Stephen Beitler

Yom  Kippur 5766

How Do We Define Ourselves

Three weeks ago I was with 10 friends at Pete Miller’s restaurant in Evanston , Illinois .  These were people who have known each other for 40 years; we started college together and have stayed more or less in touch. 

We had come from New York , Seattle , Florida , Minnesota , California .  We talked about work, kids, baseball, Desperate Housewives, poker and politics.  Some of us are retired, others are somewhat employed, most of us still work.   

As we were leaving the restaurant my friend Arnie asked me, “Well, I know people’s lives aren’t slowing down, but do you ever feel as if it’s starting to wind down?”   

Danny Pearl didn’t have the luxury of a life that was winding down.  He didn’t have a moment to reflect on aging with friends.  But in saying “I am a Jew” in his last moments, Pearl committed an act of great humanity and journalism in just four syllables. 

As a human being, under the fiercest pressure, Pearl expressed his essence.  He defined himself.  His inspired rebuff to his murderers challenges us to do the same. 

As a journalist, he left us big questions: What did he mean? What does “I am a Jew” mean to me? How do we define ourselves?

Is it by our work? Our family or friends? Is it by what we own? Is it our faith? Or … do we define ourselves as a unique blend that makes us who we are?  

Everyone at Flint Center today wrestles with these questions.  When I first met the people around that table in the mid-1960s, I defined myself in pretty conventional terms.  I wanted to go to law school after college. 

By 1970, the last place I wanted to be was anywhere within six galaxies of the mainstream.  At college I had seen that the world desperately needed to change and that my job was to help make that happen.

That basic outlook has stayed with me.  But I have drifted slowly back to the mainstream.  I have a career I like and a great family.  And I’ve kept the skeptic in me alive with work at non-profits and in community groups -- and some activism.

One form of that activism is my work with Beth Am’s team that is part of PIA – Peninsula Interfaith Action.  PIA is a group of 28 congregations that encompass nine religions.  PIA organizes people and communities.  We work with elected officials and government agencies.  Our goal is to create systemic change that results in better housing, education, health care and more.  We learn first-hand about how government works and about the many unmet needs in our community. 

In PIA we accomplish a lot but we lose some too.  To me, the wins and the losses, and the work that goes into them, embody what it means to be a Jew.  It means standing up when you see something that’s wrong.  It means staying skeptical without becoming a cynic.  It means you work for justice.  It means you help people who didn’t get dealt the best hand.  It means you keep challenging assumptions about yourself and the world.

Isn’t this how God wants us to live?  Aren’t we, as Jews, and Americans, supposed to ask tough questions, confront hard truths and shine light into dark corners? That’s what Danny Pearl did.  That’s what PIA, and many other groups, help people do.

Now, this approach has a definite downside.  I often feel helpless in the face of so many unmet needs.  I fall so short, so often, of how I should live that I wonder if I’m truly cut out to change the world.  Sometimes I doubt that what we do makes a difference.  But those feelings recede, and I head off to another meeting.

God willing, the finish line of my mainstream career is coming into view.  That part of my life is winding down.  But the part where I work for a much greater good -- that part is growing. 

That’s my answer to the question Arnie asked at the restaurant.  As I looked around that table of old friends, and as I experience Yom Kippur, I know again how I define myself.  I’m a person who tries to do something for justice, tolerance and opportunity.  After all, I am a Jew.