Three weeks ago, some young vandals threw rocks inscribed with swastikas at the Temple Beth Israel synagogue during the Shabbat service. The next Friday, I attended the service with two friends.
Hundreds of people held candles for a vigil outside and overflowed the aisles inside. It was not just how many, but also who: Eugene Mayor Jim Torrey, Cafe Soriah owner Ibrahim Hamide, Tamam Adi, director of the Islamic Cultural Center, and Minister Dan Bryant of the First Christian Church. I was pleasantly surprised to see prominent representatives attend this service. The vandals committed a terrible act of hate, but the city responded with acts of love.
In his sermon, Rabbi Yitzhak Husbands-Henkin recalled the biblical character of Amalek, who attacked the weak and powerless. Like Amalek, the hoodlums attempted to intimidate and isolate the Jewish community. They tried to put fear into the whole city. But very wise hearts responded differently, choosing instead to see the image of God dwelling among us.
Jonathan Seidel, the rabbinic assistant, read a 1790 letter from George Washington to a Newport, R.I., synagogue, affirming the country’s commitment to tolerance and pluralism, and its abhorrence of bigotry. What followed were latter-day messages of friendship from the heirs of Washington: Mayor Torrey, a practicing Catholic, praised the contributions of Temple Beth Israel.
After Sept. 11, he said, the first person he contacted was the rabbi, to protect people of Middle Eastern descent from potential reprisals. Ibrahim Hamide spoke next, to great cheer. Our love is much bigger than their misguidedness, he said. Tamam Adi greeted the congregation with Shalom — and some members responded with Salaam. Those two words — shalom and salaam — signified the shared cultural heritage of Muslims and Jews. He concluded with a message to the vandals: Change. Wake up. The world is changing. Credit changes in mainstream Christian theology for shaping this climate of tolerance.
Many churches have denounced anti-Semitism and taken responsibility for their historical role in fostering expulsions, inquisitions, ghettos and pogroms. As Reverend Bryant said, an attack on the temple is an attack on all houses of worship. I reflected that while Amalek and his ilk attack the powerless, the Jewish culture has a tradition of caring for the vulnerable and weak. One outside speaker described the congregation’s role in helping folks in the larger community: supporting the cause of farmworkers, the homeless, gays and lesbians, and last September, keeping watch over the local mosque after it was attacked.
Maariv, Shalom Aleyheim, Shema, Amidah, Kaddish — my ignorance of Hebrew kept me from truly understanding the prayers and songs. But I could appreciate their dignity and harmony. I recognized the word for peace, which popped up often. And I remember one prayer in English, by Judy Chicago, which declared: “And then all that has divided us will merge, and then compassion will be wedded to power, and then softness will come to a world that is harsh and unkind.” When the service ended after two hours, I left to find people still holding candles outside.
I thought about what had drawn me to come that night. I went partly from a sense of outrage at the act, and a desire to show solidarity. I went partly because I found out the Emerald would not be covering it. But I was drawn because of the things I value — tolerance, compassion, fairness, love and justice. Because I learned these values in part from my Jewish friends and teachers. Because these simple values seem at the present to elude some people in this country and abroad. Because love is the opposite of hate, and therefore its best response.