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Out of the Depths I Cried Out to You

by Rabbi Peter S. Knobel
Rosh Hashanah Eve 5762 - September 17, 2001

Tragedy often becomes the defining moment of a generation. In my parent’s generation every one could tell you where they were when they heard about the bombing of Pearl Harbor. For my generation it was the assassination of President Kennedy and Martin Luther King Jr., now it is the bombing of the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. These events mark the end of era and beginning of a new era. Before Pearl Harbor, America was a spectator, not a neutral spectator, but a spectator nonetheless in the great conflagration that was consuming the world. Before the murder of Kennedy and King, the United States appeared to be emerging as a kind of Promised Land. Before last Tuesday, our soil was immune to the insecurity that touched the rest of the world; our society and borders were wide open. Our loss is immense. The body count, a word we learned during the Vietnam War, is growing as we gather. (More than 5000 dead, the largest single-day causality count in our history) Ground zero, a term we learned from the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, is barren and uninhabitable. (Television cannot do it justice.) Numbness is now giving way to pervasive sadness and anger. Innocence was murdered on September 11th.. The myth of invulnerability was shattered. The fabric of our freedom is frayed by our need for security. Yet in the rubble and beyond, there also emerged heroism, compassion and community. Beyond the fear and panic, many people reached out a helping hand even at the cost of their own lives and safety. The stories of the human capacity for goodness and selflessness are heart warming and encouraging.

If we have been tempted to take our firefighters and our police for granted, one need only look to the staggering loss as they charged to the scene and ascended into the conflagration in order to protect and defend us. People from across the city and the nation made their way to New York City to volunteer to dig through the rubble in the hopes of saving lives, finding the dead and clearing the way for an unknown tomorrow. The spirit of a nation has been galvanized into a community of compassion. As we sat transfixed by the repeated images of gigantic airliners penetrating the skin of the landmark twin towers and as the cloud of dust and debris and human lives raced down the streets of New York, our desire to do something became overwhelming. Many were moved to give blood and to open their wallets to the many relief funds that have been started. Acts of tzedakah are our first and minimal responsibility. In the days and months ahead we will share very specific ways that each of us can help in the recovery effort. For now I encourage you to contribute to the Union of American Hebrew Congregations Disaster Relief Fund and to contact Life Source to see if they are still taking donations of blood.

Tonight the words of the Unetana Tokef ring in my ears.


"This day is awesome and full of dread"

"Our origin is dust and dust is our end. Each of us is a shattered urn, grass that must wither, a flower that will fade, a shadow moving on, a cloud passing by, a particle of dust floating on the wind, a dream soon forgotten."

So many children will never know their mothers and their fathers. So many husbands and wives have become widows and widowers. So many parents will never see their children again. Lovers, friends, colleagues, the powerful and the weak, the rich and the poor, the laborer and office worker will not return. Most of them have been evaporated, incinerated and crushed beyond recovery. Our hearts are broken and our eyes are inconsolable. Tears scald our faces and drown the sweetness of New Year honey.

Less than a week has passed and we have not even begun to sit shiva for most of the dead. We stand between death and the grave and look down into the abyss. We respond with the words of the Psalmist

"A song of ascents. Out of the depths I call You, O Lord. O Lord, listen to my cry; let Your ears be attentive to my plea for mercy." (Psalm 130:1-2)

This anguished cry is heard on the lips and is seared into the hearts of thousands of people. Jew, Christian, Muslim, Sikh, Hindu, religious and secular, native born and foreign born, citizen and stranger, African American, Hispanic, white, oriental we are united in grief. In the last week, across the country and around the globe, people of faith have flocked to houses of worship to recite prayers in many languages, and many melodies. In every town and city there have been civic vigils organized by government officials, religious leaders, and ordinary citizens. Friday night Ridge Road was lined with people holding candles and flags. This scene was replicated across the country. It is clear that at this moment we desire to transcend the fragmentation of modern life and restore a sense of community. We need each other.

At Fountain Square on Tuesday not more than an hour and a half after the World Trade Center was reduced to dust and the Pentagon was aflame, a group of Evanston Clergy, who had begun to plan an interfaith service at First Presbyterian Church for that evening, gathered to pray. For me one of the most moving moments came when Cantor Silins taught the assembled to sing

Rabbi  Akiba said, "You shall love your neighbor as yourself", this is the most important principle in the Torah. Beloved is humankind because we were created in the image of God.

 In a beautiful and gentle way he helped the assembled become a congregation. Dr. Hycel Taylor then led "Amazing Grace". Two traditions were joined at that moment. Each of us responded in the way we knew best. As Jews we turned to the language of mitzvah and as Christians they turned to the language of faith. At that moment there was no division, no dichotomy, only the unity which comes from knowing that we needed both mitzvah and faith.

A Psalm of David.

