Shabbat shalom! I had my topic for tonight set weeks ago, but then last Shabbat came and went, as and sometimes happens, that plan had to be set aside. Laura and I had spent an entirely restful day together in the Berkshires – sleeping, reading, relaxing. But the peace of last Shabbat was shattered at day’s end as I learned of the death of not just one, but two teachers. I am certain the two never knew one another. One had a hand in shaping me early in life – as a teenager, and then for decades more as I began my path towards and through the rabbinate. The other became my teacher in these last two decades as our family settled here in Newton and as I served my active years here at Temple Shalom, and in a larger sense against the broader canvas backdrop of Newton.
The first was a powerful, prophetic voice of our Reform Jewish community, especially at the national level. The second was an inspiring, prophetic voice for many of us here in Newton and across the Boston area. While I am certain they never met, they were, in the words of Rabbi Larry Kushner linked by “an invisible line of connection.” Both were models and leaders in different arenas of the broader fight for civil and human rights. Both were active warriors for human dignity who stood tall and spoke loudly the truths they carried in their very souls.
The first teacher was Albert Vorspan, who died at the age of 95 last Shabbat. Al was one of the most visible and articulate spokespeople for our Jewish tradition’s imperative to make our world a better, brighter, and safer place for each and every precious reflection of the image of God. I first encountered Al as a NFTY participant. I was probably about 15 years old. To me, and to my fellow LIFTYites, Al was a giant. In those days, the early 1970’s, we were barely removed from the power and tumult of the Civil Rights movement in which Al played no small part. He was the director of our movement’s Religious Center in Washington, DC.and he was the leader of the Commission on Social Action (on which I served for several years). Al was one of the many luminaries to whom we were exposed and to whom we had frequent access in those days growing in and around New York. It was not uncommon for Al to appear at our regional events where he would share stories of his experiences and implant within our very souls the core teachings of our tradition on justice, human dignity, and our responsibilities as bearers of the Divine image in God’s world. Though I recall several Jewish books I cherished from my early years, none did I cherish more, nor hold onto longer, than his small light blue, 3-ring binder entitled Jewish Values and Social Crisis. For years after its sequel, Tough Choices: Jewish Perspectives on Social Justice which he co-wrote with Rabbi David Saperstein, had already taken its place in my library as a part of my canon, I still could not part with that touchstone from my early teen years. Finally, I reluctantly parted with it, but not with the teachings which Al taught my generation, and many others, to absorb into our very bones and to live in our lives. As I have thought about Al this past week, I have found myself reflecting on some of the paths I have traveled. I can’t help but see his imprint on me and my choices, even some tough choices, I have faced over the years.
Al was a master raconteur. Indeed, in later years, as he became Senior Vice-President Emeritus of the URJ, he was one of the two figures who would close each Biennial with a humorous yet meaningful recap of the week’s gathering. For many of my age, one story stands out. Indeed, my dear friend Rabbi Jeff Salkin tells the story in his tribute to Al Vorspan in his blog, Martini Judaism. As soon as Jeff mentioned he would circle back to a single story I knew precisely which one he meant. Reform Jews of a certain age, vintage, and level of participation in Reform Jewish life in the ’70s and even through the ’80s all knew it. Al loved to tell of the time he went to Saint Augustine, Florida, to march for civil rights with a bunch of rabbis. They all wound up in a jail cell. As the hours passed, the rabbis were each rehearsing what they planned for their Friday night sermons after their release from jail. At one point, Al rattled the bars of the cell and yelled for the jailer: “You are violating my civil rights!” he screamed. “How so?” asked the jailer. Al replied: “You have me cooped up in here with a bunch of rabbis. They are all working on their sermons. This is police brutality!” That was Al Vorspan. He was our moral conscience. Our world is just a bit darker without his light.
The second teacher, a friend, and colleague died closer to home – here in Newton, where he lived his entire life. Reverend Howard Haywood was also a staunch soldier in the fight for civil rights, human dignity and in more recent years, a tireless advocate for Housing Rights. This past August. Mayor Ruthanne Fuller invited the clergy of Newton to her office for a conversation about community and the issues we face. At no point in my 20 years here have I seen a larger turnout of clergy – some 35-40 of us crowded into the Mayor’s office. It was mid-August! I thought to myself, “Aren’t you all on vacation?” Yet there we were – all parts of the religious spectrum, including 3 of my Orthodox colleagues, whom I have rarely seen at clergy gatherings. As we settled into our chairs, I realized that quite by chance I was seated next to Howard. He greeted me warmly and we chatted about our families. I knew he was seriously ill, yet when it came his time to speak, I was certain that the prophetic voice had been awakened as he spoke forcefully about community values, racial justice, and housing. He called all of us, his younger colleagues to grab the mantle, as he knew his day would soon pass. It was inspiring. It was a rallying cry. I felt energized, as many others have since that day. At the end, we embraced. He thanked me for being by his side – and I thanked him for being my teacher and my friend. Fortunately, we had a number more such opportunities over the months since then, the most recent just a few weeks ago at a gathering back in City Hall at the dedication of an exhibit about Myrtle Baptist Church, where he served as pastor for 24 years. It will yet hang for a few more weeks. Go see it and learn a bit about our city’s history!
In mid-December, our Newton community filled our sanctuary here at TS as the community came out for a moving tribute to Howard. That night I was truly honored to have been invited, at Howard’s request, to be one of three people to offer a toast to him. Here are just a few of my words from that night: "In a classic early Rabbinic text on ethics, morality and practical wisdom, the 1st century Jewish Sage Ben Zoma is recorded as having taught (Pirke Avot 4:1): "Ben Zoma says: Who is the wise one? He who learns from all men . . .
"In my 20 years in Newton, few figures have had as profound an impact on me as you Howard. I have always found you to be a strong moral and justice-oriented presence in our community – and I have watched you listen carefully to the views of those around you, cognizant that you do not have a grasp on all truth, mindful that those around you can help you gain a better understanding of the ultimate truth. You have never, in my experience, compromised your values and core. Yet, you have been open to the people around you. In our time, that balance is all-too-rare. . .
"Who is the mighty one? He who channels his passion. Howard – I have seen you speak your truth with incredible passion. I have been present when you call those in power and those who would lead to task for overlooking what is truly important. When trivial matters and narrowness of mind and heart obscure the truth and what is important you have forcefully and yet lovingly called us out. Even with just your presence, you remind us of what is important – such as was the case at the hearing at Newton South a few weeks ago. Your mere presence was grounding and important. You have been our communal moral conscience.
"Howard – this afternoon we gather to honor you, and to thank you. Our best form of honoring you yet lies before us. We must continue living the lessons you have taught us: to pursue justice, equity and wholeness (which in this house we call shalom) day by day, month by month, year by year. The best way we can honor you is by continuing to hear your call – and by responding."
Our world, my world, is a bit darker for Howard’s absence – as well as that of Al Vorspan. I pray these two giants, these two heroes, these two courageous men will somehow meet in that world which we do not yet know. I know they will enjoy such a meeting. I know, that I was changed by each of them, and for that I am grateful!
Shabbat Shalom!
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