Author: Jeremy Burton

My Rainbow Kippah

As a child in the Haredi Orthodox community in New York, I – along with all the other boys – wore a black cloth kippah, the “skullcap” whose origin goes at least as far back as the Book of Samuel when David ascended the Mount of Olives and covered his head. And while my relationship to this garment has its origins in the ancient rabbinic teachings about appreciation of the Divine presence, over the years I’ve developed a more multifaceted relationship with my kippah.

When I began my career, there were two models in my community of Orthodox men participating in public service; one was embodied by elected officials who were unapologetically in politics to represent the interest of the Orthodox Jewish community as they understood them, and the other was embodied by officials who wore their Orthodoxy openly and proudly, as a values system that informed their politics in service to a broader society. The first group wore their kippot (plural for kippah) on the floor of the state legislature, the latter were never seen with one while performing their public duties. I aspired to the second model of public service. I stopped wearing a kippah in public for over a decade.

As I turned thirty and committed to my second career, building Jewish community that was meaningful for myself and my peers, I put the kippah back on my head. I found meaning in explicitly claiming Jewish space and holding on to commitments to traditional practice while I was coming out of the closet. It became a part of my narrative of authenticity to my whole self, by not giving up one part of my identity – traditional Jewish practice – to live fully as another: as an Out person. That choice, to proudly affirm my full self, informed the work I was doing and the communities I was building, including serving as a leader of the first partnership minyan in the US. It was there, that years later, in my role as a gabbai (overseer of prayer service), I had the privilege of officiating, when – for the first time anywhere – Orthodox same-sex fathers were able to stand together and name their daughter at the bimah on Shabbat morning.

In 2006, after Hurricane Katrina, I coordinated an investment by Jewish federations in recovery efforts beyond the Jewish community. On an early visit to New Orleans, a minister pulled me aside and said, in the most loving tone possible, “It is very courageous of you to wear that Jewish cap in these parts.” In that moment I was reminded of an exchange that Ruth Messinger, Former Manhattan Borough President and President of American Jewish World Service (AJWS), had shared with me: After the 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami, AJWS quickly mobilized millions of dollars for relief and recovery. President George W. Bush invited her and other charitable leaders to the White House. She told him about how AJWS was providing fishing boats to villagers in Indonesia so that they could start rebuilding their livelihoods. The President praised AJWS’ efforts and added, “make sure that sides of the boats have painted on that this was made possible with support from American Jewish World Service.” He understood, and wanted to underscore the importance of visibility when Jews act on our Jewish values in service to the common good.

I kept that kippah on in meetings in Mississippi and Louisiana (though I did have the good sense to put a baseball cap on when I was out on the streets on my own). In the years since, and now at JCRC – where our work is to represent Jewish values and interests in the public square – I’ve become more conscious of my kippah, not only as an act of faith but as an expression of the visibility of the Jewish people. A garment can be not only about a relationship with the Divine, but also an expression of our culture and our presence when living and practicing our values. When I am at an interfaith rally or a hearing on public policy, I want to be seen as a member of the Jewish community, as part of a presence of our people in partnership with others. When I wear my Jewishness openly, I’m inviting conversations –opportunities to inform and educate – with those who approach me with questions and a desire for connection.

There are still those situations where I choose to be less visible. When I was in Germany, at the advice of local Jewish activists in Berlin, I kept my kippah off in public. It saddens and angers me to realize that there are places where it’s not safe to be Jewish. It is a reminder of the work that still needs to be done.

This month, the kippah I’m wearing is a rainbow one – for Pride Month. Thirty years ago I wouldn’t have dreamt of wearing it, but now I do so as a visible expression of an identity that encompasses multiple parts. My rainbow kippah embodies how I’ve come to understand belonging, visibility, and the responsibility to show up proudly as our whole selves – in our community and in our work in the world.

Shabbat Shalom.

Jeremy

Stories We Cannot Tell

Every Shabbat in my congregation, we say a prayer for the government of the United States. Our version of this prayer asks that “God, who commanded all humanity to create just governments, bless and protect the elected and appointed officials of the United States,” and inspire them, among other things, to “let their actions reflect compassion for the poor, the defenseless, and the needy amongst us.”

These days, when I pray these words, I think about people like Armando Rojas, the beloved custodian of congregation Bet Torah in Westchester, NY. Armando worked there for 20 of his 30 years in this country before being detained by ICE (Immigration and Customs Enforcement). Despite the congregation’s advocacy efforts on his behalf, Armando was deported to Mexico without a chance to gather his belongings or even say goodbye to his wife and young children. He was left at the border with no money, cell phone, or ID.

