Tisha B'Av 
Fri Aug 14, 2009 at 19:23:39 PM EDT
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By Robin Podolsky
The week spanning Tisha B’Av and Tu B’Av, aside from the respite of Shabbat Nachamu, brought a lot of mourning, especially for children. First came the cuts to California’s budget.
Since I posted last (http://www.jspot.org/showDiary.do;jsessionid=4F46E667212F1A852915BFC67C7BDE24?diaryId=2198), California Governor Arnold Schwarznegger has used his line-item veto to take $50 million more from Healthy Families (children’s health insurance); $79 million from Child Welfare Services, and $52 million from the Office of AIDS Prevention and Treatment, the latter amounting to 60% of total state HIV/AIDS funding. (State Senate President pro Tem, Darryl Steinberg, plans to file a lawsuit against the line-item cuts. Go to http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/lanow/2009/08/steinberg-says-hell-sue-schwarzenegger-we-elected-a-governor-not-an-emperor.html. Neighborhood Legal Services of Los Angeles has also filed a lawsuit against these same cuts. Go to http://www.scpr.org/news/2009/08/14/GOV-SUIT-feature/)
The shanda is that these cuts were made without a serious effort at creating new revenues streams for the state. No oil severance tax; no closing of corporate tax loopholes. Because of the cuts, and because funds for cities and counties are being taken by the state (thereby reducing available money for fire protection, healthcare and other basic services), children and, for that matter, adults will die. (Who by fire; who by water; who before their time?).
So, Tisha B’Av. Many PJA-niks attended services hosted by the Shtible Minyan and Ikar, led by Rabbis Sharon Brous and Abraham Havivi. The Rabbis talked about how, whether we want a sacrificial Temple back or not (this writer does not), we are drawn into Tisha B'Av. It breaks open a pit that most of us usually pave over. It allows us to face the calamities of an unredeemed world – civilians mangled in wars, children dying of poverty. “Behold, this was the iniquity of thy sister Sodom: pride, fullness of bread, and careless ease was in her and in her daughters; neither did she strengthen the hand of the poor and needy.” (Ez: 16:49) Tisha B’Av lets us sit with these horrors knowing that Yom Kippur’s promise of redemption awaits us.
On the day of Tisha B'Av, I attended a town hall at The California Endowment called by State Senator Gil Cedillo to discuss “California's Future.” One of the speakers, Dr. Robert Ross of the Endowment (a reasonable, deliberate man, whom I have never heard to be so weary, angry or disheartened), also talked about the death of children. He said that, in California today, all the elements of that opportunity which the USA, at its best, distinguishes itself by offering -- healthcare: public education, affordable housing, transportation and economic development – are either flat-out dysfunctional or in disarray. He said that these cuts evidence a complete breakdown of the social contract; the link between people, government and civil society. They also do not make any fiscal sense. As Dr. Ross pointed out, some of the most heartless cuts—those to childhood immunization, and HIV/AIDS prevention, for example-- will cost far more in the long run than they save in the short run.
Many people writing and speaking about the budget cuts talk about the impact it will have on the “most vulnerable.” It is imprecise as well as impolitic to focus this discussion only on the “most vulnerable.” Actually, any of us could be the one whose ambulance or firefighter doesn't come in time or whose loved one becomes ill --or is killed on the street by someone who didn't get the care or supervision they needed. All of us will pay more, as taxpayers and as members of communities, for this shortsighted budget.
Finally, after a very long week, it was Shabbat Nachamu, a time of consolation. I enjoyed a healing dinner to celebrate the birthday of a loved friend; only to learn afterward that two teenagers had been shot to death while attending a social gathering at a Gay and Lesbian Youth Center in Tel Aviv.
So there we were, on Tu B’Av, brought together again to cry for murdered children. PJA Executive Director Elissa Barrett stood with Rabbi Denise Eger (Kol Ami, www.kolami.org), an open lesbian and President of the Southern California Board of Rabbis, Rabbi Lisa Edwards (Beth Chayim Chadashim, www.bcc-la.org), Rabbi Brous (IKAR, www.ikar.org), and many others speaking to a standing-room-only mixed multitude of denominations, sexual orientations and, genders. We came together to mourn on a day dedicated by tradition to love and promise. And love and promise there was, in our mutual support; the bracing agony of hope cutting through the temptation to despair.
We live in an unfinished world. Prior to any final redemption, no improvement is secure, none of our rights go unchallenged. We will never be “safe.” But there’s no getting away from the knowledge that, while we never control all the results of our choices, those choices do have results, in other people’s lives as well as our own. Hope or despair? Social solidarity or callousness? As Elissa Barrett reminded us, the gate of life is still open.
