On Tuesday, October 29, 2019, the Charlottesville Clergy Collective organized the third "Conversations toward Reconciliation" dinner gathering. It was hosted by Unity of Charlottesville. Over 125 people from 23 different faith communities attended the event.

Reverends Don Lansky and Patricia Gulino Lansky, Co-Pastors of Unity welcomed us and offered a prayer to begin our time together.

Apostle Sarah Kelley, Pastor of Faith, Hope, and Love International Healing and Deliverance Center, led in the singing of "Reach Out and Touch, Somebody's Hand."

Rev. Dr. Michael Cheuk, Secretary of the Charlottesville Clergy Collective, gave an overview of the work of the CCC and a recap of previous "Conversations toward Reconciliation" gatherings.

Rev. Dr. Brenda Brown-Grooms spoke about her shift in thinking about white people in relation to her call to serve as Co-Pastor of New Beginnings Christian Community in Charlottesville.​

​Rev. Albert Connett of Olivet Presbyterian shared the shift in his thinking about justice in housing for African Americans and how that shift led to his advocacy for this issue in our community.

REMARKS AT AUGUST 12, 2019 INTERFAITH SERVICE 
Rabbi Tom Gutherz /Congregation Beth Israel /Charlottesville, Virginia

I’ve been asked to share some reflections on the impact of August 12, 2017
on the Jewish community in our town. Most Jews in America today are here 
because they, or more commonly, their ancestors, were refugees escaping religious persecution, often pogroms or genocide. Most of us carry these family stories, 
and especially for first- and second- generation Americans, these stories were related 
to us directly by those who experienced them, by our parents or grandparents. 
 
We were raised to believe that America was a kind of promised land. Not a place 
where all anti-Semitic attitudes would be completely absent, but a place where organized anti-Semitism, aided and abetted by the institutions of government and society, would not occur in this land of liberty and freedom.
 
Most of our community has experienced garden-variety antisemitism: the pennies thrown on the floor, insensitive words that convey some unpleasant attitude or some unflattering idea about Jews or Judaism. And many of us grew up with some name-calling: Kike, Hebe, Yid.  But by and large the public expression of hatred towards Jews was thought by us to be a thing of the past.  

And then came August 12, in Charlottesville.

Since that weekend two years ago we have had to have certain kinds of conversations with our children and our friends, that we never had before. Trying to explain to them: Why do people hate the Jews so much? 

The Unite the Right Rally here was a public coming-out ceremony for a movement 
that had been steadily organizing itself in the corners of the dark web, where Jew-hatred is glorified and amplified. Where the names of Jewish journalists, activists and public figures have their names bracketed with the three parentheses to signify “JEW.”

Before August 12, we did not pay much attention to this.  We, like many of you, were surprised that when the Klan came to town—the Klan, whose very existence is a visceral reminder of racial terror for African Americans--and most of the signs they carried were anti-Semitic. 

And we did not fully understand why the people who came here, ostensibly to protest the removal of Civil War hero statues, were chanting: JEWS WILL NOT REPLACE US” 
And maybe some of you still do not know.

The reason is this: that for many on the alt-right, hatred of Jews is a part of the glue 
that holds together the white supremacist worldview. This movement has cut and 
pasted classic anti-Semitic tropes into their version of “the Great Replacement 
Theory.” According to them, the Jews, not being truly whites and certainly not Christians, work secretly for the demise of the white race. 
This myth of sinister Jewish power is what motivated the shooter at the Pittsburgh synagogue last year. He blamed HIAS--the Hebrew  Immigrant Aid Society--for 
being behind the invasion (his words) of immigrants at our border. So he went to a synagogue to murder some Jews. 

The story of HIAS and Pittsburgh is a personal one for me. My father Joseph was 
born in Poland in 1924. He lost his entire family in the Holocaust. By the time he 
was 20 years old, every single person who he knew growing up, every family member and friend, with one or two exceptions, was murdered because they were Jews.  
They were victims of a society that whole-heartedly embraced these same theories of racial supremacy, that believed in worldwide Jewish conspiracies. My father survived. HIAS brought my own father to America in 1950, and helped him to settle in Cleveland Ohio, where I was born. 

