One morning while working out on the machines at
the gym, I watched a political ad. Without the sound on, I saw some of the most
outrageous statements made by Donald Trump, like banning all Muslims, building
a wall and throwing out immigrants. It looked like an attack ad.
But by the end, it was clear, it was not. He
was using these immoral, undemocratic, un-American claims as his platform. And
we know why—because fear is working in his favor.
Fear is a dangerous force. Those who foster
fear inflame the basest tendencies of humanity: anger and hatred. Trump’s words
have unleashed a destructive force that not even he can control. When he spews
unreflective, unrepentant rhetoric, he validates the evil in people’s hearts.
Even if he never explicitly encourages violence, his words condone it. Innocent
Muslims and immigrants have already been attacked. Who will be next?
Let’s be clear: we cannot pin responsibility on
one candidate alone. Trump’s ideas would have no impact without the fertile
ground of divisiveness cultivated by others. Irresponsible pundits and
candidates have polluted political discourse with toxic statements of their
own. While they attempt to distance themselves from his inflammatory speech,
their own docile espousal of similar sentiments have made Trump’s words
acceptable.
In Jewish tradition, this power of violent
destruction has a name and a face, the “Mashchit”
(Destroyer). Jewish tradition warns us that this force, once unleashed, cannot
discern between the innocent and the guilty. This warning reminds us that the
cycle of violence obeys no moral boundaries. This is the force of the 10th
plague in the Exodus story (Ex.12:23) that murdered every firstborn Egyptian.
Nina Paley, "Death of the Firstborn Egyptians"
But if the Destroyer is an unstoppable force,
how were the Israelite homes spared? It
took a potent sign, the blood on the doorposts of the Israelites, that
protected them.
In a time when so many people are overcome by their
fears, whether fear of the randomness of terrorism or fear of the pervasiveness
of gun violence, how do we prevent a growing cycle of fear, anger, hatred and
violence? What will be the blood on the doorposts that will protect us now?
The only way to close the door on the Destroyer
is for us to stand together, not apart. It is up to us to create more human
connections, not cut ourselves off. Whether we increase diplomacy with other
nations or make peace with our neighbors, we put a stop to the cycle of
violence. We must be ready to put the proverbial blood on our doorposts, to
proclaim that we will not allow the Destroyer to invade our moral universe. That
is the stand we must take as this campaign year unfolds.
Every four years, we have an important decision
to make, and 2016 is no exception. Sometimes it feels like we keep fighting the
same fight over and over again. The first election that got me involved in
political work was the year of Richard Nixon’s reelection in 1972. I was in
high school in the suburbs of Shawnee Mission, Kansas, when my family were
ardent supporters of George McGovern and in a sea of Republicans. My high school
principal had a 6-foot portrait of Nixon hanging in his office. I remember how
isolated we felt, how fearful we were, and yet we held out hope. The 1972
election was a contest between supporters of war and seekers of peace. Of
course, McGovern only won one state in that election, and all of you who voted
in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts earned my life-long admiration.
I could have walked away from that election
dejected. I could have refused to participate in campaigning ever again. And
yet, I believed fervently that my participation—even though I wasn’t even old
enough to vote—was important. Most important, I learned the importance of
making my voice heard despite the overwhelming odds. Despite the outcome, I
felt empowered. In a democracy, we need not fear airing our disagreements. That’s
the power that impels us to join campaigns. That’s the power that brings us
together tonight.
In truth, every election is important. The
issues do change, the electorate changes, the world’s economic and political
structures change. As the President’s State of the Union demonstrated so
starkly, the election of 2016 is a choice between two world-views: between hope and fear. It is a choice between
science and science fiction, between health care and health crisis, between
human rights and states’ rights, between rationality and the refusal to
compromise. This election is a choice between preparing for the unfolding
future and striving in futility to return to a sentimentalized past.
That is how the presidential race, the Congressional
and Senate races, have shaped up so far. And it makes the work of each one of
us all the more important: to speak out, to register voters, to donate to
campaigns and attend rallies, to hold signs and go door-to-door, to join phone
banks and drive people to the polls. We need to counter the forces of fear and
anger with a message of hope and compassion.
