Leaving Mitzrayim... Again

בְּכָל דּוֹר וָדוֹר חַיָּב אָדָם לִרְאוֹת אֶת עַצְמוֹ כְּאִלּוּ הוּא יָצָא מִמִּצְרַיִם.

In every generation, one is obligated to see himself as if he came out from Egypt. (Haggaddah/m. Pesahim 10:5)

It would seem a tall order, to visualize oneself having participated in the Exodus. Yet, this statement takes a central place in our observance of the Seder of Pesach and its obligatory recounting.

Slavery did not end with the exodus. It revisits us repeatedly and in different ways. A Holocaust survivor may be able to come closest to the likely intent of this dictum, seeing himself as part of a surviving remnant of the larger Jewish people from the horrors of mass slavery and annihilation.

Tradition, however, suggests that we can read this in a way that can touch us all.

Hebrew is a consonantal language; the symbols employed in vocalization are a medieval invention. Just like the text in a Torah scroll, most classical Hebrew texts are published without vowels. The sages who interpreted the Tanakh often used this to their homiletical advantage. A popular example of this appears in many Siddurim:

אָמַר רַבִּי אֶלְעָזָר אָמַר רַבִּי חֲנִינָא: תַּלְמִידֵי חֲכָמִים מַרְבִּים שָׁלוֹם בָּעוֹלָם, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר: וְכָל בָּנַיִךְ לִמּוּדֵי יְיָ, וְרַב שְׁלוֹם בָּנָיִךְ, אַל תִּקְרֵי בָּנָיִךְ אֶלָּא בּוֹנָיִךְ.

Rabbi Elazar cited Rabbi Hanina: Scholars increase peace in the world, as it says: “All your children shall learn of God, and your children shall have abundant peace.” Do not read (al tiqrei) banayich (your sons,) read instead bonayich (those who understand you.) (B. Berakhot 64a)

Likewise, there are many examples of “al tiqrei” homographs in rabbinic literature, where substitute readings are offered not for the purpose of textual emendation but for homiletic elaboration.

Returning to our passage, a late example of “al tiqrei” is offered suggesting that whenever we read mitzrayim (Egypt) we can instead read m’tzorim – under siege, or m’tzarim – under distress. Likewise, we can read the word Pharaoh as pera’oh, a cause of troubles. Indeed, there are many situations where people find themselves under siege, or in distress - if not physical, then psychological and spiritual - to circumstances that we may encounter. The Haggaddah refers to some of these circumstances, albeit in a limited way.

We begin the Seder by opening our doors and declaring: “all who are hungry should come in and eat, all in need should enter and participate in the Pesach.”

Poverty is not necessarily a permanent state, and it certainly need not be. Studies say that most Americans will endure poverty at some point in their lives. And those in that period of misfortune are most likely to encounter something akin to slavery, while trying to make ends meet by working under unfair, demeaning, and sometimes even illegal circumstances, without health benefits or security. Over the last decade, the US Department of Agriculture has studied trends in food security, the ability of a household to provide for the nutritional needs of family members. It is estimated that in 2004 nearly 12% of all American households, 38.2 million people, were “food insecure,” and that trend has been on an upswing since 1999. In that year, nearly 4% of all American households, approximately 11 million people, experienced hunger, in the world’s wealthiest country. Poverty and hunger are forms of social and economic enslavement, as are unemployment, underemployment, lack of access to health care, and homelessness, conditions driving one deeper into the m’tzarim.

Today’s economy demands a higher education in order in order to compete for jobs and to find some measure of financial security. Yet, access to university becomes increasingly challenging as costs climb annually. State colleges and universities are often under funded, making it even more difficult for people of limited means to attain an undergraduate degree.

There is also the Fourth Child, the one with cognitive difficulties “who knows not how to ask,” who in elementary and secondary education is often overlooked, not given access to professionals who can coach her and help her function in society. Many such children in this country grow into adults who are relegated to a life in the shadows and dependent on diminishing supports for people who cannot fend for themselves. All these find themselves in m’tzarim.

No one depends on miracles to wrest them from these forms of modern day bondage. Even in Mitzrayim, God’s miracles were accompanied by the human agency of Moshe to stand before Pharaoh and demand the liberation of his people. In America today, there are millions of people living in distress and too few Moshes to stand up for them. In Darfur, millions live under daily threat to their lives, and there are too few Moshes to stand for them.

As Jews, the Torah reminds us repeatedly that we were slaves in Mitzrayim and that we should comport ourselves accordingly. If we cannot relate to the slavery of ancient Mitzrayim, then we should try to relate to the m’tzarim of our day. The call may be more subtle and lack the drama of a burning bush, but the call is there. We cannot all be a Moshe, but we are not exempt from doing the best that we can be. Passover serves as a reminder that there is a call, and like Moshe, we should stand ready to respond, “Hineni – here I am.”

