FAITH HOUSE Manhattan

Burning Rage Meets Burning Grace

~ John Hubers is currently a PhD student at the Lutheran School of Theology at Chicago concentrating his studies on the history of Christian-Muslim relations.  Prior to this he served as the Director of the Reformed Church in America's mission program in the Middle East and South Asia as well as pastor of international congregations in the Arabian Gulf states of Oman and Bahrain.  I (Samir) met John in Boston at the meeting of Interfaith Relations Commission of National Council of Churches held at Harvard University this past June. He told me this story and later send it to me.  It first appeared in a shortened form in the Other Side Magazine, October, 1997.

It’s the summer of 1981. I’m sitting with my missionary mentor in the book- smothered office of a Coptic Orthodox bishop downtown Cairo, Egypt.  He is speaking of the riots still smoldering in a slum not far from where we were sitting. 

He tells us how it started. 

A fanatical faction of the Ikhwan al Muslameen (Muslim Brotherhood) discovered that a Christian landowner had not properly registered a piece of property in the local deeds office. Seizing the moment, they occupied the land, planted a flag on it and announced their plans to build a mosque.  The Christian went to the police to protest.  They made noises, but did nothing.  The stage was set for a drama that no one saw coming and few wanted. 

It happened when the heated exchange reached a boiling point.  The spark was the squatters gathering a mob at the owner’s home with hostile intent.  The owner came to the door with a pistol in his hand.  He said, “leave!”  They said, “no!”  He fired a shot in the air.  Someone shouted:  “Christians are killing Muslims, Christians are killing Muslims.”  And the fires started burning.

For three days violent gangs bearing the name, but not the spirit of Islam, ran wild through the warren of streets targeting Christians and their shops.  A priest from Upper Egypt in Cairo visiting his brother had his head split open with an ax.  It was a low-level massacre.

At the height of the riots a gang approached the local church with gasoline cans in their hands and arson on their minds.  The parish priest saw them out of his office window.  And there wasn’t a thing he could do to stop them.  He had been praying for an end to the destruction and murder; now he prayed for a miracle. 

As they got closer he noticed another group of men gathering in the street; neighborhood shopkeepers, Muslims he knew as friends. His heart sank.  “Dear God, not them, too!”

Then he noticed that the shopkeepers weren’t joining the mob.  Instead they were forming a phalanx around the church.  He opened his window to listen to the exchange.  What he heard assured him that God is good . . . God and his neighbors.

“This is our church,” said the shopkeepers, “these are our friends.  If you want to burn it down, you’re going to have to kill us first!” 

Burning rage met burning grace.  And grace won.  The church was spared.

God and the Human Face: A Shavuot Reflection

~ Rabbi Or N. Rose is an associate dean at the Rabbinical School at Hebrew College and the co-editor of Righteous Indignation: A Jewish Call for Justice (Jewish Lights Publishing). Rabbi Rose is a friend  and precious source of wisdom and encouragement to Faith House.

The festival of Shavuot celebrates God’s revelation of the Torah to the Children of Israel at Mount Sinai.  Throughout the ages, Jewish thinkers have interpreted this foundational narrative in a variety of ways, reflecting their beliefs and experiences.  One teaching on matan Torah (“the giving of the Torah”) that I find particularly inspiring is a sermon by the Hasidic sage, Rabbi Naftali Tzvi of Ropshitz (1760-1827), recorded in the book Zera Kodesh.*

The Ropshitzer (as he is called by Hasidim) begins his commentary by quoting his teacher, Rabbi Mendl of Rymanov, who asserts that at Sinai the people of Israel heard “nothing from the mouth of God other than the letter aleph of the first utterance—‘Anokhi, I am the Lord Your God’ (Exodus 20:2).**”   In other words, what the Israelites heard at Sinai from God was undifferentiated sound or the “sound of silence,” for a freestanding aleph makes no sound at all.  In either case, this interpretation is a significant revision of the biblical text (see Exodus 20:1), as it denies that God articulated any specific content to Israel. 

What leads this Hasidic master to reach such a daring conclusion?  He bases his comment on a statement from the book of Psalms, “One thing God has spoken but two things I have heard” (62:12).  That is to say, while the Divine-human encounter is pregnant with meaning, it always requires interpretation to determine its significance for an individual or community.

Following his teacher’s comments about the aural dimension of the revelation, the Ropshitzer inquires about what the Israelites saw at Sinai.  This is a thorny question because in the book of Deuteronomy there are two contradictory statements about the issue. Deuteronomy 4:15 states, “You saw no image when the Lord your God spoke to you,” but just one chapter later it reads, “The Lord spoke with you face to face at the mountain” (5:4).

