I Can’t Breathe

The conversations most worth having are the hardest ones. The topics that activate our flight instinct are the ones that demand that we stay in our discomfort, so that we can learn to practice through our fear and resistance. Most often, what we resist facing is exactly what is needed to grow; they’re called growing pains for a reason. The topic of race is such a difficult one, and right now our entire country is emotionally ablaze with it. It is on my mind all day, as is the case for the majority of the country, following the murder of George Floyd by a White policeman. George Floyd’s tragic and infuriating death at the hand of those tasked with protecting and saving us, was the straw that finally broke the camel’s back. After a long string of undeserved, unfair, and unwarranted Black deaths at the hands of White law, Floyd’s desperate cries of “I can’t breathe” while a White cop kneeled on his neck, literally squeezing the life out of him, became a metaphor for suffocation of an entire race. I know that on one hand there is only one race, the human race, but on the other hand people are indeed different colors that all must be seen and honored. One of the things I have humbly learned during this time is that People of Color don’t really want us to “not see color”. They wish for the world to absolutely recognize their color and it’s implications; what they want is for it to be honored and not held against them. To ignore their color is to ignore the suffering and pain they have endured. To ignore their color is to not give credit to what their cultures have contributed to the rich landscape of humanity. From a musical perspective alone, could I ever ignore the fact that Black culture birthed hip hop? Of course not. To deny that would be to discredit the unique genius, suffering, joy, and passion behind it. I am so proud of important Jewish figures who have contributed to society; it would bother me for someone to strip away that credit and acknowledgement. The goal isn’t to BE the same, but it must be to be TREATED the same. And right now that is sadly not the case. The residual effects of the despicable slavery system, in which Blacks were believed to be inherently inferior, still linger, even amongst well meaning, kind people. The problem doesn’t really lie with the small pockets of idiotic KKK groups. No one normal is listening to them. The problem continues as a result of majority of “good” society members unconsciously perpetuating destructive beliefs. During this time of uncomfortable and shameful education, I have realized I have been guilty of certain ignorances too. It is very hard for me, due to my own deep cultural conditioning, to not see the world through a Jewish lens. Sometimes I can and sometimes I can’t. Sometimes I want to and sometimes I don’t. When the topic of race comes up, I get very reactive. Anti Semitic behavior is a fact of Jewish life. I don’t even expect differently, which is sad for many reasons. One of those reasons is that defending Jewish lives will never be popular or trendy. No Instagram account will ever likely “take a week off” to educate themselves on Jewish suffering and mistreatment. Jews are killed ALL THE TIME. The world is always silent. When these incidents occur at the hands of broken madmen, not at the hands of the police, none of my non Jewish friends reach out to me. When I post an emotional message on Yom HaShoa about how my whole family was killed in the Holocaust, my POC friends don’t comment or acknowledge it. I never even noticed until recently, because as previously stated, I don’t expect it. Jews have always been alone. Just like there is this messed up view about other cultures being inferior, so too is there this ignorant belief that all Jews are rich and don’t need support. Oh, not only do we not need help, but we have apparently been the cause of most of the world’s problems. Let’s just say that ridiculous belief about all of us being wealthy were true (I can’t dignify this with further explanation). Would that mean that outrage isn’t called for when one of us is brutally attacked and murdered? Does that mean that we don’t merit the support of allies/rallies/ hashtags/ protests/ news/social media? Racism comes in many forms. To declare oneself anti racist is to include ALL races. A true lover of all of humanity doesn’t get to pick and choose who they defend. Truthfully, I can think of a lot of folks now who are militantly enraged about the senseless deaths of George Floyd and Breanna Taylor, AS THEY SHOULD BE. But these same people were silent when several Jews were gunned down innocently grocery shopping in New Jersey, our own backyard. Or when a gunman opened fire in that synagogue in Philadelphia last year, killing many. Jews were sad and shaken, but not one of my DJ friends skipped a beat on their Instagram accounts. It was business as usual, as is always the case when a Jew is killed. If it even makes it into the media, and that’s a huge if, it doesn’t seem to land with a mass thud. I don’t know how not to resent this. Maybe I don’t have to, and the challenge is to hold that while honoring the suffering of Blacks now. Our suffering being met with apathy doesn’t mean they don’t deserve my bleeding heart right now and always. While I understand that these antisemitic acts were carried about by private citizens and not police,  we should all stand united regardless of the details. Anytime someone is brutality killed on American soil we must react.  Hate is hate.I have been gathering and channeling my rage, resentment, and Jewish frustration this week. I have vowed to do what I can to never let another group of people feel the way Jews have felt throughout all of history. You don’t know aloneness until you have stood in the hollowed out shell of a gas chamber, tracing claw marks with your fingers, picturing people exactly like you begging bricks to help them breathe. There was no #icantbreathe in a gas chamber in a concentration camp, and not just because social media wasn’t yet a thing. Those atrocities took place in the middle of cities, while those safe and unaffected were chilling as usual. The words “people” and “smokestacks” do not belong together. The world is basically just as silent now as it was then, as it was during the many other times in history when one fearful lunatic tried to eliminate every single one of us from the face of the earth. Not that long ago, there were meetings in ornate banquet halls on how to solve The Jewish Question, that question being, “how do we get rid of them?”. To this day, when my kids walk to synagogue on Shabbat my heart is in my throat. A Kippah is a bullseye to me. I distinctly recall walking to my own synagogue as a child, in my white sweater and black Mary Janes, hearing teenagers speed by screaming, “Hitler should have gotten the rest of you!”. Yes, I “can pass” as I have been told by my POC friends, but Jews in overtly religious dress cannot. An ultra Orthodox Jew is recognized from space (those baseball hats fool no one). No one should have to avoid religious garb to save their life. During WW2 Jews that were hidden were always in danger of being checked for circumcision; a bris back then was the kiss of death.

