In Judaism, it is a commandment to thank one’s hosts in the Birkat Hamazon prayer after a meal. Between Friday night meals with my honored Rebbetzin, my roommate’s homemade soup when I was sick, and the hospitality of strangers who welcomed me for Shabbat in unfamiliar cities, I’ve had countless reasons to be grateful, and I’ve meant every word of gratitude.
But I had never felt the weight and obligation of gratitude as profoundly as I did at Arlington National Cemetery. Standing among the rows of headstones, I understood that my greatest hosts were those who had given not just a meal or a place to stay, but the very freedoms that animate my life.
Each of the memorialized soldiers had loved ones as close as mine, memories as vivid as mine, and dreams as palpable as mine. And yet, they gave their lives to defend generations they would never meet. In that moment, gratitude was no longer just a mitzvah to fulfill; it was a debt I owed not just in words, but in action.
Abraham Lincoln understood this duty, writing that our task is one of “gratitude to our fathers, justice to ourselves, duty to posterity, and love for our species in general.” Gratitude is not passive, it demands us to preserve and uphold the ideals that others have sacrificed to protect.
Leon Kass elaborates that American patriotism is exceptional because it is a nation unlike an ethnic homeland where belonging is determined by blood and soil; America is a nation animated by ideas: that “all men are created equal,” that ours is a “nation conceived in liberty,” and that government derives its “just powers from the consent of the governed.”
In Leading a Worthy Life, Kass explains, “We love our country not only because it is ours, but also because it is good—not perfect, but very good. We love her all the more when we undertake to serve and preserve her, for then she becomes also the embodiment of our efforts and our very being, as we extend our being-at-work onto a larger and more enduring canvas, and our own vitality is lifted to a higher plane. Service to our country, rightly understood, is not a form of self-sacrifice in the name of freedom, but a freely chosen form of self-fulfillment.”
Arlington National Cemetery is a testament to the Jewish thread in the tapestry of American history. More than two thousand Jewish soldiers are honored with burial at Arlington, their headstones marked with white Magen Davids, side by side with their brothers and sisters in arms. A short walk from the eternal flame at John F. Kennedy’s gravesite stands the Space Shuttle Columbia Memorial, where Ilan Ramon is honored with an Israeli flag. Chaplain’s Hill honors Jewish 14 chaplains lost in active combat, remembering them as “swifter than eagles,” and “stronger than lions” (2 Samuel 1:22).
Arlington is but one reflection of the profound, reciprocal bond between the Jewish people and America. From its earliest days, Jewish ideals and figures have helped shape our nation’s identity. Rousseau, an Enlightenment thinker who helped inspire many of the Founding Fathers’ ideals, specifically, that of a social contract, wrote:
“The Jews provide us with an astonishing spectacle: the laws of Numa, Lycurgus, Solon are dead; the very much older laws of Moses are still alive. Athens, Sparta, Rome have perished and no longer have children left on earth; Zion, destroyed, has not lost its children.”
Benjamin Franklin, so inspired by the biblical story of Exodus, proposed Moses parting the Red Sea as the insignia for the national seal. George Washington, in his “Letter to the Jews of Newport,” reaffirmed America’s commitment to religious liberty, envisioning a nation where “every one shall sit in safety under his own vine and fig tree, and there shall be none to make him afraid.”
Sensationalist headlines remind us that America is not perfect, and they might very well shake our faith in the American experiment if we are not careful. But, we are beneficiaries of something beautiful, and something worthwhile. I believe the American story is inextricably linked to the most cherished Jewish values, and is an experiment we should seek to exalt and strive to improve.
Between a felon seeking our highest office—who has declared himself immune from the law on Twitter—and a mayor who endorsed a campaign prioritizing racial optics over competence in emergency response, it is easy to despair. Today, more than ever, we must take pride in being Americans. That doesn’t mean blindly endorsing every decision made by our government, nor does it mean ignoring our country’s flaws.
We are not obligated to finish the never-ending goal of striving for a more perfect union, but neither are we free to desist from it. To truly honor those who gave their lives for America’s ideals, we must live up to them, not by retreating in cynicism. Guided by the principles of tikkun olam, dina d’malkhuta dina, and liberty and justice for all, American Jews must strive to be a light to our own nation.
Cover image of Space Shuttle Columbia Memorial at Arlington National Cemetery obtained via Flickr, Creative Commons. Note the Israeli flag next to Ilan Ramon’s name and Magen David symbolizing him.
The views expressed in this post reflect the views of the author(s) and not UCLA or ASUCLA Communications Board
