Nobody asked me, but … Where Did My People Go?

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Where did my people go?

The look on my rabbi’s face was one of dismay, disbelief, and disappoint­ment. He had just told me that I “looked like a Marine.” Although I wasn’t a Marine, I had lost almost 30 pounds since joining Northwestern University’s Naval Reserve Officers Training Corps (NROTC). It felt great to have someone notice my efforts, and I proudly told him I was considering the Navy as a career.

I became immediately apprehensive when I saw the expression on his face. “Why?” he asked. I explained my feelings of service and patriotism, but he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—understand them. I felt awful—I had let down my rabbi.

Even the congregation at my syna­gogue and my friends could not under­stand my motives. Some of my par­ents’ friends accepted it because they knew I was getting a scholarship out of the deal. But after congratulating me, they would ask, “You don’t plan to make it a career, do you?”

It has been four years since that dis­appointing visit, and now I am even more confused. In my summer mid­shipman training I traveled to several naval bases on both coasts, and real­ized that Jewish personnel are really a minority in the Navy—probably in the entire military. Many bases don’t have Jewish chapels or chaplains because they don’t need them. During one sum­mer cruise, on a base that did have a Jewish chapel, I called the chaplain shortly before the Jewish Sabbath. He invited me to his home after our ser­vices, and although he was sure that he would have enough food, he warned me that this could be one of his most crowded Saturdays. After the service, he told me that he was right about the unusually big turnout: three of us com­prised the congregation. It would be funny if it wasn’t so sad.

Now, I am disappointed. It is my turn to ask “Why?” Why does an eth­nic group that is almost 3% of the U. S. population account only for such a small percentage (between Vi and 2%) of the U. S. armed forces? Why are Jews so prominent in every other aspect of our nation—politics, enter­tainment, and the professions—yet we shun the profession that protects our way of life?

Israel is internationally respected for its military prowess. Jewish Americans are proud of this Israeli accomplish­ment, yet refuse to take part volun­tarily in their own country’s respected military.

Virtually everyone I spoke with at my synagogue served in the military when they were drafted and are proud of their service—they just never saw it as a career. Many of these veterans had grown up with the Jewish adage of “only a fool works for someone else,” and they all pursued independent ca­reers in law, medicine, and business. While the “be your own boss” philos­ophy probably influenced many Jews in my father’s and grandfather’s genera­tion, it is almost unheard of today. Young Jewish people understand that almost every career comes equipped with its own bureaucracy—whether it’s a giant law firm or the Pentagon. So the old adage is not the reason for the lack of Jewish interest in the military.

One rabbi I asked said, “Jews have not been militaristic because they were prevented from bearing arms for many generations.” He told me that because of this, Jews developed a “disdain toward bearing arms.” To justify their powerlessness, they maintained that they were “above that kind of thing.”

“But what about the militarily pow­erful and skilled Israelis?” I asked him.

“Israel is a complete reversal of what’s been pounded into our heads for

2. years,” he said. “You’re not going to change 2,000 years in 37 years.” But his reasoning did not hold water either. My generation is not
3. years old, we’re 20 years old, and we’ve grown up with Israel. “Powerlessness” has not been pounded into our heads.

Other Jewish veterans told me the military stifled their creativity, but I don’t accept that—especially as an of­ficer. I’m creative when I interpret the rules and regulations, one thing that officers are supposed to do when the rules can’t provide for every situation. My military service is one of the great­est creative challenges I’ve faced.

Other Jewish people have expressed concern that Jews are discriminated against in the military. However, I have never felt discriminated against during my NROTC training or in ac­tive-duty service so far. In fact, I find that the opposite is true: my superiors go out of their way to accommodate my Jewish needs. In the military, you are judged only on how you perform.

So, are we just looking for an ex­cuse not to serve in the military? If that is not the case, there is only one conclusion left to be drawn. All stereo­types have some truth to them, and I’m afraid that the Jewish stereotype is true: American Jews today are preoccupied with money and success.

It hurts me to write this. I know many people to whom this stereotype doesn’t apply—not the least of whom are my own family. But most of my Jewish contemporaries are pursuing “professional” degrees, and have never even considered the military as an al­ternative. Perhaps the Jewish people have pursued society’s measure of suc­cess—i.e., money—too far, and were too successful. Have we forgotten some of the responsibility that comes with success? I think so. But I also think the situation can be changed, from within the Jewish community and the Navy itself.

Jewish scholars are currently debat­ing the ramifications of the Jewish community’s successful assimilation into American society. They should include the responsibilities associated with that success to their debate. Naval officers—Jews and gentiles alike— must appeal to Jewish youth. The Navy must reach out to synagogues and high schools and tell our young people about the excitement and satisfaction of serv­ing their country, while receiving edu­cational and travel benefits. Those of us in the service know that rewarding feeling of actively defending our won­derful country. Let us convey those feelings to the people who could—and should—become tomorrow’s officers.