FEATURED JOBS
When my oldest daughter was a student she used to come home and tell us over the dinner table that one of her teachers, a rabbi referred to black people as “shvartzes.”
In my family saying the word “shvartze” resulted in a mouth full of hot water, soap and a dish rag. It was a word that brought forth a visceral reaction more intense than any other word I knew.
My dad wouldn’t allow other people to say the word, especially in front of us. He didn’t buy the whole, “this is just a Yiddish expression describe black people. No, he saw it instead as nothing better than the “n” word.
On a carpool afternoon, my daughter’s teacher came over to me and asked me if I could call him to make an appointment for us to get together.
I asked why, he wouldn’t tell me. He insisted we just get together to talk.
This is that moment where you sit with your child and tell her that your teacher wants to meet with me. I need to know everything that could have happened or might not have happened. I can’t be surprised at that meeting.
My daughter didn’t know what this could possibly be about.
The very next night, I visited my daughter’s teacher’s home. It was immaculate. He and his wife had I think nine kids. They lived in a four bedroom rancher. The furniture was covered in that hard plastic upholstery from generations past.
So the conversation went something like this:
The teacher told me that it was his impression that once girls came into the seventh grade, they faced a “fork in the road” of life. Some would go the worldly way or bad way and be influenced by the evils of TV, pop culture and their attraction to boys. He felt it was his job to help keep the girls in what he described as a “tunnel.” That tunnel should give the girls every opportunity to be innocent or as he described them as “giggly girls.” That tunnel, he explained, would protect these 12 year olds from the forces of outside evil.
So I again asked why I was in his living room, and I could feel the warmth of my seating area crinkling against the hard plastic of the gold, flocked sofa cushion.
He said that he had heard through other girls that my daughter used the “s” word in one of her classes. She had been heard using it, and that was what he called “despicable” language. He worried about the direction she was headed.
So here’s where I responded. I told the teacher that I had heard that he used an “s” word as well.
I told him that I had heard that he described black people in his classroom as “shvartzes.”
He admitted it to be true, but defended his use of the word, saying it was merely the Yiddish form of the word black.
I disagreed with him, explaining that there were many other words one could use, and that let’s face it, the word “shvartze” is the Jewish code word for the “n” word in some cases.
Shvartze reduces black people. It turns them into second class citizens, and it has no place in any conversation among civil people, especially educated people.
So I told him that I’d take care of my daughter’s use of the “s” word with her friends. But he needed to cease and desist with his “s” word in the classroom.
Flash forward to Saturday night.
We were at the fund raiser for the Jewish Recovery Houses at Beth Tfiloh. It was a wonderful evening. Many great people came forward, understanding that addiction is a disease that doesn’t exlude Jewish families.
The centerpiece of the evening was the comedy of Sarge, a talented, funny entertainer who comes with some 20 years clean from a crack cocaine addiction. He’s bi-racial, a black father and as he described it an Orthodox Jewish mother.
The evening brought out some of this community’s nicest people. People who get it done.
There sitting two rows directly in front of me was an African American audience member.
Sarge wasted little time in going after this African American audience member. He called him a “shvartze,” but not just once, several times. The audience member handled himself with grace and with dignity. Still, there was laughter. But I didn’t think this was so funny.
In the 12 Traditions of Alcoholics Anonymous, the 12th tradition reminds us that anonymity is the spiritual foundation of all of our traditions. Sarge, I don’t know who this man was who you went after, but his ability to just sit back and enjoy the evening could have been compromised. He became the “shvartze” of the audience last Saturday night. That Sarge, was wrong of you. Even if he took it like a good sport, which I believe he did, it wasn’t okay that you kept going back to the insult.
The second AA tradition talks about one ultimate authority, a loving God. This act of pointing out one of the few African-Americans in the audience and calling him “shvartze” was not Godly. It wasn’t what the leadership of the Jewish Recovery Houses has worked so hard to establish.
For if it’s not skin color to pick on, it’s sexual orientation, or it’s denominations of religion, it’s disabilities, it’s weight, it’s a speech impediment, there will always be something that makes each and every one of us different.
Sarge, you come from inter-racial parenting. You can make fun of yourself if you feel that will bring delight to your audience. Not someone else, that’s all. I suppose free speech gives you that right to make fun. But it certainly doesn’t fit in the spirit of healing of the organization you were there to represent.
We Jews can laugh at ourselves, and certainly you touched some funny bones in the Jewish condition we all were familiar with. But unlike the African American man, we could hide within our quirky upbringings, because it was a shared experience.
Sarge, you were funny.
You would have been just as funny without the cheap shvartze stuff.
It’s a four-letter word Sarge. You’re an amazing entertainer, and I’d love to see you again.
You can do better than that.
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