It is painfully obvious that, since September 11, we are not the same people. We feel more vulnerable. Every time, we prepare to fly, we sense our precariousness. When we pack, we must not include any nail files or other sharp objects in our luggage. We must arrive at the airport two hours before flight time, not one hour as we did previously.

But these minor inconveniences are dwarfed by a much larger reality. All of us Americans are now potential victims of terrorists on these shores. The world's war zones no longer have national borders. Any American city can become the next battlefield.

But we are not just Americans. We bear a dual identity. We are American Jews. In some ways, we have never had it so good. The days of discrimination against us are over. The disgraceful Jewish quota is a thing of the past. We can live in any neighborhood we please. Our children can attend any university or medical school they wish. We can join any country club we desire. We can also take our place in the executive suites in the oil corporations and insurance companies, which once barred Jews. Yet with all these dramatic gains, unprecedented in the entire sweep of Jewish history for the past 2000 years, we still are tormented by uneasiness and insecurity.

Let me explain by comparing us to our American Protestant neighbors. Last Sunday, in the Pakistani city of Islamabad, two terrorists threw grenades into a Protestant church during a worship service. Five people, including a U. S. Embassy staff member and her daughter, were killed. 45 others, mostly non-Americans, suffered severe wounds.

Since September 11, this was the second attack against Christians in Pakistan. However, I have yet to see any anxiety on the part of American Protestants in response to these brutalities. Attacks on fellow Christians in other parts of the world may cause them pain because of human suffering, but they themselves do not feel personally endangered.

Not so with us American Jews. Just yesterday, Jerusalem experienced yet another tragic suicide bombing. Rarely does a day go by that we don't hear of a similar catastrophe at an Israeli restaurant, café, banquet hall, bus stop, or shopping mall. Though these calamities strike 8000 miles away, they emotionally devastate us.

Not only do we feel a special kinship with them because they are fellow Jews who suffer grievous losses. We also say to ourselves: “There, but for the grace of God, go I.” Let's face the painful facts. The target could be us. Those who assault Israeli Jews could just as readily attack us. These terrorists despise not only Israelis. They detest all Jews everywhere and want to see us dead.

But let us not be quick to blame all the Muslim nor misrepresent the Islamic faith. Let us not generalize from the obscene assault of these terrorists and denigrate the Islamic religion or demonize all Muslims. Unfortunately, since September 11, Muslims have become the victims of harassment, bullying, and arbitrary arrests. To make matters worse, some fundamentalist Christians, including a high government official, have mounted an extensive campaign to vilify the Muslim faith.

Not long ago, Cal Thomas, the noted journalist, reported a disgraceful statement by John Ashcroft, our Attorney General. Ashcroft, the son and grandson of Pentecostal ministers, holds some extremist religious views. Listen to his negative assessment of the Muslim faith, which Cal Thomas quoted: “Islam is a religion which requires you to send your sons to die for him. Christianity is a faith in which God sent his son to die for you.” Naturally, the Muslim American community was deeply offended.

What Ashcroft said is part of a larger fundamentalist Christian initiative to portray Islam as a violent, terrorist-based, hateful religion. Just this past week, Pat Robertson announced that his Christian broadcast company had just produced a movie about the evils of Islam. He then proceeded to show a segment of it.

That same day, I received a publication from an ultra-conservative group, called Christians for Israel. This particular issue is devoted to an expose of Islam. In one article, the writer quotes some of the rabidly vicious passages from the Koran, like this verse which begins: “Fight against those who believe not in Allah, nor in the Last Day, and allow that which has been forbidden by Allah and His Messenger (Muhammad) and those who do not acknowledge the true religion Islam among the People of the Book (Jews and Christians)…”

Actually, both Christian and Jewish Scriptures contain verses that are hateful toward others. The New Testament is replete with denunciations of Jews. Tonight is our congregation is our dear friend, Dr. Norman Beck, Professor of Religion and Classical Languages at Texas Lutheran University. We commend him for his recent translation of the New Testament, which dares to struggle with its harmful anti-Jewish polemic. Even our own Hebrew Bible is not exempt from such unworthy sentiments. It calls upon King Saul to destroy the people of Amalek. It orders the Israelites to annihilate thoroughly all the seven pagan nations upon entering the Promised Land.

