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Connections
A Rabbi of His Time, With a Charisma That Transcends It
By EDWARD ROTHSTEINPublished: December 24, 2007
In 1965, after walking in the Selma-to-Montgomery civil-rights march with the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel was at the Montgomery, Ala., airport, trying to find something to eat. A surly woman behind the snack-bar counter glared at Heschel — his yarmulke and white beard making him look like an ancient Hebrew prophet — and mockingly proclaimed: “Well, I’ll be damned. My mother always told me there was a Santa Claus, and I didn’t believe her, until now.” She told Heschel that there was no food to be had.
In response, according to a new biography, “Spiritual Radical: Abraham Joshua Heschel in America, 1940-1972” by Edward K. Kaplan (Yale), Heschel simply smiled. He gently asked, “Is it possible that in the kitchen there might be some water?” Yes, she acknowledged. “Is it possible that in the refrigerator you might find a couple of eggs?” Perhaps, she admitted. Well, then, Heschel said, if you boiled the eggs in the water, “that would be just fine.”
She shot back, “And why should I?”
“Why should you?” Heschel said. “Well, after all, I did you a favor.”
“What favor did you ever do me?”
“I proved,” he said, “there was a Santa Claus.”
And after the woman’s burst of laughter, food was quickly served.
Of course Heschel, with his rabbinic features, could not have looked too much like the jolly gentleman expected to visit homes late Christmas Eve. But the spirit evident in this anecdote must have served him well over the years as he taught aspiring rabbis, met with Pope Paul VI and became a leader in the civil-rights, anti-Vietnam War and interfaith movements. At his death in 1972 he was one of this country’s best-known Jewish figures.
This year’s centennial of Heschel’s birth, commemorated by the new biography and a conference this month at the Center for Jewish History in Manhattan, takes place in a very different world. Surely no one today could write, as he did in his landmark 1955 book, “God in Search of Man,” that there is an “eclipse of religion in modern society.” If anything, there is no escape from talk about faith. Nor is the relationship between religious convictions and political activism as simple as it might have once seemed.
But in turning again to Heschel’s writings, which had such an impact in the 1950s and ’60s, I was startled by how much vitality they still possess. The Heschel biography shows how many people were touched by his charismatic persona; the potential for such contact is evident in his own books as well.
Admittedly there are times when Heschel can seem sentimental or, as in his early book “The Earth Is the Lord’s,” can romanticize the past. He turns the lost world of his fathers — the communities of Eastern European Hasidim and their rabbis — into an almost utopian realm. The scholarly skepticism of his colleagues at the Jewish Theological Seminary in New York, where close textual analysis was more eagerly embraced than Heschel’s inspirational philosophy, does not always seem unmerited.
But no modern Jewish thinker has had as profound an effect on other faiths as Heschel has; the Protestant theologian Reinhold Niebuhr said he was “an authoritative voice not only in the Jewish community but in the religious life of America.” Nor has any Jewish theologian since Heschel succeeded in speaking to such a wide range of readers while rigorously attending to the nuances of Judaism.
Some of this uniqueness can be felt in the way Heschel approached the woman in the airport. Her mockery is defused, the interaction shifted to the mundane. It is as if Heschel were saying: “I understand I’m not what you’re used to. But I’m prepared to meet you casually, accepting your comparison to a make-believe figure. But surely you can see that your anger is not justified?”
The confrontation dissolves into a conversation, the hostility into humor. The temptation would have been to do the opposite — to chide or stiffen with resentment — particularly given Heschel’s own personal trials. A yeshiva student in Poland, he rebelled not by becoming a secular Jew but by getting a doctorate in theology and philosophy from the University of Berlin. He fled the Nazis (who murdered one of his sisters and caused the death of his mother) but never found a comfortable intellectual home in the United States — neither during his early years at the Hebrew Union College in Cincinnati nor during his long career at the Jewish Theological Seminary.
Perhaps that history of trauma and dislocation made him more alert to disruptions in others. But in the airport conversation, Heschel gently found a way to dispose of opposing social roles — the protesting rabbi scorning racism, the put-upon woman threatened by difference — and establish the beginnings of an understanding.
The quest for common ground seemed to inspire his theological explorations as well. Heschel, influenced by German phenomenology, was preoccupied with experience rather than fact, with poetic evocation rather than explication. At the seminary he was a professor of Jewish ethics and mysticism. He was intent on communicating the incommunicable, exploring the ineffable.
In a book about the Sabbath he describes Judaism’s focus on the sanctification of time. In referring to God he does not imagine an Aristotelian prime mover but a transcendent being who needed humanity to fulfill himself. In thinking about humanity Heschel asked, “What way of living is compatible with the grandeur and mystery of life?” Such speculations crossed doctrinal boundaries and helped make him an important ecumenical force. “No religion is an island,” he wrote.
But amid this fervor Heschel was also a follower of Jewish laws, putting an emphasis on ritual and actions, not just on devotion and belief. This was also the source of Heschel’s ethical perspective: Every deed poses a problem with moral and religious implications.
“Judaism,” he wrote, “is not a science of nature but a science of what man ought to do with nature.” No act is permitted to escape scrutiny.
