Monday, May 9, 2011

Osama Bin Laden's Death & Justice: Really? Thoughts on Shabbat Emor, 5/7/2011

It’s unsettling. Osama bin Ladin’s death and the subsequent responses to it. Despite the initial expressions of unbridled joy, enthusiasm, and patriotism that erupted almost immediately early in the week, most of us are left feeling unsatisfied with bin Laden’s death - an event we long hoped would bring some element of closure to the tragic events of 9/11 and the incredible sense of loss and pain American citizens have felt since the fall of 2001.

Objectively, we can pin our uneasiness on the reality of the unknown. News analysis and after analysis reminds us that bin Ladin’s death may or, more likely, may not signal a decline in terrorism. It certainly won’t serve to change the anti-American sentiment that is promoted by many other Arab leaders as an excuse for inciting violence. But, subjectively, our unsettled-ness is far more difficult to compartmentalize and attribute to political uncertainty. Tom Pyszczynski, a social psychologist quoted in yesterday’s New York Times, in his description of the dramatic reactions to the news of bin Ladin’s death as “pure existential release,” touches on the reality that our celebratory response has less to do with bin Ladin and far more to do with our own feelings of insecurity. “Whether or not the killing makes any difference in the effectiveness of Al Qaeda hardly matters,” he explains. “…defeating an enemy who threatens [our] worldview and core values…is the quickest way to calm existential anxiety.” The problem is that quick is not necessarily lasting. When we respond in like manner to violence, our existential anxiety may in the long run be heightened. As Martin Luther King, Jr. wrote in the middle of the last century in a book entitled, Where do we go From Here: From Chaos to Community,
"The ultimate weakness of violence is that it is a descending spiral, begetting the very thing it seeks to destroy. Instead of diminishing evil, it multiplies it. Through violence, you may murder the liar, but you cannot murder the lie, nor establish the truth. Through violence you may murder the hater, but you do not murder the hate. …" The copious postings of this quote this week on Facebook and the like reminds us of the thick layer of uneasiness that lays just below the surface of Sunday night’s celebration.

Now, I willingly leave the continued objective analysis of our national security to the various news media pundits, but I offer three examples from Jewish tradition that perhaps can help us formulate a way in which to navigate through the morass of emotional responses to Osama bin Laden’s death.

First, an analogy drawn from the holiday of Purim - yes, Purim. At first glance, the holiday appears to celebrate the downfall and murder of the Jewish community’s arch-enemy number #1 – Haman, the prime descendent of Amalek and the embodiment of all evil. But, looking past the children’s festivities of dress up and carnival that have risen up around this holiday, we find evidence of great discomfort in the hanging of Haman. Our noise making isn’t entirely celebratory, it is intended to erase our memory. We want to block out Haman’s name, and the very fact that he ever existed and harmed us. The Talmudic mandate (Meg 7b)to drink wine until any discernable difference between the names Mordecai and Haman disappears underscores our desire, perhaps our need, not to celebrate Haman’s death, but to forget the entire episode completely. Moreover, when we chant the passage from the story of Esther that lists the ten sons of Haman killed in battle, we do so, not in the festive melodic trope reserved for Purim, but in a mournful tone and in one singular breath that is held during recitation as if to subdue or prevent any feelings of joy from interrupting the moment.

Second, according to Rabbinic tradition, the moment of redemption from Israelite bondage was not entirely one of joy and celebration. Rabbinic tradition notes the narrative of the Israelite enemy, namely the Egyptians. The Midrashic imagination portrays God shedding tears as the waters of the Reed Sea close behind the newly redeemed Israelite nation. Additionally, the sages imagine the angels beginning to rejoice at the deliverance of the Israelites only to be scolded by God for celebrating so quickly. Even the death of an enemy constitutes loss.

Finally, we come to our Torah portion for this Shabbat, Parashat Emor. Continuing the Holiness Code begun in Kedoshim, the author strives to set clear boundaries with regard to manslaughter. The attempt is made to categorize crime and punishment into an equitable and orderly construct: שבר תחת שבר עין תחת עין שן תחת שן, "a fracture for a fracture, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth." . The poetic symmetry of the biblical Hebrew forwards the neat package; but, the poetic symmetry also serves to confound the intent. As Emma will share in just a moment, Rabbinic commentators and sages from all ages have struggled with the language and its intended meaning. Perhaps, however, lack of clarity is just the point. The attempt to package justice so succinctly highlights the very challenge of implementing justice in such a simple and equitable, let alone, satisfying manner. It's as if the author understood the complexity of exacting justice and thus left us with this poetic gem, the seeming simplicity of which opens it up to a wide breath of interpretation. It can never be as simple as it sounds (chant: שבר תחת שבר עין תחת עין שן תחת שן)

Even though bin Laden’s death by American forces brings a modicum of comfort to some and a sense of American empowerment to others, his death can never serve as full retribution for all of the loss and pain suffered on 9/11 and thereafter.

I doubt anything can.

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