Too Proud to Celebrate
Parashat Emor 5771
Early Monday morning, I found myself sitting in a police car. No, I wasn’t arrested. I was sitting in the front seat next to the officer. I recently started volunteering with the Denver Police Department as a Chaplain; and on Monday I went on my first ride-along. I spent 7 hours patrolling downtown with a very nice officer named Martinez[1].
But the whole day I was preoccupied with two overriding questions.
The first question on my mind was: “What the heck am I doing riding around in a police car wearing a uniform and a badge!?” Sure, I liked the way the ballistic vest under my shirt makes me look as though I actually have a chest; but why would these cops need a rabbi and what could I possibly offer them?
The second question weighing heavy on my mind was, “how do I feel about the capture and killing of Osama bin Laden?” The news was so fresh I could hardly believe it. Nearly 10 years after September 11, 2001 they finally got the guy! And, that morning, riding around in a police car, I was meditating in the background of my mind what it means to me and how I feel about it.
And somehow – at least in my mind – these two questions seemed to have a confluence. How I felt about being a police chaplain and how I felt about our military killing bin Laden seemed to overlap.
At 7:30 in the morning, officer Martinez took me on a unique tour of downtown. Just yards from our state capitol he said to me with the blasé cynicism of a veteran, “this park over here?… this is where they sell marijuana… and see that bus stop? Those guys look like they’re waiting for bus… but some of them are selling heroine.” Martinez had done undercover drug stings so he knew all the secret signals they give each other.
Most of the morning was pretty slow. A malfunctioning alarm went off at a pizza place. A homeless guy called 911 from a payphone for apparently no reason. But then the calls started getting more interesting. At a low-rent apartment building one elderly man threatened another elderly man over 15 dollars the one had borrowed from the other. They were clearly harmless, but they sure were mad. Nevertheless, with the skill of a social worker Officer Martinez defused the situation. I was very impressed by his talent with people. We dealt with a lot of difficult and strange personalities that day, but he was always friendly, courteous and professional. Back in the car he told to me that he feels he has to take care of the poor people in his precinct because no one else looks out for them.
As we drove around, my mind went back to the killing of bin Laden. The night before, I saw how exuberant crowds had gathered in New York and Washington. There were chants of “USA!” and spontaneous singing of the national anthem. I wondered what that was all about… was that joy or something else? Did I feel joyful or triumphant? And is it appropriate to feel that way?
Just a couple of weeks ago at our Passover seder tables we spilled out our wine during the recitation of the 10 plagues – signifying that we don’t take pleasure at the downfall of our enemies. Yet at the very same seder, we stood up and shouted into the darkness of night, “ …שְׁפֹךְ חֲמָתְךָ” – “[God] pour out your wrath on the nation… that devoured Jacob and desolated his home!” (Psalms 79:6-7).
On the one hand, the book of proverbs teaches “בִּנְפֹל אויביך אוֹיִבְךָ אַל תִּשְׂמָח וּבִכָּשְׁלוֹ אַל יָגֵל לִבֶּךָ” – “If your enemy falls, do not celebrate. If he trips, let not your heart rejoice.” (Prov. 24:17). On the other hand, the very same book says, “בַאֲבֹד רְשָׁעִים רִנָּה” – “When the wicked perish, there is joy!” (Prov. 11:10). So which one is it? It seems our tradition is able to hold both of these up. One of them prescribes behavior: no, you shouldn’t rejoice at the downfall of an enemy. The other is describes an emotion: when evil is destroyed, people rejoice. That’s just a fact. Sunday night was a moment of emotional catharsis. Is it the most appropriate way to behave? My inclination is to say no. But, you know what? When evil is destroyed, there is joy… that’s how people feel and I wouldn’t begrudge them for indulging in those feelings (at least for a short while).
The custom of pouring out our wine on Pesach comes from a midrash that says that when the Children of Israel danced upon seeing the Egyptians drown in the Sea, the Angels in God’s heavenly court wished to join in the celebration. But, God admonished them saying, “how can you sing when my creatures are drowning?!” (BT Megillah 10b). The interesting thing about that midrash is that God scolds the angels, not the Israelites. To “our better angels” (so to speak) God says, it isn’t appropriate to rejoice; but I also think God understand why we do. On Sunday night a reporter interviewed a woman who had come out with the crowds around Ground Zero. She had lost her husband in the WTC. She said to the reporter, “as a Christian I know I shouldn’t be rejoicing, but I think God will give me a pass on this one.” Perhaps she’s right.
