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Synagogue sues Florida over abortion ban, saying it violates freedom of religion for Jews

Advocating for abortion access is not the religious argument we usually hear, but it is no less valid than religious arguments against it.

Photo by Aiden Frazier on Unsplash, @ravbogard/Twitter

Jewish leaders are explaining that abortion is a religious right.

Debate over legal access to abortion has long been a part of social and political discourse, but increasing state-level restrictions and a leaked Supreme Court draft opinion that threatens to overturn five decades of legal precedent have propelled abortion directly into the spotlight once again.

While we're accustomed to seeing religious arguments against abortion from Christian organizations, a synagogue in Florida is flipping the script, making the argument that banning abortion actually violates Jewish religious liberty.

In a lawsuit against the Florida government, Congregation L’Dor Va-Dor of Boynton Beach says that the state's pending abortion law, which prohibits abortion after 15 weeks with few exceptions, violates the Jewish teaching that abortion "is required if necessary to protect the health, mental or physical well-being of the woman.” Citing the constitutional right to freedom of religion, the lawsuit states that the act "prohibits Jewish women from practicing their faith free of government intrusion and this violates their privacy rights and religious freedom."

Wow.


The Florida 15-week abortion ban only grants exceptions if the mother's life is at risk, if she is at risk of "irreversible physical impairment" or if the fetus is found to have a fatal abnormality. There are no exceptions for rape, incest or human trafficking.

If Jewish law stipulates that access to abortion is required not only for a woman's physical well-being but also her mental well-being, then laws that criminalize such access are violating religious freedom, Congregation L’Dor Va-Dor contends.

Advocating for abortion access is not the religious argument we usually hear, but it is on equal footing with religious arguments against it. (It's worth pointing out that Governor Ron DeSantis signed the Florida abortion act into law not at his office, but rather at a church.)

The synagogue's lawsuit raises the question of which religion takes precedence when it comes to legislation. It also highlights the difference between "This is against my religion, therefore no one can do it" and "This is part of my religious tradition, therefore I legally have a right to access it." The former really has no place in U.S. law, as it violates the traditional separation of church and state, and the latter is a prime example of the purpose of the First Amendment right to freedom of religion.

Part of what makes legislating abortion so messy is that the questions at the heart of the debate are actually largely religious in nature. What is the true nature of human life and when does life begin? At what point is a zygote, an embryo, a fetus considered a full human being with the same rights as the rest of us? What is the relationship between a human (or potential human) in the womb and the person whose body is building it? What responsibilities does the person who is building it have toward that life, and what responsibility does society and/or the government have in holding the human accountable for those responsibilities?

These are all legitimate questions that don't have easy, straightforward answers, no matter how simplistic and undernuanced people try to make them. They may be simple questions for some people to answer individually, but collectively? No. We all make those determinations based on different criteria, different beliefs, different values and different understandings of the nature of life. There is no way for "we the people" as a whole to answer those questions definitively.

And the implications of those questions extend far beyond the abortion debate. The Cleveland Clinic states that one-third to a half of pregnancies end in miscarriage before a person even knows they're pregnant. For those who believe that life begins at conception or fertilization, should every death in the womb be considered a tragedy? Should we mourn the loss of lives we carried that we never even knew existed?

There are the slippery slopes that stem from those questions as well. Some religious people may see a miscarriage as God's will, but what if it was caused by something a woman did? What if a miscarriage occurred because of an action taken of her own free will? Is she culpable for that loss using the same logic we use to criminalize abortion? At what point do we start policing women's behaviors—what she eats or drinks, what medications she takes, whether she's around smokers, and so on—at all times in order to protect a life she may potentially be carrying? We're already seeing women being jailed for miscarriages. How far will we go with it?

What about things like child support payments and government benefits? Why we do not expect child support to be paid from the moment a pregnancy is detected? Why do we not give Social Security numbers to Americans in the womb? Why can we not claim a child on our taxes until they are born? If there is genuinely no difference between a life being grown inside a uterus at 12 or 15 or 20 weeks and a life outside a uterus, why does the law treat them differently?