The thought that Nazi ideas are avidly discussed on the internet and neo-Nazi insignias proudly worn on our streets, makes the Jewish community uneasy. We feel that the ground is shifting, though we do not know exactly how. We are uncomfortable about being suddenly cast into the public eye. And though we are grateful for all the expressions of support we received from so many of you in this room, our synagogue 
has gotten used to security measures that we never felt were necessary before. There 
are moments of fear, when we see or hear about some unusual activity. 

But together with our fears and uncertainties, we are also aware that Jews as a community have been embraced in a unique way by this country. Barriers that once restricted our admission to neighborhoods, universities and or organizations have mostly disappeared. 
We are no longer shunned as marriage partners, as was the case only two generations ago.  

I’ve told you part of my father’s story. And yet I am also aware that when he arrived 
in this country, and settled in Cleveland Ohio in the 1950’s, there were certain neighborhoods he could live in, bank loans and jobs he could get by virtue of the fact 
that he had been designated as white, or kind of white, in America’s either/or racial lens. 
I and many in our Jewish community--the ninety percent of our community 
who are not Jews of color--enjoy privileges that were not available, and still are not, 
to African Americans and people of color.  

We know that for every synagogue shooting, there have been dozens of attacks on African American churches and communities. And we know that much white supremacist violence is directed at Muslims and, as we saw just last week in El Paso, at the Latino community. 

I had known about the violence of racism and its history in our country. 
But on August 12 I, and many of you, saw it and felt it in a different way.  
I may have been surprised by my exposure to the depth of the hatred and 
the violence of white supremacy in this country, but African Americans have 
always known it. It is as much a part of their life, of your life, as the air we all 
breathe. And havin seen and felt that, I think, imposes a special obligation on 
all of us.

So I have a lot of questions that need to be answered: 

Why did I not feel that violence? 
Was I too optimistic about the things I saw changing?  
Too complacent about the pace and efficacy of those changes?
Why did I not know the history of the statues that are one block away from the synagogue, that I pass every day? Why did I not have the curiosity to find out?  
Shame on me!

And what else is there that I just do not want to see? 
And what is at stake in my not seeing? 
What will I have to give up, to support, to change, in order to contribute to undoing 
the racial injustice that some are fighting so hard to maintain? 

Many of us in our town have made the commitment to answering these questions. 

Part of what changed for me on August 12, was a realization that I needed to change 
my way of thinking about racism in this country. That I needed to understand that 
it is not just about what is in my heart or my mind. But to understand the structures 
it has built: economic, educational, political, and social; to understand its tenacity, its violence, its legacy.  How it has shaped almost every aspect of the world we live in.
As well as its near invisibility to me as a white person.

My generation of Jews, born after the Holocaust, was raised under the slogan “merbr Again.” This was presented to me, and perhaps to many of you, as a “lesson” of the Holocaust. It its narrow meaning, this lesson translates to this: that Jews must take seriously the words of those who seek to harm us. We have learned that history does not only go forward. It can go backwards as well.

But I understand “Never Again” in a much larger way. “Never Again” means 
that on account of my personal history, on account of what I and my community has experienced, on account of what all of us here in Charlottesville have experienced, 
we have a special responsibility to be vigilant about racial and ethnic hatred 
and injustice wherever we see it. And to look for it, to ferret it out, when we do not see it. 
To understand clearly how it works, and to look for ways to dismantle it. To be a resister and not a bystander. 

The Jewish tradition teaches:  You are not obligated to compete the task
But neither are you free to desist from it. Each of us must find that way that
we can best contribute to this task. 
I am so grateful for those of you in this room who have taught me, and continue to 
teach me. I am learning. We are all trying to learn. And I believe we will all find
our way forward together

​

​The Charlottesville Clergy Collective thanks all who participated, attended, and supported the Interfaith Service, Monday evening, August 12, 2019, held at First Baptist West Main St.

​We celebrated the resilience of this city. We were inspired and challenged by the testimonies. We were uplifted by song. We prayed for guidance and for the Lord to make things right. We departed with a renewed commitment to act on behalf of love and justice.

