We Are All Somebody

As I stood waiting in line on Friday afternoon, my mind started racing. I arrived in Chicago as the assistant rabbi at Temple Sholom of Chicago on July 1, 1995. In my second week, July 12-16, a heat wave hit the city that led to the deaths of 739 individuals. I saw immediately the disparity between zip codes and the challenges that my new city faced. I knew I wanted to make social justice and racial equality a part of my rabbinate. I got involved in the Chicago Public Schools, the mayor's task force, and began my three-decade relationship with Dr. Walt Whitman and the Soul Children of Chicago. It was in these early years that I met Reverend Jesse Jackson and saw the amazing work that was taking place at Operation PUSH (People United to Serve Humanity), which would later become the Rainbow PUSH Coalition, on the South Side of Chicago.

In August of 1999, after the hate crime and deadly shooting at the North Valley Jewish Community Center in Los Angeles where five people were injured, including children, I received a call from Reverend Jackson asking to lend his support to the Jewish Community. Would we arrange a service/vigil he could speak at? We sprang into action. The following Sunday, we opened up the sanctuary to hundreds of people and a whole host of TV cameras as Reverend Jackson stood in solidarity with the Jewish community.

I was well aware of the challenges that he faced as a presidential candidate and the missteps that followed, but over the years, I do believe that Reverend Jackson tried to be right with his Jewish siblings. He was truly a giant in social justice work around the country. I've heard from countless colleagues in our community that he showed up, he offered to help, and he tried to do what was right. After speaking at Temple Sholom that Sunday afternoon, Reverend Jackson informed me that his older half-brother, George Robinson, had died the day before and the funeral would be held on Tuesday, August 17. He asked if I would come to share a few words at Fellowship Missionary Baptist Church on Princeton Avenue. That Tuesday evening, I sat at the pulpit and linked arms with family and friends sending home an activist and a healer. Reverend Jackson was so honored that I was there and asked me for the words that I shared.

Shortly thereafter, I left the city and began working in the suburbs at a new congregation. I would see Reverend Jackson at community events, solidarity rallies, Bulls games, and Holocaust programs. His health started to fade. I remember watching Barack Obama win the presidency and a clip of Jesse with tears streaming down his face. I couldn't help but think that we really do stand on the shoulders of those who come before us. So many people pave the way. Reverend Jesse Jackson was always one of them.

From when he stood on the balcony of the Lorraine Motel next to Dr. King on that fateful April day, Reverend Jesse Jackson truly was a changemaker and a drum major for justice. For more than six decades, he was a voice and face, in Chicago and around the country, that constantly advocated for voting rights, social justice, economic empowerment and helping the underserved. I believe that his legacy included helping unify Black and Jewish Americans (as well as Jews of Color).

The white-dominated Jewish and Black communities have deep shared ties in the struggle for civil rights. That history is complex, but it's also incredibly hopeful. Every day when I walk into my office, I look at the pictures of Andrew Goodman, James Chaney, and Michael Schwerner that hang over my desk. They are my inspiration to keep on fighting, and to keep on working together.

And so, on Friday afternoon after officiating a funeral in Skokie, I drove to Hyde Park and stood in line to pay my respects. On my way there, I drove past the beautiful homes of Barack Obama, Louis Farrakhan, and Julius Rosenwald that dotted the area. People from all walks of life formed a long line down Drexel Boulevard. People were out selling t shirts and posters. Electronic billboards drove by with speeches playing while young people from the neighborhood were handing out bottles of water. Large TV screens played old footage. News cameras and TV trucks lined the street (he would have LOVED that). Ninety minutes later, I walked into the Rainbow PUSH Coalition, the former home of KAM Congregation before it became KAM Isaiah Israel and moved a few blocks away. Operation Bread Basket purchased the building in 1971. I have always loved the story that Rabbi Simeon Maslin, the last rabbi in that KAM building before the merger, often commented, after moving to Philadelphia, that he loved the fact that Reverend Jackson was sitting and working in his old office.

In the beautiful sanctuary, above the casket where Reverend Jackson lay, were the words "Know Before Whom Thou Stands." The very same words are written on the walls of my sanctuary. The ark, where the Torah was once kept, was still in its place with a picture of Reverend Jackson in front of it. There were Jewish symbols and Hebrew verses in each of the beautiful stained-glass windows that lined the sanctuary filled with mourners. As I approached, I thanked his children for sharing their father with all of us and gave his wife a big hug. As I filed past, I stopped at the casket and thanked him. "You really are somebody," I said, "Thank you, Reverend Jackson."

We are all PUSH: People United to Save (later Serve) Humanity. We are part of a beautiful Rainbow PUSH Coalition. Standing in line last Friday afternoon before Shabbat on the streets of Hyde Park reminded me of that.

Rest in Peace.