How do we begin to answer these questions when the heart of them always circles back to individual beliefs?

The synagogue's religious freedom argument is compelling for sure, but the bottom line is we shouldn't be legislating on something based on religious beliefs in the first place. "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof…" That's literally the opening line of the First Amendment of the Constitution. Banning abortion is, in effect, establishing a particular religious belief as law and prohibiting the free exercise of religion for an entire group of people.

At a basic level, abortion is 1) a medical event that entails far too many individual factors that are not the business of the government to judge, and 2) a choice that is determined to be valid or invalid, right or wrong, based largely on individual religious beliefs. Both of those realities are reason enough for legislators, who are neither medical professionals nor religious leaders, to stay out of people's uteruses and leave these incredibly personal medical and religious decisions to the individual.

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Education & Information

A viral TikTok video explains why interrupting others isn't always as rude as it might seem

@gaydhdgoddess/TikTok

For many of us, the idea of interrupting someone when they're talking is almost always a no-no. Conversation means taking turns—listening while another person talks, taking some time to think about what they've said, and then responding accordingly. Interjecting before a person is finished speaking is seeing as "cutting them off" and perceived as rude.

While this perception may be part of the historically dominant Northern European culture in the U.S., it's not a universal thing. In fact, the opposite is true within many cultural groups.

TikToker Sari (@gaydhdgoddess) explained how conversing works in Northeastern Jewish culture, and how her being "an interrupty person" isn't actually a sign of rudeness, but rather a sign of active engagement in the conversation. This concept is called "cooperative overlapping," and while it may appear to be "interrupting" to an outside observer, it's a standard conversation style for people accustomed to it.

"You're overlapping just like at the end of what someone's saying, you're not trying to cut them off because you don't care what they have to say. You just, you already got the gist, so you're building up on it. So to us, good conversation, there are not any pauses. If there's a pause, I think somebody doesn't want to be speaking to me anymore, unless they're visibly thinking or chewing or something."

@gaydhdgoddess ##jewish culture has its own style of ##communication — source in comments 😘##assimilation ##interrupt ##linguistics ##judaism ##jewtok ##berniesanders ##yid
♬ original sound - S

She explained that the reason some people find Jewish Northeasterners "grating" (think Bernies Sanders, she said) is because their conversation style is different. That doesn't mean it's bad or wrong—it's just different.

The term "cooperative overlapping" comes from sociolinguist Deborah Tannen, who described how it works in her book "Conversational Style: Analyzing Talk Among Friends." In a later essay, Tannen described how people with different conversation styles might interpret interruptions and pauses in speech:

"A speaker who stops talking because another has begun is unlikely to think, 'I guess we have different attitudes toward cooperative overlap.' Instead, such a speaker will probably think, 'You are not interested in hearing what I have to say,' or even 'You are a boor who only wants to hear yourself talk.' And the cooperative overlapper is probably concluding, 'You are unfriendly and are making me do all the conversational work here'... '"

In other words, these conversational differences can lead to misunderstandings and hurt feelings if we don't recognize and understand what's happening and why.

A few caveats are in order, of course. Not all Jewish people participate in cooperative overlapping as a rule, and there are several cultures outside of the Jewish Northeast who do. People from various Eastern European, Indian, and African-American cultures, as well as different geographical regions (generally New York/Northeast), have shared that such interaction is common and viewed as active engagement. It can also be common among people with ADHD or other neurodivergences.

As Anil Dash wrote on Twitter, "Ahhhh omg it feels so validating to hear this has a name! I really struggle with talking over people (I understand many experience this very negatively) but it's an incredibly difficult pattern to change because it's literally how I grew up communicating enthusiasm & support. Not talking 'with' someone is like leaving them alone, similar to refusing to look at them when talking."

The difference between cooperative overlapping and actually rudely interrupting may be subtle, especially for those who aren't used to it. Those of us from cultures that take distinct turns talking and allow pauses between turns may find cooperative overlapping overwhelming, and the seemingly chaotic conversation style can feel offputting.