My prayer is filled with disappointment and anger toward our government. Because Armando’s story, and the stories of so many families these days – torn apart, some with children still in their infancy – should challenge us: Do these actions reflect who we aspire to be as Americans? Is this our compassion? And, bound by the injunction for the Jewish people to treat strangers as we would treat ourselves – and knowing that prayer is not enough in this moment – I ask: what actions are we called to?

As the targeting and harassment of immigrants in our communities escalated over the past 18 months, the stakes are now astronomical for families facing impossible choices. They want the same things that we all want for our own: safety and security for themselves and their children, the possibility of a brighter future, the opportunity to contribute to our community (as many have for decades), and the assurance that they will not be sent back to countries from which many of them fled in fear for their lives.

And ever-growing numbers of these people are living in terror right here in Massachusetts – terror of being detained, deported, and separated from children who, in many cases, were born in this country and have never lived anywhere else.

I want to share a vignette to put a human face on the work we’re doing right here in Greater Boston, but the risk in doing so is too great for our immigrant neighbors whose stories we’ve learned. They are so vulnerable to this cruel and unpredictable system of enforcement that we dare not share any details that could put them in peril. But I can tell you about the ways in which members of our Jewish community – alongside our interfaith partners in a new coalition called the Boston Immigration Justice Accompaniment Network (BIJAN) – are taking action in solidarity with the people who are being affected, and to accompany these individuals on a journey that is terrifying and lonely.

For families who have sought Sanctuary in churches in Cambridge, Jamaica Plain, and elsewhere, we’ve mobilized 18 local Jewish congregations with hundreds of volunteers joining networks of support to provide round-the-clock companions, childcare, and resources to meet the families’ various needs. People held in detention have reached out to our coalition, and we have responded by organizing a grassroots network of 400 volunteers, supporting over 100 detainees. Our community members have attended immigration hearings, provided pro bono legal counsel, and trained and mentored non-immigration lawyers to represent these individuals. Fifteen rabbis have provided pastoral visits at detention centers, many of them forming deep bonds with those they visit, bearing witness to their suffering, and accompanying them in bond and asylum hearings. Together with BIJAN, we’ve raised over $50,000 to bond 13 people out of detention, with ongoing fundraising campaigns to free more detainees.

There is no telling for how long these families – struggling to stay together and live in safety and dignity – will have to endure this ordeal. But our actions, together with other faith and immigrant communities, are helping some families to remain together; whether in churches providing safe havens, or freed from detention and given a shot at pursuing legal cases, or awarded asylum to stay in our country. When our volunteers show up our foreign-born neighbors are less alone in dealing with a frightening situation.

I invite you to learn more about our work and consider joining our efforts, through Sanctuary, accompaniment work, legal support, or contributing to bond funds. Together, we can make a difference in the lives of individuals and families here in Massachusetts as we take action to reclaim the compassion that is missing from our government.

Shabbat shalom,

Jeremy

We can no longer say that anti-Semitism is in retreat

“Burton” isn’t a traditional Jewish surname. My grandfather was born Moshe (Milton) Bergstein. He grew up in Harlem in the 1920s along with his younger brother Levi (Louis). Louis aspired to become a sports journalist, but he knew a Jewish-sounding surname wasn’t going to get him on New York radio. So he changed his name, and his older brother – wanting to share a family name – did so with him. Louis Burton went on to have a distinguished career in New York sports journalism.

This history is not unique to my family.

In the 1947 film, Gentleman’s Agreement, Gregory Peck plays New York journalist Philip Green, who is surprised to learn that his secretary changed her name after being rejected for jobs with her Jewish surname. Green goes undercover as a Jew to research anti-Semitism, and discovers discrimination against us in housing, employment, services, and even within his own family. Several Jewish Hollywood producers didn’t want to make this film, fearing repercussions. Actors turned down the lead role. The film was a surprise hit at the box office and received many honors, including the Academy Award for Best Picture.

Jewish “defense” organizations, like JCRC in 1944, were created in this context; to unite our community in standing up to the socially acceptable anti-Semitism of those times. And when, over time, it appeared that anti-Semitism in America was in retreat, our focus shifted to other forms of defense and advocacy.

