|
||||
|
||||
        
The ESP of the Jewish Way of Life 
Roll your mouse over each circle to find the questions. Click on circles for more about Jewish ESP!
|
|
|||||
|
Daniel Pearl’s Last
Words: I am Jewish |
||||||
|
Nearly every Jew who was old enough remembers the horror
of hearing that Danny Pearl, a reporter for the Wall
Street
Journal who
had been abducted, had been murdered.What
made it all the more horrific was the fact that Pearl’s
last
moments and words were captured on videotape and later
delivered to the authorities by his captors.
In those final moments Pearl made a declaration of his identity as a Jew. His simple declarative statement: "My father is Jewish, my mother is Jewish, I am Jewish…" was, more than anything else, an affirmation of who he was at his core. The recently released book I am Jewish was compiled with the help of Danny’s parents, Judea and Ruth Pearl. Their goal in doing so was to create an inspirational book that would encourage people to reflect on their son’s last words, his affirmation, "I am Jewish." Their book is an attempt to capture the breath and depth of what that statement means to Jewish individuals and to further inspire Jewish people to reflect upon and take pride in their identity. The following are just a few of the many moving examples in the book reprinted here with the kind permission of Jewish Lights Publishing.
"Judaism is the foundation of my identity." For me the statement "I am Jewish" is no different from the statement "I am." Judaism is the foundation of my identity, the fixed base upon which all other aspects of my self are balanced — actor, husband, father, American. "I am Jewish." It is an assertion of identity that has caused so many of our people throughout history to be hated, exiled, killed. That Daniel Pearl was murdered for embodying the truth of his final statement is a terrible tragedy. But nothing can truly extinguish the light of identity. And in a real way, his statement allows me to say that although I never met him, he was my brother.
"It means family." When I say I am Jewish it means to me that I have people taking care of me.
"Struggles for the very security and peace of bodies and minds that our forefathers proclaimed, three millennia ago, to be the self-evident right and destiny of mankind." I am a Jew because I was born one. Years later, as a grown-up, I became proud of it. Being a Jew means to belong to the people whose prophets and sages set the moral foundations and values of our modern liberal democratic humanity. Being a Jew means to belong to a faith that prefers the power of ideas over the reigning of the sword and proved that while facing the toughest imaginable challenges — from Titus to Torquemada to Hitler — it could prevail. And being a Jew in Israel means never losing hope, while participating in an unprecedented historic experience of rebuilding once again a Jewish vibrant democratic state at our very birthplace. A state that still struggles for the very security and peace of bodies and minds that our forefathers proclaimed, three millennia ago, to be the self-evident right and destiny of all mankind.
"Being a ‘survivor’ is not what I think when I say ‘I am a Jew.’ I think about how we are different." Years ago, while traveling across Uganda, in a world so green that the landscape assumed a monochromatic, black-and-white quality, I found myself surrounded by a train car full of people who had never before met a Jew. Black and white, we sat there, I as different as night from day. For more than an hour we discussed God, faith, Jesus and the prophets, the Hebrew Bible, and the Christian texts. These kind people wanted to know from me what it meant to be a Jew. I was unable to adequately answer their questions then, and I am torn by doubts that I can do so now. The question so resists reduction to black and white. Was being Jewish what killed Danny Pearl? Was it what made him live? Surely I can be forgiven if some of my Jewish identity is constructed from enmity, from a steady diet of "us versus them." Pogroms, inquisitions, exile, genocide, hate in thousands of expressions over thousands of years — these burnt the ashes from which we’ve grown, again and again. Nevertheless, being a "survivor" is not what I think when I say "I am a Jew." I think about how we’re different. For reasons that cannot be based on logic, considering the historical results, we are driven to be different. We are a people of the book, of law, but with challenge and debate if those laws, not blind observance. The Talmud is a treatise of argument more than answer. We question, challenge, debate, extrapolate, construct, and deconstruct. And we aspire to something more. We focus on this life, not what comes after. Being Jewish means striving for tikkun olam, a repairing of the world, of chesed (kindness) and rachamim (compassion) and tzedekah. We built nations, changed the histories of music, arts, science, law and jurisprudence, politics, academia, philosophy, finance, agriculture — every field imaginable.We marched with Martin Luther King Jr. and made Duck Soup and E.T. The distinctions are never just black and white, but we are different. Baruch Hashem: Thank God!
