ELI Talk: Eternal Tables: The World To Come

The Jewish version of TED talks are called ELI talks.  You can learn more about ELI talks here.  Earlier this year I was asked to prepare an ELI talk about a topic of my choice.  Many thanks to the Covenant Foundation for this opportunity.

For my talk I spoke about the table text that guides this blog.  Most of this blog was written during our Sabbatical in 2011-12.   Preparing this talk helped me think about what I learned during the Sabbatical and beyond. The 15-minute talk recently came out on-line.   You can see it here on YouTube or on the ELI web-page here.

Since the “proof-text” for the table is related to the Yom Kippur liturgy, I offer this talk here during the Hebrew month of Elul as preparation for the High Holidays.

As always, your thoughts and comments are welcome.

Refugees are in our Midst

Passionate exchanges about the executive order regarding refugees fill my work and home tables.  The response from the Jewish community in support of refugees largely focuses on the fact that we came to this country as refugees.  The unique trauma of the Holocaust motivates many of us.  The biblical command to care for and to love the stranger because we were strangers in Egypt is a recurring theme.

But this challenging moment provides an opportunity and an obligation to delve deeper into Jewish texts in order to contribute additional nuance to these conversations.  A closer look at Jewish texts strengthens the case and adds further motivation.

The Talmud teaches about the many arguments between the schools of Hillel and Shammai and notes that the law almost always follows Hillel.  Why?  The Talmud answers:  It is because the students of Hillel were kind and gracious.  They taught their own ideas as well as the ideas from the students of Shammai.  But not only this, Hillel’s students went so far as to teach Shammai’s opinions first. (Eruvin 13b)

In that spirit I acknowledge that terrorism is a genuine threat in our world.  Of course thorough vetting is crucial for those entering this country.

The current average two year screening process for refugees allows only 1% of those in need to enter the United States.  If there are any holes in that extensive process, let’s repair them.   But the recent executive order is based more on fear than on any real security gaps.

We don’t need Jewish texts to prove that we don’t become safer by confusing terror with those who are fleeing terror, or by closing our doors, even temporarily, to all who are most vulnerable.  We certainly can’t justify these actions based on fear rather than fact.

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, former chief Rabbi of Great Britain wrote about the repetition of the command to remember that we were strangers in Egypt. The experience of being a stranger is the reason behind the command to love the stranger as yourself.  Rabbi Sacks writes (italics his):

Jewish law is here confronting directly the fact that care for the stranger is not something for which we can rely on our normal moral resources of knowledge, empathy and rationality. Usually we can, but under situations of high stress, when we feel our group threatened, we cannot. The very inclinations that bring out the best in us – our genetic inclination to make sacrifices for the sake of kith and kin – can also bring out the worst in us when we fear the stranger. We are tribal animals and we are easily threatened by the members of another tribe.

During times of danger and stress the Jewish people are chosen and commanded to remember the experience of vulnerability.  That is why seeing refugees turned away reminds us of what we felt when we had nowhere to go.

But what happens if we don’t both remember and then also act?  The Torah is clear:   If you oppress the stranger, the orphan, the widow – categories that represent the most vulnerable people in ancient societies – then they surely will cry out to me, says God in Exodus 22, using the same Hebrew word used to describe the cry of the Israelites oppressed under Pharaoh.  God continues:  If you oppress the vulnerable, then you will suffer the same fate as the Egyptians.  Why?  Because God hears the cry of the truly oppressed – whoever they are and wherever they may be.

In addition, Rabbi Shai Held teaches that the Torah, alone among ancient legal texts, commands the individual, not just the king, to care for the defenseless among us.  Oppression or even passivity, especially during times of fear, are dangerous to the humanity and ultimately to the physical safety of those who perceive themselves “safe.”

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We often hear that the Torah’s central concern is for the vulnerable.  We too often ignore the Torah’s deep concern for the humanity of those with the capacity to support and care for the vulnerable.

