Long-form journalism is an increasingly popular genre. In stark contrast to standard print or online journalism that is tightly edited and limited by a predetermined word count, long-form essays are looser. Authors have room to follow multiple tangents and connect them together.
The New Yorker, my favorite magazine online and in print, is the source par excellence of long-form essays. And no – I don’t read it just for the cartoons… It is somewhat of an inside joke amongst subscribers about how many issues are stacked up and dog-eared and left on various surfaces, all open to an essay that’s between 10000-25000 words.
In fact, the latest New Yorker is a double issue featuring one long-form essay by the Pulitzer prize winning author Lawrence Wright. Titled The Plague Year, it is a deep dive into the terrible, twisted tale of Covid and the astounding ineptitude of leaders and bureaucrats all over the world who got so much so wrong. I would urge everyone to read it. The essay is profound and painful, but also illuminates the brilliant, extraordinary scientists who made the vaccine possible.
As I was finishing my read of The Plague Year, I was interrupted by the first notification reporting the insurrection at the Capitol. The newsflash scared me, as did each subsequent elaboration. Throughout the afternoon I was alternately horrified, terrified, disgusted, and overwhelmed. Various friends and family began an ongoing chain of texts and emails decrying the violence and what it portended. We did a lot of handwringing.
A dear friend of mine wrote: “JFK assassination/9-11/1-6.” I thought about that for a long time. It did feel apocalyptic as the first photos appeared: a fool in bearskin, a thief stealing a podium, a vandal posing with his feet up on a desk in a Federal office he’s broken into, a guy in a MAGA hat breaking windows with a Confederate flagpole: you’ve seen them.
But as I thought about it, it came to me that this event, this preposterous illegal action that will be, along with the awful destruction that is Covid, the legacy of our outgoing president, will not be a date swathed in black. 1/6/21 will be a date of reckoning. It will be a reminder to all of us of just how powerful fear can be as a motivation for violence. It will remind us that words have consequences, even when they are spoken by hateful, bigoted people.
I’m not afraid. After all, history is a long-form story. There is no one moment that alone determines the trajectory of the arrow of time. The history of the Jewish people is nothing if not a large, ever-growing, ever-morphing long-form story. We have a deep sense of this continuing unfolding of our story, replete with tragedy and triumph.
January 6th will always be a reminder of just how low our nation can go. But the days after are and will continue to be a testimony to American fortitude and determination. Our story continues to unfold, and our dedication to an openhearted democracy that embraces all people who want to be here is tenacious.
American history continues to blaze forward, long-form style. It lurches, veers, disappoints, inspires, and grows, long-form style. We are engaged in a process of hope and fortitude. It’s not easy. It’s not over; not by a long shot.
I hope in this time of transition and honest self-reflection that we will continue to study the story of our nation. We will have many disagreements. They will be contentious. But my hope is that we can rise to a place of patient sensitivity. Each one of us is a co-author of this story. Let’s write a story that will lift up the hearts of our children. On that we must all agree.
Before Shabbat 