Religious Answers to Katrina's Questions

In the days since the Gulf Coast was stricken by Hurricane Katrina, many rushed to ask the question, "Where was God in this disaster?" Indeed, the same question was asked only a few months ago after a tsunami struck much of southeastern Asia, bringing a sudden wave of destruction to lands bordering on the Indian Ocean. As such cataclysms occur, we are left with many whys - why so much destruction, so much death, especially of so many innocents, in this case the poorest of the poor in this country, one of the richest countries on earth.

Where was God?

Ultimately, any attempt to answer this question will lead to futility. Any answer is bound to raise new questions, each leaving more confusion in its wake. The most challenging questions in the theological realm focus on the existence of evil in this world. Isaiah speaks of it almost matter-of-factly when he says: "I form light and create darkness, I make Shalom and create evil - I, God, do all these things." (45:7) But this verse seems so harsh that when the sages coined the first of the morning blessings preceding the Shema using the same verse, they made one change: Praised be You... who forms light and creates darkness, makes Shalom and creates everything. Everything - to include suffering, catastrophe, evil. It is part of the order of the universe; we may question why, but the answers are beyond our comprehension, because we cannot peer into the mind of God any more than we can through our interpretation of the words of Tanakh, the Hebrew Bible, the expression of the Divine Will. We are told that there are "70 facets to Torah," that the same verse may yield diverse and disparate interpretations, and when it comes to our understanding of God, it is no less the case.

In the days following the tsunami, I turned to the many articles by religious leaders that were posted on the Internet. One interesting explanation came from Sir Jonathan Sacks, Chief Rabbi of Great Britain. Rabbi Sacks turned to Maimonides to explain that

Natural disasters... have no explanation other than that God, by placing us in a physical world, set life within the parameters of the physical. Planets are formed, tectonic plates shift, earthquakes occur, and sometimes innocent people die. To wish it were otherwise is in essence to wish that we were not physical beings at all. Then we would not know pleasure, desire, achievement, freedom, virtue, creativity, vulnerability and love. We would be angels - God's computers, programmed to sing His praise.

God may set the dynamics of nature in motion, but from there it would seem to function on its own, much like the watch once it leaves the hands of the watchmaker.

Rabbi Sacks, in his attempt to come to grips with the tsunami, says that our response to such disasters is not to seek understanding, but to attempt to become a partner in creation by bringing "comfort to the bereaved, [to] send healing to the injured and aid to those who have lost their livelihoods and homes."

But Maimonides also rejects the idea that natural calamity is meaningless and without reason. We cannot blame God for the way in which nature takes its toll on innocent victims, but we are also forced to understand what problems underlie the catastrophe.

Indeed, Rabbi Sacks' solution, to partner with God in the works of recovery is something that we have become good at doing. We all join in opening our pockets and lending a hand, in feeling a sense of solidarity with those who have suffered from disasters like Hurricane Katrina.

But what happens between the disasters? For millions of people, the levees that shield them from despair are very weak. Every day leads to new breaches that leave individuals and families foundering in the deluge, some who drown in the torrents with no one there to offer a lifeline. We overlook those disasters on a daily basis; we are only led to outrage when cataclysm strikes en masse. While Boston prepared to take in Katrina's refugees, it led an assault on its' homeless, taking what few belongings that they had to make their homes under overpasses. While Massachusetts worked to welcome those who lost everything to nature's fury, it forgot its own residents who lack access to health care and basic necessities of life.

Between the disasters, do we think about how our actions can further the damage done by these acts of nature? We may not be able to prevent natural disasters of this magnitude, but we can mitigate their impact by not developing wetlands; we may be able to minimize the number of losses by making it possible for people with lesser means to have the wherewithal to escape nature's wrath when it comes their way. We can prevent greater damage to life and property by making sure that needed resources are not misappropriated, by making sure that the funds needed to shore up the levies are not cut and that the personnel for emergency management and public safety are appropriate and available.

Disasters happen; they are a part of nature that God created. We cannot prevent these disasters from occurring. But we do play a part as custodians of that creation, and we sometimes have the power to mitigate the impact of these powerful events. Before we ask, "Where was God?" perhaps the appropriate question to be asked is "Where were we?"

Understanding Tish'ah B'Av Today

Note: A previous version of this article was published in 2003, but it is now expanded to reflect current realities. As I was completing my edits, I came across the following news brief:

Feast or fast?

A religious Israeli notable stirred outrage by saying that he will hold a feast on Tisha B’Av.

Avraham Burg, a former Labor Party lawmaker and Jewish Agency for Israel head whose father founded Israel’s National Religious Party, said in a radio interview that rather than abstain from food or drink on Tisha B’Av, the day that marks the destruction of the First and Second Temples, he and his family plan to hold a festive meal in celebration of Jerusalem’s reunification in the modern State of Israel.

The skullcap-wearing Burg’s defiance of Orthodox ritual drew quick censure from Israeli religious figures. “The existence of a State of Israel and the rebuilding of Jerusalem are still no replacement for our lost Temple,” NRP leader Zevulun Orlev said. (Jewish Telegraphic Agency, 11 August 2005)

This year, Tish'ah B'Av falls on Sunday, 14 August.