The Ropshitzer’s resolution of this contradiction builds upon Rabbi Mendel’s insight about the aleph.  He states that while God was indeed formless at Sinai, the people did see a representation of the Divine—the letter aleph.  Where did the Israelites see the aleph?  Was it projected in the sky as a sign of God’s presence, did it take the form of a pillar of fire or a cloud of smoke?  No, the aleph appeared on the faces of the people of Israel.
 

 

Thinking visually, the Ropshitzer explains that if one deconstructs the figure of the aleph, detaching the upper and lower markings from the central line, the components can be restructured to create two eyes and a nose, the outline of a human face. 

He goes on to say that each eye resembles the letter yud (the tenth letter of the Hebrew alphabet), and the nose between them looks like a vav (the sixth letter).  And when one adds up the two yuds and the vav they equal 26 (10+10+6=26).  Amazingly, this number is the same as God’s most sacred name—Yud, Heh, Vav, Heh (10+5+6+5=26), sometimes rendered as “Yahweh” in English, but considered ineffable, unpronounceable, by Jewish authorities.

   

So what does all of this fanciful exegesis mean?  It means, according to the Ropshitzer, that “every human face” represents both the essence of Torah—the aleph—and the sanctity of God’s name—Yud, Heh, Vav, Heh.  It means that at Sinai the community of Israel came to a heightened awareness of the holiness of every person in their midst—from the prophet to the water carrier, from the priest to the wood chopper.  As the Ropshitzer points out, this notion is first articulated in the book of Genesis (1:27), where the Bible describes Adam, the first human, as a being created “in the image of God.”  

The implication of such teachings is that every person—Jew and non-Jew alike (since we are all descendents of Adam and Eve)—must be treated as a holy being, as a bearer of revelation, as a unique manifestation of the Divine.  This is the meaning, says the Ropshitzer, of the teaching in Psalm 16:8, “I set the Lord before me continually.”  In his words, “The seal of the Holy Blessed One is literally on our faces.”

May we be blessed this Shavuot to experience the great and ongoing revelation of God and Torah in the faces of all those who we encounter.

______________

* I wish to thank my teacher, Rabbi Arthur Green, for sharing this text with me.  See his brief comments on this teaching in Seek My Face: A Jewish Mystical Theology, pp. 111-112 (Jewish Lights).

**  My translation is based on that of Rabbi Lawrence Kushner in his The Way Into Jewish Mysticism, pp. 65-69 (Jewish Lights).

Have a Cup of Delicious Peace

~ by Ben Corey-Moran who is the Director of Strategic Partnerships and Coffee Development at Thanksgiving, and is a former member of the Specialty Coffee Association of America’s Sustainability Committee, as well as chair of United Student’s for Fair Trade’s National Advisory Board. He is inspired by his Jewish tradition's insights into justice, relationship, and deeply moved by the task of bringing his tradition to life in our time, especially in matters of food, farming, and trade. Ben lives in Northern California.

Sharing a dedication to the deepest expression of our faiths' values, Thanksgiving Coffee Company and Faith House are exploring the possibilities of global interfaith partnership for environmental justice, and an opportunity to support the 754-member Peace Kawomera Cooperative in Uganda. We hope to work together to bring this story of peace from Uganda and inspire individuals and communities here in the US.

In 2003, Joab Keki, a Ugandan farmer, walked door-to-door asking his Muslim, Christian, and Jewish neighbors to leave behind a history of conflict and face their challenges together. This community of third and fourth generation coffee farmers was struggling to make a living off the low prices offered by the local market. They faced a situation confronting millions like them around the world: struggle with low prices, or cut down the coffee trees, and surrounding forest for lumber, and try to make it with another crop. On the one hand, they had the hope for a sustainable farming future; on the other, they faced the dire consequences of poverty, both social and environmental. With the assistance of Thanksgiving Coffee Company, a family-run coffee roaster in Northern California, these Jewish, Christian and Muslim farmers formed a cooperative. They named their coffee Peace Kawomera, which means, “Delicious Peace” in the Luganda language.

Now in 2008, the Peace Kawomera Cooperative has grown to over 750 members. Thanks to their collective effort, the farmers sell directly to Thanksgiving Coffee Company, and receive $2.60 per pound, a price four times higher than what they were previously paid. This has enabled farmers to send their children to school, start savings accounts, and reinvest in their farms.

