The Short Vort by Rabbi Eisenman

Today is MLK Day.

Martin Luther King Jr. Day, It is a federal holiday in the United States marking the birthday of Martin Luther King Jr (1929-1968). It is observed on the third Monday of January each year. King's actual birthday is January 15 (which in 1929 fell on a Tuesday).

MLK was a man who respected Jews and admired the State of Israel. He said, "Peace for Israel means security, and we must stand with all of our might to protect its right to exist, its territorial integrity and the right to use whatever sea lanes it needs. I see Israel, and never mind saying it, as one of the great outposts of democracy in the world, and a marvelous example of what can be done, how desert land can be transformed into an oasis of brotherhood and democracy."  (March 26, 1968, address to the 68th annual convention of the Rabbinical Assembly)

He also wrote, "It was 'illegal' to aid and comfort a Jew in Hitler's Germany. But I am sure that if I had lived in Germany during that time, I would have aided and comforted my Jewish brothers even though it was illegal."(Letter from a Birmingham Jail, 1963)

His most famous speech, "I Have a Dream," was delivered on August 28, 1963, on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. He said, "I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character."

Unfortunately, MLK was assassinated on April 4, 1968.

Dreams often go unfulfilled.

Although it is not the actual birthday of MLK, it is the birthday of someone very special and dear to me, my mother.

My mother, Lorraine Eisenman, was born on January 16, 1930, one year after MLK. She passed away on the Ninth of Nissan 2015 (March 29). Had she lived, my mother would have been 93 years old.

There are no coincidences in this world.

My mother spent almost all of her professional teaching career teaching in the NYC Public School System in poor Black neighborhoods. She worked for many years in Bedford-Stuyvesant, a high-crime area of New York. In all her years teaching children of color, I never in my life heard one word that could even be remotely considered racist. Racial slurs were neither heard nor even contemplated in our home. She kept up a decades-long friendship with a Black assistant teacher who, because she was older than my mother, was referred to as Mrs. Alfred, never by her first name. Years after Mrs. Alfred retired, my mother never failed to send her a birthday card.

I recall going to school with her on Chol HaMoed when I had off from Yeshiva. All the children, who were Black, would run over and greet me and tell me how much they loved my mother. When I was in her classroom, she treated every student as if they were her only student, and they reciprocated with love. Perhaps, my favorite memory of going to school with my mother is when I would get bored and walk the halls. I was the sole white boy among a population of people of color.

At recess, when everyone came out of their classrooms, the children would run to my mother and say, "Mrs. Eisenman, is that your son?" When my mother would answer in the affirmative, they would say, "I knew it. He has red hair just like you and looks just like you!" No one thought to say, "He's white, so he must be your son."

My mother treated every person she met with the same compassion, love, and dignity. Irrespective of their skin color or religion.

I was with my maternal grandmother in Coney Island on Surf Ave. the night MLK was killed. We were watching television together when a news bulletin interrupted the programming to announce that MLK had been killed. My grandmother, who spoke broken English and was always disappointed that I did not speak Yiddish fluently, sighed and said, ער איז געװען א גוטער מענטש- "He was a good man."

The apple did not fall far from the tree.

I miss my mother.