* * *

In August 1981, when I was beginning my year of studies at Hebrew University, I had my first meeting with my advisor, himself a Modern Orthodox oleh from the Boston area. Somehow, our conversation turned to the observance of Tish’ah B’Av (which had occurred some weeks earlier.) To my surprise, my advisor thought that Tish’ah B’Av was no longer relevant at a time when the Jewish people were returning to their homeland and had established a new state and were reestablishing religious and social institutions there.

My argument then was probably little different than it is today. I am not impressed by claims that Tish’ah B’Av is no longer relevant to us as we now celebrate 57 years of Jewish statehood. In fact, perhaps the existence of the state gives us all the more reason to be aware of that day’s importance.

Make no mistake about this: I am a blue and white dyed in the wool Zionist. I am not one of the Neturei Karta, those ultra Orthodox Jews who believe that, according to Jewish law, the establishment of a Jewish state before the coming of the messiah is illegitimate.

But I am afraid that Tish’ah B’Av is misunderstood.

Tish’ah B’Av is one of only two 25-hour fasts on the Jewish calendar. It commemorates a series of cataclysms in Jewish history that occurred on or around that date in different years. Both the first (in 586 BCE) and second (in 70 CE) Temples in Jerusalem were destroyed on Tish’ah B’Av. Commentators on the Torah claim that the report of the spies, which led to the grumbling of the Israelites and the 40 years of desert wandering, was given on that day. The expulsions from England in 1290, France in 1306, and Spain in 1492 (the same day that Columbus set sail) also took place on Tish’ah B’Av. World War I (which led to World War II and the Holocaust) began on the same date on the Hebrew calendar.

Yet Tish’ah B’Av is less about disasters that befell our people than about what precipitates disaster.

In focusing on the origins of this fast day, the Talmud offers an explanation why the Temples were destroyed. It tells us that the first temple was destroyed because of idolatry, adultery, and wanton bloodshed; the second because of the wanton hatred (sin’at hinnam) that was rampant among the Jewish people at that time.

The history of the Second Temple period is replete with accounts of the fratricidal politics of the Hasmonean dynasty and the House of Herod, and the divisions among the numerous sects of the day, including the Pharisees, Sadducees, Essenes, Zealots, Sicarii, and others. These were days when Jews thought little of taking the blood of their brethren for political gain, and where political and religious sniping were commonplace. Divisions lasted into the very siege of Jerusalem, when different groups vied for power in a hopeless situation that was further exacerbated by domestic divisiveness.

The Talmudic story of Qamtza and Bar Qamtza, presented as the (metaphorical?) cause of Jerusalem’s downfall in 70 CE, speaks to the destructive power of frail and inflexible egos, demonstrating how one tragic mistake can lead to disaster. Someone hosting a banquet sent a messenger to invite a man named Qamtza to his party, but the messenger delivered the invitation to his rival, Bar Qamtza, instead. When Bar Qamtza appeared at the event, the host moved to have his rival evicted. Seeking to avoid public humiliation, Bar Qamtza offered to pay the costs of the party if the host would allow him to remain. But the host, in the presence of the leaders of the community, stood his ground. Insulted, Bar Qamtza plotted against the leaders of Jerusalem and manufactured evidence against them, informing the Roman rulers that they were engaged in planning an insurrection. The story continues with further details of poor judgment and perilous errors that led to the destruction of the city.

The point of these stories, apocryphal as they might be, is not to present historical facts of events that occurred, but to teach about the conceptual backdrop to these historical events. As much as we can blame Rome for the destruction of the Second Temple, we can look inward to what allowed for that defeat to take place.

The question for today is this: Is the internal Jewish condition any better today than it was in 70 CE? Whether we look at Israel or at our situation in the Diaspora, the answer is: “probably not.” We may be above the cloak and dagger operations of the ancient Sicarii, though we have come perilously close to bloodshed from time to time. In the religious sphere, no camp is willing to surrender its claim to the truth, and all are guilty of verbal or political acts against others in the service of God.

In Israel, we have seen the assassination of one prime minister on the accusation of treason by a religious zealot, and the vituperation of the accusations hurled from one camp against the other continues the spirit that led to that murder. We are blessed with prosperity, opportunity, and freedom in the Diaspora, and in Israel we are blessed with political independence in our ancestral homeland. But our behavior often shows how little we have learned from the rabbis who sought to teach us some important lessons in the Talmudic account mentioned earlier, and others like it, about the infighting that has sapped our strength as a people during critical junctures of our history.

This year, Tish’ah B’Av marks another painful moment in our history. As of midnight immediately following Tish’ah B’Av, it is no longer lawful for Jews to remain in the Gaza Strip, by order of the Government of the State of Israel. It doesn’t matter what position one takes on Israeli politics and policy, whether one is dove or hawk, right wing or left, secular or religious, the expulsion of Jews by Jews is painful to accept. The disruption of lives built over decades in communities deserves sympathy. And the emotional pain that will be experienced by those given the task of carrying out the orders of expulsion in the days following Tish’ah B’Av deserves our consideration as well.

