O pinion
We Need Thanksgiving More Than Ever This Year
BY DANIEL TREIMAN
AMERICANS ARE
IN desperate need of some
common ground. That’s why,
this year, Thanksgiving isn’t
coming a day too soon.

No matter our political
views, our religious beliefs,
or if we hail from the reddest
rural regions or bluest urban
areas, on the fourth Thursday
of November, Americans
will step outside their daily
routines to partake in this
beloved national holiday.

True, we mark Thanksgiving
in many different ways. For
some, expressions of gratitude
to God take center stage, while
others celebrate more secularly.

Some watch football religiously,
while others prefer the Charlie
Brown special. Some stick to
the holiday’s traditional menu,
while other families augment
their turkey dinners with dishes
reflecting their own particular
cultural backgrounds — and
vegetarian Americans might
opt for a tofurkey.

But a shared national holiday
is still a shared national holiday,
even if its observance is infinitely
customizable and variegated.

What’s more American than
e pluribus unum?
In many
respects, Thanksgiving is to Americans
what Passover is for Jews. And
both holidays build bridges
across deep divides.

American Jews are not
immune to the same forces that
are setting Americans against
one another. It can sometimes
be difficult for American Jews
to remember that we are one
people, especially when religious
differences increasingly overlap
with a sharp political divide.

Yet the fact that every Passover
we all still gather around Seder
tables to recount the same story
reminds us that we share a past
and — we hope — a future.

(Next year in Jerusalem!)
Indeed, attendance at a
Passover Seder is one of the
most widely practiced Jewish
observances among American
Jews. Yes, some families may
make amendments to the
Seder plate that would vex
some of their fellow Jews, but
like turkey at Thanksgiving,
you can safely assume that
you will find familiar items on
any Seder table. And while we
might use different haggadot
— ranging from traditional to
liberal to nontheistic to social
justice-themed — Jews of all
backgrounds find a common
touchstone in our ancestors’
Exodus from Egypt.

While Passover is the origin
story of the Jewish people,
Thanksgiving brings us back to
the beginnings of America. Both
holidays recount mythically
powerful moments at the dawn
of a new nation, recalling how,
with the help of Providence,
a people was delivered from a
narrow place. For Passover, it
was the redemption from slavery
in Egypt; for Thanksgiving, a
bountiful harvest that averted
the threat of famine in an unfor-
giving new land. Freedom from
bondage, and freedom from
want and fear.

The parallels don’t stop once
the tables are cleared: What did
the ancient Israelites do with
their newfound, God-given
freedom? They worshipped a
golden calf. And what is our
national ritual after our day
of giving thanks? Black Friday
sales. (Moments of transcen-
dence are, as ever, ephemeral.)
Thanksgiving has been a
special gift to American Jews.

It is a secular national holiday
that, in a predominantly
Christian country, Jews (and
other religious minorities)
could embrace with enthu-
siasm and, in doing so, feel
fully American.

Yet for all that we have gained
from Thanksgiving, American
Jews are also well-positioned to
give something back.

Historians point out that the
popular Thanksgiving story that
many of us learned as children
is not exactly how things
happened back at that “First
Thanksgiving” in 1621. Many
would also note that the tradi-
tional Thanksgiving story elides
the larger context of horrors
inflicted upon Native Americans
by European settlers.

American Jews are no
strangers to navigating the
tension between history
and memory. In 2001, the
eminent Conservative Rabbi
David Wolpe stirred contro-
versy when he spoke to his
Los Angeles synagogue about
how the biblical account of the
Exodus is not supported by the
archaeological record. But as
Wolpe has noted, Jews should
not fear historical knowledge.

“The Torah is not a book we
turn to for historical accuracy,
but rather for truth,” he would
later write. “The story of the
Exodus lives in us.”
Similarly, Thanksgiving
over the centuries has accrued
rich meanings that we carry
with us beyond what is known
about that small celebra-
tion at Plymouth. Amid our
current culture wars over the
American past, perhaps we can
find a better balance between
history and narrative when
it comes to Thanksgiving.

Grappling honestly with history
as it actually unfolded, and
reckoning with the perspectives
of Native Americans — who
have struggled with what
Thanksgiving should mean to
them — need not diminish, and
could indeed enrich, our obser-
vance of the holiday.

Just as Jews argue around
the Seder table about Passover’s
themes, Americans are unlikely
to reach a consensus as to what
Thanksgiving should mean.

But it is still our common
heritage, one that each year we
share, appreciate and wrestle
with. This year, Thanksgiving
presents unique challenges. In
the midst of a deadly pandemic,
we are not able to gather as
usual with family and friends.

Large, non-socially distanced
gatherings of the sort that the
Pilgrims hosted at Plymouth
or the Israelites had at Sinai are
out of the question.

But as we wander through
the wilderness of post-election
acrimony, this Thanksgiving has
a special importance: Whether
in small groups around our
dining room tables or in conti-
nent-spanning Zooms, we would
do well to remember the many
blessings that we as Americans
enjoy together. l
Daniel Treiman is a former
managing editor of JTA, where this
piece first appeared.

It’s the Era of Endless Fatigue, So Give Yourself a Break
BY DR. BETSY STONE
14 NOVEMBER 19, 2020
DEPENDING ON HOW you
count, we’re now in month 8
of this endless trauma. I’ve
been describing it as a bitter
Napoleon — you know those
pastries that are layers of filo
and cream? Instead of layers
that are yummy, our layers are
loss on trauma on grief. Cases
are rising, the temperature is
dropping and our homes seem
to be getting smaller. Our
children are always there, we
have become their teachers as
well as their parents. Zoom
fatigue is real. Racial injustice
continues; the election and its
wrangling are ongoing. We
vacillate between exhaustion
and exhaustion.

I’ve been teaching groups of
teachers and educators lately
and I keep hearing the same
two things: Their responsibili-
ties keep growing and they are
always supposed to be happy.

JEWISH EXPONENT
And they have neither time nor
space to recover.

The way our brains and
bodies are supposed to work in
crisis is simple. Quick reaction
and then slow recovery. Get
frightened, act, and then calm.

There’s a surge reaction and
then a reset. That reset can
happen in sleep, awake, alone,
with others — but that reset is
essential. At the beginning of this
crisis, we were in surge mode.

I spoke with educators all
over the country who were
working nonstop, trying to
move from live to on-line
learning. They did it. I facilitate
a rabbis group that scrambled
to create meaningful services
and community connections
— and they succeeded. Camps
did amazing pivots, creating
See Stone, Page 23
JEWISHEXPONENT.COM