Finally, there are those who argue, rightfully, that the biblical command to love and care for the vulnerable stranger refers to the stranger who lives with us –  in our midst בקרבך   or within our gates בשעריך.  It doesn’t speak directly about immigration policies.   To this, I offer the following replies:

1. Many refugees in this country are separated from treasured family members. Uniting them with loved ones, many in mortal danger, is an essential element of loving and caring for those in our midst.
2. The rhetoric around refugees, too often now painted as “other” and as dangerous, contributes to an environment of fear and increased hate crimes against many minorities in this country, especially those targeted by the executive order.
3. Perhaps most significantly, what does “in our midst” mean in the 21^st century? The pained faces of refugees present themselves to me in my living room through my television screen.  They sit daily at my table, filling the front pages of my newspaper.  Driving to work, voices of desperate parents and children join me as I listen to news.  In this world, with distant faces and voices constantly calling out in need, may I honestly say that they aren’t “in my midst?”

Today, it isn’t a stretch to translate the word stranger as refugee.  They most certainly live “in our midst.”  During this time of stress and fear, how will we respond to their cries?

At My Work Table at Jewish Family Service

UP-DATE – He signed the executive order earlier today (Fri, Jan 27).  I am imagining the tables of those families who were expecting to be reunited in the coming days and weeks.  My heart is broken.

I work as the Jewish educator at Jewish Family Service of Seattle. Yesterday, the director of our refugee resettlement program reported on the human impact of the expected presidential order regarding refugees.   It was heartbreaking.  We sat at the table, saddened and stunned.

While it is important to state unequivocally that there is a legitimate fear of terrorism in the world,  my greater fear is that we will allow the fear of terrorism to erode our basic values, that we will confuse terror with those fleeing terror.

Because our agency works with refugees day in and day out, I regularly hear about the difficult and thorough process of vetting that refugees entering this country must traverse, with additional precautions for those from Syria.  This short video gives you a basic idea of the extensive process.

Who exactly would be banned from entering our country?

We have a number of resettled refugees working at JFS, some from the very countries that the executive order would ban.  These are real people, some of whom worked with American troops in their countries of origin and who came here because their assistance to us puts their lives in danger in their home countries.  There are others like them, and their relatives,  who would now be banned.

We heard of local families whose loved ones have tickets in hand, after undergoing the difficult two year process of vetting, at the conclusion of an average of 17 years in refugee camps.  If this executive order is signed before their flights leave, not only will they not be able to use the tickets, but crucial documents will expire and they will be forced to begin the process again.

We heard of a family with a one-year old that had clearance to come in December, but postponed because the baby was too sick to travel,.  They have tickets for a few days from now.  They would be banned if the order is signed.

And it isn’t just new refugees who will be impacted.  We heard about the JFS home health care worker – one of our best – who is on a short vacation visiting family abroad, but will not be allowed to return because she is not yet a citizen.

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks has written the following:

“Empathy, sympathy, knowledge and rationality are usually enough to let us live at peace with others. But not in hard times…The problem arises at times of change and disruption when people are anxious and afraid. That is why exceptional defenses are necessary, which is why …we have to remember that we were once on the other side of the equation. We were once strangers: the oppressed, the victims. Remembering the Jewish past forces us to undergo role reversal.”

We can be our best selves and still protect ourselves from terrorism.  The American “table” is big enough to welcome those fleeing terrorism, war and famine..

You can learn more about how to help the refugees here on the JFS blog or on the JFS facebook page.  Please advocate – now.

Hanukkah Table Possibilities

Over 2000 years ago the Maccabees led and won the first war for religious freedom against a tyrannical Syrian Greek regime.  What is less known is that within a couple of generations, the Maccabee descendants themselves became oppressive rulers over their own people.

Physical conflicts are won or lost and the consequences are significant.  But nobody ever “wins” the “final battle.”  Knowing this, Jewish ritual tradition chose to minimize the Maccabee’s military victory and, instead, gave us candle lighting as our Hanukkah ritual.  Why?

Hanukkah teaches that our human future is not only or even primarily contingent upon the victory of one side or another.  Rather, just as we light one new candle on each day of Hanukkah, our enduring existence depends on daily presence, often with one person at a time, and especially during dark times.

In a time of personal darkness I have observed the extraordinary gentleness of individual medical professionals as they cared for ill loved ones.  In a time of communal darkness I have been witness to colleagues opening their hearts to frightened and traumatized students or clients, while supporting each other with daily small kindnesses.  I have heard from professionals at numerous social service agencies that in response to increased hatred and harassment, there is a deluge of calls from volunteers asking to help vulnerable clients.