But there is a difference. Israel lives today under the rule of law in a democratic state. Its policies, like them or not, are promulgated out by those elected by the people and charged with making the decisions that affect their daily lives. A democratic society must be open to disagreement and debate, but in the end, dina d’malchuta dina, “the law of the state is the law.” The efforts of some, especially of rabbis and religious individuals, to take exception to that dictum and to encourage violations of the law, to persuade soldiers to refuse orders or desert, is reprehensible.

As we mark Tish’ah B’Av, we should dwell less on the destruction brought upon us by outsiders but on the destructiveness of our divisiveness, and our apparent inability to find unity within our diversity. Until such a time when the Jewish people can dwell peacefully together, we should continue to fast on Tish’ah B’Av, in the hope that the hunger that we feel on that day will make us think of how we might suffer more if we, as a people, cannot learn to live as one.

Pope John Paul II: Not just historic, but heroic

Pope John Paul II @ Kotel, originally uploaded by markinma.

For a Jew, the institution of the papacy is a foreign concept. So one is tempted to ask: Why should the death of a pope be significant to us? Despite the lack of an institutional bond with the papacy, many of us still feel a sense of loss for John Paul II. We had disagreements with the man, to be sure, but we need to look at the bigger picture, and in this case, that picture was of a man who could teach lessons to all of humanity, regardless of creed.

Karol Wojtyla was a product of his times in the best possible sense. Born in southern Poland, he grew up in an environment where Jews and Catholics intermingled and interacted in each other’s lives. As a child, he had many Jewish friends. Earlier this week, an Israeli daily published a letter written by a Jewish childhood friend of the young Karol testifying not only to the closeness between the future pope and the Jews of his community, but also to the reunion of these old friends when John Paul made his pilgrimage to Israel in 2000. They maintained a personal correspondence ever since.

As a young man, he was profoundly influenced by the destruction of the Jews of Poland and Europe. A more cynical witness might have ascribed the decimation of European Jewry to historical errors of the Jews and found theological rationale for it. But throughout his life he preferred in this regard to drive theology towards building bridges and mending the ways of the past that led to such wholesale destruction. A Polish professor from Krakow’s ancient Jagiellonian University told me nearly 20 years ago of his personal experience as a seminary student of Wojtyla’s, about the future pope’s real love for Jews, his respect for Judaism, and his pain over the Shoah.

John Paul II may not have been a trailblazer when it came to building relations between the Roman Catholic Church and Jews. That honor must rest with John XXIII, who in the early 1960s convened the Second Vatican Council that promulgated numerous reforms, among them Nostra Aetate, a document that removed the basis for anti-Semitism from the theology and teachings of the Church. But if not a trailblazer, John Paul II was the enforcer in ways that few could imagine. He not only talked about relations with Jews, he set personal examples.

In 1986, he visited Rome’s major synagogue and embraced its rabbi. In his travels, he sought out leaders of Jewish communities. He established diplomatic ties with the State of Israel, an act that in fact defied the old theology of supercessionism, which believed that the Jews were exiled from their homeland for rejecting Jesus. And in a poignant moment, a humble pope stood alone, dwarfed by the stones of the Kotel, and prayed for forgiveness, and in keeping with the Jewish tradition, stuck a note between its cracks.

Several papal pronouncements declared anti-Semitism “a sin against God and man” and raised questions about the practice of proselytizing. And in our own greater Boston community, let us not forget how he honored Leonard Zakim, himself a builder of bridges, shortly before Zakim’s untimely death. To recount the ways in which he made efforts to heal the scars left by two millennia of hatred and bloodletting was not just historic, it was heroic. That heroism was already evident as a young priest who returned a Jewish child in the foster care of Christians during the Shoah to his Jewish family.

The pontificate of John Paul II did not stop at the work towards reconciliation between Catholics and Jews. This pope possessed a deep love for humanity and a profound drive towards social justice. It was not above this man, cloaked in the regalia of his high office, to sit in prayer with prisoners or to reach out to the downtrodden in society. He used his office to speak out against repressive regimes in ways that few religious leaders have done.

Certainly, there were moments of conflict between this pope and the Jewish community. But no one could ever accuse him of anti-Semitic animus. The following comment, made before a Jewish group, perhaps captures the spirit of his reign and his work towards reconciliation: “I am convinced, and I am happy to state it on this occasion, that the relationships between Jews and Christians have radically improved in these years. Where there was ignorance and therefore prejudice and stereotypes, there is now growing mutual knowledge, appreciation and respect. There is above all, love between us; that kind of love, I mean, which is for both of us a fundamental injunction of our religious traditions… Love involves understanding. It also involves frankness and the freedom to disagree in a brotherly way where there are reasons for it.”