But that discomfort goes both ways. People from overlapping cultures can interpret pauses as coldness or indifference.

Of course, there are personality differences that come into play with all of this as well. Some people within a cultural group may find that the dominant conversational style within that group doesn't work well for them individually. And it's also important to acknowledge that there's a difference between cooperative overlapping in a conversation within a friend group and someone actually trying to dominate the conversation within a different power dynamic. The word "cooperative" is key here. If it becomes competitive, that's a whole other thing.

The bottom line is communication varies a lot between cultural groups and it's good to understand those variations. What's normal or acceptable in one might feel uncomfortable to another, but that doesn't make it wrong. Learning about these differences and adjusting our expectations accordingly can go a long way toward more enjoyable conversations for all.

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Democracy

Panoramic 'tour' of Auschwitz helps us see the massiveness of the largest Nazi death camp

Auschwitz Memorial/Twitter

When I interviewed 91-year-old Holocaust survivor Ben Lesser a few months ago, I was blown away by his story. I also felt dismayed hearing him explain how Holocaust education is sorely lacking in so many places. Right around the time of our interview, a report came out that our younger generations have a shockingly woeful understanding of the Holocaust. Nearly two-thirds of Millennials and Gen Z participants in a 50-state survey didn't know that 6 million Jews were killed by the Nazis. Nearly half couldn't name a single concentration camp.

If we lose that history, we are less likely to recognize when the precursors to such atrocities repeat themselves. Additionally, the victims and families of victims of the millions of men, women, and children who were systematically tortured and killed in the 40,000 concentration camps and ghettos established during WWII deserve to have their experiences remembered and acknowledged.

The largest Nazi camp complex was Auschwitz, which included concentration, extermination, and forced-labor camps. Of the estimated 1.3 million people who were sent to Auschwitz, 1.1 million died there between 1940 and 1945. Nearly five years, and more than a million people murdered in just one camp complex. The statistics alone are mind-blowing.

Such large numbers are hard to wrap our minds around. That's why individual stories like Ben Lesser's matter so much. He himself is an Auschwitz survivor, and his descriptions of what he experienced there are difficult but important to hear.

But what makes the Holocaust especially chilling is the premeditated, factory-like automation of the killing. Camps like Auschwitz were built for the purpose of exterminating as many human beings as possible as efficiently as possible. Men, women, and children crammed into cattle cars like sardines. Men, women, and children stripped and shaven. Nazi soldiers making split second decisions of who was strong and healthy enough to be worked to death and who would be marched straight to the gas chambers.

While individual stories are vital, so are broader visuals that help us understand the scope of what took place. Perhaps paradoxically, some of the most powerful visuals from the Holocaust don't include people themselves. I remember the first time I saw a photo of an enormous pile of shoes from a concentration camp—there must have been thousands of them. That image stuck with me more than any other when I was first learning about the Holocaust. Each pair of shoes belonged to a person, and seeing them systematically yet carelessly tossed into a huge heap encapsulated the inhumanity that kept piling up as Nazi killings kept going and going.

Those who have visited Auschwitz remark about the size of the place—how it keeps going and going and going—but that's hard to capture in photographs. Thankfully, the Auschwitz Museum has an educational tool for those of us who haven't been there to get a sense of the scale of it—a panoramic, interactive tour of the grounds.

The panoramic tool lets you click arrows to move around the grounds, where you see row after row of buildings, some of which still stand and others where you can only see parts of the brick and chimneys. There's a "read more" link in each area that describes a bit about what you're seeing. You can click the link in the tweet or go here to take the interactive tour.

The Auschwitz Memorial Twitter account used the word "impressive" to describe the size of the grounds, which feels like a bit of an odd word choice, but the scope and size of it really is incredible. Imagine the resources that went into creating this place, solely dedicated to destruction and dehumanization. Imagine the number of people it took to run it, to go along with a plan so heinous and horrific that we consider it one of the very worst chapters in human history.

And it really wasn't that long ago. I recently spoke to a living, breathing human being who was taken to this place by train, who watched his siblings' incinerated ashes fall from the sky there, who barely survived the of savagery and genocide that took place on that soil.