The Lord is my shepherd;
I shall not want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures;
He leads me beside the still waters
He restores my soul;
He guides me in right paths
for His name sake.
Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I fear no evil, for You are with me;
Your rod and Your staff—they comfort me. (Psalm 23:1-4)

Even as we repeat these familiar words we are acutely aware of our fear. When our eyes turn upward as we hear the roar of the engine of passing airplanes, which we see as a sign that some normalcy has been restored, nevertheless the sound also evokes memories of the horror that we witnessed over and over again. What has now become an often-repeated theme among some religious leaders is "our overwhelming emotion should be sadness and not anger." There is no doubt that a dark cloud of sadness shrouds the deep recesses of our hearts. But I cannot deny my anger. Like the prophets of old, we cry out in anger. To deny our anger is both unhealthy and unjust. The response to evil requires more than sadness. Sadness is an emotion of quietude. Anger is an emotion that can lead to action. Evil must be combated. Evil requires punishment and justice not vengeance.

Next week on Yom Kippur we will read.

"You shall not take vengeance or bear a grudge against your countrymen. Love your neighbor as yourself: I am the Lord."

In our desire to assign blame and to find a way to cope with our grief and our loss, we must take care not to assign guilt on the basis of religious or ethnic heritage. We Jews know only too well that when tragedy strikes a nation we have been the scapegoats, the sacrificial lambs to appease the gods of vengeance. We must be stalwarts in promoting a unification of the American conscience around the rights of citizens and residents, around the rights of schools and houses of worship to enjoy safety from attack and harassment.

The language of hatred from whatever quarter must be decried and we must offer protection to those who are the objects of hatred. The language of war is being used as we prepare to respond to terrorism. Such language can rally the troops and promote patriotism. War offers the hope of national solidarity and victory. This however is potentially dangerous language. It may provide a temporary sense of security but a war mentality will ultimately erode our desire for community and it will promise more than can be delivered. It is to judicial language that we must turn. We must bring the criminals to justice. These are crimes against humanity. Punishment is required. Judaism requires us to use force to defend ourselves and it teaches us to seek and pursue justice. Bringing the criminals before the bar of international justice must be our goal. To do so will require aggressive action but there must be proportionality to our actions. I commend our national leadership who has promised that they will draw together an international coalition against terrorism and they will act with care. We must convince every nation in the world to deny safe haven to terrorists.

Our liturgy offers as message of teshuvah, repentance and forgiveness. A condition for forgiveness is repentance. Judaism does not believe in cheap grace. I cannot forgive acts of destruction committed against other people. It is not my right nor within my power. There are some acts that are unforgivable. The dead have no power to forgive. And we cannot and should not forgive their murders on their behalf. But we must also remember that enemies can be reconciled. Acts of war can be pushed back beyond conscious thought in pursuit of peace. Our enemy may, as we have seen time and again, become our ally, but those responsible for evil must be held accountable. The acts of terror that we witnessed were not the acts of God, but the acts of human beings. God created us with free will and therefore we are morally responsible.

On Tuesday morning, I was sitting in a meeting of the Beth Emet Building Steering Committee talking about the details of our renovation-- work that remained undone, procedures for cleaning the building to prepare for the High Holidays when Ron Magnes, our senior maintenance person, brought us the first word of the World Trade Center disaster. In fact, I was preparing to leave the building to visit an ill congregant and then to head for O Hare to catch a flight to New York City for a meeting of the steering committee of the Progressive Religious Partnership, a group of clergy who are working to create a progressive religious voice to counter the horrendous rhetoric and influence of the religious right. I am a religious person and I am a believer. Religion is a powerful force for good but we have created abundant evil in the name of God.

I abhor an arrogant theology of divine retribution, a theology of divisiveness, which proclaims that we know the mind of God, whether, it comes from Jews, Christians, or Muslims. Thursday, September 13, 2001 Pat Robertson on "700 Club" interviewed Jerry Falwell. They both agree that God has now withdrawn his protection from America. Jerry Falwell said, "The ACLU's got to take a lot of blame for this." Pat Robertson agreed. Falwell continued … throwing God out successfully with the help of the federal court system, throwing God out of the public square, out of the schools. The abortionists have got to bear some burden for this because God will not be mocked. And when we destroy 40 million little innocent babies, we make God mad. I really believe that the pagans, and the abortionists, and the feminists, and the gays and the lesbians who are actively trying to make that an alternative lifestyle, the ACLU, People For the American Way - all of them who have tried to secularize America - I point the finger in their face and say "you helped this happen."

My friends, Falwell and Robertson have concluded that you and I are to blame for the terrorist attack on America. It is outrageous and a part of a self-confident religious fanaticism, which is dangerous to our way of life. This same theological thinking makes the Shoah, the Holocaust, into God’s punishment of the Jewish people for having failed to accept Jesus as the savior. I am sad to say that some of this kind of thinking exists among Jews as well.