During dark times, we don’t always get the choices we yearn for, but we always have choices.   The Hanukkah candles call out to us and ask us to choose.  Will we rail against the darkness?  Or will we become even more resolved to do the hard work of patiently being candles who bring light to others?  And if we choose the latter, will we remember that lighting one candle at a time really does increase the light?

This year at Hanukkah, may our tables witness the light of hospitality and the inspiration that comes from fruitful conversations in which we learn from others.  May the interactions at our tables lead to actions that arise from love and compassion.

We light Hanukkah candles after sundown, and in my house we also turn out the lights.  Why?  Because nobody notices a bright candle when the lights are on or when the sun is shining.  It is during periods of darkness that we have the opportunity and obligation to commit to seeing and to adding meaningfully to the light.

What will our tables witness in response to the Ferguson decision?

Last night, upon returning from a festive table where she celebrated her annual “Friendsgiving” gathering, our 25-year old daughter Anna wrote us a heartbreakingly honest e-mail in response to hearing the Ferguson decision.  She has given me permission to share it with you below.

Some background on Anna:  In high school she volunteered for a program called the West Side Story project, an anti-gang program done with the Seattle Police Dept. and the 5^th Avenue Theater.  In college she volunteered at StreetSquash, a comprehensive youth enrichment program that combines academic tutoring, squash instruction, community service, college preparation, leadership development, and mentoring for public school students in Harlem, NY.  For the last three years she worked at Manhattan Comprehensive High School, an alternative public high school for non-traditional students ages seventeen to twenty-one.  She is now studying for a Masters in Social Work at Columbia University in NY.

Because of Anna’s deep compassion and ethnically unidentifiable features, she quickly gains the trust of people of various ethnic identities.  Her success at her work speaks to the trust that she has earned.

I am including part of my response to her.  I wonder:  What would you tell her?

May our tables witness discussions of Anna’s questions.  May our tables witness increased kindness and compassion as a result of her words.  May justice flow in our country and throughout the world, and may we all work together to help bring justice and compassion to all citizens.

From: Anna Bennett

Sent: Monday, November 24, 2014 8:30 PM

To: Beth Huppin; David Bennett
Subject: Ferguson reflection

I just got home from a wonderful “Friendsgiving” with around 10 of my good friends from college, and I have so much to be thankful for, but right now, I am feeling so much anger and confusion.

I am wondering and thinking about my role and what I have the responsibility to do with the news of no indictment for Darren Wilson in the Mike Brown case.  I feel anger and confusion about how I am supposed to feel about the police officers that I called role models in high school, those who taught me about ways to engage youth, and the officers I turned to when trying to get a student of mine out of a gang.  I know good cops, I have good friends who are police officers. It isn’t to say that I think all cops are bad, but where are the voices of those people I knew to be change makers from within the system?  Am I just missing them? Are they there and I just haven’t been listening?

What I really feel most ashamed about, is how ignorant I was.  I remember telling my students to go to the cops if they were feeling unsafe, because that is what I was taught and that is how I was raised.  However, the cops where my old clients live are not there to protect them; they are there to protect me, a white woman.

I don’t know how to help.  I don’t know what to do.  I only have my voice, and my voice is so small and so scared.  This is not just the fight for the people of Ferguson.  This is a fight for our society.  I am scared for my future, I am scared for the future of my children, and their friends, and the future of my black friends and clients and classmates and colleagues, their children, and their children’s friends.  How will our society change? Who will have the power to change it? How can I stop feeling so hopeless?

I do not expect answers, but I did need to get this off my chest and was just going to write in my journal, but I thought I’d send it to you in case you had some insight and/or any good articles or texts to recommend to a lost graduate student.  I’m trying to find some meaning in such a horrific act.

Love,

Anna

——-

8:43 pm

Dear Anna,

I wish I had words of comfort.  No words are sufficient.

The Torah teaches that we are all made in the image of God and therefore all deeply connected, no matter what our race or religion or political views.  The Torah teaches that there is no “us” and “them.”

Here’s the bottom line:  Despair, violence, hopelessness – these things will destroy everything positive that you believe in.  Be sad.  Be disappointed.  Cry.  And then keep moving forward one step at a time.  Your voice matters. Talk to your black friends.  Talk to your white friends.  One voice of compassion and caring at a time is the only thing that ever will make a difference.

