seem intent on going it alone, with a dizzying set of punishing tariffs and threats to discourage historic alliances. In gross denial of science, we are actually hastening global warming. We have a Department of Health and Human Services that seeks to undermine both. The new class of burgeoning billionaire mega-rich are in league with a governing kleptocracy, at the expense of the ever more needy mega-poor. 

The watchword of the last 25 years is “polarization.” Unable to govern, or even to trust one another, we are becoming the poster child for the state of nature that Thomas Hobbes thought civilization was supposed to rescue us from: a condition where life for the many is increasingly “solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short.”  Jewish polarization pits an older generation that still proudly identifies as Zionists (regardless of how they view the war in Gaza) against a younger generation that finds the term revolting.

Most of all, war is back in style. A million displaced Rohingyas fleeing Myanmar since 2017; Buddhist persecution of ethnic Tamils in Sri Lanka; the militant Islamist Boko Haram tormenting women in Nigeria; ethnic cleansing of black non-Arab populations in southern Sudan (over ten million people displaced so far). Above all, the cold war is back, Putinized this time round, and not so cold anymore, if you live in Ukraine. We are still reeling from the Hamas attack on Israel and the ensuing war — at a pause but maybe not an end. And let’s not forget the rise of anti-Semitism not just on the right but on the left, with outright murder of Jews from Pittsburgh and Washington to Sydney and Manchester.  

 Transparency in business requires financial auditors. So too, whole societies need moral auditors to pass judgement on their use of power: a role played mostly by journalists dedicated to the search for truth. The greatest loss in the last 25 years may be the demise of truth where anything good journalists discover can be blithely trashed as “fake news.”  

My own moral bookkeeping, however, leads me to see myself as the character in Edvard Munch’s celebrative painting “The Scream,” standing on the bridge from one quarter century to another, and shocked at the nadir to which the world has sunk. 

But maybe most quarter-century marks looked this bad at the time. What would I have said in 1925, with World War I in the recent rearview mirror? Or 1950, with the worldwide depression, World War II so recently ended, and concentration-camp victims still being counted? 1975 would have recalled the Korean War, the Cuban Missile crisis, the Vietnam debacle, and the cold-war arms race threatening the end of humanity itself. 

2000, as I recall, looked better, with the fall of Communist Russia, the Stasi police state of East Germany, and the rest of the Soviet system.  Perhaps 2025 looks especially bad because of all the squandered hope from what we thought the year 2000 heralded. 

But if we got through the other stuff, I daresay we will get through this – a hope I draw from a story that I included in an earlier Letter. Rabbi Michael Robinson, of blessed memory, recalled falling on the pavement in Israel’s ultra-Orthodox neighborhood of Me’ah Sh’arim. As he sat, recovering, on a nearby bench, a quintessentially dressed Hasidic rebbe (or maybe it was Elijah?) stopped to ask him what had happened.

“I fell,” Robinson said.

“No,” the rebbe responded. “You got up.” 

I think the final take-away of the last 25 years is just that: not how far we have fallen, but how insistently we have gotten up.

Open Letter to My Students 71:  Why We Celebrate a New Year

I no longer stay up late on New Year’s Eve. The Times Square ball can drop without me. But I watch with amazement as so much of the world descends into a sort of drunkenfest – and at inflated prices that can put you into debt. Most cultures have some sort of new year’s bash: The Chinese new year, for instance, with fireworks, dragon dances, and literally painting the town red. We Jews direct our energies into eating and praying – but we make loud noises on the shofar, and we consume enough honey to keep dentists busy for the rest of the year. 

The rationale behind it all is unclear. History of Religion expert Mircea Eliade considered it an outgrowth of ancient peoples’ desire to take refuge in a primeval moment when the connection between ourselves and the gods was patent. Well, maybe. Traditional cultures may revert to God-intoxicated founding moments, but the Times Square crowd is just plain intoxicated.

So perhaps New Year celebrations fortify us as we face the uncertainty of a new year. Judaism famously warns that “All beginnings are difficult” (Mekhilta to Exodus 19:5). And there may be something to that. Google “Beginnings are hard,” and you find a ton of people in agreement. All sorts of examples come to mind: moving to a new school; starting a new job; embarking on a new relationship; undertaking a new project; writing that first line of a school essay.

But I tend to think the opposite. Hard as beginnings may be, endings are usually harder. Making new friends, though difficult, is easier than saying goodbye to old ones. Starting your first job is easier than retiring. Declaring a war is nothing compared to ending it. Moving in with (you hope) the love of your life may have its uncertainties, but the pain is in moving out. I know nothing about what it feels like to be born into the world, but I suspect that dying is harder.

We might conclude that New Year merriment anesthetizes us against the pain of closing the book on the year gone by. But that doesn’t seem right either. I, for one, cannot wait to reclassify 2024 under “Files, Old (Good Riddance).” So the problem with endings is not so much making them happen, but making them happen the right way. Divorces are hard but they can sometimes be amicable; there are even such things as good deaths rather than bad ones. 

A more likely theory, then, is that endings can be positive – if we have reason to believe that they will be followed by a beautiful new beginning. Losing a job is okay if you have a better one lined up. Falling out of love is acceptable if you’ve met the next new flame who will be lovelier. Even dying is less painful if you think you are slated for some heavenly afterlife. 