Blaming the victim is one of the darker aspects of traditionalist theology. This is a language, which divides rather than binds our nation. The "Attack on America" came not because God has withdrawn protection. It happened because evil people with no regard for human life have in their own religious fanaticism declared America as anti-God and anti-Islam and have promised eternal salvation to suicide bombers. We reject all those who teach hatred in the name of God. Religious fanaticism, which divides the world into the forces of light and darkness, serves only the dark side of humanity. Terrorism is rooted both in religion and in politics. Real and imaginary grievances grow like cancer among those who have no hope that change can come by peaceful means. Religious and political leaders who worship a god who places his own honor over the preciousness of human life feed the cancer. Jews, Christians and Muslims need to stand together in the weeks and months ahead to find a common language of appreciation for the life affirming doctrines of our religions.

The reports of Palestinians celebrating were deeply disturbing. Arab leaders of all stripes have condemned the "Attack on America" but they are facing increasingly radicalized populations who also rejoiced in our pain. In the weeks ahead we will see whether the rhetoric of solidarity is matched by acts of solidarity. On the other hand, as our eyes turn to the Middle East we have watched in horror how suicide bombers have taken the lives of innocent people. I long for a just and lasting peace between the Israelis and the Palestinians. In my deep love of and commitment to Israel, I have tried to raise a voice calling for justice and peace for both Jews and Palestinians. I have tried to be a responsible and loving critic when I believed that criticism was needed. I am a staunch lover of Zion. Before September 11 I was trying to formulate words about Israel and the Peace Process for tonight’s devar Torah. I like so many of my Israeli friends, despair that the Oslo Peace Process has died. I long for a negotiated settlement. But I have now joined the ranks of a growing number of those in the peace camp who no longer believe that Yassir Arafat is willing or capable of making peace. I pray that I am wrong.

About nine weeks ago while attending a meeting of the Zionist General Council in Jerusalem, I walked cautiously through the streets of Jerusalem. I was keenly aware of the insecurity that terrorism creates. I avoided the Western Wall and Old City. Ben Yehuda Street was almost empty. My friend Stanley Ringer joked as we stopped at an Israeli shopping center near his home. Tell Elaine you survived an Israeli shopping center. Black humor does not really hide the fear. Now terrorism has come home to America.

What is frightening is the glorification of terrorism. I want to share with you a disturbing quotation that appeared on the day of the attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon in [Al Hayat Al Jadida - Official Palestinian Authority daily, Sept. 11, 2001] I do not cite this text to incite hatred against all Palestinians or Arabs in general, but to share with you the mentality which underlies indiscriminate attacks on civilians.

"The suicide bombers of today are the noble successors of their noble predecessors... the Lebanese suicide bombers, who taught the US Marines a tough lesson in [Lebanon]...and then, with no preconditions, they threw the last of the remaining enemy [Israeli] soldiers out of the [security] zone. These suicide bombers are the salt of the earth, the engines of history...They are the most honorable [people] among us...".

America is now dealing with an enemy who prefers the rewards of the afterlife to the rewards of daily human existence on earth. Disregard for one’s own life puts all life at risk.

Our time of mourning has just begun. We will recite El Male Rachimim and Kaddish many times in the days ahead. We will arise from our mourning, and must begin to heal. In the meantime, we must protect our precious heritage of freedom. We must not allow grief to cloud our vision of America as a place of respect for diversity. Loving our neighbor is a mitzvah about what we do to our neighbor, not how we feel about our neighbor. As Hillel said, "Do not do to others what you would not have them do to you." Jesus, another Jew, commenting on the same commandment said. "Do unto other as you would have them do unto you." While Jews and Christians have argued for centuries about which is better formulation. It is clear that both were the teachings of Judaism. Refrain from doing what is wrong and do what is right.

We Americans are a strong resilient people. Today we pray for the families of the dead and injured and their families. We offer prayers of thanksgiving for those who survived and for their loved ones. We pray for ourselves and we commit ourselves to acts of love that will transform evil into goodness. We pray for President Bush and the leaders of our government that they will be wise, as well as, strong. We pray for the men and women of our Armed Forces who will be called upon in the days ahead to protect us and to bring the terrorists to justice. We join in the call for apprehending those responsible for this atrocity and for punishing them for this unspeakable crime. We pray for our nation. Now with the taste the bitter ash of terrorism still in our mouths, let our hearts and our resources work toward the end of hatred. Tonight we appeal to a God of love and compassion. Turn our hearts toward one another; turn the engines of wars into instruments of healing; let lambs and lions lie down together in peace. Help us to bring about the day when children will play in the streets of New York, Jerusalem, Belfast, London, Nablus, Baghdad and none shall make them afraid. My faith in America remains unshaken and now we ask God to bless America the land that we love.

Please rise and join me in singing "God Bless America".

God bless America,
Land that I love!
Stand beside her and guide her
Thru the night with the light from above.

From the mountains to the prairies
To the oceans, white with foam.
God bless America,
My home sweet home.

          -- Irving Berlin