The Morning After
It is the morning after the horrific and still unexplained
shooting rampage at The DC Navy Yard yesterday. Just after 7 AM, I am driving carpool, trying as best I can
for myself and my teenaged son, to return to normal and go on living life. As a Rabbi, days removed from Yom
Kippur, the holiest, most reflective day of our year, it is what I expected to
be doing today. But not for these
reasons; not in this way.
My favorite radio station (that doesn’t play songs), is not
helping – they are still in “total coverage mode” – only traffic and weather on
the 8s, sports at 15 and 45, and commercials breaking up their non-stop focus
on exactly one story. So I switch
it off, and plug my iPod, on scramble, into the car’s sound system. I smile at the familiar melody –
Maureen McGovern singing the theme from “The Poseidon Adventure” – until the
words start to register:
There's got to be a morning after, if we can hold on
through the night --
We have a chance to find the sunshine.
Let's keep on looking for the light.
Oh, can't you see the morning after?
It's waiting right outside the storm.
Why don't we cross the bridge together, and find a
place that's safe and warm?
Nice, prayerful words, but clearly we are not there
yet, I am not there yet. I snap
off the iPod as well, and we drive on in silence. Maybe it is the heightened focus that the absence of talk
and music provides, maybe it is me projecting my own troubled soul this
morning. But it sure seems like
more of the “drivers” with whom I am trying to share the road are being just a
tad more aggressive than usual this morning. Or maybe I am being a little more cautious, unconsciously
overcompensating?
A quick look at the numbers flashing from the
dashboard of my still new Prius-V reassures – it isn’t me. If anything, I, too, am ignoring that
feedback more than usual, driving a little more aggressively myself. It is scant reassurance, as the BMW
pulls out to speed around me on the left as I drive north in the left lane of
Rte. 197, endangering all of us with her selfish recklessness. I watch, bemused, as the only “normal”
behaviors displayed on the drive are the slowing down for the speed cameras,
and the compensatory drag-strip speeding to get to the single lane stretch of
the road, seemingly on display from even more drivers today.
I look over at my teenaged son, reflecting on his
reaction yesterday. Sure, it was
triggered by being told that the Nationals’ game we had planned to attend had
been cancelled, because the ballpark is right next to the site of the
shootings, but he has been in a deep funk ever since he heard what had
happened. I think to myself just
how many times he and I had gone through yesterday’s drill – 9/11, the sniper,
Sandy Hook, now yesterday – and too many other smaller ones in between to even
remain distinct in my memory.
As I drop him off at school, and test news radio again
for my trip home, I hear the questions about whether this shooter might have
been suffering from PTSD, the concerns that those who innocently went to work
yesterday, only to find themselves the focus of nation’s attention for the day
through no fault of their own, might now similarly be impacted. I find myself wondering if David’s
response was, in itself, a form of PTSD – the product of too many such
exposures. And I find myself
wondering how many others might be going through our day today, similarly
suffering a low-grade form of the disorder. Am I? And what
help is available for those of us who are? Will they do something at school to help the kids recognize
and deal with their thoughts and emotions? Or will they, as I had earlier, try to make it just another
normal day by ignoring it as best they can?
And then – what do I need to get myself back to
normal? How can I get it? As a Rabbi, what can I provide for
others? Suddenly, my inner
dialogue is channeling Howard Beale – Paddy Chayefsky’s brilliantly written
character in “Network,” and the iconic monologue brought to life by Peter Finch. I AM mad as hell, and I am NOT
going to take it any more! And I
want EVERYONE to go to their windows, open them, and scream the words out with
me.
But then, I want us to actually DO SOMETHING! I find myself wondering if maybe, just
maybe, this time, the close geographic proximity of Capitol Hill to the site of
this tragedy might make it personal enough for our elected representatives to
drop their partisan political stalemate, to ignore the craven efforts of the
gun lobby to buy their votes, and FINALLY pass common sense gun regulation. Real, enforceable laws that might begin
to save lives.
I find myself ruefully admitting that even I have lost
track of how many innocent Americans have lost their lives in gun violence
since the Newtown, CT tragedy, and vow to look it up when I get home. Slate reports the number is at least
8,238, but also notes the difficulties of keeping track, the historic
underreporting of such events, and the comparison to the best CDC data, which
suggests the actual number is three times as many, at over 25,000! In less than a year!
Another sound byte draws my attention, even through
the reverie. As a more complete
picture of yesterday’s shooter emerges, it becomes clear that he most likely
acted alone. The hysterical
over-reactions in the heat of the moment yesterday are now giving way to the
awareness, as my radio reports, that this was “just” another workplace related
shooting, that happened to occur on a highly protected military facility. “Just”? Like somehow that makes it less painful, less significant,
less tragic? I want to call a VERY
un-Rabbinic “BS” on that one!
But I listen to what else we have learned about the
shooter over night. The bizarre
2004 shooting he was suspected of being involved in, and his father’s response
at that time, when questioned, that he was concerned his son was suffering from
post-9/11 related PTSD himself.