I love you for your passion.  Don’t give up.  You do make a difference.

Love you,

Mom

—–

9:23 pm

One more thought –

You say at the end you are trying to find meaning in such a horrific act.  It would be pure arrogance for me to suggest that the suffering or death of another human being has meaning. The death of Michael Brown, in itself, has no meaning.  How we as individuals and as a country respond will have meaning.  The choices we make always have meaning.  The choices YOU make have meaning.  This is important to remember.  Your choices will have meaning to those people you care for and help and treat with greater compassion and love.

Something to think about.

I hope you can sleep.

Love you,

Mom

For the Sin of Silence on the Topic of Mental Illness

I wrote, spoke and now publish this Yom Kippur kavanah (intention before prayer) in honor of the many people I love whose tables are impacted by the heartbreak that accompanies mental illness.  I do this with humility, aware of the magnitude of the complexity of this topic, but also aware that, in my opinion, silence is no longer an option.  I share this with the hope that naming this disease will help all of us support each other as we, together, search to find both cures and healing for all types of mental illness.

For the Sin of Silence on the Topic of Mental Illness

Introduction to Musaf Amidah, Yom Kippur, 5775-2014

Congregation Beth Shalom, Seattle, WA,

Beth Huppin

During the past few years, I have made an effort to reconnect with former students and old friends.  Many common themes arose over the course of these conversations, including a topic rarely discussed in public Jewish spaces.

I have lost track of the number of times I’ve sat down with a friend, a former student, or a parent of a former student, and heard about their struggles with mental illness – either their own illness or the illness of a loved one. No age is exempt, from children in grade school to grandparents.

Though there are many forms and manifestations of this disease, the impact of mental illness is often the same:

It is exceptionally challenging,

often unremitting,

frequently invisible to others,

hard –if not impossible- to explain,

enraging,

isolating,

and – without exception – excruciatingly difficult.

I hear these stories in confidence because, in addition to all the other pain, there is a weight of shame in our society around issues of mental health.  And from that my heart is broken even further.

This disease that we are afraid to talk about – it can be so devastating.

—–

We are about to say the Amidah and we will list our sins in the plural.  By saying “we” have sinned, I acknowledge that I’m responsible for you – and you acknowledge that you are responsible for me, even – and maybe especially – if responsibility isn’t easy.

And so, in response to many confidential and painfully honest conversations, I add to our communal list of responsibilities and sins.  I do this fully aware that the list I am about to recite is incomplete, and yet we must begin with something:

Al chet shechatanu l’fanecha:   Source of Forgiveness, we have sinned against You:

We have sinned against You by not naming mental illness publically, and by allowing people in our community to suffer in silence.

We have sinned against You through denial – pretending that this disease strikes others and that we are immune.

We have sinned against You through hardening our hearts to those who struggle with mental illness.

We have sinned against You through condescension – judging rather than truly supporting.

We have sinned against You by not insisting that mental health treatments be fully covered in all basic health insurance plans.

We have sinned against You through the idle chatter of trite advice when, in reality, silence and presence could be healing.

Creator of Life, we have sinned against You by blaming You for creating us so fragile and vulnerable to disease – including diseases of the brain.   We rail in fury against You rather than turn to You for support.

But, at other times we have sinned against You, Source of Compassion, by not crying out to You, by not trusting that You have the capacity to hold the depth of our sorrow and rage and so we ignore You or try to hide our fury from You.  By lack of honesty, we distance ourselves from You – and we distance ourselves from each other.

Today – as a community – we are naming mental illness. And in doing so, we turn in truth to You, Source of Truth – and we turn to each other as well – vulnerable – seeking support and strength and unconditional, nonjudgmental acceptance and love.

And with open and yearning hearts, we say to You in each other’s presence: v’al kulam eloha slechot – for all this, forgiving God, s’lach lanu, m’chal lanu, kaper lanu  – forgive us, pardon us, grant us atonement….

and with humility and longing we also ask you- rofeh chol basar – Healer of all flesh -please – grant us healing.

Bruges: Maggie’s Magical Tables

David wrote a beautiful entry on our time in Bruges.  Check it out here.    I won’t compete with a master by repeating my version of the same stories.  My job here is simple:   To report on one table from our time in this picturesque city.

