Allen Sherman’s songs
were a delightful staple of my childhood. Do you remember “Harvey and
Sheila“? “Harvey’s a CPA. /
He works for IBM. /He went to MIT / and got his PhD.” Sheila worked, “At
B.B.D.& O. / She works the PBX, / And makes out the checks.” Harvey and Sheila met in an elevator,
fell in love, married, and lived a modest, middle class life. “She
shopped at A & P /
He bought a used MG / They sat and
watched TV / On their RCA.” They
had children, joined the PTA, and moved to West LA. As their fortunes
increased, they bought a house with a swimming pool…
Traded their used MG
For a new
XKE.
Switched
to the GOP,
That's the
way things go…
Harvey's
rich, they say that he's a
VIP!
This could
be,
Only in
the USA!
Allen Sherman was reflecting on the
sociological pattern many have observed: Young people of modest means often
sport liberal politics. When they make and are more affluent, their politics grow conservative. Of course,
the GOP of Sherman’s
day did not have to contend with the rabid political polarization of our time
and there was nothing like the raging right Tea Party of today that is pulling
the GOP further and further to the right and transforming it into a party
Ronald Reagan would not recognize.
I was reminded of “Harvey and
Sheila” when I heard Ben Carson’s now
infamous declaration Sunday morning on NBC’s “Meet the Press.” Chuck Todd asked him, "Do you
believe that Islam is consistent with the Constitution?” Carson replied, "No, I do not. I
would not advocate that we put a Muslim in charge of this nation. I absolutely
would not agree with that.” The
response was swift and outrage poured in from both Democrats and Republicans.
Initially, on Monday morning, Carson doubled down, but by Monday evening he had
backed down and said that he could support a Muslim president if they disavow
Sharia law and declare their loyalty to the Constitution.
I was struck by this specter of the “Harvey and
Sheila” phenomenon. For far too long, African
Americans were viciously and violent prevented from entering the mainstream of
American society, but things changed so that Ben Carson could attend medical
school and rise to the highest ranks of his profession. What is more, there is
no question that Carson could be elected president — after all, there is an African
American president in the White House. This is not to say racism has been
erased — sadly, far from it — but Ben Carson, for one, is not
encumbered. He has made it, and made it big. And having done so, it appears
that he now turns around and would deny the same opportunities to the next
group climbing the American ladder of opportunity and involvement. Apparently
the memory of oppression and bigotry hasn’t stopped him from savoring his
success and stopping the line just behind himself.
This week’s
parashah, Ha’azinu,
consists of an ancient Hebrew poem[1] which is
framed as one of Moses’ summary
sermons to Israel. It opens grandly:
Give ear, O
heavens, let me speak;
Let the earth hear the words I
utter!
May my discourse come down as the
rain,
My speech distill as the dew,
Like showers on young growth,
Like droplets on the grass.
(Deuteronomy 32:1, 2)
The poet exalts God’s
magnificent generosity and kindness toward Israel, contrasting it with Israel’s stubborn
ways and disloyalty to God. The poet reminds Israel that when God found them,
they were anything but powerful and successful. Yet God nurtured and nourished
them like a mother eagle caring for her young:
[God] found
[Israel] in a desert region,
In an empty howling waste,
[God] engirded him, watched over
him,
Guarded him as the pupil of [God’s]
eye.
Like an eagle who rouses his
nestlings,
Gliding down to his young,
So did [God] spread His wings and take
him,
Bear him along on His pinions;
Adonai alone did guide him,
No alien god at [God’s]
side. (Deuteronomy 32:10-12)
But Israel grew strong and
independent:
So Jeshurun
grew fat and kicked—
You grew fat and gross and coarse—
He forsook the God who made him
And spurned the Rock of his support.
They incensed [God]
with alien things,
Vexed [God] with
abominations.
They sacrificed to demons, no-gods,
Gods they had never known,
New ones, who came but lately,
Who stirred not your ancestors’ fears.
You neglected the Rock that begot
you,
Forgot the God who brought you
forth. (Deuteronomy 32:15-18)
Torah couches Israel’s
disloyalty to God in terms of idolatry. God brought Israel out of servitude in
Egypt, gave them freedom and Torah and love and protection in the Wilderness,
brought them to the Land of Israel, yet they repay God’s gifts by
spurning God and pursuing idols that are “no-gods.”
The no-gods of Israel are her success
and affluence, which have blinded her to her humble beginnings and the moral
values arising from that experience. No wonder Torah repeatedly reminds us
repeated, You shall not wrong a stranger or oppress
him, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt
(Exodus 22:20); and The stranger residing among shall be to
you as one of your citizens; you shall love him as yourself, for you were
strangers in the land of Egypt: I am Adonai your God (Leviticus 19:34); and
You too must befriend the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of
Egypt (Deuteronomy 19:10). How soon we forget.
To be a Jew is to always be—at least
in our minds and souls—the
stranger, to know the plight of the stranger, to understand the experience of
being “other.” It is a fundamental part of our
history and collective memory. To be a Jew is also to un-Other them: to
befriend the stranger and make them part of the community. God berates the
Israelites in the words of the poet of Ha’azinu for forgetting this fundamental
truth. The no-gods they worship—success, affluence, power, influence,
landedness—threaten
the moral ground of Torah, which is predicted on protecting the have-nots and
promoting inclusive community.
© Rabbi
Amy Scheinerman
[1] One of the two oldest pieces of Hebrew poetry we have. The
other is Shirat ha-Yam, Exodus chapter 15.