Somaili Bissaso, one of the Peace Kawomera Cooperative’s most prominent members was instrumental in convincing his Muslim community to join the cooperative, and has since led the growth and development of the interfaith peace effort. When asked about his thoughts on Thanksgiving Coffee, Bissaso responded,  “We are very grateful, and glad that you have come. You have encouraged us, and you have given us energy to love our coffee trees. Even our youth—my grandsons included—now have the hope to be coffee farmers one day. We pray that, Insha’allah, God gives us more time, luck, and energy.”

Together, the farmers have succeeded in doing something that none could have done alone. As they face the many challenges of life in rural Uganda, they look to their cooperative for hope and strength. In the coming years, the Cooperative plans to invest in land and equipment, offer microfinance to members and contribute to a variety of public health and education projects. That’s where communities like Faith House can help. Please visit our Community Development section to learn more about the Cooperative’s struggles and successes.

On the slopes of Mount Elgon, in Eastern Uganda, Muslim, Jewish, and Christian coffee farmers are struggling to heal a history of violence. Theirs is the story of farmers united by a shared struggle for fair and a sustainable economy. Their fair trade, organic and certified Kosher and Halal coffee is purchased by a growing network of churches, synagogues and mosques across the United States. We invite you to join efforts like this and harness the buying power of your community for peace and justice, and to heal the broken relationships of our world. 

To learn more about this story of peace, economic justice, and environmental sustainability, and to find out how you, your institution, or congregation can get involved, please visit Thanksgiving Coffee’s website, www.deliciouspeace.com.

A Mother's Day in Darfur

~ Rabbi Or N. Rose is an associate dean at the Rabbinical School at Hebrew College and the co-editor of Righteous Indignation: A Jewish Call for Justice (Jewish Lights Publishing). I (Samir) have met Rabbi Or after he gave a lecture at the General Theological Seminary in Manhattan. Since then, he has become a precious source of wisdom and encouragement to us. Many of us can join hands with Rabbi Or and all who are working towards the end of crisis in Darfur.

An ongoing genocide rages in Darfur, Sudan. The violence has already claimed as many as 450,000 lives and displaced more than 2.4 million people. Mothers, in particular, are at substantial risk in Darfur. After five years of conflict, most women who survived the destruction of their villages now live in displaced persons or refugee camps, where it is difficult to find firewood to cook with.

With no other way to feed their families, thousands of courageous women make the choice every day to leave the camps and expose themselves to attack from roving militiamen so that their husbands (who are at an even greater risk of being murdered) and children may live. The strength and resilience of these women reminds me of Shifrah and Puah, the two midwives in the first chapter of Exodus, who courageously defied Pharaoh and intervened to save the lives of the Israelite male children.

This past Mother’s Day weekend, in synagogues and churches across the country religious leaders shared the story of the brave mothers of Darfur with their communities, and congregants responded by donating generously to help protect these heroic women. This initiative was organized by the Genocide Intervention Network, one of the leading anti-genocide organizations in the United States. Over the next six months, GI-Net will work to build propane-powered kitchens in the camps, thus eliminating the need for firewood collection.

Of course, the crisis in Darfur will not be solved by humanitarian efforts alone.  In addition to helping alleviate the pain and suffering of the millions of people languishing in camps along the Sudan-Chad border, we must also agitate for a just political solution. 

With the Beijing Summer Olympics on the horizon, Darfur activists are calling on the Chinese government, Sudan's largest oil customer, valued arms supplier and chief ally on the U.N. Security Council, to stop President Omar al-Bashir and his ruthless administration from continuing its genocidal campaign against the people of Darfur.

The American Jewish World Service, the Jewish Council for Public Affairs (JCPA), and several other social justice organizations (including GI-Net and the Save Darfur Coalition) are calling on President Bush to boycott the opening ceremony of the Olympic Games unless China takes several key steps to help end the crisis in western Sudan. The list of actions includes China ending all arms transfers to Sudan, strongly and publicly condemning the atrocities in Darfur, and demanding that the government of Sudan comply with existing U.N. Security Council resolutions and rapidly facilitate the deployment of the United Nations-African Union peacekeeping force. 

President Bush could use this opportunity to recommit himself to the Darfur cause, as his record on this issue is inconsistent at best.  What better way for an outgoing president to spend his final months in office than to dedicate himself to ending the first genocide of the 21st century.

As we reflect on the meaning of Mother’s Day and on our love for our families, let us also remember the mothers, fathers, and children of Darfur who desperately need us to take action both as humanitarians and as political advocates.  Let us act with the courage of the ancient midwives of Exodus by joining GI-Net, AJWS, JCPA, and others in helping to birth a new era of justice and peace in western Sudan.