Some background:  We stayed at the charming Royal Stewart Bed and Breakfast.  Full disclosure:  I’m not much of a bed and breakfast person.  Visiting with people I don’t know over breakfast is not my greatest strength.  And those of you who know David have learned that it’s best not to try to engage him in conversation before his morning coffee.   But, hey – we are stretching ourselves on this trip.

Front of Royal Stewart Bed and Breakfast – Picture From Trip Advisor

Ma Nishtana? Why was this bed and breakfast different?   Answer::  Maggie – owner and operator.   What a gem.

Maggie quickly helped us feel at ease.  We were still recovering from the Mladic trial.  And from sitting with the survivors.  Not to mention the emotional difficulty of leaving our life and friends in Israel.  And throw in 9 months of travel filled with constant remarkable encounters.  We needed a break in order to recharge before heading back to the States.  At this rate, we were going to need a vacation from our vacation.

Enter Maggie.  Smiling.  Helpful.  Encouraging.  Welcoming.  Offering advice on anything we needed.  Sending us to the friendlier bike rental fellow a few minutes further away, but worth it for the entertaining banter and the blaring Leonard Cohen CD.  Helping translate internet pages for us so we could find good local music.  Directing us to the right buses.  Asking about our day – and listening with interest to our answers.  Telling us about life in Scotland where she grew up.  Explaining points of local cultural etiquette.  Bruges isn’t exactly Scotland, she explained to us.  Nor is it America.  All in her cheery Scottish accent accompanied by a joyous smile.

 

With Maggie in the Breakfast Room

 

The breakfast room is not large.  As noted, it can be awkward eating breakfast with people you don’t know.  Especially at close range.  But Maggie makes sure everyone meets.  She keeps the conversation moving.  She asks questions.  She offers segues from one conversation to the next.  She puts people at ease.  She is very good at her job.  And she is having fun.

Some people naturally create welcoming and comfortable tables.   Her food was excellent and inviting, and I had plenty of vegetarian options.  But, as I’ve learned repeatedly, food is only part of a table story.  The key to the righteousness witnessed by a table is the love and care shared there.  Maggie is the expert.  Watching her ease with strangers who quickly become friends, I was awe-struck.

If Maggie’s tables could speak, thet’d have some good stories to tell.  Stories of kindness, laughter and connection.  Of good coffee and hot Belgium pancakes.  And, in our case, of providing much-needed comfort to a couple of weary travelers from Seattle seeking rest and rebooting from 9 months of remarkable but exhausting travel.  Of providing a break from stories of cruel deaths in Srebrenica, of escape from the face of an unrepentant murderer and from the faces of the dignified survivors of his massacres.

Maggie.  Her tables are a blessing.  Go to Bruges.  Stay at the Royal Stewart Bed and Breakfast. Maggie will take good care of you.

Shabbat Table Faces

After leaving the International Criminal Court last Friday morning (May 18) we had a slow afternoon in The Hague.  We were exhausted from the Mladic trial the previous day and the ICC that morning.  We toured the city and then sat on a park bench for over an hour, both taking a much-needed nap.

Services at the Liberal Synagogue in The Hague were at 6:30.  We had been told that the community is welcoming and that the synagogue is beautiful.  And we were in need of some quiet prayer/reflective time after the ICC and the Mladic trial.

Interior of the Liberal Synagogue in The Hague

We were greeted by a security guard who was happy to speak with us in his native language of Hebrew.  Of course.  After a few minutes we were welcomed inside the shul.  Numerous people wished us Shabbat Shalom.  We sat next to a young couple.  Laura is from The Hague, and spent 10 years in the US while attending college in Boston and then working in Los Angeles.  It was her 22^nd Bat Mitzvah anniversary and the Rabbi made note of that fact from the bimah.  He had been the Rabbi then and knew her and her family well.  Andre’ is from Brazil and now works in The Hague.

After services, Laura asked us if we would like to join them at her parents’ home for Shabbat dinner. Later, Laura told me that her parents always look for people in shul to invite home for dinner.  That’s how she met Andre’.  They invited him home for dinner one Friday night.

We gladly accepted her invitation.   We needed a Shabbat meal, but, even more, we sought the comfort of being with other Jews at a Shabbat table.   We needed to know that a normal world still existed after what we had seen the last 2 days.