With expressions of anti-Semitism gaining in frequency (with multiple hate incidents of swastikas in schools last month alone), we can no longer say that anti-Semitism is in retreat. There has been a notable spate of violent attacks on Orthodox – i.e. “visibly” – Jewish people around New York City recently, along with incidents of Jews being harassed for wearing Star of David necklaces and other Jewish identifiers at some progressive marches, or being tossed out of an Uber for speaking Hebrew. Still, we can appreciate that the current experience of anti-Semitism in the US remains substantively different from the experience of many on the receiving end of rising hatreds and bigotries. Most in the Jewish community (ie, those presenting as White and straight) have generally not shared the experience of those in our community and others who were stabbed in the streets for holding hands with a same-sex partner, or had the cops called for sitting while Black in a Starbucks, or got screamed at by a customer for speaking in Spanish.

But here are some of the alarming realities we are facing here in the US: In several races around the country, neo-Nazis – espousing the removal of Jews from public service or even the country – are running for office. Disturbingly, these candidates are polling as high as 5, 10, and even 20 percent. Thankfully, local Republican parties are moving to vigorously denounce and expel these folks. While no one is anticipating – yet – a victory for these politicians, it is becoming acceptable to say: “yes, I know this candidate expresses these anti-Semitic views, but I’m still considering him as an acceptable candidate for public office.”

On the Democratic side, in various races we are seeing candidates openly acknowledge disturbing debates in their political circles about the very legitimacy of a Jewish state. These candidates are firmly asserting: “I support the right of Israel to exist as a Jewish state.” But, it is becoming acceptable in certain spaces to espouse anti-Semitic notions about Israel (For a cogent articulation of the distinction between legitimate criticism of the policies of the State of Israel and the slippery slope that leads to left-wing anti-Semitism, read this excellent Washington Post op-ed by Rabbi Jill Jacobs of T’ruah).

My point is this: even amidst the recent wave of populism, and with rising expressions of hatred and bigotry of all forms, we – the Jewish community – aren’t (yet) as vulnerable and marginalized as we were in the 1940s. Nonetheless, we are seeing something insidious: the normalization, once again, of anti-Semitic expression in significant parts of our society.

Toward the end of Gentleman’s Agreement, Green’s fiancée describes herself being sickened by an anti-Semitic joke at a party. But she did nothing to challenge it. The lesson in this movie – and in this moment – is that silence condones bigotry.

Our charge today, and the charge of all decent people, is to not be complicit through our silence, and to confront and challenge anti-Semitism – and all forms of hatred – wherever and whenever they appear. We cannot lose sight of the fact that our fate is inextricably bound with that of other marginalized minorities, as one expression of bigotry fuels so many more. We must unite as a Jewish community, in solidarity with our partners, to make it socially intolerable to hold these views. Our failure to do so puts us at risk of becoming an America where, once again, our personal defense may come at the expense of proudly displaying our Jewish identities. That must be unacceptable in our great nation.

Shabbat Shalom.

Jeremy

Shavuot and “Embracing the holy space”

This weekend we, the “People of the Book,” will mark the giving of said Book. Jews around the world will celebrate Shavuot, as we retell the experience of Moses ascending Mount Sinai and receiving the Ten Commandments.

For me, one of the most powerful aspects of this holiday is that it does not stand alone, but rather, it exists in direct relationship with Passover, exactly seven weeks earlier. And in that relationship comes an idea about the dynamic tension between values that is relevant to our times.

Passover celebrates our individual freedom, our liberty from the tyranny of slavery in Egypt. Shavuot marks the establishment of a collective law. This weekend, we celebrate the presentation of a social contract between the Divine and the People, but also – and more importantly – among the people. And these holidays are connected because the gift of freedom is incomplete without the gift of law.

Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks, former Chief Rabbi of England, explains it thus:

“If freedom means only that I can do what I want, then my freedom will inevitably conflict with yours. If I am free to steal, you are not free to own...That is why Judaism sees the exodus as the beginning, not the end, of the journey to freedom. The culmination came in the giving of the Law. The biblical vision is of a society in which no one will be at the mercy of others. Its rules and institutions aim at creating a social order of independent human beings linked by bonds of kinship and compassion...The freedom to do what we want creates individuals. It does not create a free society.”

