On the twenty-first new sun of March,
After the men and women had first gone forth,
Walking arm in arm
Ministers, Priests, and Rabbis
Young people and old
Finally marched over the Edmund Pettus Bridge,

From Bloody Sunday until that day
The people were going forth from the city of Selma in the land of Alabama
To the capitol steps in Montgomery
To pray with their feet that Congress pass a Voting Rights Act.
And the nation stood before a new land,
A land of rights restored.
Yet the people saw new plagues
Of evil resistance, rampage, and terror.
And all the people encamped
In the wilderness of not knowing.

Then Martin went up
And at the top of the steps,
As God had called to him,
So he called to them, saying,

“I know you are asking today, ‘How long will it take?’
Somebody’s asking, ‘How long will prejudice blind the visions of men?’…
I come to say to you this afternoon, however difficult the moment, however frustrating the hour, it will not be long, because truth crushed to earth will rise again.
How long? Not long, because no lie can live forever.
How long? Not long, because you shall reap what you sow.
How long? Not long.
Truth forever on the scaffold,
Wrong forever on the throne,
Yet that scaffold sways the future,
And, behind the dim unknown,
Standeth God within the shadow,
Keeping watch above his own.
How long? Not long,
Because the arc of the moral universe is long,
but it bends toward justice.
How long? Not long, because
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord;
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;
He has loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift sword;
His truth is marching on.

These are the words that you shall speak to the children of America.

Rabbi Evan J. Krame

In preparing to visit Alabama on a civil rights mission, I’ve been learning about the lingering effects of slavery. Among the issues for all of us to consider is whether reparations should be paid to African Americans. I found an example of reparations in the Torah that helped shape my thinking.

In the news this week, a committee in San Francisco has formally proposed reparations for eligible black residents. The payment amount would be $5,000,000 for those who could prove extended continuous residency and meet several other factors reflecting on the oppression suffered. The plan was designed to address “the institutional, City sanctioned harm that has been inflicted upon African American communities.”

In Parshat Bo (read this week), the tenth plague is about to start. Each Hebrew man and woman turns to their Egyptian neighbors and asks to “borrow” their fine silver and gold. Apparently, God has predisposed the hearts of the Egyptians to part with their valuables. This sacrifice is particularly noteworthy because the first nine plagues wiped out their livestock and crops.

I now understand this transfer of precious metals as reparations for the suffering of the Hebrew slaves. This first recorded act of reparations is not too dissimilar from the proposed reparations in San Francisco. The Egyptians offering their jewelry in Torah or the citizenry of San Francisco are not the people who were the oppressors. Further, the value of what the Egyptians gave was quite high, just as $5,000,000 per person is sufficiently high to bankrupt the City of San Francisco.

The issue of reparations begins with the collective responsibility of all who participated or are descended from those who participated in the oppression of other humans. In America, given the passage of time, all white people benefited from the oppression. To advocate for reparations is to recognize the white privilege dominant in America.

America is unlikely to achieve a consensus favorable toward reparations. This country’s citizenry has a tenuous commitment to justice for African Americans. When it comes to racial justice, Americans readily offer thoughts and prayers. I wonder if our citizenry has the holy motivation to repair the damage caused by slavery.

Countervailing winds are blowing. Conservatives have attacked affirmative action and circumscribed the voting rights of disadvantaged segments of society. At the same time companies and campuses have pursued diversity, equity, and inclusion as essential tenets. Black Lives Matter has garnered far-reaching support.

The idea of local governments making reparations might be a reaction to the federal government’s failure to promote racial justice in America.

God had to intervene to get the Egyptians to offer their precious goods. In fact, God sent nine plagues and still needed to soften the Egyptians’ hearts. No matter the difficulty in enabling reparations, Torah compels us to be vigilant for justice and loving-kindness. We were slaves in Egypt and received reparations on the way to freedom.

Rabbi Evan J. Krame

Season nine of “Finding Your Roots” has begun on PBS.  The show is immensely popular with amateur genealogists, active retirees, and armchair liberals. I’m hooked. Who doesn’t want to see Mandy Patinkin cry when he learns his relatives were killed by Nazis? Or when this season opens so that Julia Roberts and Ed Norton can discover that their ancestors were slave owners. Uncovering family history can be more than pleasant television.

The book we call “Exodus” (not the Leon Uris novel) is known in Hebrew by its first word Shemot, or “Names.”  It begins with a genealogic exploration. “These are the names of the sons of Israel who came to Egypt with Jacob, each coming with his household.” In the sentences that follow we learn the names of Jacob’s sons. Those who are named are remembered. The text also reveals that 70 people in total came down to Egypt. Yet only Jacob’s sons are named.

Let’s recall that Jacob’s sons numbered 12, and his daughter Dina made a baker’s dozen. Dina is not named. Presumably, Jacob had daughters-in-law. Women’s names are forgotten. By virtue of selective naming, the narrative focused on those who are named. Remembering men and not women sets the tone for a patriarchal Judaism.