Friday night, before dinner in The Hague

Laura’s mother, Ann, is originally from Springfield, Illinois, but has lived for years in Holland.  Laura’s father, John, is from Holland.  They introduced us to Betty, a frequent guest in their home.  Betty is from The Hague and survived the war as a young child because she was hidden from the Nazis.  She last saw her family members when she was 8 years old.  They were all killed.

I sat next to Betty during dinner.  At Ann’s urging, Betty told us a bit about herself.  Every Jew in this part of the world has a story of survival.  The war ended 67 years ago.  By now most of the stories are told by the second generation.   But Betty was quite young during the war.   I watched her face as she spoke to us softly in nuanced English.  A strikingly beautiful face.  On an extraordinarily beautiful human being.  One of the lucky hidden Dutch Jewish children.   If you can call someone who loses her entire family lucky.  But she knows she was fortunate.  And there wasn’t a trace of bitterness or anger in her voice.

Once again, the grace and dignity of a survivor was seated before us.  We felt so fortunate to be in her presence.

The seven of us sat at their pleasant and peaceful Shabbat table talking about a wide range of subjects.  We learned that Laura’s sister lives in San Francisco.  Maybe one time when they visit her they’ll come up to Seattle and we can have them at our table.  Stranger things have happened.  And we’d be thrilled to have them.

David and I were grateful for the healthy, delicious, home-cooked meal.   The food was plentiful and nourishing, and the delightful company warmed our souls.  A week earlier we had been in Jerusalem.  A day earlier we had been sitting with survivors of a genocide that happened in Bosnia less than 20 years ago.  We had been feeling far from both Jerusalem and far from home.

And suddenly we found ourselves back in familiar territory.  At a Shabbat dinner table.  With new friends.  Sometimes the gift of being Jewish simply amazes me. As does the power of the mitzvah of welcoming guests.

At the end of dinner on Friday, John mentioned that he doesn’t consider himself religious, but that he loves having people to his home for Shabbat dinner.  Later I wondered if perhaps having guests in our homes isn’t exactly what it does mean to be religious.

David blogged about our time in Amsterdam in more detail, including our Shabbat lunch with another family at synagogue the next day.  (www.roadeducation.wordpress.com)

We’ve spent the past few days in Bruges eating chocolate and drinking beer.  And wandering the streets and riding bikes and seeing museums and listening to music – but only when we decide to take a break from the chocolate and beer.  More on Bruges later.

Today we go to Brussels.  We plan to attend Friday night services.  Who knows what tables and faces we’ll encounter there.  Stay tuned.

The Face of the (Human) Other

[T]he Other faces me and puts me in question and obliges me. (Emmanuel Levinas, Totality and Infinity 207)

The day after we were at the Mladic trial, we went back to The Hague to learn about the International Criminal Court.   The ICC is a permanent tribunal to prosecute individuals for genocide, crimes against humanity, war crimes and the crime of aggression.  (You can learn more about it here.)  Unlike the International Criminal Tribunal for former Yugoslavia (ICTY), which is part of the UN, the ICC is independent and was founded in 2002, after the genocides in the former Yugoslavia and Rwanda.

As you can imagine, we were emotionally spent after being at the ICTY trial of Mladic the previous day.  But, we had an appointment and we wanted to learn about the ICC, so we rose early and headed back to The Hague.  Upon alighting from the train in The Hague, we walked toward the information stand to find the train to the ICC.

David was walking ahead of me.  My mind was still filled with images from the courtroom the preceding day.  Faces.  So many faces.  And, in my daze, I saw a face that looked familiar. Was that a face from the visitor’s gallery the day before?

And then I saw another face and I knew why the first face was familiar.  The second was the face of  the  woman who had represented the faces of all the survivors.  The woman who spoke with courage and dignity into the microphone in front of all those reporters.   The woman we had tried to speak with the day before but who couldn’t understand us because we didn’t know her language.  The woman whose name I had learned later that night before she had been quoted in so many articles on the internet.  And we recognized the quotes because we heard her say them.  It then took just a minute to google her and learn more about her.

Hatidza Mehmedovic.  She was standing before me once again.

