The Power of Community

It had all the makings of a joke. My husband and I—two Jews—participating in an interfaith Thanksgiving dinner in the social hall of Temple Shalom in Louisville. Seated at a table with a Catholic chaplain, a Hindu college professor, an Imam, and the Mayor of Louisville was us. We were talking about our plans for the upcoming holiday, sharing jokes and pictures on our phones, and doing what friends do when they get together to break bread. It was a moment of ordinary dinner and conversation that to an outsider, might have seemed unusual. To the interfaith community of Louisville, it was just participating in an annual event of goodwill.

Matt and I relocated to Louisville from Baltimore for him to take on the position of Director of Jewish Communal Relations Council (JCRC). As a Jewish professional in my own right, I understood what JCRC work was, but it was events such as this where I got to take a front row seat to the extremely important, but often misunderstood and overlooked work that Matt and his counterparts do every day. Much like doctors and clergy, JCRC directors are never “off the clock.” At any time, there could be a crisis in Israel. An act of anti-Semitism. A provocative statement that warrants a timely response. I have stood by and watched as phone calls and texts have gone answered at all hours. It is what JCRC directors do. For better or worse, they are here for their communities. And the relationships being built are incredibly important.

It was shortly after dinner in September 2015 when the phone call came. It was the week between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. I could tell by the look on my husband’s face that the news was bad. And it was. A mosque about ten minutes away from us (for you LA readers, yes, everything in Louisville usually is about ten minutes away—sorry!) had been horribly vandalized. The congregants had arrived for their evening prayers to find their sacred space violated. The man who had called to tell him about it was Dr. Muhammad Babar, a Pakistani-American physician and communal leader who had become a friend to us both. Without a second thought, I said, “Let’s go.” And we did. Taking Rachel, our then nineteen-month-old daughter to the mosque. A small group of people awaited us. The media was on its way. But, we were the first non-Muslim members of the community to show up. When we got there, we were disgusted by what we saw. We offered our hugs and prayers for solidarity. The graffiti had sought to divide Jews and Muslims. It failed miserably.

While I chased our restless daughter around the parking lot, Matt embraced “Babar” and that evening the two stood arm in arm on the local news, a Muslim and a Jew, showing everyone, especially the vandals that their act had failed. A couple of days later, thousands from Louisville’s interfaith community came out to paint over the graffiti, thus further showing those that seek to divide us that they will not win. A letter from Muhammad Ali, Louisville’s most famous son, was read, a compassion bench was dedicated, and I was in tears. It made national news. What started out as something so hateful had turned into an act of love like nothing else.

These interfaith ties have only grown stronger over the years. Dr. Babar has become a true friend to us personally. If our interfaith dinner at a synagogue had the makings of a joke, what do you make of a Muslim physician driving to visit his snowbound Jewish friend with the flu? Just another day in our world.

On Sunday, October 28, 2018, barely 24 hours after the horrible massacre at Tree of Life in Pittsburgh, Temple Shalom was full yet again. This time, with a standing room only vigil to show solidarity with the Jewish community. This site was chosen for two reasons—the rabbi’s husband has family ties to Tree of Life and the synagogue itself sits just a mile from the Kroger where just a few days prior, two African American shoppers had been murdered in broad daylight by a white supremacist.

I had barely seen Matt over the past two days as this vigil was hastily put together and the turnout was massive. Seated across the aisle from me was Dr. Babar and his family. He gave me a hug as I cried. He mentioned that he had just come from another vigil at the Kroger. It is no mistake that Louisville is called “compassionate city.” It truly is. And the work that Matt and all of the interfaith leaders in this community is just one example.

JCRC work is the backbone of any Jewish community, often taken for granted, but very much necessary for survival. Their umbrella organization, Jewish Council for Public Affairs (JCPA) is celebrating its 75th anniversary this year. It is an incredible organization that does so much in 125+ communities all over the country. As there remains a lot of uncertainty in the world, one thing is for sure. JCRC is our voice for what matters most in our communities. And they need our support.

A while back, someone jokingly referred to me as the “First Lady” of the JCRC. At the time, I did not fully understand the implication. But, like any spouse of someone whose work is so valuable, I am proud. I am a professional in my own right, but I am immensely proud to be a part of a community where interfaith work is so important.

For more information about the incredible work of the JCPA and the JCRC in your area, please visit the website. 

Lisa Rothstein Goldberg is a social worker and Jewish educator, currently working at Ivy Tech Community College in Sellersburg, Indiana. She and her husband, Matt, JCRC Director in Louisville, live in Louisville with their two young daughters.