One of the things I’ve been working on for many months, especially now, is to not make this about me and my lens. To not allow my own racial suffering to take over the current narrative. This time is about Blacks needing to feel that they matter, and that their lives are seen as beautiful and valuable. In thinking of being able to pass due to my white skin, I have had to admit that I can. In regard to my prior point about Jews that were hidden in gentile homes by the few gentiles willing to do so (some out of kindness, some out of making money off it, some who used Jewish children as slaves), I have also admitted that Blacks cannot get away with that. They cannot be concealed. They don’t have the privilege of passing. If one wants to harm them, they are entirely visible. And though Jews often face brutal anti Semitic acts, we aren’t followed around  in stores or wrongly accused of crimes. People don’t shrink when we enter elevators, or cross the street when we walk alongside them. Policemen don’t kneel on our necks in broad daylight, snuffing the life out of us as we cry for help in public. And if they did, our armies of lawyers and judges would rise up immediately. We can get away with defending ourselves in a way Black people can’t. These are all very sad realities that must be faced under glaring lights. This new level of awareness must be honestly studied and used as cause for action. I don’t see myself as the average White person, since I am a minority too. But the world sees a White woman and that comes with major responsibility right now. I have always said to my kids, when they are uncomfortable on Holocaust Remembrance Day, that six million souls who perished deserve our tears. Not only is it ok to cry, but it is our duty. I will now apply that same level of empathy to others, more than I ever have before, as that same duty to any member of the human race. Yes, we are magnificently different, but underneath all the human stuff we are exactly the same. We all were built to breathe. As one who has a regular mediation practice, I spend a great deal of time focusing on the profound gift of breath. Floyd’s pleas to breathe were denied by someone who had no right to take his inhales and exhales away. To inhale and exhale is the greatest physical gift. Breath is life. It is a physical, spiritual, mental, and emotional act all at once. When I am actually able to luxuriate in my own breath I feel like I can conquer the world but that I don’t even need to. To breathe is simply enough. George Floyd could not have chosen more impactful last words. Those words started a much needed movement. What they represent is life itself. “ I can’t breathe” means “I can’t live”, and no, Blacks must not have to live a moment longer in a society that gives them subpar treatment. Their cries to matter are heartbreaking. The fact that there was a need for the Black Lives Matter movement is heartbreaking. The pandemic happening alongside the racial crisis boiling over is a clear message that the entire world must be jackhammered and rebuilt. We are being asked to change because we are ready for better.

I have always treated every person with kindness, empathy, and respect. I know this. I have taught my children the same. This last week we have been talking about the unjust horror of recent events, and how it’s our responsibility as a hunted people to not let others be treated terribly based on race, religion, gender, or sexuality. My kids are being raised in the same protective Jewish bubble in which I was, but I’m determined to widen their young lenses. Access to social media makes them far more aware of world news and events than I ever was. We have these important discussions, which include the privilege that comes attached to our skin color. They don’t need to apologize for that, but it is an awareness that breeds deeper sensitivity and understanding towards those punished for being a different color. That must stop. Those broken people hurting others need to be so scared of the consequences that they’ll think twice. Meaning, the laws must change to protect and serve all people equally. No one should get away with anything like this. Our government has failed, it must do better. Our police force has failed, it must do better. Our society has failed, it must do better. We can’t expect crazy people to be better, but most of us aren’t crazy; the job falls on us to rise up together as brothers and sisters. We can, however, demand that the crazies be so severely punished so as to serve as a cautionary tale.

I heard a fierce dharma talk tonight by Black gay zen priest, Zenju Earthlyn Manuel. She said we honor our ancestors by practicing, them being the earth, the sky, all of nature. They are all so different yet live in harmony, and look how long they’ve lasted. They are far stronger and wiser than us. But we are human, and that comes with rage, fear, and sadness. We are angry but we practice. We are sad but we practice. We are scared but we practice. Each breath leads into the next, it is one continuing circle. A circle encompasses all in it. Night to day, winter to spring, young to old, birth to death, it’s all the same. Beginnings to endings then back to beginnings. We can always begin again. A new dawn is always just a few hours away.

We practice until we can no longer breathe.

And sometimes when we can no longer breathe, we become the change the world needs.