There is a tension in some traditional religious communities, Jews among them, to isolate the community from “outsiders” to protect it from influences of the outside world. There is also a fundamental flaw in such a mindset. While one always runs a risk through exposure to outside ideas, perhaps one runs a greater risk by fostering ignorance, which fosters hatred, which fosters bloodshed. From the openness of Karol Wojtyla and the Jews of his native Wadowice, the world would learn lessons of hope for humanity, the dignity of difference and the respect for that which was created in the Divine image. May his successors to the throne of St. Peter have the strength and courage to carry on in that spirit.

Yehi zichro baruch. May his memory be a blessing.

Chanukah, from a broader perspective

Of the holidays that appear on the Jewish calendar, Chanukah is the most recent, one of the most widely celebrated, and probably the least understood. It is most recent in that it commemorates events that occurred after the Biblical period which ended with the construction of the Second Temple. It is so widely celebrated because of its proximity with the darkest days of the year, a season celebrated by nearly all peoples from time immemorial, and for us in the Christian-dominated world, given its proximity to Christmas. But what is Chanukah all about?

Most people will be able to answer that Chanukah celebrates the victory of the Maccabees over the Greeks who had imposed their cult and culture over Judea during the second century BCE. Judah Maccabee, son of Mattathias the priest, led a guerrilla army in battles against the vastly greater Syrian Greek forces, ultimately liberating the Temple that the Hellenists profaned and reinstating the service there. Then there is the story of the miracle of the oil that lasted eight days. We are all familiar with those stories.

But while Chanukah celebrates a victory, it does not celebrate the end of the war. The campaign continued for more than two years, ending in the spring of 161 BCE with the defeat of Nicanor. If we look at historical sources such as the books of the Maccabees, we will find reference to a one-day holiday celebrating that final victory. What ever happened to that celebration of the war's conclusion?

We are never given a discreet response to that question. But we have sufficient evidence to suggest several explanations.

The end of the war unleashed a bitter period in Jewish self-rule, one that was, in part, responsible for the Roman conquest of Jerusalem in 63 BCE and the destruction of the Temple in 70 CE. The Hasmonean dynasty became known for its ruthlessness. It was corrupted by wealth and power, knowing no bounds when seeking to advance their interests. Historical sources are replete with accounts of bloodshed, even fratricide, among its principals. Eventually, this divisive and destructive behavior held the door open for Rome when it entered the fray and took control of Judea in 63 BCE.

The ultimate arbiters of the holiday, what would or would not be celebrated and how, were the rabbis of the Talmud. Their texts give Chanukah short shrift. Little is mentioned of the observance of Chanukah in the Talmud. And the celebration of Nicanor Day, the day that celebrates the final Hasmonean victory, is nowhere to be found in rabbinic sources.

This absence may be intentional. The rabbis may have been ambivalent about Chanukah, the militarism surrounding it, and the ultimate rise of the dynasty that lacked the sense of mission and the heroism of its forebears. Violence may be acceptable only to meet limited objectives, for the defense of the people and their ability to live as Jews. The historical sources indicate that those objectives were met at the point when the Maccabees secured the Temple, and the reversal of the edicts that robbed the Jews of their religious freedom. But beyond that, their battles were for political reasons; even during the remainder of the revolt, some who had fought alongside the Maccabees broke away from them at this point, seeking negotiated diplomatic solutions to meet their goals.

The selection of Zechariah 2:14 – 4:7 for the haftarah on the Shabbat of Chanukah offers some interesting insights. This haftarah presents two visions, the first of the high priest appearing in filthy garments. He changed into priestly garb, and then told that “if you walk in My paths and keep My charge, you in turn will rule My House and guard My courts.” (3:7) The second vision is that of the menorah fed oil directly from olive trees standing on either side of the menorah, untouched by human hands. The significance of the vision is then explained to the prophet: “Not by might, nor by power, but by My spirit–said the LORD of hosts.” (4:6) The message here is twofold: The later Hasmonean priest/kings did not lead by following in God’s path, but were corrupted by their appetite for power. While the use of military force was appropriate up to a point, the abuse of that power was seen in contradistinction to God’s spirit as a force for protection and sustenance.

The rabbis were less interested in the use of force to meet political ends, and at times show a preference towards compromise and negotiation. The most famous example is the story of Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakkai, who arranged to have himself smuggled out of Jerusalem in a coffin during the Roman siege leading up to the destruction of the Second Temple, to negotiate with the general (and soon to be emperor) Vespasian. The Talmudic accounts of the events leading up to the destruction of the Temple do not speak well of those who sought to prevent any settlement, those who chose the all-or-nothing approach that ultimately led to catastrophe.

Nicanor Day, the day that once celebrated the final victory of the Maccabees, was not entirely lost in Jewish tradition. In an ironic twist, Nicanor Day, which was celebrated on the 13th of Adar, is now the date of the Ta’anit Esther, the fast of Esther.

