Ask the Painful Questions
These days I am plagued by a question. How does a group come to recognize its wrongs?
Last week I traveled to Washington DC. There we visited the US Holocaust Memorial Museum. As one wanders through its exhibits one question stands out, “Where was America?” After hours walking through this painful history, one confronts newspaper headlines reporting the murder of Europe’s Jews. Juxtaposed with these reports, one sees a copy of a letter from Assistant US Secretary of War, John McCloy.
He writes: “At the present critical stage of the war in Europe, our strategic air forces are engaged in the destruction of industrial target systems vital to the dwindling war potential of the enemy, from which they should not be diverted.” And yet, US forces bombed factories within five miles of Auschwitz-Birkenau. The question lingers. Where was America?
And then one comes to an additional exhibit about the Rohingya genocide. Myanmar officials continue their oppression, persecution, and murder of their country’s Muslim minority. Nearly one million are now refugees. Nearly 25,000 have been killed. The question continues. Where is America?
We crossed the Mall, and then visited the National Museum of African American History and Culture. As one enters, the words of the Declaration of Independence are seen emblazoned on the wall: “All men are created equal.” The journey through the exhibits moves from slave ships to plantations, and continues from the 1960’s civil rights struggle to today’s Black Lives Matter protests. As one turns the corner, the large wall is again seen. The words of Langston Hughes’ epic poem are etched above: “I, too, am America.”
The realization is stunning. It is the same wall. The same nation that changed the world with the words, “All men are created equal” is the same nation that enslaved Blacks. The two are inseparable. The question has changed. What is America? Can we be both great and flawed? And then it occurred to me. Whereas the atrocities in Europe happened over there, I felt an increasing intimacy to America’s ongoing struggle with racism and its lingering presence in the country I call home.
We began our trip with a private tour of the US Capitol with Representative Steve Israel. He is an extraordinary tour guide and a compelling historian. We sat in the House of Representatives. We spoke of the debates that occurred there. He showed us where some of the January 6th rioters (insurrectionists!) climbed through windows to storm the chamber. We then made our way to the lobby.
We stood in front of a majestic painting of George Washington. Representative Israel shared with us how fortunate Washington and his troops were during the Battle of Long Island. If not for a miraculous fog, the surrounding British forces would have surely destroyed the Continental Army who were encamped in Brooklyn Heights. Washington’s military blunder was redeemed by nature’s saving grace. We then spoke about Washington’s evident grimace. Everyone shared the well-known fact that our first president had false teeth. “They were made out of wood,” we said in near unison.
Our historian corrected us. “They were the teeth of enslaved Blacks. Other times they were taken from cadavers.” Representative Israel continued, “Sometimes slave owners paid for these teeth. Other times, they did not.” Now I too grimaced. The pain of our history was almost too much to bear. We are flawed. “The genius of our founders,” Israel suggested, “is found in the words they penned. The spoke about creating a ‘more perfect union.’ They did not believe the United States of America is perfect, but that we would always be reaching to be more perfect.”
The Torah responds to my lingering questions. “If it is the whole community of Israel that has erred and the matter escapes the notice of the congregation, so that they do any of the things which by the Lord’s commandments ought not to be done, and they realize their guilt (ashamnu!)—when the sin through which they incurred guilt becomes known, the congregation shall offer a bull of the herd as a sin offering, and bring it before the Ten of Meeting.” (Leviticus 4)
For the first time in my life, I find myself longing for a restoration of Leviticus’ promise. Maybe we need the sacrifices. Perhaps the rabbis were right. Soon after the Temple was destroyed and we could no longer perform these sacrifices, they argued our idyllic life was lost. The sacrifices offered us the perfect antidote to rectify wrongs. They provided us with a mechanism to publicly declare our wrongs and restore order. Only then can we create a better future.
I wonder what can be done today. We struggle to come to terms with our past mistakes. We wrestle with how to even teach about such imperfections. We dare not mention such wrongs. We hesitate to talk about our founders’ wrongs and nation’s sins.
A perfect past does not exist. A better future is always within reach. I wonder how to get there.
One thing appears clear. We can only get there if we are unafraid to ask such questions.