The idea of values that are incomplete without each other, and that are enriched in dynamic relationship to each other, is a theme of several books I’ve had the opportunity to read this past year; books that are deeply relevant to the challenges we face. Yascha Mounk, in The People Vs. Democracy, explores the dual threats of undemocratic liberalism and of illiberal democracy. Both tendencies, when implemented to excess, pose a risk to our civil society. Jonathan Haidt’s The Righteous Mind explores another set of tensions – the moral values that compete within us and within societies to inform our politics. He examines the multiple foundations of human morality, and makes the case that by recognizing these foundations, we can become more open to other points of view.

In our Book and these books, as in the connection between Passover and Shavuot, we see values and ideas held and articulated, not in opposition to each other, but rather in conversation. Each value or idea – freedom and order, liberalism and democracy, fairness and loyalty (two of the six values that Haidt enumerates) – may be of greater import to many of us some or all of the time. But none is fully developed without its relationship to the other(s).

And it is within this notion that we have an opportunity to offer a deeply Jewish approach to our ideologically siloed and divided society: To resist the temptation to define competing values as opposing ones. And to refuse to be bullied into rejecting the concerns and beliefs of those with whom we disagree solely because they identify elsewhere on the ideological spectrum.

Rather, we can insist that what are defined as ‘their’ values and ‘our’ values, ‘their’ ideas and ‘our’ ideas, exist in dynamic tension and conversation with each other. We can promote a radical idea – to hold the center and honor the whole – by embracing the holy space between competing ideas, beliefs, and values.

Together, as the People did in the wilderness as they journeyed from the split sea to Sinai, we can do the work of building communities enriched by all our members, informed by all our ideas, walking together on a path through the desert and toward a greater future.

Shabbat Shalom and Chag Sameach,

Jeremy

From a place of love

In Leviticus 19:17, we read: “You shall not hate your kinsfolk in your heart, rebuke your kinsman and do not incur guilt because of him.” Unpacking this verse, Maimonides tells us: “When one person wrongs another, the latter should not remain silent and despise the person… Rather, we are commanded to make the matter known and ask the person: ‘Why did you do this to me?’ ‘Why did you wrong me regarding that matter?’"

Further, he explains: “A person who rebukes a colleague… should rebuke the person privately. S/he should speak to the person patiently and gently, informing them that s/he is only making these statements for their colleague's own welfare.”

I’ve been thinking about those words often of late.

Item A: In recent weeks we’ve been in conversation with one of our partners beyond the Jewish community about a recent action they took that deeply troubled many members of our community. This is not the first time when, in the complexity of intergroup or interfaith relations, we’ve found ourselves raising concerns with partners about their actions (and as they raise concerns about our actions as well). And as in many of these cases, we’ve also been in ongoing consultation with several of our members who are also invested in this relationship. Questions arise: how should we express our objections: publicly or privately? collectively or individually? And to what end; i.e. what answers are we looking for? Will we be satisfied only by a particular action taken or are there times when reaching a new understanding is enough?

Item B: Not a day goes by that we don’t get at least dozens of emails and calls “offering” feedback on something we’ve done or said. Many of those notes are of a “thumbs up” nature,” others are expressions of disappointment, or worse. Often, over time, the same person will send both positive and negative notes that are both interesting and informative. We listen to all of it, we try to acknowledge most of it, and we certainly weigh it as we continue to learn and to improve our efforts.

There are a small number of people – from a variety of ideological points of view – who write often (say 10 times a week or more) using the same cut-and-paste lines in almost every note, practically yelling about only one or two topics, whether or not those topics are the subject of the message they are replying to. Others write less often, but their messages are always laden with vitriolic language, sometimes starting with ALL CAPS headers, that make plain their assumptions about our I.Q.s, our morals, and/or our loyalty to the Jewish community. I for one find myself tuning these out: They all go straight to the circular file; no response required.

Item C: On Monday Ambassador Dermer was asked for his thoughts about American Jewish criticism of Israeli government policies. His response – and I am paraphrasing here – was that when an organization issues 100 press releases and 99 of them criticize Israel, the response is to tune them out. But when Israel’s friends, who’ve stood with them in challenge and celebration, criticize them on a couple of things, they hear that.

All of these are, to my mind, connected to an idea deeply rooted in Jewish wisdom such as from Maimonides; that rebuke (tochachah) is strengthened when it comes from a place of love (ahavah). This thread runs through the work of community relations. Whether, as in the example of the external partner, it is about the context of a trusting relationship in which to engage in authentic rebuke coming from love. Or whether, as with these members of our community, it’s about being effective in giving the rebuke. Or, as in the case of Israel (or all of these cases), it is about being able to be heard.

