A Stranger in a Strange Land: The Fight For America

A Stranger in a Strange Land: The Fight For America

July 13th, 2024

Rabbi Gary S. Creditor

Rabbi Emeritus, Temple Beth-El, Richmond, Virginia

In 1956 my family moved from the Crown Heights section of Brooklyn, New York to Belleville, New Jersey, a small town north of Newark. Much in my life changed: now living in a garden apartment instead of a three floor walk-up; large areas of grass around the complex instead of city streets; driving to go shopping instead of the store across the street. And now, most of my classmates in public school were Christian instead of Jewish. I was only eight years old, had not yet attended Religious School and knew almost nothing about being Jewish, other than I was, and that my grandparents all were European born and spoke Yiddish. But this move changed my world and changed me.

On my third grade teacher’s desk and on every homeroom teacher’s desk through twelfth grade, there was, in addition to anything else, a Roget’s Thesaurus, a Webster’s Dictionary, and a King James edition of the Bible. This is how every single public school day began:

Up and down the rows each student had to select a Psalm to read out loud, except for a few that were too short or too long;

Then the class recited “The Lord’s Prayer” with some appending a few additional sentences, upon which they crossed themselves.
The Pledge of Allegiance.
Then we warbled the Star Spangled Banner.

It was quite startling for an eight year old to lose his innocence and naiveté.

I had never seen a Bible, never mind one so large.
I had never read Psalms. None of them.
I had no idea what was the “Lord’s Prayer,”
And had never seen anyone make the sign of the cross over their chest.

And this was in public school which I attended for all but one year from K to 12. Uneducated as I was, as young as I was, I was in culture shock. And I was totally unprepared to respond to my third grade teacher when she asked me: “Why aren’t you reciting ‘The Lord’s Prayer?” The best that this child could muster was: “It’s not mine.” I was never asked again.

This would not be the end of my transformational experience. Sometime in December a Christmas tree appeared in the corner of the room. All students were required to make decorations to hang on the tree. After a secret exchange of names, all students were required to bring Christmas presents. Then significant classroom time was devoted to learning and singing Christmas hymns, with a small selection of “seasonal” songs. I was asked, really told, to leave the high school choir when I refused to sing the hymns. And one day a classmate ran his hands through my hair asking: “Where are your horns?” I was perplexed, mystified, and ashamed.

I might have been born in America.
English might have been my native language.
I might have rooted for the Brooklyn Dodgers, though I was in Yankee territory.
My father also born in Brooklyn, New York served in World War II and was in the Philippines preparing to invade Japan.

But I was a stranger in a strange land.

I would eventually learn that my experience in Brooklyn, New York was the exception and not the rule. There were times I rued my parent’s decision. Many times in my seventy-five years I have had that feeling. The reverse feeling was landing in Ben Gurion airport, even the old, original one. Without explanation or contemplation, but with Hebrew language to see and hear, with and without kipot, I was home. Even if I knew nothing else, I was not a stranger any more. Everything could be unfamiliar, but at least it was mine.

It has been a long struggle for the United States to recognize and acclimate to the fact that this country is not a melting pot where everyone who is different is supposed to relinquish their original characteristics, cuisine, culture and faith. This country is a patchwork quilt of people from different places, with different faiths, with different customs, with different languages. It has taken a myriad of court cases to have all of us accepted as equal Americans, so no little third grade boy or girl would have to feel like I felt, experience what I experienced, and think that they were strangers in a strange land.

And our work is not done.

The United States is not a Christian nation, even if a majority of its citizens are of Christian faith. The founders of the country knew from experience that Christianity in not only not monolithic, but that the denominations of Christianity are highly antagonistic and even hostile to each other, fighting many wars, as was the experience of Europe. They wanted to keep that far, far away. George Washington deeply understood this when he wrote his famous letter to the Jews of Newport, Rhode Island. Due to continuing immigration to America, the different groups have multiplied and grown to our benefit. Asian markets, Halal markets exist alongside Empire Kosher in Trader Joe and Wegmans. A plethora of Kosher symbols are found on packaging. The Vice-President’s husband in Jewish!

There is no return to the supposed “good old days.”

The United States in not a nation founded on Christian faith. At best, they were tepid Deists, who believed in God who would bless their endeavors. There was no requirement to confess belief in Jesus when taking an oath, just the generic “God.” The founders drew their basic ideas from many philosophers who believed in Natural Law and not the Bible. In fact, it is easier to footnote the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution from Jewish sources than any other. This nation is united not by any one theology, but rather by the crucial and critical beliefs in the holiness of every person, the right of everyone to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, and that we all live under the rule of law as I stressed last week. We are a nation where every difference is honored, respected and celebrated. We are a nation where a black man, Willie Mays, can be honored and adored by teammate and opponent, by Jew and Christian, from San Francisco to New York, because of the man he was, the moral exemplar he was off the field more than the athlete he was on it. We are a nation who believes in the goodness of humanity.

And now the torch is passed to us, to keep it this way and go further. People of every origin, every faith, and every color must unite to elect officials from the lowest to the highest who will respect all of us, who will unite us and not divide us, who will fight against hate of anyone, who will elicit from us dedication and patriotism to protect and defend our civil rights, our human rights.

America needs leaders with moral courage.

The torch to which President Kennedy referred in his only inaugural address is passed not only to a new generation, it is passed to all generations alive, so that it will illuminate the future generations of this great experiment in human history. The Lady in the Harbor beckons us with her torch,

Not to be silent
Not to be complacent
Not to be reticent
Not to be restrained.

It is the time for our voices.
It is the time for our votes.
It is the time for our financial support of candidates who will grasp this torch with us.

There is no time to waste. There is no time for delay.
Our children are watching us.
Our grandchildren are watching us.
Dare I say, God is watching us.

Let this torch of freedom, of democracy, of honor and respect, shine brightly, “From sea to shining sea.” And none shall make us afraid.

Shabbat Shalom