However, I believe that these divisions do not define
the American people.
I believe that the American public, on the
whole, shares much more in common than the polls would have us believe. I am
convinced that there are more like-minded Americans than there are extremists,
and we have the power to come together—if we turn out to vote.
The shared values that attracted our own
immigrant grandparents and great-grandparents to these shores, that gave us
voting rights for women and the 40-hour work-week, the values that brought us
together in Depression to build this country and in war to defend it and these
shared values unite us more than they divide us.
Everyone here today is committed to the
vitality of the American political system, whether we are voters, public
servants, or elected officials. Yet even as we gather as Democrats, to support
Democratic candidates and to advocate for a Democratic platform, we know that
achieving those goals will require that we engage people who are not as
passionate as we are, not as loyal to party politics, and many who are have
opted out of the system entirely.
There are all kinds of strangers. I’m a
stranger to most of you here, and likewise, you are strangers to me. But the
fact that we’ve all been invited to this gathering, that we pretty much look
the same, come from the same town, more or less, makes us feel comfortable
together. Perhaps we will become friends. In this company, we aren’t afraid of
strangers.
But in another setting, we might feel very
differently. We might be suspicious of the stranger who carries a gun or wears
a cap that says “Make America great again.” We are only human, and we need to
be just as vigilant about our own prejudices.
I want to share words from 1859, the campaign
speech that Abraham Lincoln gave at the Wisconsin State Fair
“From the first appearance of man upon the
earth, down to very recent times, the words ‘stranger’ and ‘enemy’ were quite or almost, synonymous. Long after civilized nations had defined
robbery and murder as high crimes, and had affixed severe punishments to them,
when practiced among and upon their own people respectively, it was deemed no
offence, but even meritorious, to rob, and murder, and enslave strangers, whether as nations or as
individuals. Even yet, this has not totally disappeared. The man of the highest
moral cultivation, in spite of all which abstract principle can do, likes him
whom he does know, much better than him whom he
does not know. To correct the evils, great and
small, which spring from want of sympathy, and from positive enmity, among strangers, as nations, or as individuals, is one
of the highest functions of civilization.”
Lincoln held up an ideal that still remains
outside our grasp, “To
correct the evils, great and small, which spring from want of sympathy, and
from positive enmity,” and yet, in this time of great national
divisions, when so much seems on the line, it is imperative that we continue to
try to become even more willing to see strangers as human beings. As we seek to
promote our candidates, we need to approach strangers with more curiosity about
what they think. We need to listen more than we talk. We need to bring people
close, not push them away. We need to hear the stories of pain and struggle, of
family loyalty and family heartache, of hopes and dreams. That is the hallmark
of a democratic system, to engage in respectful conversation. That is the only
hope for the future of this country.
When we connect with other people, we have the
best chance of joining together with them, and inviting them to join with us.
We need to acknowledge our fears, but not allow
them to rule over us. We need to change the conversation, to advocate for
truth, compassion, humility, equity, and justice.
Let me end with a prayer for our country that
comes from the Jewish Reconstructioniost prayerbook. Saying a prayer for the
country is part our religious heritage::
Sovereign of all peoples, mercifully receive
our prayer for our land and its government. Let your blessing pour out on this
land and on all officials of this country who are occupied, in good faith, with
the public needs. Instruct them from your ancient laws, enable them to
understand your principles of justice, so that peace and tranquility, happiness
and freedom, might never turn away from our land. Plant among the people of
different nationalities and faiths who dwell here, love and brotherhood, peace
and friendship. Uproot from their hearts all hatred and enmity, all jealousy
and vying for supremacy. Fulfill the yearning of all the people of our country
to speak proudly in its honor. May our
land be a blessing to all inhabitants of the earth. Cause friendship and
freedom to dwell among all peoples, so that we may see the vision of the
prophets fulfilled in our lifetime, “Nation shall not lift up sword against
nation. Let them learn no longer the ways of war.”
speech delivered to the Ward 6 Democratic Committee of Newton, Mass. 1/14/16
