A Black Jew Celebrates Black History Month — Ari L. Monts
Often, because of the pervasive whiteness of American Jewry, I find myself incredibly disconnected with Jewish history. Especially as a Jew of choice, I don't have nostalgia from childhood or decades of Jewish education under my belt to make these connections easier. While there is no doubt in my mind or heart that I'm Jewish, engaging with American Jewish history often feels like forcing a puzzle piece into somewhere it doesn't belong. I fit, but it's an uncomfortable fit, and there's got to be somewhere better for me.
Engaging in communities for Jews of color, and especially for Black Jews, has helped me find a space where Jewish history and Black history have more in common than "R'Abraham Joshua Heschel marched with Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr." These communities have been reminders to me that while Jews may be conditionally white, especially in the United States, the children of Israel were very much so not white. And that if we're present in our sacred texts, that we've always been here. It's more than just "representation matters", it's proof that our lives have influenced, are influencing, and will continue to influence Jewish thought.
As I find myself thinking about my observance of Black History Month this year, especially as it intersects with my Jewishness, I keep coming back to the silences. I, and countless historians find that historical and archival silences speak volumes. In Michel-Rolf Trouillot's Silencing the Past part of his argument centers around the ways that the historiographical silence around the role Africans played in Hatian Revolution was purposefully done in order to cement European power. A similar question might be asked about Black Jews and other Jews of Color in Jewish history: what powers were served in silencing our always-present voices and narratives?
I want to fill the silences. How did Black Jews experience redlining? Where did we fit in when white flight moved synagogues out of the cities and into the suburbs? What torah did we teach from the bima? There's such a tension between our tradition of tikkun olam and progressive Judaism's intense pursuit of justice and the fact that 2020 was the first time many Jewish organizations made statements and task forces about anti-racism. Right now, the silence says that at least in some way, American Jews valued whiteness, but I know that there are voices crying out from the wilderness of that silence waiting to be heard. I'm here and I'm listening.
Back in the 90s and early 2000s, McDonalds used to heavily market to Black Americans and at least one commercial mentioned something about Black History Month being about the present. That stuck with me–of course it did, McDonalds spent millions making sure I saw that commercial multiple times a day. But even in the midst of a brand trying to make capitalism seem genuine, there was a kernel of truth. Too often, American education keeps Black History Month in the past, as if our history ended after Martin Luther King died. We know that isn't true. We know that Black history is being made every moment that Black people are here (and we aren't going anywhere).
Similarly, Jewish history is always being made. Which means that just like our history in ancient Israel was crafted by the lives and words of people of color, the history of Jews in diaspora is being made by people of color. By Black trans Jews who hold Torah study each week, and who bring our voices to Hebrew classes, who are training to be rabbis and Jewish educators, who bring in the influence of spirituals and gospel music to nigunim. We are here, and we are making history. It's time for us to be known.
Ari L. Monts is a JOC Member at Ammud: The Jews of Color Torah Academy