The subtleties of the holiday exist to teach an important lesson: that power and force have their uses, but they must also be checked. Without a clearly defined sense of purpose, without goals that are above reproach, and without a willingness to seek alternative means to address further concerns, a well-deserved victory may ultimately become the source of ignominious defeat.

The War Prayer

I first came across Mark Twain's The War Prayer while browsing in Border's in Downtown Boston a few months after 9/11. The people at HarperCollins made the wise decision to reprint an edition that was published in 1968, one that was illustrated with drawings by John Groth, an artist and war correspondent. It was one of those books that, upon picking it up, I could not leave the store without.

The story behind this story is an interesting one. Twain wrote it in 1904/1905, during the Philippine-American War, and it was rejected for publication in Harper's Magazine. When he later read it to family members and close friends, it was suggested that if he were to publish it, it would be regarded as a sacrilege. Albert Bigelow Paine, Twain's biographer, recounts that he was asked if he would still publish it. "'No,' he said, 'I have told the whole truth in that, and only dead men can tell the truth in this world. It can be published after I am dead.'" Twain died in 1910, and Paine's biography was published in 1912, but The War Prayer remained unpublished until 1923.

The War Prayer is a very powerful statement, a reminder that we need to be careful of what we pray for especially in a time of war. Few of us have witnessed the reality of war's desolation, even in this day of mass media. Our government has very thoughtfully shielded us from the pictures that I grew up with during the Vietnam war, pictures of flag draped coffins being offloaded at Dover AFB, or worse, the pictures of our escapades in Iraq found in Michael Moore's Fahrenheit 9/11. Twain's words paint the awful picture for us with his words, and the printed edition with Groth's drawings is all the more devestating for the reader.

I include it here because I believe it is an important read.

You can find the text of The War Prayer on any number of websites; the text is in the public domain. This text copied from:
http://www.spinelessbooks.com/warprayer/

The War Prayer
Mark Twain

It was a time of great and exalting excitement. The country was up in arms, the war was on, in every breast burned the holy fire of patriotism; the drums were beating, the bands playing, the toy pistols popping, the bunched firecrackers hissing and spluttering; on every hand and far down the receding and fading spread of roofs and balconies a fluttering wilderness of flags flashed in the sun; daily the young volunteers marched down the wide avenue gay and fine in their new uniforms, the proud fathers and mothers and sisters and sweethearts cheering them with voices choked with happy emotion as they swung by; nightly the packed mass meetings listened, panting, to patriot oratory which stirred the deepest deeps of their hearts, and which they interrupted at briefest intervals with cyclones of applause, the tears running down their cheeks the while; in the churches the pastors preached devotion to flag and country, and invoked the God of Battles beseeching His aid in our good cause in outpourings of fervid eloquence which moved every listener. It was indeed a glad and gracious time, and the half dozen rash spirits that ventured to disapprove of the war and cast a doubt upon its righteousness straightway got such a stern and angry warning that for their personal safety's sake they quickly shrank out of sight and offended no more in that way.

Sunday morning came—next day the battalions would leave for the front; the church was filled; the volunteers were there, their young faces alight with martial dreams—visions of the stern advance, the gathering momentum, the rushing charge, the flashing sabers, the flight of the foe, the tumult, the enveloping smoke, the fierce pursuit, the surrender! Then home from the war, bronzed heroes, welcomed, adored, submerged in golden seas of glory! With the volunteers sat their dear ones, proud, happy, and envied by the neighbors and friends who had no sons and brothers to send forth to the field of honor, there to win for the flag, or, failing, die the noblest of noble deaths. The service proceeded; a war chapter from the Old Testament was read; the first prayer was said; it was followed by an organ burst that shook the building, and with one impulse the house rose, with glowing eyes and beating hearts, and poured out that tremendous invocation God the all-terrible! Thou who ordainest! Thunder thy clarion and lightning thy sword!

Then came the “long” prayer. None could remember the like of it for passionate pleading and moving and beautiful language. The burden of its supplication was, that an ever-merciful and benignant Father of us all would watch over our noble young soldiers, and aid, comfort, and encourage them in their patriotic work; bless them, shield them in the day of battle and the hour of peril, bear them in His mighty hand, make them strong and confident, invincible in the bloody onset; help them to crush the foe, grant to them and to their flag and country imperishable honor and glory —

An aged stranger entered and moved with slow and noiseless step up the main aisle, his eyes fixed upon the minister, his long body clothed in a robe that reached to his feet, his head bare, his white hair descending in a frothy cataract to his shoulders, his seamy face unnaturally pale, pale even to ghastliness. With all eyes following him and wondering, he made his silent way; without pausing, he ascended to the preacher's side and stood there waiting. With shut lids the preacher, unconscious of his presence, continued with his moving prayer, and at last finished it with the words, uttered in fervent appeal, “Bless our arms, grant us the victory, O Lord our God, Father and Protector of our land and flag!”