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Fri Jul 31, 2009 at 12:32:31 PM EDT
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Cross-posted from jbooks.com
Perhaps now is a good time to redefine the term "displaced person." Consider the remarks a former homeowner made in the New York Times, "It's amazing--when you have a home, you're thinking about vacations, or who you’re going to have over for dinner, or when should you do spring cleaning,” said Jody Crispin, adding: “When you don’t have a home, you don’t think about any of that stuff. All you think about is when I’m going to have a home again?” To make matters worse, Crispin told the Times that she had already missed several days of work, out of embarrassment at the prospect of admitting her housing situation to her colleagues, and now risked losing her job.
Once upon a time in America, a person who worked full time and saved carefully could reasonably expect to buy a home for his or her family. This home might not be large or fancy, and might be in a remote area, but home ownership remained in the grasp of most families.
Today, of course, many who realized the American dream of owning a home now face foreclosure, high debt, and uncertainty about the future. This destabilization of the norm has effects far beyond the realm of housing: people living with relatives or friends, in temporary housing, or under the threat of foreclosure may find themselves ill-able to manage other areas of life.
Jews are no strangers to the feeling of displacement that Crispin identifies. Throughout history, Jewish communities have moved from place to place in search of a secure and permanent home. These wanderings began with the destruction of the First Temple in 586 BCE and the subsequent expulsion of most Jews from Jerusalem, and continued through the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 CE; expulsions from Spain, Portugal, England, France, and other countries in the Middle Ages; escape from Nazi Germany and occupied Europe; and flight from Iran, Algeria, Afghanistan, and other places where the political climate became hostile to Jews in the 20th century.
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Thu Jul 30, 2009 at 10:13:26 AM EDT
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Cross-posted from jbooks.com Perhaps now is a good time to redefine the term "displaced person." Consider the remarks a former homeowner made in the New York Times, "It's amazing, when you have a home, you're thinking about vacations, or who you're going to have over for dinner, or when should you do spring cleaning,” said Jody Crispin, adding, "When you don't have a home, you don't think about any of that stuff. All you think about is when I'm going to have a home again?" To make matters worse, Crispin told the Times that she had already missed several days of work, out of embarrassment at the prospect of admitting her housing situation to her colleagues, and now risked losing her job.
Once upon a time in America, a person who worked full time and saved carefully could reasonably expect to buy a home for his or her family. This home might not be large or fancy, and might be in a remote area, but home ownership remained in the grasp of most families.
Today, of course, many who realized the American dream of owning a home now face foreclosure, high debt, and uncertainty about the future. This destabilization of the norm has effects far beyond the realm of housing: people living with relatives or friends, in temporary housing, or under the threat of foreclosure may find themselves ill-able to manage other areas of life.
Jews are no strangers to the feeling of displacement that Crispin identifies. Throughout history, Jewish communities have moved from place to place in search of a secure and permanent home. These wanderings began with the destruction of the First Temple in 586 BCE and the subsequent expulsion of most Jews from Jerusalem, and continued through the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 CE; expulsions from Spain, Portugal, England, France, and other countries in the Middle Ages; escape from Nazi Germany and occupied Europe; and flight from Iran, Algeria, Afghanistan, and other places where the political climate became hostile to Jews in the 20th century.
Jewish communities have experienced this intermittent homelessness not only as a material crisis, but also as an existential one. The liturgy, literature, and rituals that commemorate the numerous expulsions and escapes speak not only of a longing for physical safety, but also of a sense of loneliness and emotional displacement.
This commingling of emotional pain with concern for physical comfort and safety is most apparent in the literature and traditions of Tisha B’Av, the holiday that commemorates the destruction of the two Temples, and that has come to be understood as a day of mourning for dozens of tragedies throughout Jewish history.
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Thu Aug 07, 2008 at 10:25:41 AM EDT
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This sunday, August 10th, is Tisha B'Av - a historical day of Jewish mourning, originally tied to the date of the temple destruction and then added in over the centuries with layers of mourning for tragedies of Jewish history (e.g. the expulsion from Spain, the Holocaust). Every year I end up in conversations with my modern minded friends of diverse political persuasions who struggle with this day; its relevance to a politically empowered Jewish people; its Jewish-centered focus in the space of so much else that goes on in the world; its orientation of mourning for things lost that some may not wish to see returned (e.g. animal sacrifice). For myself, I seek to connect its core with our contemporary experience, and to see the connection with how those who lived in lamentation 2500 years ago experienced their world, and how we experience the world around us. Given my obession with coal miners, my friend Seth Winberg (a student at Chovevei Torah) reminded me today of the passage from Eicha (Lamentations 4:8) describing the scene in the streets of Jersualem in the days of destruction of the first temple. Their appearance has become blacker than soot, they are not recognized in the streets; their skin has shriveled on their bones, it became as dry as wood.
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