Judaism could use more role models like Diana
JOSEPH AARON
Chicago Jewish News
I mourned, I grieved, I ached when Yitzhak Rabin was tragically, senselessly killed. Because of all the Jewish people had lost.
I mourned, I grieved, I ached when Diana, Princess of Wales, was tragically, senselessly killed. Because of what the Jewish people do not have.
When I first heard the news of Rabin's murder, I was as shocked and upset as I had ever been about anything in my life. My head spun, my mind raced, my body shook. That did not surprise me, for I knew how much this man had meant to us, what he was giving to and doing for us, how unique and so irreplaceable he was, how much we had lost with him, how very long it would take to recover.
While my feelings at the news of Diana's death were not as intense, I was surprised at just how intense they were. I am not someone generally into celebrities, into people who are famous for being famous. I've interviewed too many famous people, seen the very real flaws too many have, seen how human all are, to be awed by celebrity. And so I wouldn't have expected to have been as affected as I am by Diana's death.
I found myself watching hour after hour after hour of television reporting on it and on her, found myself weeping while watching, found myself hurting as I saw all that she had done, all she had been. Part of that was an appreciation for her, something I must admit I hadn't had before. Listening to her words, seeing what she had to deal with, seeing what she had overcome, I was enormously impressed with her values, her ability to grow, her ability to survive, her empathy for human beings, her emphasis on showing love, on caring for those suffering, on touching, very literally, the lives of others.
I was impressed with her as a mother who, under circumstances we can barely imagine, did so much to raise healthy, caring boys who would understand how others lived. I was impressed with her openness, her ability to be herself, to be vulnerable and self-revealing, to understand who she was, to work so hard to be better.
I was impressed with the causes she espoused and, much more, with how genuine she seemed to be in doing that. She shook the hands of AIDS victims when the rest of us feared to be in the same building with them; she talked to the homeless as equals, embraced children from all corners of the world. And I was impressed with her as a fighter, as someone who took on no less than the Queen of England and who, through sheer determination, grit, charm and an understanding of human beings, emerged triumphant.
Part of my shock at her death was my shock at the majesty of her life, something I had missed in my half-hearted, occasional tuning in to the latest about her divorce or what gown she had worn when. I didn't appreciate all she was when she was here, and so found myself greatly saddened that she was gone. But, in thinking about my feelings, I realized there was also more to it. Something similar to how I felt at the time of Cardinal Joseph Bernardin's death.
And that is how sorely lacking Jewish life is in role models, in leaders, in figures like Diana, Princess of Wales. It makes me sad that I cannot think of one figure in Jewish life today, not one rabbi, not one organizational head, not one person in any of the denominations, whom Judaism would mourn, whom Judaism would miss in the way the world mourns, misses Diana.
It makes me sad to what an extent Jewish life has become bureaucratized, politicized and obsessivized. Our organizations are run more efficiently, raise more money, are more savvy in getting legislation passed, in influencing systems than at any time in our history. They are run by people who understand budgets and the latest management techniques, know marketing and computers.
And yet, in all that, something seems to be missing. The Diana touch. In all the coverage of her death, I didn't hear anybody describe her with a term that I think most applies. Heimish - familiar, down-to-earth. Diana was heimish. Even with her beautiful face and expensive, elaborate gowns and jet-set lifestyle.
British Prime Minister Tony Blair caught the essence of her appeal when he said she was "the people's princess." And, indeed, she herself had proclaimed her ambition to be "the queen of people's hearts." Translate those British terms into Yiddish terms and you have "heimish."
She was someone who treated everybody as a person. She was a mensch, who touched the hands of many, the hearts of all. She was flawed and wasn't afraid to tell us; she hurt and wasn't afraid to show us. She was abused by a husband who never loved her, by a family that wanted to mold the spirit out of her and then wanted her to fade away. But she wouldn't. She stood her ground and fought back. And she devoted her life to good causes, to helping others, to the values of decency and compassion.
Jewish organizations would tell you they, too, are in the business of helping, of values, of compassion. And they are. And they do much good, help very many. But they don't let us feel it. Don't touch us in the way they should. We do not feel in our hearts what we should about the good that they, that we, do.
Our rabbis, too, have been lacking. How many rabbis today can you say are beloved? How many talk about things that really touch our hearts, relate to our lives? All too often the sermons are about the peace process or Farrakhan or anti-Semitism or the Jews of Belarus. All fine and good and nourishing for the head. But what we need most of all is nourishing of the spirit.
There have always been beloved rabbis, beloved social workers, beloved community leaders. What is wrong is that we are missing the Diana factor, the heimish element of Jewish life, that used to be the rule, but that is now the exception. There are plenty of Jewish leaders to respect, but none that I can think of to love. None whose death would make us ache, make us sad, make us appreciate, make us live our lives differently, better.
Problem is we have gotten so good in the last 50 years at making Jewish life efficient and a veritable cash register to finance our increasingly elaborate infrastructure, that we didn't notice what we had lost on the way.
Joseph Aaron is editor and publisher of Chicago Jewish News.
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