As difficult as it is to digest, we need to learn everything we can about the Holocaust. We need to understand that such atrocity happened in one of the most advanced, cultured societies at the time. We need to see what led up to it, how propaganda and prejudice fueled it, how people allowed it to happen. We need to know what hatred can lead to—not just on an individual level, but on a mass scale.

We need to look at the entire Holocaust epic, learn how it played out in all its systematic horror, and vow—continually—to never allow ourselves to even flirt with the opening act.

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Heroes

91-yr-old Holocaust survivor Ben Lesser is sharing his story. It's one we all need to hear.

ZACHOR Foundation

"What's 'the Holocaust'?" my 11-year-old son asks me. I take a deep breath as I gauge how much to tell him. He's old enough to understand that prejudice can lead to hatred, but I can't help but feel he's too young to hear about the full spectrum of human horror that hatred can lead to.

I wrestle with that thought, considering the conversation I recently had with Ben Lesser, a 91-year-old Holocaust survivor who was just a little younger than my son when he witnessed his first Nazi atrocity.

It was September of 1939 and the Blitzkrieg occupation of Poland had just begun. Ben, his parents, and his siblings were awakened in their Krakow apartment by Nazi soldiers who pistol-whipped them out of bed and ransacked their home. As the men with the shiny black boots filled burlap sacks with the Jewish family's valuables, a scream came from the apartment across the hall. Ben and his sister ran toward the cry.

They found a Nazi swinging their neighbors' baby upside down by its legs, demanding that the baby's mother make it stop crying. As the parents screamed, "My baby! My baby!" the Nazi smirked—then swung the baby's head full force into the door frame, killing it instantly.

This story and others like it feel too terrible to tell my young son, too out of context from his life of relative safety and security. And yet Ben Lesser lived it at my son's age. And it was too terrible—for anyone, much less a 10-year-old. And it was also completely out of context from the life of relative safety and security Ben and his family had known before the Nazi tanks rolled in.

ZACHOR Foundation

Before I spoke with Ben, I had prepared myself for what I was going to hear. The baby story was brutal, but I'd read enough Holocaust stories to expect all manner of horror. The Jews being rounded up and taken to the woods to dig their own graves before being shot and thrown into them. The cattle cars crammed with bodies so tightly no one could move—where men, women, and children languished in hunger and thirst, standing in their own excrement for days. The Nazi commandant who made every 10th prisoner in line hold their body over a sawhorse and take 25 lashes, shooting in the head anyone whose body touched the sawhorse through the beating.

The concentration camps, the death camps, the gas chambers. I was prepared for all of that.

What I wasn't prepared for was the fact that Ben Lesser's dad was a chocolate maker. He was one of the first, Ben explained to me proudly, to make chocolate-covered wafer cookies, like a Kit-Kat, only he made his in the shape of animals.

Hearing Ben describe the way he and his siblings would excitedly run to their father when he got home from work, knowing he'd have pockets full of chocolate for them—that was the detail that did me in. The simple sweetness of it. The fact that their life was so delightfully normal before it turned into a nightmare. That backdrop made hearing about the horrors Ben witnessed and experienced from age 10 to 16 all the more heinous.

ZACHOR Foundation

Ben was 15 when he and two of his siblings were shoved into a cattle car and transported to Auschwitz-Birkenau, the largest Nazi concentration camp complex where Nazis systematically murdered 1.1 million people in five years. When they exited the car, a man was directing people to go left or right. Ben, a strong young man, was sent to the right with his uncle and cousin—they were going to work. His sister Goldie and younger brother Tuli were sent to the left.

Ben only learned that his sister and brother had gone straight to the gas chambers when a guard later explained, with a twisted sense of satisfaction, that the ash gently falling from the sky was made up of the bodies of the workers' loved ones.

By the time the war ended, Ben would lose his parents, three of his four siblings, and countless extended family members and friends to Hitler and his followers' hatred. His older sister, Lola, was the only member of his immediate family to survive.