Yet, the sacred writings of all three of these three world religions – the Koran, the Christian Scriptures, and the Hebrew Bible - also teach love, kindness compassion, morality, and family responsibility. In all three, one can build a case for animosity or for friendship. One can ransack Sacred Scripture for verses to buttress almost any cause that one wishes. Someone recently quipped that if you search the Bible thoroughly, you probably can even find a recipe for baking brownies.

Most Muslims want peace and do not support suicide bombers or terrorists. The problem is that it is difficult for them to be heard. Those living in Muslim-dominated countries risk severe punishment or death if they boldly speak out.

There is another serious problem. Unlike Judaism and Christianity, there is no Reform or liberal expression of Islam. Therefore, religious interpretation is left to the Muslim zealots and fanatics. In short, let us not harshly judge the Muslim faith by some of those who claim to represent it. Our challenge is to realize that they are teaching a dangerous and evil distortion of their tradition and concealing its many sublime and noble teachings.

Besides not blaming terrorism on the Muslims or their religion, there is another task for us. The title of my sermon tonight is: “Overcoming Terrorism.” I trust President Bush and his advisors to continue to find the most effective political and military strategies for uprooting and eradicating terrorism once and for all.

We need to overcome it in a different way: By not succumbing to despair. We can draw guidance and inspiration from the bravery and courage of our brothers and sisters in Israel who continue to live and flourish there. Though our lives are not normal since September 11, theirs are far less so. They live in a state of constant emergency. Every sound they hear can be a bomb. Every café or supermarket they pass or enter can be the next terrorist target. Every bus their children board can become their graveyard. Yet, though naturally discouraged and frightened, they refuse to leave the country or surrender to despair.

Rabbi Dan Allen has a daughter who is a social worker living in Jerusalem. After a recent round of horrors there, on a Saturday night, after Shabbat, Rabbi Allen wrote his daughter, asking if she was all right. Listen to her uplifting reply:

Dear Mom and Dad,

Today was a tough day. How do you go to work on four hours of restless sleep? How do you step out of your house or get onto a bus, or go to the supermarket? How do you react when you see someone whom you know on TV in the hospital with a relative? How do I tell all of you that I am safe and that life goes on?

I don't know. I don't know how I got up and went to work today, or how I thought about the pipe problem in my apartment building, or even thought about getting my haircut. I know that I did it, and that I am thankful that I can, though some of it seems trivial in the face of so much pain and death.

Lots of people have asked me why I am here, and how can I stay here. But even with the “matsav”--the situation, as we call it, how can I leave? My life is here, my job, my apartment, my car, and even if I didn't have all these things, how could I leave? This is my home in more ways than one. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

This is a painful and a difficult time for all of us. It is hard to know what to say or do, what is appropriate, how much more we should tell you that you don't get to see because CNN is so selective. Know that we are learning to live our lives differently. Instead of going out to a cafe, I will be bringing the cafe to me. Friday brunch at Bagel Bite is being moved to my apartment. It will be cheaper and safer and we will have just as much fun.

Know that I am physically ok, and learning to deal with a new stress in life. We all cry a little easier, but we have also learned to celebrate the little things, and even the not so little things. Babies are still being born here. It is the season of weddings. I am even going to a Bar Mitzvah next week. I bought a pair of sunglasses today. Probably the silliest thing I could buy, but, thank God, I can buy them. Lots of people can't.

It is spring here. The sandals are coming out of the closet and the jackets are being put away. so we take walks in the sun when we can. Just to remember the simple things. Just to say we did it.

I wish you all the best, and that it truly is a Shavua Tov, or at least better than it started.

Love, Sarah.

What a magnificent perspective! What an inspiring outlook! For us, may Sarah's words become a source of hope and strength. Amen.

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