Luke Ford

We just had a massacre of cops in Dallas by a black power supporter.

Which Jews supported this murderous organization?

Brian Schaefer writes for Haaretz:

Reexamining the relationship between American Jews and race over the last decades, Haaretz looks at why Jews aren’t visible in the fight for racial justice today.

Two days after that event, three founders of Black Lives Matter were honored at the 25th anniversary celebration of the progressive organization Jews for Racial and Economic Justice. And in August, nearly 200 rabbis joined an NAACP march from Selma, Alabama to Washington, D.C., part of a delegation organized by the Reform movement.

These and other smaller Jewish organizations that focus explicitly on social justice have been early and active allies of the Black Lives Matter movement, which grew in the wake of the deaths of Michael Brown in St. Louis, Eric Garner in New York and Freddie Gray in Baltimore, all unarmed black men who died under suspicious circumstances at the hands of police officers.
But many mainstream Jewish institutions, synagogues and leaders have been slow to support the movement and take significant action. The hesitation reflects a shift in communal priorities over the past half-century, as well as in collective American-Jewish identity.

We just had a massacre of cops in Dallas by a black power supporter.

Which Jews supported this murderous organization?

From the Massachusetts Board of Rabbis:

The Massachusetts Board of Rabbis reaches out in solidarity with African Americans and with all Americans of conscience. We express outrage in response to the recent police killings of black males in our cities, two adults and a child, and deep concern over the failure of grand juries to indict. Grieving with their families, we honor the memories of Michael Brown, of Eric Garner, of twelve-year-old Tamir Rice. We affirm what should be obvious, that black lives matter because all lives matter, each one created in the image of God. We are ashamed as Americans in needing to be reminded of such a basic truth, shaken from complacency to see through the lens of immediate trauma the pernicious effects of racism in the day-to-day lives of fellow citizens.

Sustained by Torah, we draw lessons from its teachings for the times in which we live. We learn of hard-heartedness from Pharaoh, of what it means to divide people into “us and them.” We learn from Pharaoh the arrogance of power and privilege, of hearts and ears that cannot hear a people’s cries for freedom and redress. From our ancestor Jacob, who wrestled in the dark of night, we learn the transformative power of humility, of what it means to step back from who we have been as individuals and as a nation and to embrace another way. Only in stepping back, in turning, in bowing our heads, can we then embrace another, honoring the space in which the other stands, the lives they live.

Filled with horror and heartache, we know as Jews what it is like when courts and police are not there equally for all, coming instead to be feared and avoided. We know what it is like to be marginalized, to be the other within cities we thought to be ours, within nations in which we thought we belonged. We dare not minimize the pain that is felt today by our African American sisters and brothers. We are called to act in solidarity, to act for the sake of justice. Justice, justice shall you pursue is a mitzvah, a holy commandment that is meant to be heeded, not foreclosed upon by grand juries that preclude the pursuit of justice before a court of law.

Amidst the raw pain of grieving people, we acknowledge the danger and challenge that police officers face each day on our behalf and the ideals with which most have come to their calling. We recognize a larger system of racism and stereotyping that affects all of us. Reaching out from heart to heart, we are available as rabbis to offer counsel and comfort to those who serve our communities as police officers. Encouraging new ways of training and response in law enforcement, we also accept mutual responsibility for the reduction of violence in our society, and for bridging divisions among people.

As rabbis, we call on ourselves and on the Jewish community, through our congregations, our communal organizations, and our schools, to act and to educate for a more just and equitable society:

• To express solidarity with African Americans in word and deed

• To participate in interfaith coalitions working for justice and change

• To explore the nature of racism in ourselves and our society, and to work for its eradication

• To call for justice and accountability in law enforcement and the judiciary

• To foster greater cooperation between citizens and police, helping to bring out the best in both

• Not to wait for times of crisis to act

Black lives matter because every life matters. With humility and hope, we reach out in solidarity, seeking the way of change and transformation, of justice for all.

Washington Times: George Soros funds Ferguson protests, hopes to spur civil action

There’s a solitary man at the financial center of the Ferguson protest movement. No, it’s not victim Michael Brown or Officer Darren Wilson. It’s not even the Rev. Al Sharpton, despite his ubiquitous campaign on TV and the streets.
Rather, it’s liberal billionaire George Soros, who has built a business empire that dominates across the ocean in Europe while forging a political machine powered by nonprofit foundations that impacts American politics and policy, not unlike what he did with MoveOn.org.
Mr. Soros spurred the Ferguson protest movement through years of funding and mobilizing groups across the U.S., according to interviews with key players and financial records reviewed by The Washington Times.
In all, Mr. Soros gave at least $33 million in one year to support already-established groups that emboldened the grass-roots, on-the-ground activists in Ferguson, according to the most recent tax filings of his nonprofit Open Society Foundations.
The financial tether from Mr. Soros to the activist groups gave rise to a combustible protest movement that transformed a one-day criminal event in Missouri into a 24-hour-a-day national cause celebre.