It’s so easy to get caught up in the idea that this time of year belongs only to us.
Newsflash: the existence and acknowledgment of other beliefs does not damage or diminish your beliefs – unless you choose to let them. It’s all on you.
If you think that your Governor acknowledging the existence of other beliefs is oppressive to Christians, you’re lucky that you haven’t experienced real oppression and you don’t really understand what oppression is.
On a street where every other house was illuminated with Christmas decorations, 5 year old Isaac Schnitzer placed a menorah in his bedroom window. It wasn’t long before a cinder block crashed through the window and landed on Isaac’s bed. The year was 1993 and the town was Billings, Montana. But this is not a story about Isaac Schnitzer, in fact, Isaac was just one of many individuals who was targeted by the hate groups that had moved into town. And it is not a story about the evils of bigotry, although that’s certainly an element. This is a story about a town that stood together, and raised it’s voice together, to say “not in our town!”
In fact, five days after the incident, a local sporting goods store put that very message on it’s billboard: “Not in our town! No hate. No violence. Peace on earth.” The local painter’s union volunteered to repaint houses and buildings marred by vandalism. Thousands attended peace vigils, and local organizations passed resolutions condemning hate activities.
The Billings Gazette published a full page print of a menorah – and it is estimated that 10,000 people cut out the picture and taped it to their window. Some even purchased their own menorah to display in the window.
Did Billings have a large Jewish population? No. In fact, this city of 80,000 was home to only about 100 Jewish families. And 10,000 showed a menorah in their window that holiday season in 1993.
Did this activity bring an end to bigotry? Of course not. As we’ve seen in this past election season, and as I’ve reported before in this blog, hate and bigotry are alive and well in this country. But so are integrity, and hope, and resilience, and compassion.
Bigots view silence as acceptance. This is why I speak up. The only way to truly counter bigotry is to speak truth to the lies and stand together, as the town of Billings did, and say hate is not welcome here. Every time people silence themselves in the face of bigotry and hate, it grows stronger.
In the years since this event, the menorah has become a custom in Billings; a testament to the power of standing up against hate. When people think of the holiday season in Billings, they don’t think of the cinder block, or the swastikas painted on houses, or the defacement of cemeteries; they think of hope, and place a menorah in the window.
I’ve never celebrated Hanukkah before, but today I’d like to take a moment to say Happy Hanukkah to Billings. Montana. And Happy Hanukkah to the rest of you too.
My goodness the hate mail has been flying around this past week. Lies, hate and bigotry are all alive and well in America, my friends, and for some reason, they’re congregating in my email in-box. I had to read through my spam box just to take a break from the nastiness in my in-box.
I don’t like to do this in my blog, but I want to take a few moments to talk about religion because, out of all the nastiness I received in my in-box, by far the most inaccurate and hateful messages were from the evangelical Christians in my life.
I was raised in an extremely conservative christian church by an extremely conservative family. It wasn’t until I became an adult and experienced other churches that I really began to understand that the term “God’s Love,” a term that was thrown around every day throughout my childhood, really is supposed to mean love. Fear ruled the day. Christians, I was taught, were supposed to be fearful, to live their lives in fear.
So let’s talk about fear, because most of the hate mail I’ve received this past week has been motivated by fear. Anytime a work is translated, including the bible, the translator has to make millions of decisions about which words to use. And words change meaning by their use over time. The word fear, for example, can be understood to mean respect (as in fear God), or it can be understood to mean the source of hate (as in fear everything you don’t understand). My belief is that fear, as commanded in the bible, is intended to mean fear-respect rather than fear-hate (check out I John, 4:18-21). The best way to counteract fear-hate is knowledge. Real knowledge, not just assumptions fueled by emotions. Do some research. Study the issues. Use real sources rather than the chain hate mail that lands in your in-box.
Two great quotes from early in the last century come to mind:
“We have nothing to fear but fear itself.”and
“I have seen the enemy, and it is I.”
Muslims are not the source of evil in this world, the source of evil is the fear that resides in our own hearts.
So I’m asking you now: is your vote fueled by fear and hate, or is your vote fueled by compassion and knowledge? Vote your conscience, but ask yourself first: what rules your conscience? Do you have peace in your heart or fear? Do you have to lie to make your case? Do you avoid research because it causes you to question your decision? Do you get all of your information from others whose lives are ruled by fear and hate?
The definition of bigotry is fear based, unreasoning attachment to one’s own belief, with narrow-minded intolerance of differing beliefs. Let’s let go of fear and bigotry for a day, and give our minds and hearts a bit of a workout.
It was one year ago today that my father passed away. I’m still learning how to wrap my brain around this fact. I keep wanting to call or email him. His email address is still sitting there in my address book while his instant messenger icon keeps telling me he’s not available.
So much has happened in the past year: I finally quit my job, I’m back in college, I’m pregnant. Dad would have been thrilled about all of these things.
At his funeral, a family friend stood up and told us about a time she went to visit him in the hospital. Before she left, she asked him if there was anything specific he would like her to pray for on his behalf. He paused to think for a while, and then, at a time when any one else would pray for the pain to stop, or a cure for cancer, or wisdom for the doctors or something else along those lines, my dad said this:
“Pray that my conversations will be always full of grace, seasoned with salt, and that I will have the strength and wisdom to answer any question that is asked of me.”
Yes, my father was something of a poet, but this was actually a paraphrase of a bible verse.
One Year Later
This quote of my father has stuck with me over the past year. First of all, my conversations could most certainly use more grace. I’ve been told over and over and over again that I can only control my own reaction in a conversation. The truth is that there are ways to counter hate and bigotry gracefully. I just have to learn how to do it and then I need to teach my child.
The second part of that statement has stuck to me as well. My father was a quiet man and was not in the habit of drawing attention to himself or making himself the topic of conversation. I, on the other hand, was irritated that I didn’t know very much about him and that he didn’t just, unprompted, broadcast all his stories to us. How simple it would have been to ask him some questions rather that sitting there waiting for him to open up.
I’m not bringing this up for the purpose of beating myself up, I have something else in mind. Do you have anyone in your life who is quiet by nature? Someone who is humble and not at all likely to make the conversation all about them? When you talk to them, is the conversation usually about you? Or do you ask them questions too?
I wonder how many people out there would be open books, if someone would just ask.
I’m paying more attention now, to see who’s waiting for me to ask them a question about themselves. I’m not advocating an interrogation, but a genuine interest combined with a couple questions could make a big difference.
Most like an arch—an entrance which upholds
and shores the stone-crush up the air like lace.
Mass made idea, and idea held in place.
A lock in time. Inside half-heaven unfolds.
Most like an arch—two weaknesses that lean
into a strength. Two fallings become firm.
Two joined abeyances become a term
naming the fact that teaches fact to mean.
Not quite that? Not much less. World as it is,
what’s strong and separate falters. All I do
at piling stone on stone apart from you
is roofless around nothing. Till we kiss
I am no more than upright and unset.
It is by falling in and in we make
the all-bearing point, for one another’s sake,
in faultless failing, raised by our own weight.
The Collected Poems of John Ciardi (University of Arkansas Press, 1997)
6 years after our first date and I wouldn’t change a thing.
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