Judaism is built upon recalling our roots. Even our silent prayer service, the Amidah, begins with a blessing for our ancestors, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Now we add Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, and Leah. Those that we bless and those that we name are each the beginning of a narrative. The storyline of our lives begins with our ancestors, men, and women.

I found greater purpose in conducting genealogic research from my discomfort with the male focus of how Exodus begins. The more I search, the more I learn, the more I learn, the more I have an appreciation for how I came to be me. These are stories I want my children and grandchildren to know and tell. Stories of their great-grandfathers and great-grandmothers.

Exodus begins with this lesson. You move forward after you look back. When you know from where you came, awareness becomes appreciation.  With appreciation for our past, gratitude deepens. With gratitude, greatness can emerge. But the story is only half true if told from the perspective of men.

My advice is to record and preserve your family history. Genealogical work is more than a hobby. It is a holy endeavor that gives honor to those who made our lives possible and sets a footing for future generations to create better lives and a better world. Especially true if you pay attention to your female ancestors.

Rabbi Evan J. Krame

Reading “I am George Floyd”, I took a deep dive into the dystopian and perilous lives of young black men in America. Among many examples, is the likelihood of arrest and incarceration. Black men are 7.5 times more likely to be falsely arrested or accused. The agony of a false accusation should bring tearful distress . . . to the police system. At least that is how I read Torah.

Joseph was the highest government official in Egypt after Pharaoh. Joseph looked Egyptian. Joseph’s brothers did not recognize him when they arrived from Canaan to purchase grain. For the return home, Joseph devised a plan to confound his brothers. He had his servants place a goblet in younger brother Benjamin’s sack of grain. Shortly after Benjamin and his ten brothers departed, Joseph sent men to catch them. They examined the sack for stolen goods, and finding the goblet, brought the brothers back to Egypt. Older brother Judah spoke to Joseph on behalf of the family. He pleaded with Joseph and relied upon God to explain the missing goblet. Finally, Joseph abandons the false accusation and begins to weep.

Joseph abused his power. At that time, Joseph was the government. He was the authority over the Egyptian nation. Subjects and citizens alike hope that their rights will be protected, and their safety ensured. Joseph’s brothers too anticipated fair treatment. Yet, Joseph toyed with them.

Of course, Joseph was emotionally wounded by his brothers who had dumped him in a pit and sold him into slavery. However, Joseph conducted a horrific test of his brothers’ character. Imagine the trauma of the eleven brothers. Nine of them plotted Joseph’s death. Decades later, was Joseph’s abuse of power their punishment? The mistreatment appears to be cruel, suffused with his vengeance.

How does the story of Joseph and his brothers resonate? For me, Joseph’s story is merely a cautionary tale. For men like George Floyd, the story of abusive authority was a real-life experience. That is why African American parents warn their sons to defer to authority and to be afraid of the police.

Just before his death, Floyd may or may not have passed a counterfeit twenty-dollar bill at a store. We will never know the truth. The Police lived down to Floyd’s expectations, smothering out life from his body.

Jewish prayers often begin with “Hiney Mah Tov,“ – how good it is for brothers and sisters to dwell together. George Floyd’s memory can serve as a reminder that living together harmoniously requires the proper use of power to protect and advance the rights of all people.

Rabbi Evan J. Krame

Society has mythologized the sibling relationship with two narratives. The first is of siblings who are best friends, supportive of one another, and devoted. The other storyline is that of siblings whose rivalry burgeons on animosity and even terror. The key to getting past this dichotomy is to know that a blood relationship isn’t always needed to create a sibling relationship.

The book of Genesis is replete with tales of murderous and covetous siblings. Cain killed Abel. Esau threatened to kill Jacob. Joseph’s brothers hurled him into a pit and sold him into slavery. With brothers like these, who needs enemies?

Siblings won’t always get past their differences. Joseph and Esau reconciled but kept their distance. Joseph forgave his brothers, but the relationship remained tentative.

Torah offers very few positive examples of sibling relationships. Even Aaron and Miriam gossip about Moses. However, there are examples of friends who are like siblings. For example, the story of David and Jonathan, who were devoted to each other.

Proverbs do offer some wisdom about friendships.

אִ֣ישׁ רֵ֭עִים לְהִתְרֹעֵ֑עַ וְיֵ֥שׁ אֹ֝הֵ֗ב דָּבֵ֥ק מֵאָֽח׃

“There are companions to keep one company, and there is a friend more devoted than a brother.” Proverbs 18:24. We learn from Proverbs that two kinds of friends exist. The first kind of friend might be a companion but not entirely devoted or reliable. The second kind of friend is faithful and caring, unfailingly. This second category of friend fulfills a sibling role. Sometimes we have friends who are like devoted brothers or sisters.

You can have many companions. However, even one friend who is like a sibling is a great advantage in your life. Sometimes, a genuine or authentic friend is someone who sticks closer than a brother or sister. The friendship is steadfast; he or she will be there for you even more so than a family member. The word brotherhood describes the strongest of relationships. A friend who joins you in brotherhood or sisterhood is a trustworthy friend, indeed. If you are so blessed, give them a call today and let them know how grateful you are.

Rabbi Evan J. Krame