 

Hatidza Mehmedovic

 

I touched her gently, a lump in my throat.  “Travel safely,” was all I could say.  She looked at me, a glimmer of recognition, but clearly not understanding my words.  We both looked around.  Nobody to translate.  Again.  So, once again, my hands touched my heart and then my lips and, with eyes and hands I tried again to wish her well.  To tell her that she was seen.  That her courage and pain had been witnessed.

She nodded.  We parted.  I was shaking.  That face.

“We cannot save the dead ones.  But we can help the surviving ones.”  This is her motto.  This is what her face calls out to us to remember.

There are so many different kinds of survivors in this world.  And every person is obligated to reply to their needs.  Even survivors must see the faces of other survivors.  Nobody is exempt.

Hatidza Mehmedovic – Her pain doesn’t stop her from dedicating herself to helping others.

I took the image of Hatidza Mehmedovic’s face with me to the ICC where we heard a beautiful, young woman – in her mid-30s at the most – talk about the investigations she conducts as she tries to collect information she hopes will put perpetrators of genocide behind bars.  There were about 50 of us in the group as she described her work.

What does she do?  She travels to places far from the safety and security and comfort of her own home in order to collect evidence of genocide and crimes against humanity.  Among other things, she interviews already traumatized survivors and witnesses.  Trying not to add to their pain, or put them in further danger.  She sits with murderers who are willing to implicate someone further up the chain of command.  She realizes that she is sitting with perpetrators, but knows that this may be the only way to put another, worse perpetrator behind bars.  This is very sensive work that must be done thoughtfully.  It requires tremendous delicacy and care.

I can’t show you a picture of her face or even tell you her name.  Putting that information on the internet is unnecessary and could put her and those she interviews at risk.

But I want to tell you that the pain as well as the light in her face as she told of her work will stay with me for a long time.  I couldn’t do that work.  But it needs to be done.  And I am grateful to her.  I can only imagine the faces she sees in her work.

“In front of the face, I always demand more of myself.”  (Levinas, “Signature” 294 in Difficult Freedom: Essays on Judaism)

From the internet: Founder of Cinema for Peace with board members of The Mothers of Srebrenika. I sat next to the second woman from the right during the Mladic trial. I don’t know her name. But I’ll never forget her face.

Faces.  They call out to us.  Infinitely.  One at a time.  Truly seeing them can be painful and at first we may wish to turn away, but they can also be the source of a great and deep joy.  I am learning that if we have the courage to truly see each human face that cries out (and they are always crying out if we look closely) and if we can learn to be fully present for them, then we have the potential to come a bit closer to seeing the face of the Shechinah (God’s presence) Herself.  And then looking away simply isn’t an option.

“[T]he face [is] a source from which all meaning appears.”  (Levinas, Totality and Infinity 297)

The Survivors versus Ratko Mladic

We left Israel early Tuesday morning, May 15.  There are many blog entries about tables in Israel that I haven’t had time to write.  Maybe later.  For now I will just say that I found remarkable, gifted teachers and generous fellow students at study tables where I was greeted warmly and supported in my learning.  I witnessed people at work tables that were filled of righteousness.  And we were welcomed at countless other tables with generosity and food and friendship.  Suffice it to say that we witnessed great righteousness at many tables during our time in Israel.  More on Israel tables another time.

Today, I have a tale of some different tables from a different place.  A tale of a table of a prosecutor of war crimes.  And of a table of an unrepentant man who stands accused of acts of genocide.  And of empty places at thousands of tables where the survivors somehow continue living, awaiting justice, supporting each other and maintaining their humanity.

Here is the story:  From Israel, we flew to Amsterdam. When we watched the news during our first day in Amsterdam we saw that the opening argument of the prosecution in the trial of Radko Mladic, the Bosnian Serb military leader accused of acts of genocide, had started that day and would continue the next day.  As you may recall, we were in Bosnia in March, so the Bosnian genocide was fresh in our hearts and minds.  We had planned to spend Thursday wandering around Amsterdam.  But, after seeing the news, we knew we had to try to get into the trial at the International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia. (ICTY http://www.icty.org/sections/AbouttheICTY ) in The Hague.  So, we left the house the next morning at 6:30 and headed for The Hague.

This is the courtroom of the Mladic trial.