I can’t stand in judgment of that feeling. But I’m also glad to see that our country’s demeanor has quickly shifted. Because I don’t feel joy right now. I’m glad bin Laden is no more, and I believe that our government acted justly. But it’s hard to feel joy when I think about what bin Laden did to us – how he and his followers killed thousands of Americans and thousands of others around the world. I can’t feel joy when I think about the terror we’ve felt for the last decade and that, as a result, we sacrificed the blood of our young and a large portion of our economy. I can’t feel joy when I think about how our society has been transformed and degraded. Killing one terrorist isn’t going to bring any of the victims of 9/11 back. It isn’t going to undo two wars or restore the way of life we once enjoyed. It doesn’t override the sadness.
As my mind wandered, another call came over the police radio. “This could be the big one, Chaplain,” Officer Martinez said with excitement, “a burglary!” In another low-rent apartment building, one resident stole some valuables from another apartment. Officer Martinez and another officer, named Michaels, tried to coax the guy out of his apartment but when he refused to open the door I could see a combination of tension and excitement come over the officers. As they waited for the manager to bring the key, they checked their weapons repeatedly and began joking with one another about how the guy inside was probably loading a shotgun, and they pumped themselves up quoting lines from police movies. “This could be the big one, chaplain… you better stand over here. But we might need you” he said with a smile, “by the sound of it this guy might have an appointment to meet his Maker!”
I felt their excitement but I also felt a little scared and more than a little uncomfortable about the way they were talking about the possibility of shooting another human being. But as we stood there waiting, I couldn’t help think about the Navy Seals who took down Osama bin Laden. I wondered how they felt; how they psyched themselves up for their mission. They prepared for months, practiced in a mockup of the compound… I wonder if they broke the tension with jokes; if relished the possibility of taking out the epitome of evil.
The key finally arrived and the officers’ demeanor changed instantly. With hand signals they snapped into position. They drew their weapons and as one of them knocked loudly on the door, the other one silently turned the key. Michaels crouched down and took the lead, Martinez ordered the perp to the ground. They quickly cuffed him, read him his rights, and searched his apartment with impressive skill. Despite the fact that this burglar was a major sleazebag with a long arrest record; despite the fact that he was uncooperative and wouldn’t admit to what he had done, the officers were absolutely professional and treated him with dignity, certainly more dignity than he deserved.
When it was over, I felt myself no longer uncomfortable in my uniform. Instead I felt proud of it. I felt proud to be on Martinez’s team. I felt proud that in Denver – and in America – this is how we do justice. I felt proud that we live in a country of laws and ideals – like the rights of criminals. Later I told Officer Martinez how impressed I was. Not just about the burglary; but about how he does his job in general; how he conducts himself with people. I think he appreciated hearing it because I don’t think too many people tell him. And, I started to understand my role as a chaplain. Among other things, I think it is to bear witness to the difficult job cops do, and let them know, on behalf of the citizens of our city, that we appreciate them. I think it’s to show them that we’re on their team and that if they need to talk, they have someone who wears their uniform and who gets it.
Now, I know the two situations are a world apart. Busting down the door of a petty criminal and raiding the compound of American’s most wanted aren’t the same, but that afternoon my feelings about both of these became clearer. To me the question isn’t about whether it’s appropriate to feel joy about bin Laden. Everyone’s going to feel what they feel and it’s very hard to tell people their feelings are wrong. But, as I do about our police officers, I feel proud. I feel proud of our nation’s capability and willingness to seek justice, and to do it through just means. I feel proud of our intelligence officials for what must have been the painstaking police work. I’m proud of our Navy Seals who executed this mission with such incredible precision, avoiding civilian casualties. I feel proud of our leadership for making very tough decisions. Most of all, I’m proud to be on this team, and not the other side. Because, I’m proud of the ways we are clearly and starkly different. More than anything, the events of this week have made clear what America is capable of, at its best. We showed our enemies, and the world, that there is a difference between justice and vengeance. This was exemplified by the decision not to release photos of bin Laden. The president said something that I think expresses the difference I’m talking about. He said, we don’t need to “spike the football” – we don’t need to feed anyone’s morbid curiosity, we don’t need to inflame anyone or give our enemies something they can use as propaganda. And he added: “that’s not who we are.” That’s right. That’s not who we are. At our best, we’re better than that. The answer to the question of whether to feel joy right now is to feel proud instead; to know that our system is just and that our cause is just and, as such, we are more dignified than to revel in the death of any human being. I think that’s something to be proud of.
Shabbat Shalom.
[1] Names have been changed.
Clergy across denominations this week were struggling with how to deal with this topic. You did a marvelous job — sorry I missed hearing it in person!
Elena