You can also read the testimonies given by
Rev. Dr. Jill Duffield and 
Rabbi Tom Gutherz

Photo credit: Michael Cheuk

Charlottesville Tomorrow:
https://www.cvilletomorrow.org/articles/unity-days-interfaith-service-reflects-on-2017-and-looks-forward/

NBC 29
www.nbc29.com/story/40908469/cville-area-people-gather-together-in-prayer-at-interfaith-service

CBS 19
​www.cbs19news.com/content/news/Faith-leaders-join-together-for-Aug-12-service-538648931.html

On Saturday, August 10, a Charlottesville Sing Out was held at the Sprint Pavilion as part of the city's "Unity Days" initiative as we approach the second anniversary of the white supremacist rally.  

Photo credit: Michael Cheuk

Jonathan P. Walton is an area ministry director for InterVarsity Christian Fellowship‘s New York/New Jersey region. He previously served for ten years as director of the New York City Urban Project. He writes regularly for Huffington Post, medium.com, and is the author of three books of poetry and short stories.
​
Jonathan talks to Michael Cheuk about his book, Twelve Lies That Hold America Captive: And the Truth That Sets Us Free.

Additional resources recommended by Jonathan:
​

1. 2030 Calling: Here is a vision video of what we're hoping to do by 2030.
2. Emotionally Healthy Activist: I would LOVE for a group of folks in Charlottesville to do the pilot of our emotionally healthy activist course. Total it will be 8 sessions. 
3. Podcasts: you can search for IVED on i-Tunes and check out our podcasts or click here. 

Originally published (with transcript) at 
​http://michaelkcheuk.com/conversation-with-jonathan-walton/

"I must claim my own culpability in benefitting without protest from an unjust history that continues to abide in the present moment," says Rev. Liz Hulme Adam, Pastor of Tabor Presbyterian Church, at our "Conversations toward Reconciliation" gathering, May 23, 2019.

In one episode of the Brady Bunch, Marcia Brady can only get through her speech to an auditorium of people when she imagines them all in their underwear. I thought that might be a good idea for me tonight. To get through this. The second-to-last thing I want to be doing is speaking to you. The last thing would be standing in front of you in my underwear, which is a bit what this seems like to me. 

There are many ways to tell one’s story, and what we leave out can be as important as what we include. One way I could tell my story is to see life as a series of denial boxes, and the chapters would describe opening those boxes; until, when I’m dying, I can say I’ve opened all the denial boxes. 

My husband moved twice for me, then we moved twice for him, landing in Virginia fourteen years ago. I remembering thinking, that’s THE SOUTH, like it was another planet altogether. I hadn’t spent time in the south. I forged my identity as more of a northerner — MD, DC, Rhode Island, Cape Cod in the summer. It wasn’t until August 12 of 2017 here that I remembered a part of my past I had forgotten. When I returned home from that day in Charlottesville, my husband wanted to know why I was adamant about going. I ended up writing an essay of sorts, to myself, really. This is what I wrote. I called it Why I Showed Up. 

In my blood runs the complexity common among many Americans. I come by way of Italian, German, English and Irish immigrants. There’s some French mingled in, too. [I recently heard a story from my mom’s mom, Italian Catholic, about living in DC as a little girl and the KKK had a cross-burning rally at night; she said she was worried her family could be next. My dad’s people were a lot of Irish Catholics, making their way, too, with little means. My maternal grandfather was the WASP of the family, Protestant and proper in every way.] My kids are half Turkish; their paternal grandparents came to the United States in the late 60s. 

One day during my adolescence I asked my grandfather questions about our ancestry. He brought me a scroll-like document and unrolled it. It belonged to one of our ancestors from Maryland. More precisely, the document called itself Joseph Harding’s “Inventory of Goods and Chattele,” dated 1779. It listed “Goods” such as: a dutch oven, rifles, blankets, and livestock, with detailed descriptions of each item written in hard-to-read cursive. Then, my unsuspecting eyes moved to the bottom of the last page to find the names of people, with significantly less description.
 
1 Negro Man, Anthony, 28 years old 
1 Ditto, Man, Walter, 20 years old 
1 Ditto, Lad, Bennet, 15 years old 
1 Ditto Wench, Suk, 25 years old 
1 Ditto Boy, Charles, 6 years old 
1 Ditto Boy, Harry, 4 years old 
1 Mulato Boy, 9 years old 
1 Negro Wench, 60 years old 

The list resumes with a few more items, presumably the goods used by those listed. 