These poles of devotion and deed combined in Heschel’s activist politics in the 1960s, resulting in positions that still tend to determine his reputation. At the recent conference one speaker wondered where a contemporary Heschel might be found, someone prepared to take a stand against the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq the way Heschel did against the Vietnam War.
But those political positions are Heschel’s least compelling. In the civil-rights movement his moral stance was clear, but in discussing the Vietnam War, in which the issues were more complex, his statements, affected by the temper of the time, became less revealing, replacing evocation with hortatory proclamations modeled on the biblical prophets. “There is nothing so vile as the arrogance of the military mind,” he wrote. He used the word “evil” to allude to the “insane asylum” around him.
The result was a kind of theological politics. The prophets claim such declarations to be divine revelations, but in the earthly realm acts and consequences must be assessed, their complications untangled. No doubt political issues are sometimes so urgent they demand theological treatment. But there are risks in such a confusion of realms.
Theological politics tends to eliminate distinctions and is impatient with differences, empathy and argument. Had those kinds of views shaped Heschel’s perspective at the airport, instead of accepting the eggs from the offending woman, he might have thrown them in her face.
Connections is a critic’s perspective on arts and ideas.
TWO PROPHETS, ONE SOUL: REV. MARTIN LUTHER KING JR. AND RABBI ABRAHAM JOSHUA HESCHEL
More than a coincidence of calendar couples the anniversary of the births of Rev. Martin Luther King Jr., January 15 and Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, January 11. Two men from different geographies, color, creed, theological background were joined in a spiritual kinship whose legacy address our own times.
Heschel, a Polish immigrant, scion of a long line of Chasidic rabbis, Professor of Jewish Ethics and Mysticism at the Jewish Theological Seminary of America and King, an American descendant of slaves, a compassionate protector of the oppressed, charismatic orator, writer and theologian, marched side-by- side from Selma to Montgomery to protest the pernicious racism that poisoned America and humiliated its African-American citizens.
A host of white citizens, filled with venomous hate, surrounded the marchers, jeered and spat upon them. But as Heschel declared later: "When I marched in Selma, my feet were praying." It is important not only to protest against evil but to be seen protesting. Faith in the goodness and oneness of God is powerfully expressed through the language of feet, hands, and spine.
Heschel and King, these two contemporary prophets remind us to eschew the invidious "one downsmanship" that compares one people's sufferings against another. Comparative victimizing is a divisive exercise that diminishes the anguish of our pain and replaces empathy with insensitivity. King and Heschel were united in the kinship of suffering and the shared vision of great dreams. Strengthened by the tradition of both biblical testaments, they defied the killers of the dreams quotations out of their bodies.
Describing Heschel as "one of the great men of our age, a truly great prophet", Martin Luther King declared: "He has been with us in many struggles. I remember marching from Selma to Montgomery, how he stood at my side...I remember very well when we were in Chicago for the Conference on Religion and Race...to a great extent his speech inspired clergymen of all faiths to do something they had not done before."
At that conference Heschel reminded the assembly that the first Conference on Religion and Race took place in Egypt where the main participants were Pharaoh and Moses. Moses' words were: "Thus saith the Lord God of Israel, let My people go" and the Pharaoh retorted "Who is the Lord that I should heed this voice and let Israel go."
That summit meeting in Egypt has not come to an end. Pharaoh is still not ready to capitulate. The Exodus began, but we are still stranded in the desert. It was easier for the Israelites to cross the Red Sea than for men and women of different color to enter our institutions, our colleges, our universities, our neighborhoods. "How can we love our neighbor", Heschel asks rhetorically when we flee from him and leave him abandoned, congested in the neglected ghettos of the inner city?
After the assassination of King, Heschel said of him Martin Luther King is a sign that God has not forsaken the United States of America. God has sent him to us...his mission is sacred...I call upon every Jew to hearken to his voice, to share his vision, to follow in his way. The whole future of America will depend upon the influence of Dr. King.
King and Heschel speak to our community in the diction of the ancient prophets. They dare remind us that while "some are guilty, all are responsible." That moral responsibility transcends class, creed and race. Heschel and King taught us that the opposite of good is not evil but indifference and that silence in the presence of evil amounts to consent. They charged us to transcend the cleavages that distract us from the solidarity of our goal, and to publicly stand together against the twin evils of racism and anti-Semitism.
The calendrical coincidence of their birth anniversaries calls upon us to resurrect the moral passion and wisdom that infused their lives. Our celebration of their birthdays offers testimony to the immortality of their influence. Their creeds, dogmas, pigmentation, like ours, are different. But our tears are the same.
An Affirmation Based on the writings of Dr. M.L.K.
I refuse to believe that we are unable to influence the events which surround us.
I believe there is an urgent need for people to overcome oppression and violence, without resorting to violence and oppression.
I believe that we need to discover a way to live together in peace, a way which rejects revenge, aggression and retaliation. The foundation of this way is love.
I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality. I believe that right temporarily defeated is stronger than evil triumphant.
I believe that peoples everywhere can have three meals a day for their bodies, education and culture for their minds, and dignity, equality and freedom for their spirits.
I believe that what self-centered people have torn down, other-centered people can build up.
By the goodness of God at work within people, I believe that brokenness can be healed. "And the lion and the lamb shall lie down together, and everyone will sit under their own vine and fig tree, and none shall be afraid."