Endings and beginnings are apparently intertwined. The metaphor of life as a journey works rather nicely. We don’t mind being ever on the move as we age, so long as our leaving one place portends our finding another one. What we dread is the flat earth phenomenon: coming to an end with nothing left to do but fall off the cliff into nothingness. 

Noisy New Year celebrations convince us that the earth isn’t flat; that we can step boldly into a new unknown with assurance that we will land on solid ground; say goodbye to the old because the new will be better. Mind you, there is little evidence to support that hypothesis. Coming off a bad old year and anticipating a new and better one is like suffering some chronic illness for 365 days, but having well-wishers assure you that tomorrow you will be cured. It doesn’t always work out that way. But we cannot long subsist without hope. And, come to think of it, who knows?

The old doesn’t actually die with the new; more likely it persists, like a ghost who visits us nightly no matter how much we try to shake it off. When toxic relationships expire, the toxicity can still linger. We are still dealing with the aftereffects of Covid lockdowns. We yearn for the certainty that painful endings will at least end, so that we can launch a new beginning, unsullied by the past.

That may be what the madness of New Year’s Eve is intended to convey. Out with the old and in with the new. As 2024 becomes 2025, we want so much to have the pain of the past dispelled; and the hope for the future confirmed.

This year, particularly, so much is at stake. Will the Israel-Gaza war finally come to an end – a real end, that provides Israelis with security; and also sows the seeds of betterment both for Israel and its neighbors? And what of Ukraine? The new administration seems bent on ending the war there. But how, and at what cost? Will democracy survive here at home? Will anti-Semitism increase or decline?

The more terrible things are, the more we wish they would end. But what makes those things so terrible is precisely their immunity to solutions. Declaring a “New Year” may be fun for a day, but the day after, we all go back to work; January 2 won’t look all that different from December 31; which suggests that the Jewish idea of making New Year a day for prayer is not all that wrong. At the very least, it is a healthy reminder of reality’s persistent intransigence.  

So here’s to 2025: a prayer. May it arrive with more wisdom than folly. May the suffering of 2024 come finally to an end. May freedom, health and happiness be abundant, and for everyone. May our worst nightmares find no footing, while our happy dreams take root and become reality. Amen.

Will things really work out that way? Probably not, but maybe just a little, and maybe more than we think possible. The start of a new year is at least the time to imagine them. 

The Family Business

“So what do you do?” That’s the question we most frequently ask upon meeting someone new.

A version projected onto medieval times has a builder reply, “See that cathedral? I build the story 60 feet up; my father built the one below it, and his father built the one below that. My son will build it higher still, as will his son after him.”

Talk about going into the family business!

We Jews, however, build no such multi-generational cathedrals; our equivalent is a generational chain of blessing, an idea with which the Book of Genesis ends.

The scene is Jacob on his death bed, blessing his children. “This,” says the Torah, “is what their father said.” But why call Jacob “their father” rather than “Jacob,” his name? Because, says Genesis Rabbah (100:12), these future progenitors of Israel will receive blessing from many generations of parents, not just from Jacob. “Where one generation ends, the next one begins.”

Blessing began with Abraham and Sarah, then continued with Isaac and Rebekah, and kept going all the way to Moses. The Haftarah extends the chain still further, by picturing King David dying and adjuring Solomon to “keep God’s charge” just as he, David, had done.

Generational continuity is a way to solve a perennially difficult passage in the history of biblical interpretation: Ramban’s insistence that beyond being the story of what has already happened, Genesis is a prophetic premonition of what was yet to be. The plain sense of Ramban’s claim has prompted endless futile efforts to find a code by which chance combinations of biblical letters might somehow reveal the future.

As a confirmed medieval mystic, Ramban may indeed have believed that, but equally, he may have meant something more intellectually acceptable. Genesis is not just stories about particular individuals, he realized; it provides patterns that recur through time: sibling rivalry, for example; and (our case here) the parental insistence on blessing. Every parental generation is heir to the cumulative blessing of its past; and then passes that on enhanced by its own contribution to posterity. Each successive generation thus inherits a compound set of blessings: what its immediate parents were able to fashion, and what parental generations over the centuries managed to pass along earlier.

We have here an early Jewish affirmation of a doctrine that captured western thought only with the Enlightenment: the idea of progress. Most ancient peoples saw history as an endless and repetitive cycle. Not so Israel, said Mircea Eliade, the professor who founded History of Religion as a discipline. Israel adopted a linear view of history, a developmental line by which every generation can build on the accomplishment of those who came before. We are not just doomed to repeat what others have done. We can all accomplish together what no single generation can bring about alone.

To be sure, some parental generations bequeath the opposite: not blessings but curses. Hence our prayer on holidays, livrachah v’lo liklalah: “May we know blessing, not curse.” Every generation must struggle with the legacy it leaves behind. Are we adding to the blessing or detracting from it? Yet Jews insist that over time, blessing will prove victorious. History is cumulative and the good will win the day. “On that day, God shall be One and God’s name shall be One” (Zechariah 14:9 and the end of Alenu).

Our insistence on progress derives from our reading of Genesis. Each generation inherits the legacy of blessings left by those who came before, and then strives to add its own set of blessings onto that.  Not for nothing did we choose Hatikvah(“The Hope”) as Israel’s national anthem. We are a people of hope and of promise.

“So what do you do?”

The next time people ask you that, tell them, “See this thing called history? I inherit the blessings of my predecessors and I add my blessings to theirs; my children and my children’s children will do likewise. I am a Jew. I believe in progress.