Of Bicentennials and Freedom
I grew up in Lexington, Massachusetts, a town that takes great pride in being the site of the first battle of the American Revolution on April 19, 1775. On that fateful morning, according to Lexington lore, the brave local militia stood up to King George’s Redcoat army and demanded their freedom; ever since, Lexington has considered itself the “birthplace” of American liberty, the place where American possibility was born.
We Lexingtonians take our history seriously. There is an annual reenactment of the Battle of Lexington attended by thousands, shops in town are covered in American flag bunting, and most homes (mine included) have at least one or two colonial-style tricorn hats tucked away in the basement—souvenirs from parades and birthday parties of years-gone-by. Patriotism is woven into everyday life. At the same time, Lexington is also a very liberal town, and that blend of political progressivism and patriotism taught me that a strong commitment to social justice and a belief in the unique promise of this country go together like peanut butter and jelly.
When I got to college and began studying American history, I learned that my hometown was steeped in what the American sociologist Robert Bellah called “civil religion.” Civil religion is the idea that there is a nonsectarian, quasi-religious faith that binds the nation together, complete with symbols, holidays, traditions, and rituals. Throughout American history, we have extolled our patriarchs (the Founding Fathers), recited our liturgy (the Pledge of Allegiance), studied our sacred text (the Constitution) and observed our holidays (Veterans Day, Martin Luther King Jr. Day, and more). We have also embraced national values: the idea that America is a “nation of immigrants,” that we stand for “liberty and justice for all,” and that every individual has inherent worth and inalienable rights.
I am very much a product of this American civil religion. Growing up, I was convinced that America is special, and that my hometown was the birthplace of a movement that, at its best, stands for liberty and justice for all. Despite all of the ways that our country has profoundly missed the mark of its highest ideals over the centuries, I believed that America could still one-day become a place where freedom and justice for all were truly realized.
In recent weeks, many of the cornerstones of American civil religion have been challenged. Birthright citizenship has been questioned; migrants who came here in search of the American dream now live in constant fear; and tonight, the United States Agency for International Development—an agency that supports critical humanitarian initiatives around the world—will cease to function. I want to believe that we can still build that more perfect union. But my faith in the future of the American promise has been deeply shaken, and I feel my energy to step into the breach flagging.
We clearly stand at a pivotal moment in our country’s history. Like our ancestors standing at the Red Sea in Parashat Beshalah, we find ourselves in our own country hovering between slavery and freedom, caught between the darkest human impulses and the world as it could be.
Searching for inspiration in this moment, especially as we prepare to celebrate two hundred years of our community at this weekend’s Bicentennial Shabbaton, I turned to the words of President Ford, who addressed the nation during the American bicentennial in 1975. He was speaking to a weary country, exhausted and frustrated after the Vietnam war, which had ended only weeks before the bicentennial. And he asked Americans as they reached that major milestone to recommit themselves to the American experiment. Though his speech was delivered in a very different context, his words ring hauntingly true today:
“It is with a sense of concern that I stand before you today, in this hour of celebration of our Liberty, and that I say to you—we as a People are once again faced with this most basic issue of our society—the very role that you and I play in our freely constituted Government…There are too many among us who have lost interest in, or who have grown complacent about, governing themselves…It is the great limitation of Liberty that those of us who possess it cannot simply grant it to others—any more than we can pass it on to our children or our children’s children with absolute certainty. Liberty, which burns in the hearts of even the most oppressed of men, must in every instance be secured for oneself. I know that Liberty must be exercised to grow, as well as to survive.”
President Ford was highlighting the vulnerability of what makes America great, urging Americans not to sit passively as history unfolds. Freedom is fragile, and it must be actively practiced, nurtured, and defended if it is to endure for future generations. We cannot rely on others to keep it for us; we do not have the luxury to sit out the fight. Our own ancestors learned this lesson at the shores of the Red Sea: the midrash tells us that as the Israelites stood around saying “I am not going into the sea first,” Nahshon ben Aminadav courageously stepped into the water, committing himself to a better future even while everyone around him hesitated. Nahshon recognized that it would take each of us individually committing to the community’s highest values for true freedom to be realized.
The work ahead in our country is staggering. The work of insisting that all people are worthy of infinite dignity is more important and more challenging than it has been in a very long time. American history and our own tradition demand that we lean in, even and particularly when the challenge feels as daunting as it does today.
Ours is a community that has responded to this call to justice many times. As we celebrate together at the Bicentennial Shabbaton this weekend, may we recommit ourselves to the work of building a more perfect union, and may we draw the strength to do so from each other. I look forward to seeing many of you over the next few days—to pray together, to learn together, and to commit to building a better world together.
Shabbat shalom,
Joe