Pro Deo Et Patria

November 21, 2023

Pro Deo Et Patria

This will be my last newsletter for a while addressing the difficulties of our day. I am heading away for a month, unplugged. I expect that the world will continue on its axis without my assistance, and that all of you readers will make your way through the world without my help. Regular fare essays will arrive in your email box mid-December. Have a wonderful Thanksgiving, Hanukkah, Christmas or whatever holidays bring you joy and girth.

Love ya,

Jonathan

My father, Rabbi Judea Miller, z”l (zichrono livracha—May his memory be a blessing) served our country as an Arny chaplain. He was passionate about his work and service. Upon his ordination in 1958 he earned his lieutenant bars in a circuitous way. First, he wanted badly to serve Temple Emanu-El in Tuscaloosa, Alabama. There is a story here, but not for now. That didn’t come through. He then wanted to be an assistant rabbi someplace, but the plum jobs were already taken and frankly, my dad was too outspoken to serve successfully under anybody. Bless his heart, as we say, he spoke his mind freely and passionately. He was not prime assistant rabbi material. 

The Jewish Welfare Board, which provides rabbis for the United States Armed Services, had a quota from the major seminary classes. I am not sure whether my dad drew the short straw or entered the military willingly, but he signed up for the Navy. I don’t know why he wanted to serve in the Navy, but his application for a naval commission was rejected. As it turns out, my mother’s great uncle, William Stein, was at some time or another a member of the Communist Party in New York City, which disqualified my dad from the Navy. Sounds crazy because it is crazy. There is a story here, but not for now. So, the Navy punted my dad over to the Army. If you are confused, join my club. I am only reporting what I know. 

My dad loved the Army. He went through some kind of basic training with the troops at Fort Riley, Kansas. He was a big shot on base. I was three years old when he entered the service as a second lieutenant. We lived in Manhattan, Kansas, about twenty miles from Fort Riley. I have a few snapshot photos etched in my brain of our small house at the end of the street. I remember my sister being born during this time. I have since forgiven her for trespassing into my life uninvited. There is a story or two here as well, but not for now. 

When his time was up, my dad was called to serve Temple Emanu-El in Wichita, not too far away from Fort Riley. Every summer for a few weeks, and every so often during the year, my dad disappeared and did his chaplain thing in the reserves. He maintained his commission and continued to serve his country and the men who turned to him for faith and counsel. 

I only learned later that ten years shy of his military pension (he only had to continue in the reserves, which he enjoyed quite a bit), he abruptly resigned his commission. Ascending the ranks, he had achieved the rank of Army captain. But he did not forsake his service to his country. He continued to go to the VA every week for an afternoon with the soldiers in suburban Boston and then in Canandaigua, New York. The Army personnel loved my dad. He took care of them. They trusted him and his good nature. 

When I attended the Hebrew Union College, the placement folks tried to sell us soon-to-be rabbis about the twenty-year gig in military service. You work for 20 years and get a lifetime pension and then, at the age of 48 or so, you can start doing some real stuff professionally with the financial cushion of a full military pension. 

I asked my Dad what he would advise, and that’s when he told me, “Jon, I resigned from the Army in 1969.” I said, “You what? You were coasting to a huge retirement benefit for you and Mom! Why did you do that?” 

My dad said, “Jon, I was opposed to the Vietnam War. I was outspoken in my opposition. How could I then serve the Army when I no longer believed in its mission? I continued to provide service to the people serving our country, but I could not serve in the military system. My conscience wouldn’t let me.”  

I said something like, “Gee, Dad, that money would have been nice for Mom and us, too.” He said, “You have enough and we are not wanting for anything.” And that was the end of it. The pension would have been nice. And thankfully, we have never been in want for anything. 

About a month ago, the editor of the Harvard Crimson Newspaper published an editorial in the Washington Post defending free speech. He was upset that his fellow students who have been vociferous in their support of Hamas and to “Free Palestine from the River to the Sea,” have been outed for their views. “Powerful people” have exerted great effort to expose and publicize the students and faculty who are supporting Hamas and are calling them out as antisemites. This intimidates the students’ free speech. “Not fair,” said the Harvard students. 

At the City College of New York’s Law School Graduation this past June, Ms. Fatima Mousa Mohammed gave the valedictory address. The New York Times reported: 

“But it was the fierceness she brought to her denunciation of “Israeli settler colonialism” and CUNY’s collaboration with “the fascist N.Y.P.D.” that especially inflamed the political class, even if her own audience, including the law school dean, seemed receptive.” 

By now, you don’t have to read her speech and hear the yada yada of anti-Israel screeching to know what she said. The claptrap has become uninspiring and predictable. But the fallout was interesting. The law firm that had extended a job offer to Ms. Mohammed decided that she was not a good fit for their firm. When they heard news of the speech, they rescinded their offer while her sympathizers called “foul.” 

I chose to enter the rabbinate in large part because I admired my father. He spoke out passionately to support many issues that were unpopular in his day. I myself, as a Yankee in the south, often took on issues that were not popular where I lived. I signed all sorts of letters and petitions and did things that I thought were right that some powerful people in my congregation and community found disagreeable. But I said what I said because I believe what I believe and if I say what I believe, the measure of my character is my willingness to stand up for my principles. I would never sign or do something principled that I was not willing to affirm and have known. 

Here is my message to the vulnerable students at Harvard or CUNY and their cohorts. Nobody is taking away your right to say anything you want to say. Men and women, toughen up. You sign statements. You give speeches. That is your right to do. Nobody is taking away your right to speak and express yourselves. America is not Gaza. Speak freely all you want. 

You have your principles. I understand that too. I admire principled people. But kinderlech, it is only in a child’s world that what you do and say has no consequence. Sign your petitions and give your speeches and expect that people will take you seriously. And don’t cry in your beer if people don’t like what you say. Understand that in a world with grown-ups, some may not agree with you or find you very agreeable at all. There is a cost to living a principled life. Bear the cost proudly. 

Pro Deo et Patria, for God and Country. My father earned this patch as an army chaplain. And when he paid the price for his principles, he understood that that too was Pro Deo et Patria.