In our ancient rabbis’ discussion of why Aaron was mourned more broadly than his brother Moses, they tell us that Aaron “also… would prevent Israel from transgressing, however he would do this through words of appeasement and reconciliation.” I find myself thinking about how we give, and receive, constructive criticism. None of us is perfect. But as we strive to be more so, we welcome the wisdom and feedback of those we have come to trust.

May we learn to hear each other, and to be heard.

Shabbat Shalom,

Jeremy

How do we cut through the noise?

There’s a good chance that you actually watched comedian Michelle Wolf at the White House Correspondence Dinner this week. You might have also caught Prime Minister Netanyahu’s dramatic prime time reveal of data taken in a bold nighttime raid in Teheran earlier this year. And I’m guessing that not many of you watched President Abbas’ address to the Palestine National Council. But if you are reading this blog and interested in the same kind of content that I am, you are most certainly aware of all three presentations, along with the multitude of responses that each elicited.

This week, like so many other weeks these days, the original media event took place, and was then followed by a voluminous and raucous debate unpacking the meaning and political import of said remarks. My inbox runneth over time and again, my social media feeds overflowed with comments, the blogs I track had hot take after hot take. And I couldn’t help feeling that most of what I was reading was predictable, and that precious little of it was all that interesting.

By and large, the commentator who was a fan of the President or had interests with the White House (including a lot of correspondents whose careers hinge on West Wing access) excoriated Wolf. And the commentator who cut his or her teeth the past 18 months on portraying President Trump as a monster applauded Wolf’s performance. If someone was opposed to the JCPOA (the 2015 Joint Comprehensive Plan on Action, aka the Iran Deal) in 2015, the hot take was that Bibi’s remarks were a game changer, and if one supported the Iran Deal at the time, then the Prime Minister’s remarks were seen as validation for keeping the deal. Granted, Abbas’ virulently anti-Semitic remarks drew something close to wall-to-wall condemnation, but even there I saw some fringe-left groups trying to pivot back quickly to their standard “what aboutism” criticism of Israel.

My gut reaction to all of this? I desperately want to tune out all this chatter. Why bother reading another op-ed if I know – based on the source – exactly where they will land before I start reading it? Confirmation biases have taken over and the only facts that seem to matter are the ones that affirm a pre-existing point of view.

My point is this: We live in an era where there’s more yelling going on than ever before, but very few people are actually saying anything.

And that’s a shame. Because, amidst the chatter, there were important things said this week. And there are important discussions we need to have about them. Flint, Michigan still doesn’t have clean water, and yes, cable news has profited tremendously through its role in the rise of President Trump (and in the fostering and feeding of our toxic discourse). There are serious strategic issues to address in preventing Iran from expanding its reach in the region. And we need a bipartisan strategy for the US and our allies to prevent Iran from attaining a nuclear capability. While there may not be partners for peace at the leadership level, there are good people – both Palestinian and Israeli – who want and are working for a better future for themselves and their children.

Those are the conversations I want to have. So how do we cut through all the noise and have them?

I welcome your thoughts.

Shabbat Shalom,

Jeremy

The Israel conversation we’re striving for…

At the risk of repeating a tired trope, I will point out that there is virtually no matter on which the Jewish community is united in our analysis and opinions. That is arguably most true with regard to our concerns for the future of the State of Israel. And there is probably no subject that has invited more angst-ridden pieces in recent Jewish discourse than the current state of the relationship between Israeli and American Jews – the two largest Jewish centers of population in the world. We are seen, increasingly, as akin to Mars and Venus; talking past each other in our religious, social, cultural, and political perspectives.

In the Boston Jewish community, we treasure a range of thought and voices in our community on these matters. We seek to foster respectful discussion; not to achieve agreement amongst us but rather, to build understanding and mutual regard across our diversity.

This is why we at JCRC are proud that our Council – 42 organizations and growing – is amongst the most ideologically diverse deliberative bodies in American Jewish life today. And it is why CJP has invested in the CommUNITY Dialogue on Israel over the past two years. We strive for a rich and vibrant conversation about Israel. We work toward the ability to act together where there is consensus – such as working toward the two-state peace that we believe is essential for Israel’s future – and to act in accordance with our individual viewpoints where there is not.

