Hear Our Voice

The struggle that I know runs through many people’s minds, people who can walk the streets without fear of interruption, or interrogation or even notice by the police, and so therefore have little or no experience with presuming a negative interaction with the police, challenges one’s heart of hearts to give the proper amount of attention to the death of someone like George Floyd.  Many folks with white or light skin come by the gut-reaction that as soon as one hears about George Floyd’s arrest record, prison time, his perceived threatening presence, the easier it is to conclude, at least to oneself, “Well, it was the path he led.”  “Who can be truly surprised?  He was a bad boy.”  “By the time George Floyd was 30, he had 11 arrests on his record, and he served 4 years in prisons for aggravated burglary and assault.”  And so, the easy place to go, is, “this was the direction of his life… that he chose.”  “And while he may not have deserved it, he put himself on that path.”  I do wonder though, how many of us with light or white skin, in our heart of hearts, would also be willing to vow, that every point of challenge or failure in our life, we chose.  And…that every point of success in our life, every amount of honor or privilege we have experienced… that we earned it all, based on our own labor and effort.  Those are questions I would encourage you to ask yourself, with no one else around.  Just you.  Do you honestly believe that you have earned and/or deserve everything in your life – whether good or bad?

In the meantime, my mind unsurprisingly, goes to Torah.  I can’t help but return again and again to the lessons of Exodus and the powerful philosophical dilemma that so many of us have noticed or perhaps studied, and that is that part of the story relating to Pharaoh’s internal responses to the plagues.  The Torah teaches us that after each of the first five plagues, Pharaoh initially agrees to release the Israelites, and upon God’s removal of the plague, Pharaoh hardens his heart and refuses to release the people.  And that after each of the second five plagues, he agrees to release the Israelites, but here the text shifts and we read that it is God, who hardens Pharaoh’s heart such that he would have to endure all of the plagues that God has in mind and intends.

We, the Jewish people, who have suffered the persecution and oppression at the hands of so many tyrants and fools, so many Pharaohs, nonetheless struggle with this depiction, asking if it is fair that God hardens Pharaoh’s heart.  We seemingly ironically ask, “Shouldn’t God have been committed to Pharaoh’s free will?  Shouldn’t Pharaoh’s ability to choose and own his decision remain his own?”  Maimonides “solves” this dilemma by his teaching that God’s hardening of Pharaoh’s heart is a metaphor to indicate that Pharaoh was so far down the road of evil that there was in essence no turning back.  This is the Pharaoh, the ultimate symbol, the ultimate figure of oppression against the Jews, about whom you and I chant and sing and argue and discuss.  Mitzrayim, Egypt, the narrowness of enslaved existence is in our blood.  Avadim hayinu, atah b’nei chorin - Once we were slaves and now we are free.  Freedom is so captivating, so enlivening, so central to our meta-story, that even the Pharaoh’s freedom of choice, our Rabbis challenge us to consider. 

Yes, it is true that George Floyd had a record.  But, when is it too late for redemption?  Is that what makes you sleep at night? Is that your stance?  That he had run out of rope?  That the worst things he had ever done in his life had to be, forever, the most important measuring sticks of his value and worth?  How about 6 years?  Is 6 years of living a good life long enough for him to be worthy of not having been killed by police, despite his track record?  Is his connection with family, with children, with a grandchild who loved him, and for whom he was present in real and important ways enough?  Is it enough that those who knew him and loved him called him their umbrella?  Not only because he was such a tall person, but because his presence offered shelter and safety.  Our story of the almost infinite possibility for redemption, the essential element of Exodus, cannot matter for us if it doesn’t matter for others.  None of us deserves to be measured by the worst things we have done or the greatest privileges bestowed upon us.  We are, each of us, the result of a complex dynamic of serendipity and composure.  For me, this is where the discussion begins.

I sat in Fountain of Praise church for the Homegoing service of George Floyd.  The place was filled with tears of sadness and hope.  It was a call to an oppressed people.  Reverend Al Sharpton asked to rise, one at a time, the mothers and family members of the following individuals who have died at the hands of police:

George Floyd. 

Trayvon Martin.

Eric Garner.

Botham Jean.

Pamela Turner.

Michael Brown.

Ahmaud Arbery.

Not to mention Tamir Rice, Philando Castile, Breonna Taylor, whose families were not present at the funeral.

How many people do you know have a child or a brother or a friend who have died a violent death?  And how many of them have died a violent death at the hands of police officers?  Well, we do now and have for a long time.  If our tradition means anything at all to us, George Floyd is our brother and the others mentioned above are our brothers and sisters.  In the face of this, then, in the face of our central teachings of Exodus that tie us to all the oppressed, how do we live, now, differently than before?  How do we respond if they are indeed our kin?  I am not asking you to take up signs and protest in the street. I am not asking you to become a benefactor for organizations that support African American communities.  I am not asking you to fundamentally change what you notice in the world.  Yet.  All I am asking you to do, for now, is to make room in your mind and in your imagination, for the real possibility that for far too long, dark skin, alone, has been enough to decide one’s fate.  That dark skin alone has been enough to determine whether or not one has the right to live and the right for one’s life to be stood up for.  And that if our story means anything at all to us, it cannot only mean it for us.  As Hillel taught, z’il gamor, “All the rest is commentary, now go and learn it.”  For there is so much work to do.