The lack of an arrest in that case, which kept him free to purchase
weapons. The lack of evidence that
the shooter was ever treated for this supposed PTSD, or whatever other emotional
issues he manifested. The equally
bizarre incident in Texas a couple of years ago, in which a gun in his
apartment discharged a bullet into the unit above his. How that incident had been dismissed as
being a gun-cleaning misfire, even though the woman in the unit above testified
that there had been friction between them, and she was fearful of what he might
do to her one day. The long-term
pattern of anger management issues, and difficulty accepting negative criticism
from work supervisors and others he apparently evidenced, including the recent
criticism of an installation job he had done at the Navy Yard. That job apparently provided him with
the credentials that he showed to get onto the base, the credentials that
cleared him through the gate without an inspection of his vehicle, or the
discovery of the three weapons he brought with him.
And I cry a bit.
WHY is it so easy to see the pattern through the tears shed in grief,
when we look back, yet NOTHING prior to yesterday even raised a red flag that
might have prevented yet another tragedy??? Once again, I realize, the high profile cases, like this
one, even as they raise our awareness of the need for change, are actually the
events LEAST likely to be prevented by any honest and enforceable changes in
gun laws.
So I start to question what I can even say that will
be of value. My mind goes to the
President’s words yesterday: "These
are men and women who were going to work doing their jobs and protecting all of
us," Obama said. "They're patriots. They know the dangers of serving
abroad, but today they faced the unimaginable violence that they wouldn't have
expected here at home.” As I
marvel at the eloquence, and the honesty, it dawns on me – he stopped too
soon! There needed to be another
clause or 2 at the end, delivered with appropriately dramatic ellipsis. “… but today they faced the
unimaginable violence that they wouldn’t have expected here at home…. That they
shouldn’t NEED to expect here at home…. That NO ONE should have to expect here
in America.” Even Obama’s
eloquent, heartfelt sadness failed to express our simple outrage that every
life is too valuable to be sacrificed to political infighting and selfish
lobbying!
Maybe it is the close physical proximity to me and mine
this time. Maybe it is the impact
I fear I am seeing on my son, or am starting to realize may be affecting me as
well. If these are factors, then
all too soon after the atonement for last year’s shortcomings, I find myself
seeking forgiveness already again, for being motivated by personal and selfish
factors.
Or maybe it is simply that proximity to Yom Kippur, during
which my own sermon on the situation in Syria included a significant element on
the dangers of remaining silent. A
sermon which quoted Edmund Burke, Pastor Martin Niemoller, and Pirkei Avot, and the amazing, if
too-often overlooked, remarks of Rabbi Joachim Prinz that served as the warm-up
to King’s “I Have a Dream” speech, in which he shared:
“…When I was the rabbi of the Jewish community in Berlin under the
Hitler regime, I learned many things. The most important thing that I learned
under those tragic circumstances was that bigotry and hatred are not the most
urgent problem. The most urgent, the most disgraceful, the most shameful and
the most tragic problem is silence….”
It also included a remarkable text from Exodus, chapter 5, and a
mini-drash by my colleague, Rabbi Menachem Creditor, whose father was, amongst
an incredibly gifted and caring collection of religious school teachers in my
youth, my favorite and the most inspirational. The younger Rabbi Creditor is also a tireless activist for
gun reform, one who teaches and inspires me on a regular basis:
"[After Moses spoke to Pharaoh, Pharaoh
increased the workload of the Israelite slaves.] Moses returned to God and
said, 'God, why did You bring harm upon this people? Why did You send me? Ever
since I came to Pharaoh to speak in Your name, he has dealt worse with this
people; and still You have not delivered Your people.' (Ex. 5:22-23)" --
When something is wrong, naming it usually makes it feel worse before there's
any hope of things getting better. It's therefore tempting to not confront
problems. But while acknowledgment is painful, living a redemptive life can
begin no other way.”
Whatever the reasons – good, bad or indifferent;
personal or inclusive – I can, I will remain silent no longer. Nor will I stop at simply speaking and
teaching. I must act. WE must act. The ONLY way that needed change will come, the only way that
this will be the LAST “morning after” one of these tragedies, is to change
ourselves, to change our culture, to change our laws. To become MORE aware of those around us, more sensitive when
a fellow traveler is in need of help, more courageous in breaking the silence,
and helping them get the help they need to heal BEFORE they go out and harm
others. To work HARDER, and more
insistently, to change a culture that is more concerned with protecting the
dubious right of an individual to hold weapons and ammunition that allow him to
murder wholesale before he can be stopped than it is with our right to live our
lives free from the fear of such attacks.
Because this morning I was reminded how blessed
I am to have been once again spared direct, physical loss in such a tragedy. But I was also made painfully aware
that I, and all of us, are never completely spared. This morning I grieve – for all the victims of this gun
violence and their families. But
starting this morning, albeit it on a different level, I refuse to be conned into
denial that I – and all of us – are NOT victims. Until it stops, we are ALL victims.