"You’re Jewish?" I have heard the same question over and over since I received my gold medal in gymnastics on the Olympic podium. "You’re Jewish?" people ask in a surprised tone. Perhaps it is my appearance or the stereotype that Jews and sports don’t mix that makes my Jewish heritage so unexpected. I think about the attributes that helped me reach that podium: perseverance when faced with pain, years of patience and hope in an uncertain future, and a belief and devotion to something greater than myself. It makes it hard for me to believe that I did not look Jewish up there on the podium. In my mind, those are attributes that have defined Jews throughout history.
"A Jew, in my unhalakhic opinion, is someone who chooses to share the fate of other Jews, or is condemned to do so." I wrote these sentences in 1967. Three and a half decades later as I reread them, I find that I still agree with myself. That does not often happen to me. May I dedicate this quote to the memory of Daniel Pearl, who not only died for being a Jew but also died as a Jew. I am a Jew and a Zionist. In saying this, I am not basing myself on religion. I have never learned to resort to verbal compromises like "the spirit of our Jewish past" or the "values of Jewish tradition," because values and tradition alike derive directly from the tenets in which I cannot believe. It is impossible to sever Jewish values and Jewish tradition from their source, which is revelation, faith, and commandments. Consequently, nouns like "mission," "destiny" and "election," when used with the adjective "Jewish," only cause me embarrassment or worse. A Jew, in my vocabulary, is someone who regards himself as a Jew or someone who is forced to be a Jew. A Jew is someone who acknowledges his Jewishness. If he acknowledges it publicly, he is a Jew by choice. If he acknowledges it only to his inner self, he is a Jew by the force of his destiny. If he does not acknowledge any connection with the Jewish people either in public or in his tormented inner being he is not a Jew, even if religious law defines him as such because his mother is Jewish. A Jew, in my unhalakhic (Jewish legal) opinion, is someone who chooses to share the fate of other Jews, or who is condemned to do so. Moreover: to be a Jew almost always means to relate mentally to the Jewish past, whether the relation is one of pride or gloom or both together, whether it consists of shame or rebellion or pride or nostalgia. Moreover: to be a Jew almost always means to relate to the Jewish present,whether the relation is one of fear or confi- dence, pride in the achievement of Jews or shame for their actions, an urge to deflect them from their path or a compulsion to join them. And finally: to be a Jew means to feel that wherever a Jew is persecuted for being a Jew — that means you.
"When the time came to feel a connection beyond ourselves, we drew strength from our Judaism because it enhanced our humanity." Recently I spent a casual evening watching a TV show with some close friends who happen to be Jewish. We ordered Chinese food, analyzed the political climate, talked about our mothers, laughed loudly and freely during parts of the show not intended to be funny, spoke our minds often out of turn, and at the end of the night took longer to say goodbye than the entire episode’s runtime. We didn’t have a kosher meal, bless our wine or bread, or mention the looming High Holidays other than "Where will you be?" But when we finally parted we joked that other cultures leave and never say good-bye, while Jews say good-bye and never leave. Although our little gathering of short, secular Jews was an unwitting backdrop for so many modern Jewish clichés, none of us considers our Jewishness to be our most salient defining characteristic. Our Jewish upbringing taught us to laugh at ourselves (otherwise someone else will), while at the same time providing so much fodder for jokes or neuroses for therapy. For much of my life, that’s what being Jewish meant to me: exorbitant quantities of food, liberal use of humor, and a healthy dose of nervous energy. As I prepared for my wedding, I realized that being Jewish was something more than a mere condiment to my being. I decided to wholeheartedly embrace the richness of our heritage, the joyful spirit of the Jewish tradition, and celebrate life in a way that would not only honor our families, but would tie us forever to the same historical fabric uniting my ancestors and fellow Jews. At our wedding we drank the fruit of the vine, recited the seven blessings, signed a ketubah, (traditional marriage contract), sang and danced in concentric circles, and were hoisted on chairs and paraded around like a king and queen. The simkha (joyous occasion) of our little community created a palpable energy that would have made my brother proud. When the time came to feel a connection beyond ourselves, we drew strength from our Judaism because it enhanced our humanity. I didn’t choose to be Jewish, but it is intrinsic to who I am. And if you look closely behind the self-deprecating humor, you’ll find a pride in the values that make us Jewish. What does "I am Jewish" mean to you? Click here to enter your response.
|
||||||
Belonging
to the Jewish PEOPLE.
Joshua Malina
Spencer Newman
Ehud Barak
Daniel Gil
Kerri Strug
Amos Oz
Michelle Pearl
Through the Books for Israel Project, as of
January 2004, some 16 tons of donated English
literature and reference books have been
delivered to Israel’s Jewish, Druze, Bedouin,
Christian, Bahai, and Moslem schools from book
drives launched throughout North America.