The stories Ben shared from Auschwitz-Birkenau, from the "Death March" to Buchenwald, and from Dachau—where he would ultimately be liberated when the war ended—are every bit as horrific as everything I've described so far. It would take far more space than I have here to share it all, but Ben has written it all down—the tragedy and suffering as well as the miracles that occurred both during and after the war—in his autobiography.

But simply putting it all down in writing wasn't enough.

ZACHOR Foundation

"In my mind there are questions that have never been answered," Ben writes in the opening of his memoir. "You might be surprised to learn that my first unanswered question is not, Why did that insane Hitler try to destroy the Jewish People? Instead, my first unanswered question is, Why did the so-called sane world stand by and let this Genocide happen?

"Having experienced the savagery of genocide first-hand as a child, while living in a supposedly modern, cultured, European country, I also have two additional questions: One, What are the circumstances and choices that led up to this and other genocides? And two: What must we do to prevent it from happening again? Anywhere. Because, sadly, as the old saying tells us, 'The more things change, the more they stay the same.'"

These are the questions Ben seeks to help all of us answer as time takes us further and further away from the Holocaust. Ben is one of a handful of survivors who are able to share first-hand experiences as Jews under Nazi terror—a fact he was keenly aware of when he founded the ZACHOR Holocaust Remembrance Foundation in 2009. "ZACHOR" means "REMEMBER," and the purpose of the foundation is to make sure the world never forgets the lessons of the Holocaust or the millions of individual lives that were taken there.

The story of the Holocaust isn't just in the masses of humanity killed, but in the individual stories of those who survived. For years, Ben spoke at schools, sharing his story with young people. At 91, Ben has retired from the school circuit, but he's not slowing down in his efforts to teach the lesson of what hate can lead to.

ZACHOR has just launched an online Holocaust curriculum—the first to be created and facilitated by and through the firsthand testimonial of a survivor. Ben told Upworthy that he wanted to create a curriculum that would be free and easy for teachers to access so there would be no excuse for schools not to teach about the Holocaust.

Considering the study findings that came out today, Ben's curriculum could not be more timely.

The 50-state survey of young adults in the U.S. found that nearly two-thirds were unaware that 6 million Jews were killed in the Holocaust, nearly 1 in 4 say they think the Holocaust is a myth or that it's exaggerated, and approximately 1 in 10 had either had never heard of it, didn't think it happened at all, or—perhaps most alarmingly—think Jews were responsible for it.

Clearly, we need to be doing a better job of educating our kids about the Holocaust. If we don't, the online disinformation machine will lead them to believe it was all a hoax.

The Zachor Holocaust Curriculum consists of eight lessons, which interweave Ben's personal story with facts about the Eastern European part of the war, how Hitler and the Nazis operated, and the Holocaust in general. It includes written content, fact inserts, photographs, and videos. It is free to register to use, and available to anyone with internet.

Perhaps the most unique element of the ZACHOR curriculum is the interactive component. Ben has created a Storyfile—a mix of artificial intelligence and hologram technology that will enable people to ask Ben questions and get answers long after he's no longer here. He spent hours answering thousands of questions, all of which was recorded from various angles and put into the Storyfile program, so people will always be able to hear Ben's answers to their questions from his own mouth.

Ben's foundation has also launched an anti-bullying campaign called "I SHOUT OUT." Anyone can go to the website i-shout-out.org and share what they shout out for—equality, peace, human rights, etc.—to let the world they stand against hatred.

I asked Ben what is the main message he wants people to take from the horrors of the Holocaust. He said, "It's very simple. Stop the hatred."

We all need to listen and heed Ben's words. Even just this five-minute video in which he shares how the Holocaust got started is worth viewing and sharing with our kids.

3 - Ben's Testimony. It all started with hatred.youtu.be

It may be a few more years before I share the full scope of Nazi cruelty with my son. But I will absolutely make sure that he knows what happened during WWII, about the millions of lives destroyed by hatred, and how, as Ben says, "One person with the gift of gab could turn the minds of millions."

Zachor indeed. We will remember.

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