On the far right side of the document, beside every inventoried entry, was a value. 

The value beside Anthony was 45. The value beside Walter was 50. The value beside Bennet was 45. The value beside Suk was 40. The value beside Charles was 25. The value beside Harry was 18. The value beside the unnamed “Mulato boy” was 15. The value beside the unnamed 60 year-old woman was 3. 

Disoriented and incredulous about what I was reading, I looked up the page to decipher hard-to-read script. I could make out the description of a horse, valued at 37. 

I attended the inter-faith worship service at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church in Charlottesville on the evening of Friday, August 11, 2017. People gathered in light and love to celebrate what unites and binds us as Americans. A pastor friend leaned over to me near the end of the service to show me her phone - she got word that over 200 people were outside the church with torches. Soon after the benediction we were told to stay put; the church was in lock-down. 

On Saturday when taking to the streets arm-in-arm with friends and strangers, singing “This Little Light of Mine,” and “We Shall Overcome,” I wasn’t there only as a clergywoman. I showed up because I am responsible as a human being for correcting what’s wrong; I am responsible for reclaiming space contaminated by hate and beliefs that harm. Mine was also a presence of penance, for that which I’ve inherited and still struggle to face. 
[That] Saturday in Charlottesville I witnessed viciousness in the eyes of my fellow Americans — hate in aggregate, armed. I saw Americans outfitted as militia, with armor meant for war. I saw women bloodied by men who threw them to the ground and bashed their heads into pavement. 

And I must claim my own culpability in benefitting without protest from an unjust history that continues to abide in the present moment. We are trying to form a more perfect union as Americans. We do so by remembering our past without whitewashed nostalgia. I am remembering Anthony, Walter, Bennet, Suk, Charles, Harry, a “Mulato boy” and a 60 year-old woman who didn’t get named in an “Inventory.” I marched and sang and showed up for them, and those they loved, and their stories that didn’t get recorded. It’s the least I could do. 

As a Christian, I also showed up for Jews. Jews taught me about Tikkun Olam — world repair. We are to repair the world. We participate in Tikkun Olam through acts of kindness, and by protecting those at a disadvantage. Too many of my Christian predecessors failed our Jewish brothers and sisters throughout history. Hurt them, killed them. Then, we used our sacred texts to justify or ignore the Holocaust. I am responsible as a pastor to say so. 

When I look back at the past I wonder how I would have responded in times that called for risky intervention, for the defense of those who needed defending. Would I have defended the Armenian, would I have protected the Gypsy, would I have stood up for the Jews? Our current climate gives us a chance to test the question, “How would I have responded?” 

It is our time to respond. 

​~ Rev. Liz Hulme Adam

"Even as a 12-year-old, first-generation immigrant, I was already fully conditioned by whiteness," says Rev. Michael Cheuk of the Charlottesville Clergy Collective at our "Conversations for Reconciliation" gathering, May 23, 2019.

On Thursday, May 23, 2019, the Charlottesville Clergy Collective organized the second "Conversations toward Reconciliation" dinner gathering at Carver Recreation Center. Over 175 people representing 26 faith communities attended the gathering. 

The Rev. Alvin Edwards, Pastor of Mt. Zion First African Baptist and President of the Collective, offered a welcome and a prayer.

Rev. Maren Hange, Pastor of Charlottesville Mennonite Church, served as our Master of Ceremonies.

​During the meal, participants were invited to share their answers to these ice-breaker question:

• Identify 5 items that all people at your table have in common that do not have to do with physical appearance.
• Write down the one most interesting item.

After the meal the following speakers gave personal  testimonies about their experience with race and racism...

​Rev. Michael Cheuk, Secretary of the Charlottesville Clergy Collective, talked about "Learning about Racial Justice as a Racial Minority" (video and transcript).

Rev. Liz Hulme Adam, Pastor of Tabor Presbyterian Church, Crozet, talks about "Why I Showed Up" (video and transcript).

Finally, Rabbi Tom Gutherz of Congregation Beth Israel led us in a closing song:

Pictures below courtesy of Thea Cheuk.