The stranger touched his arm, motioned him to step aside—which the startled minister did—and took his place. During some moments he surveyed the spellbound audience with solemn eyes, in which burned an uncanny light; then in a deep voice he said:

I come from the Throne—bearing a message from Almighty God!” The words smote the house with a shock; if the stranger perceived it he gave no attention. “He has heard the prayer of His servant your shepherd, and will grant it if such shall be your desire after I, His messenger, shall have explained to you its import—that is to say, its full import. For it is like unto many of the prayers of men, in that it asks for more than he who utters it is aware of—except he pause and think.

“God's servant and yours has prayed his prayer. Has he paused and taken thought? Is it one prayer? No, it is two—one uttered, the other not. Both have reached the ear of Him Who heareth all supplications, the spoken and the unspoken. Ponder this—keep it in mind. If you would beseech a blessing upon yourself, beware! lest without intent you invoke a curse upon a neighbor at the same time. If you pray for the blessing of rain upon your crop which needs it, by that act you are possibly praying for a curse upon some neighbor's crop which may not need rain and can be injured by it.

“You have heard your servant's prayer—the uttered part of it. I am commissioned of God to put into words the other part of it—that part which the pastor—and also you in your hearts—fervently prayed silently. And ignorantly and unthinkingly? God grant that it was so! You heard these words: ‘Grant us the victory, O Lord our God!’ That is sufficient. The whole of the uttered prayer is compact into those pregnant words. Elaborations were not necessary. When you have prayed for victory you have prayed for many unmentioned results which follow victory—must follow it, cannot help but follow it. Upon the listening spirit of God fell also the unspoken part of the prayer. He commandeth me to put it into words. Listen!

“O Lord our Father, our young patriots, idols of our hearts, go forth to battle—be Thou near them! With them—in spirit—we also go forth from the sweet peace of our beloved firesides to smite the foe. O Lord our God, help us to tear their soldiers to bloody shreds with our shells; help us to cover their smiling fields with the pale forms of their patriot dead; help us to drown the thunder of the guns with the shrieks of their wounded, writhing in pain; help us to lay waste their humble homes with a hurricane of fire; help us to wring the hearts of their unoffending widows with unavailing grief; help us to turn them out roofless with little children to wander unfriended the wastes of their desolated land in rags and hunger and thirst, sports of the sun flames of summer and the icy winds of winter, broken in spirit, worn with travail, imploring Thee for the refuge of the grave and denied it—for our sakes who adore Thee, Lord, blast their hopes, blight their lives, protract their bitter pilgrimage, make heavy their steps, water their way with their tears, stain the white snow with the blood of their wounded feet! We ask it, in the spirit of love, of Him Who is the Source of Love, and Who is the ever-faithful refuge and friend of all that are sore beset and seek His aid with humble and contrite hearts. AMEN.

After a pause:

“Ye have prayed it; if ye still desire it, speak! The messenger of the Most High waits!”

It was believed afterward that the man was a lunatic, because there was no sense in what he said.

They call this "morals?"

One of the most contentious elections in US history is now behind us, but the ramifications of it are likely to live on for the remainder of what I hope will be a long lifetime to come. I say this not only because we have seen a ballooning deficit created out of a surplus during the first act of Bush 43, a deficit that my children will be saddled with during their adult lives, but because the next four years are likely to bring several resignations from the Supreme Court. A president with the illusion of a "mandate," and a Senate more conservative in numbers, are likely to nominate and approve justices who will turn the clock back on advances in civil rights and social justice that we have witnessed during the latter half of the 20th Century.

Finally, George W. Bush is elected President by the people, four years after his election by the Supreme Court. After a long and arduous campaign against Senator John F. Kerry, a campaign where he was bested by his opponent's superior command of policy, where he saw consistent defeat in debates, at a time when the failure of his policies at home and abroad were made abundantly manifest, he won.

As one British tabloid asked on its front page, "How can 59,054,087 people be so DUMB?"

One answer we are given from some exit polls has to do with morals. People thought George W. Bush was more moral than John Kerry. Seriously. Several exit polls showed consistent results: of a number of issues including Iraq, terrorism, the economy, and taxes, the largest single group of respondents (between 20 - 22%) said that the most impoprtant issue that determined how they voted had to do with the moral stance of the candidate, and 80% of those respondents voted for the president.

We need to give this proposition serious consideration on several levels. One has to do with the changing nature of political discourse in America. We are supposedly one of the most religious countries on earth. Religious values play a major part in the lives of Americans, and this is something that Republicans have learned to manipulate very well since Reagan was president.