Among the panoply of voices essential to our collective conversation about Israel is that of Israelis living both here and in Israel, as well as the representatives of the government of the State of Israel. Though we - in parts or in whole – may not always agree with any particular government, we always appreciate its role as the democratically elected leadership and representation of the will of Israel’s majority.

It is therefore our great honor – as JCRC and as the organized Jewish community of Boston – to host the State of Israel’s highest representative to the United States, His Excellency Ambassador Ron Dermer, for the 15th annual Connie Spear Birnbaum Memorial Lecture on Monday May 7th, 7:30pm at Temple Reyim in Newton. This lecture is appropriately named for a woman who, upon her untimely passing from breast cancer at age 48, became a symbol of Jewish unity and the inspiration for an annual program which is intended to gather individuals from across the ideological and religious spectrum of Jewish life.

Ambassador Dermer will address the challenges facing Israel today; a timely topic in this season when we join with Israel in celebrating the 70th anniversary of the re-establishment of the state of the Jewish people in its modern form.

We look forward to hearing from the Ambassador, to him addressing our questions, and to his informing and enriching our conversation as we continue to work together as a diverse and yet unified community.

The event is free. Pre-registration is required. I hope you will join us.

Shabbat Shalom,

Jeremy

“I get it. BDS is wrong, but then what?”

The topic that’s dominated just about every conversation I’ve had this week has been BDS (Boycott, Divestment, Sanctions), the global campaign to deny Israel’s legitimacy. My week began by sitting on a Sunday morning panel at the J Street conference, about countering BDS. And throughout the entire week, I’ve been working intensively with many of our members and partners – within and beyond the Jewish community – to challenge an effort by BDS proponents to secure the support of the Cambridge City Council in advancing their cause.

The topic of BDS is one I’ve grown comfortable discussing. This movement, so often rooted in anti-Semitism, is one we’re committed to confronting whenever it rears its ugly head and in whatever form it takes. But frankly, as a Jewish community activist and as a passionate supporter of the State of Israel, this is not how I would prefer to spend my days.

But there’s one question that keeps emerging from my conversations about BDS, one that I invite and welcome. Over and over again, I keep hearing, “Well, ok, I get it. BDS is wrong, but then what? What do you propose we do to help pave the way to peace and justice for Palestinians and Israelis?”

I truly love this question, and the opportunity it opens up to discuss an aspect of our work of which I’m very proud.

Our view at JCRC has been formed by the considerable time we’ve spent, particularly through our Israel study tours, talking with Palestinians and Israelis both in “pre-1967” Israel and on the West Bank. We have grown in our understanding that the path to a better future needs to come from changemakers on the ground: by creating partnerships and collaborations across all that divides them, recognizing each other’s human dignity, and affirming each other’s narrative and legitimacy in a shared homeland. Most important, our view is that we, sitting here in Boston, need to invest in their social, political, and financial capacity to change the narrative and shape their future.

This is why we were so proud to launch Boston Partners For Peace. It is our way of saying, in partnership with CJP, that we have a responsibility to do something and to make sure that it is productive.

It is why we support people-to-people groups like The Parents Circle – families on both sides who have lost loved ones to the violence and who are promoting reconciliation through educational programs and dialogue circles. It is about us believing in civic engagement of thousands of Israeli and Palestinian women from diverse backgrounds who, through Women Wage Peace, are working to create a groundswell to pressure decision makers to work toward peace. It is about the power of economic cooperation to build the conditions for a better future, through groups like EcoPeace, bringing together Jordanian, Palestinian, and Israeli environmentalists in cooperative efforts to protect the environment and advance sustainable regional development.

And it is about supporting education through a group based right here in Cambridge, MIT MEET, where young Israeli and Palestinian leaders come together to create positive change through technology and entrepreneurship.

Our work in this arena is also about our own advocacy for the creation of an International Fund for Israeli-Palestinian Peace, through the Alliance for Middle East Peace (AllMEP). AllMEP’s efforts resulted in a 20% bump in support for Israeli-Palestinian people-to-people project funding in the recent U.S. Federal omnibus spending bill.

At JCRC, we’re not “solutionists.” We don’t pretend to have a shared analysis of every obstacle on the ground to achieve peace. We don’t presume to offer a comprehensive plan for resolving one of the world’s most enduring and complicated conflicts. But we do believe that it is the people on the ground – who we’ve come to know and believe in – who already are, and have the potential to become, the agents of a more hopeful future.

