Mt. Olive Lutheran Church
Sermon for 2nd Sunday of Easter
By Rabbi Neil Comess-Daniels -
"When the moon is in the Seventh House
And Jupiter aligns with Mars."
You might recognize these words as the opening lines of the song "Aquarius" from the Broadway show "Hair." The words reflect a belief that the world would soon be entering a new astrological age because of this heavenly alignment. In these past couple of weeks and upcoming days, another kind of alignment occurred and will occur that deserves our attention.
As Christians and Jews, we just concluded Passover and Easter. These holy days have a critical underlying theme in common: redemption, rescue, and ushering in a new era of peace and reconciliation, akin to an "Age of Aquarius." During these sacred seasons for our two religions, both our peoples contemplate how we might behave better, doing our part to pave the way for that peaceful time. This year the end of Passover and two days before Easter coincided with the Hindu festival of Rama Navami, celebrating the Hindu god Rama's birthday. It is a time for many Hindus to reflect on their moral values. For Muslims, the month-long fast of Ramadan is soon approaching. Finally, this past Thursday was Yom Hashoah, the day the Jewish people commemorate the Holocaust.
The last time I visited Israel, I knew we would be landing on Erev Yom HaShoah, the evening of the beginning of Holocaust Memorial Day, and I was fully aware of what happens there on that day. As you might understand, Israel is the only country in the world that observes Yom HaShoah as a national holiday. Some people go so far as to say that Israel's raison d'etre is to shout, "Never again!" into the winds of history, proclaiming Israel's determination that no one will ever again threaten the Jewish people with extermination. I had all that in mind when we flew to Israel and, after traversing several time zones, we arrived early in the morning Israel time and quickly fell fast asleep in our hotel room in Tel Aviv. We were awakened by air raid sirens shattering our sleep. I jumped out of bed quickly because the last time I had been in Israel and heard those sirens was in 1973 when I was a rabbinical student. In that year, those alarms signaled that Israel was under attack. The Yom Kippur War had begun.
Such was not the case on that morning. I opened the doors to our small patio, and when I gazed below, I realized in an instant that I had nothing to fear. The sirens were an annual occurrence on Yom HaShoah. They went off every year at 10 a.m. ushering in two minutes of nationwide silence. All the cars in the streets stopped. Buses, too. People exited their vehicles and stood silently nearby. Everyone ceased walking on the busy Tel Aviv sidewalks or strolling on the oceanfront. Even surfers sat quietly on their boards. Such is Israel's poignant expression of her inextricable link to the Holocaust. Thinking of that shocking awakening, I am mindful that some of those who were silently standing were Holocaust survivors, the last of the eyewitnesses.
Yom HaShoah sits shrouded in darkness and in stark contrast to the other religious holy days that passed recently or are soon to arrive. Passover, Easter, and Rama Navami are all celebrations, including notions of renewal, possibility, and hope. While the month of Ramadan is a serious time of fasting, moral recommitment, and reading of the Qur'an, it is punctuated and concluded with joyous breakings of the fast. Yom HaShoah is not a celebration at all. It is not even a holy time in the typical sense. It is serious, yes, but not in the way Ramadan is serious. Passover and Easter point towards redemption. There is no redemption in Yom HaShoah – only destruction. Christians understand that there is death in Easter, but this death is death transcended and a death that has a purpose. It would be insulting to their lives and their memories to overlay a reason for the deaths of the six million Jews murdered in the Holocaust. They would much rather have lived. We would much prefer that they had lived! What music died with them? What literature? What inventions? What scientific discoveries? What loves? What understandings and perceptions? Entire families were destroyed in the Holocaust. There are no remnants. There are no graves. There is no rising from this death, except in the clouds of ash from the smokestacks attached to the crematoria. There is no "reason" why this happened, not even the birth of the modern state of Israel.
Amidst the happiness and promise offered by Passover, Rama Navami, Easter, and Ramadan, Yom HaShoah's ashes hover as an unwelcome cloud. Still, while the deaths held within this day's emptiness may have no reason, we can give them purpose. Especially now that the first-hand witnesses are aging and dying, we must commit to inherit this nearly successful genocidal legacy. As a world civilization, we have not yet learned the lessons of the Holocaust. Over forty genocides have been attempted since. We must disallow even the tiniest embers of the flames of this kind of hatred ever to burn again. When White Supremacists shout, "Jews will not replace us," we must all take it seriously. When Asian Americans and Pacific Islanders are attacked and murdered because of some sick and dangerous theories, we must take it seriously. When Muslim and Sikh Americans are blamed for every act of violence or suspected of disloyalty, we must take it seriously. When African Americans are legally disabled from voting freely and fairly and denied the possibility of worthwhile reparations for the ramifications of their slavery, this must be our struggle. Dr. King reminded us that everything the Nazis did to the Jewish people they first made legal. His life tells us that just because something is legal does not make it morally just or righteous. Latinex Americans who do not yet have that status must have a path to citizenship because otherwise, it marginalizes their entire community and leaves them all vulnerable to bias, bigotry, and discrimination. We must see the refugees at our southern border as the desperate and nationless people they are, and we must receive them with kindness and benevolence rather than mistrust, fear, and prejudicial suppositions. Even the slightest inkling of any of these and similar poisonous seeds must be swept away before they can take root. None of this can erase the deaths of the Six Million or even give those deaths meaning. Still, by being vigilant abolitionists of hatred, we will use their memories honorably and for a holy purpose.
Rabbi Neil Comess-Daniels
Rabbi-in-Residence - Mt. Olive Lutheran Church
Santa Monica, California
Sermon for:
April 11, 2021