But as a religious person myself, I have to question this talk of religion and morals. What is it about these religious morals that drove 20 % of American voters to the polls for President Bush? What his campaign had to offer these people is two thirds of the unspoken "G-string" mantra of Guns, God, and Gays. Leaving guns aside for the purpose of this discussion, Bush 43 offered an enhanced role for religion in public life through the promotion of his "faith based initiative." No doubt, religious institutions play an important role in the welfare of society. Some, supported by a particular faith group and inspired by a sense of religious mission, operate in a non-sectarian manner, employing people and serving people of all faiths without the overtones of creed or confession, and these organizations and agencies have been the beneficiaries of of state and federal support for some time now (I serve on the board of one such organization.) That is different from an agency or program that uses religious adherence, ideals or dogmas as a selective process for employment or as part of their service delivery - something which our federal tax dollars should not support in violation of the First Amendment. But this is something that our government does now, and it scores points with many who chose not to separate their lives in faith from their lives in a society with others who do not share their faith. Likewise, the administration's support for school vouchers will allow more children to attend religious private schools at the expense of the taxpayer and at a cost to public education.

What concerns me more than these infractions of our civil code is the type of selectivity that the religious right and the administration seems so focused upon, while leaving other sacred values shared by the religious communities represented in the US today ignored. Think about the issues of greatest concern to the religious right today and what do you come up with? They are, ostensibly, issues related to sexuality and reproduction. Abortion, sex/abstinence education, restrictions on AIDS prevention programs, same sex marriage, embryonic stem cell research - all items revolving around very primal issues. To the non-initiated, it would seem that this is the major thrust of American religion.

But there is another side to this moral divide, the part that, sadly, we hear little about within the religious and moral values rubric of politics today. Have we forgotten that social imperatives such as feeding the poor, caring for the orphan and the widow, have their roots in the Bible? What about fair employment practices? What about proper custodianship over the environment; does that not find its roots in the Bible? The sanctity of life and preservation of health? The education of children and the respect for our elders? All of these are not liberal values, they stem from the bedrock of the faiths to which the majority of Americans adhere. And these values were scarcely heard during the first term of Bush 43, and they were rarely expressed during his (re)election campaign.

While the Democratic Party supports these values, it tends to express them outside the rubric of religion and morals. These are social objectives met by strategic policy. And while keeping to the sterile language of policy debate, perhaps the Democratic Party does itself and the country a disservice. This was not the case during the fight for civil rights and racial equality, where the the major advocates wore clerical titles like Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. and Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, just to name a few, who spoke out with "moral grandeur and spiritual audacity" against the injustices of American society. Their rhetoric, like the rhetoric used today by the GOP, was peppered with biblical references and spiritual meaning, yet approached in an inclusive manner that could engage Jew and Gentile, Catholic and Protestant, in a sacred cause.

As Democrats, we stand for sacred values, values enshrined in faith and scripture. Read, if you will, Isaiah 58, the prophetic reading for the morning of Yom Kippur that places the ritual of fasting in perspective: "This is the fast that I desire: to unlock the fetters of wickedness, and untie the cords of wickedness to let the oppressed go free; to break off every yoke. It is to share your bread with the hungry, and to take the wretched poor into your home; when you see the naked, to clothe him, and not to ignore your own kin." Is this the spirit in which the Republicans and their religious cohorts have ruled these past four years? We needn't think long and hard for an answer. This is not the rhetoric we hear from the religious voices in politics today, but perhaps that is a void that needs to be filled.

Instead, we get the Republican proposal that we build a "culture of life" in America. But just how hypocritical can they become when this "culture of life" does not extend to life beyond the uterus? How futile is it when it cares only for the fetus? We have a party that advocates capital punishment and a president who has put more convicts to death than the most successful serial killers. We have a president and a Congress that has sent over a thousand troops and an unknown number of civilians to their deaths in an illegitimate war of dubious value - and let us not forget the tens of thousands of the wounded. We have Americans without health insurance and unable to afford needed medications. We have families struggling to survive, to make ends meet, sometimes unraveling at the seams under the stress of life in America today. If we are to have a real culture of life, we need to take care of the living before the unwanted unborn who will only come into a world that will cast them aside and care nothing for them later.

Religious fervor can be a great thing. It can be a balm to cure an ailing society. But in the wrong hands, it can be a bomb that will rend it asunder, with a force that will alienate people from a just and loving Creator. A diverse and democratic society cannot survive if any one faith claims a monopoly on truth and imposes that one truth on its citizens; if so it becomes a society that loses its democratic character and imposes its will upon those of us who don't share that point of view, and we revert from being "citizens" to "subjects." Part of the social contract in contemporary democracies is that we seek out the common denominators, but we recognize and respect the diversity that our religious faiths and legal traditions bring to a greater society; we learn from them, but at times we set them aside for the greater good. We fear not the wrath of a vengeful God; we seek the care of a merciful and compassionate God who will bless our efforts to build a society that will care for the entirety of the Divine creation and will seek to glorify God, each one in accordance with the dictates of his or her creed and conscience.

For us, now, as Democrats, we need to seek out people of faith who will forcefully and passionately preach the gospel of tolerance, diversity, dignity, and respect as a moral imperative. We must learn to clothe our goals in garments of righteousness, to speak the language of sanctity in a greater society. Short of that, we will lose to those who preach their narrowness within the context of a hollow holiness, and the great evolving experiment of American democracy will suffer the fate of so many nations that have fallen under the weight of their faith built upon hubris.