We believe that the path to a brighter future is not paved with boycotts and other efforts to further divide people and prevent the interactions that cultivate recognition and respect. Rather, we believe the future should be shaped by those who choose to walk together on a path toward mutual understanding, security, and peace.

Together, we can amplify their voices, change the narrative, and shape the future.

Shabbat Shalom,

Jeremy

Reading Buddies and the New Normal

Every Friday at lunch time for the last seven years, a team of volunteers from JCRC and CJP jump into Ubers to dash to the Condon School in South Boston. Along with a volunteer team from the law firm of Nutter McClennen & Fish, they meet with the second graders they've been paired with, to spend an hour together immersed in the joy of reading.

Like the other workplace teams that JCRC’s Greater Boston Jewish Coalition for Literacy (GBJCL) places in local public schools through its “Reading Buddies” program, Team JCRC/CJP has formed enduring bonds with their young friends, along with a deep admiration for the talented and hardworking teachers and administrators at the school they visit. And they marvel at the dedication of their liaison, Condon School Reading Specialist Annellen Lydon, who seems to know each and every student in this large school, and goes to great lengths to provide them with just the support they need to succeed.

A GBJCL volunteer at the Condon School

So we were all dismayed to learn that last Thursday evening, a man was fatally shot just outside the school. Due to the ongoing police investigation, children had to remain indoors during recess the next day, and a bullet and bullet hole were found in a third-grade classroom. Disturbingly, this is not the first time the Condon has been affected by the presence of firearms. The previous June, a gun was found inside a bathroom on a day when police reported nearby gunfire.

When we called to express our concern and check in with our friends, we were not surprised to learn that despite teachers and administrators being on edge, they focused on trying to make it a normal day for the students. Ms. Lydon shared, “Some of the students knew, especially the older ones. We tried to keep things normal; not sure what normal is.”

Though we felt reassured that these cherished students and community were safe, we were also reminded of the sober reality of the “new normal” in our country; where teachers, charged with the academic, emotional, and social wellbeing of their students now also have to worry about the prospect of gun violence erupting at any moment. And we were reminded that despite the understandable shock and horror we all feel in the aftermath of high profile mass shootings like Parkland, the fact remains that many more young lives are claimed through the ongoing scourge of gun violence in the streets of our cities.

Just a few weeks ago, I wrote about our work to prevent gun violence; both our pride in being part of a coalition to pass legislation resulting in Massachusetts having the lowest gun death rate in the country and our ongoing commitment to doing more. An important measure which would further reduce gun violence is The Extreme Risk Protective Order (ERPO), a bill to reduce access to guns for individuals with an elevated risk of harm to themselves or others. Last Friday’s frightening news has only deepened our commitment to pursue all actions to further decrease gun violence, and to persist until all our children are safe.

We will continue to stand with our friends and partners in South Boston and throughout Greater Boston, and to engage our Jewish community in doing so through our multiple avenues for action at JCRC. We will keep showing up at our local schools to help children discover the joy of reading and to celebrate their achievements—and we will keep showing up at the State House, to demand that guns stay out of the hands of those who would cause them harm.

I invite you to join us in our efforts. Contact Public Safety Committee Chairs Representative Naughton and Senator Michael Moore to urge passage of ERPO today. Join our GBJCL family; tutor a child weekly or for special events, donate needed books to under resourced schools. Help us build a healthy and vibrant community, one in which all of our children can flourish.

Stand with Immigrants this Passover: An Action Guide for Your Seder

As you prepare to gather with family and friends to celebrate Passover 5778, we want to wish you a sweet and meaningful holiday – and to share this resource for your seder, informed by our community’s experience of standing with immigrants this year.

We’ve shared with you the many ways in which we at JCRC have engaged our Jewish community in responding to the urgent crisis facing our foreign born neighbors – the lobbying by so many of us for passage of the Safe Communities Act, the 15 synagogues and approximately 400 individuals involved in Sanctuary congregation work, the 40 immigrant detainees we, along with our interfaith partners in the Boston Immigrant Justice Accompaniment Network, are supporting in a variety of ways, including pastoral visits from rabbis, access to legal representation and financial support for bond and legal fees. There is no more fitting way to mark this Festival of Freedom than to remember those in our midst who are currently detained, in fear for their lives should they be deported back to countries rife with violence and trauma...We encourage you to use this resource, created with a team of active synagogue leaders, to stimulate conversation at your Seder table, and learn about action you can take to bring about liberation for those among us, yearning to be free.

Chag Same'ach,
Jeremy