There were only a handful of visitor tickets left when we arrived a bit before 9:00 am and we received 2 of them.  The prosecution finished making introductory arguments from 9 until about noon with a couple of short breaks. There was space for about 75 people in the visitors’ gallery and it was full. Many of the people in that section were survivors. There was a glass wall in front of us. On the other side of it were tables with the 3 judges, Mladic and his lawyers, and the prosecution and their staff. There were two guards sitting on either side of Mladic who didn’t take their eyes off of him.   There was a change of guards every 30 minutes. He was dressed in a suit and tie. We were about 100 feet from him.

The prosecution presented evidence that pointed to Mladic as the top commander in horrific genocide acts. We heard grisly, detailed descriptions. We saw heart-breaking pictures and terrifying videos.  Mladic was smug and even smiling at times during these presentations. When there was a video shown of him yelling at the head of the Dutch peace-keepers in Srebrenica (who ultimately were intimidated enough to leave and then the slaughter took place) he looked pleased and gave a thumbs-up. I am here to tell you that pure evil does exist in this world, in case you had any doubt.

Ratko Mladic during the trial

But he isn’t what left the greatest impression on me. Rather, it was the survivors filling the gallery who overwhelmed me with emotion.  We Jews, unfortunately, have our own horrible story of being survivors of genocide. I’ve sat with survivors. Many times.  I’ve heard their stories. But I’ve never sat with survivors as they faced the person who was responsible for killing their entire families.

Most of the survivors in the room were women. He killed almost all of the men. The women sat with great dignity. They were visibly moved as the prosecution presented its case. There were tears and gasps and murmurs. Especially during the videos and pictures. But there was also strength and composure. They faced him. They stood witness. He looked at them with contempt and with laughter. They sat with self-control and didn’t back away. They supported each other. Younger women quietly touched the shoulders of older women as they sat together. Many of them lost everything. But not their humanity. I saw that they take care of each other.

During one of the breaks we heard a woman interviewed. Her name is Hatidza Mehmedovic .  You can read more about her here.   She lost both of her sons and her husband during the massacre at Srebrenica. She stated that she now lives for justice. That is all. She has lost her entire family.

Hatidza Mehmedovic being interviewed. Her husband, both of her sons and many other male relatives were murdered. She founded Mothers of Srebrenica.

She looks like she’s about 60. This happened in July of 1995. Her husband was born in 1951. One of her sons was born in 1977. We didn’t hear when the other one was born. She doesn’t speak any English, so there was someone with her translating as she spoke.  The cameras and reporters surrounded her.   It wasn’t easy to hear with all the people and noise, but her face and eyes spoke, even when we couldn’t hear. She is the chairperson of Mothers of Srebrenica, which she founded. She and the others came all this way to be here for the opening of the trial. There were moments when she was weeping as she told her story, but most of the time she spoke with dignity and courage and without anger. Just tremendous, overwhelming sadness and grief.  And a desire for justice. That is all she has left. David tried to talk to her later, but language made it impossible. So – we used our eyes and our hands to try to tell her what was in our hearts.

At the end of the prosecutor’s address, the judge indicated that, because of “significant” errors of disclosure on the part of the prosecution, the continuation of the trial will be delayed.  I just read that it will probably be a half a year until they can resume the trial.

Is there such a thing as justice in a case like this? Mladic is directly responsible for at least 8000 deaths of men and boys at Srebrenica. The terror inflicted by the snipers on the people we met in Sarajevo was also at his command. He is 70 years old and his health is poor. What does justice look like? I have no idea.

But this I do know: The human capacity for evil is very real. And frightening.  At this trial, however, I was also reminded of the human capacity for kindness and compassion.  And of the capacity for dignity in the face of evil.  I saw that human beings are capable of tremendous resilience and generosity of spirit. I have been witness to all of this – both today and throughout our entire trip. I’m not sure which is more difficult to explain – the evil or the capacity for empathy and compassion.   I am grateful for and in awe of the many whose resiliency in the face of unspeakable pain and suffering allows them to maintain the best of what it means to be human.    They are the ones I will choose to remember and support and teach about.    It is their tables that will go to the next world as witnesses to righteousness.  It is what their tables see that we need learn from and to emulate.

To read David’s thoughts on the trial, check out his blog at www.roadeducation.wordpress.com