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August 11, 2000/10 Av 5760, Vol. 52, No.48
Judaism at the center of public, political life
MICHAEL J. JORDAN
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 Sen. Joseph Lieberman (D-Conn.) and his wife Hadassah, left, participate in a United Jewish Appeal Havdalah service in 1992. Photo courtesy of Robert A. Cumins/JTA |
It was 1988, and the Senate session was running late into the night. Lieberman, an Orthodox Jew, was obliged to stick around.
Instead of walking home to Georgetown - or violating the Shabbat laws by taking a taxi - he would sleep on a cot in his office.
When his Senate colleague Al Gore got wind of Lieberman's plan, he implored the freshman lawmaker to stay at the nearby apartment of Gore's parents. Lieberman consented. He was then surprised to find that Gore had arranged for the bathroom lights to be turned on and the bedroom lights turned off.
As Lieberman later recounted to rabbi and author Kurt Stone, "I may have had the most distinguished Shabbas goy in history."
Lieberman's Washington and Hartford offices have mezuzot on the doors and pushkas on the desks, for tzedakah (charity), Stone says.
It is said Lieberman, 58, calls his mother every day, and also prays daily. He reportedly prayed with Gore on Aug. 7, after agreeing to be the Democratic vice presidential candidate.
"He's a mensch - and I define mensch as growing up to be the person that your parents always hoped you would be," says Stone, author of the soon-to-be-released book, "The Congressional Minyan: The Jews of Capitol Hill."
Lieberman noted at an AFL-CIO meeting Aug. 7, on his way to accepting Gore's offer, that he owes his value system to his parents. His father worked the night shift loading and unloading a bakery truck before taking a similar job in a liquor business run by two brothers. "My parents taught me to value and honor work," Lieberman told the union crowd.
They also taught him the ways of Judaism. Lieberman's parents were reportedly not too religious but his father became a self-taught Jew. As Stone writes, in the liquor store Lieberman senior later owned in Stamford, Conn., customers walking in would often find him studying Torah while listening to classical music.
Judaism became the core of the younger Lieberman. At Yale in the 1960s, he was one of only a handful of Jews who kept kosher, says Stone. When his first nominating convention for Senate in 1988 landed on a Friday night, Lieberman did not attend. Instead, he sent along a videotaped acceptance speech.
When Lieberman's presence is needed in the Senate on a Saturday, he walks several miles to get there. If he is required to vote, he does so by hand, rather than electronically.
When yeshiva and day-school students visit Washington, "The kids always ask do I know the Orthodox senator," said Abba Cohen, counsel and director of the Washington office of Agudath Israel. "They don't ask me if I know the president."
Lieberman continues to consult with his childhood rabbi, Rabbi Joseph Ehrenkranz of Congregation Agudath Sholom in Stamford, Conn., who also officiated at his bar mitzvah.
In Washington, the Liebermans belong to the Kesher Israel congregation. Their daughter, Hana, recently celebrated her bat mitzvah and graduated from the Jewish Primary Day School of the Nation's Capital in June.
Some Jewish activists express hope that the way Lieberman conducts his life will break down stereotypes of modern Orthodox Jews specifically, and Jews in general.
As Lieberman wrote in The New York Times in December 1992, "My parents raised me to believe that I did not have to mute my religious faith or ethnic identity to be a good American."
His rabbi at the Kesher Israel Congregation in Washington, Rabbi Barry Freundel, advised Lieberman that he can vote on Saturday for the Jewish tradition of pikuach nefesh, saving people's lives.
The senator recently clarified his interpretation of that tradition to mean he may work on Shabbat, but only to promote "the respect and protection of human life and well-being."
Some observers relish the thought of Lieberman injecting his Jewish values into public debate.
"He never uses theology or God, but he's found a way to bring those values into American discourse and policy in a language all of us can understand," said Irwin Kula, president of CLAL, the National Jewish Center for Learning and Leadership.
"That's the American dream: not only that anyone can make it here economically, but that all these different cultures and views can come into the public square in real conversation about where we all want to go."
JTA staff writer Sharon Samber in Washington contributed to this report.