Reflections the week of George Floyd's Murder - Shabbat May 29, 2020

At the 1963 National Conference on Race and Religion, Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel spoke these words:

At the first conference on religion and race, the main participants were Pharaoh and Moses. The outcome of that summit meeting has not come to an end. Pharaoh is not ready to capitulate. The Exodus began, but is far from having been completed.

Friends, the exodus is still occurring. We are not yet all free to live, to breathe.

George Floyd died this week after uttering the same words Eric Garner did on that street corner almost six years ago. I can’t breathe.

After a police officer dug a knee into Floyd’s neck for over five minutes EVEN with eyewitnesses all around, EVEN with cameras rolling, he still kneeled, nonchalantly with hands in his pockets at times, as George Floyd managed to get out the words, Mama, Mama, Don’t kill me, don’t kill me and I can’t breathe.

Police officers are sworn to protect. Our friends in the African-American community deserve better, including Jews of color.

The targeting of black and brown bodies is a plague and here we are living a plague within a plague.

Lest we be too complacent and think we are well on our way since that officer has not only been fired but has been charged today with murder –which only happened by the way as a result of years of organizing and of current wide-spread local and national protest – we need only turn to another story from this week to see how quickly and easily race is weaponized.

In Central Park when Christian Cooper told a white woman to leash her dog, she called the police and blatantly lied saying, An African-American man is threatening my life. Why? Because she knows that that still gets a response. She knows the history on which she is leaning when she made that call, how so easily that scene could have ended differently and we’d be saying Chris Cooper’s name here in memory alongside that of George Floyd.

There’s a blessing we learn from the Talmud, “Blessed is the Wise One who knows our secrets” (that is, Blessed is the Wise One who knows everyone’s innermost thoughts).

If God were listening in (and God is), what would God hear? If we were to truly listen to ourselves, our secrets and our innermost thoughts (and we can), what would we hear?

Would we acknowledge the truth? Would we acknowledge our part to play in the systemic structures of racism in which we all participate? Or would we say, I’m not like them. I’m not like that police officer who dug his knee into George Floyd’s neck. I am not like that father-and-son duo in Georgia taking power into my own hands to shoot a jogging Ahmaud Arbery who seemingly doesn’t belong in ‘my’ neighborhood. I’m not like that woman weaponizing my whiteness to get my way in the Ramble in Central Park, flouting laws that are inconvenient to me like the leashing of my dog yet threatening to bring the full power of the police onto a man who dared to tell me I was in the wrong?

But the truth is we are like them. A little bit at least and sometimes a lot more. For we live in the milieu of a racist culture that second guesses best intentions, that wonders what George Floyd must have done to be detained in the first place, that watches wearily the unfamiliar in our neighborhoods and locks our doors, that bristles at the notion of someone telling us what to do, that cares more about property damage than the loss of life, that questions our patriotism if we speak out against the police, that questions what any of this has to do with race at all.

We must confront these notions, these biases, these pieces of our society, these pieces of our very selves that fester inside of us, we must root them out, if black men and women are going to live and breathe and be. We’re all walking around now in fear of a plague whereas our black brothers and sisters are always all the time walking around in fear of the plague of racism.

What does Torah teach us about how to act in this moment? Our Torah speaks of an ostracized people. It tells us a terrible tyrant. With few exceptions, no one in the surrounding society spoke up on our behalf. Our reading and re-reading of our story should shake and wake us up to the trials endured by the vulnerable today. For those of us in positions of privilege, it is not enough for us to just not abuse our power; no, we must use it for change and for good.

Our people have just concluded the holiday of Shavuot where we stood at Sinai and brought Torah close. From Torah, we learn how the Exodus started and never stopped, we learn how to be moral, how to be decent, how to be righteous. We are squandering that great gift if we don’t listen and pay attention and live out the words and commandments within. Do not murder. Do not stand idly by the blood of your neighbor. Love your neighbor as yourself. We do not understand or frankly deserve revelation if it does not open our eyes to the horrors in our midst and our complicity in that horror. We ascend the mountain and simultaneously descend into the pit.

We stand at Sinai and agree to take on Torah FOR A PURPOSE. To do the hard work of Torah, the hard, stubborn work of building a better place, a promised land, a repaired world. Revelation opens my eyes to see more clearly what I can do with my white skin and white privilege and what my fellow black and brown brothers and sisters cannot.

I can go birding, but Christian Cooper in his black skin cannot.
I can go jogging, but Amaud Arbery is shot dead doing the same.
I can relax in the comfort of my own home, but Bothem Sean and Atatiana Jefferson cannot. They, too, are shot dead.
I can ask for help after being in a car crash, but not Jonathan Ferrell and Renisha McBride.
I can have a cellphone, but not Stephon Clark.
I can leave a party to get to safety, but not Jordan Edwards.
I can play loud music (Jordan Davis).
I can sell CDs (Alton Sterling).
I can sleep (Aiyana Jones).
I can walk from the corner store (Mike Brown).
I can play cops and robbers (Tamir Rice).
I can go to my house of worship. (The Charleston 9).
I can walk home with Skittles (Trayvon Martin).
I can hold a hairbrush while leaving my own bachelor party (Sean Bell).
I can party on New Years (Oscar Grant).
I can get a normal traffic ticket (Sandra Bland).
I can lawfully carry a weapon (Philando Castile).
I can break down on a public road with car problems (Corey Jones).
I can shop at Walmart (John Crawford).
I can have a disabled vehicle (Terrence Crutcher).
I can read a book in my own car (Keith Scott).
I can be a 10yr old walking with our grandfather (Clifford Glover).
I can decorate for a party (Claude Reese).
I can ask a cop a question (Randy Evans).
I can cash a check in peace (Yvonne Smallwood).
I can take out my wallet (Amadou Diallo).
I can run (Walter Scott).
I can breathe (Eric Garner).
I can live (Freddie Gray).
I can sleep in my own bed (Breonna Taylor).
I CAN BE ARRESTED WITHOUT THE FEAR OF BEING MURDERED, but George Floyd cannot. George Floyd cannot do anything ever again.

When we are overwhelmed with all of the work we need to do, let us remind ourselves that while it is always probable that Goliath will win, sometimes… sometimes David does. Though the odds right now favor Goliath, our text and tradition teach us to strive with hope in our hearts and do our part to continue the Exodus right here and right now. We are David. We are hope. We are love. We are light.

Aleinu – it is on us. Aleinu – it is our responsibility. Aleinu, it is up to us to build a better world. Ken yhi ratzon – may it be God’s will.