Bigotry

To the Editors of The Crimson:

This past summer, I acknowledged my new home at Currier House by laying upon my doorpost for the first time in my life a small wooden case containing inscribed parchment--a mezuza. For religious Jews, this is a practice dictated by written law. For others, it is a symbolic act of identification. To everyone, the mezuza affords good luck and represents pride in one's heritage and a pledge to perpetuate a worthy tradition. Considered a religious article, an authentic mezuza carries with it the sacredness of a Bible; its destruction or mishandling is forbidden under Jewish law. Yet, some time between the first day of vacation and Christmas Eve, my mezuza was wrested from my door.

I am less angry than disheartened, less vengeful than perplexed. Never in my life has even a subtle gesture of anti-Semitism been waged against me. Were the offense flagrant, then my response would be clear. But I can not discern the implications if I can hardly presume the intent. A janitor may have removed it for noncompliance with housing codes, unaware of its significance. Yet, I reject this as unlikely; it was legally hung on poster clay which remains in place, and few janitors would so boldly invade a private doorway. Nor was it a likely candidate for unft. (Who has underworld connections in a $10 mezuza market?) Such a motive seems andesesvedly optimistic.

The alternative disturbs me. In what vein would a member of the Harvard community profane my religious freedom? The Christmas season promotes as much of the sentiments of tolerance, compassion, and benevolence as it does worship for a certain people's saviour. Every occasion is improper for anti-Semitic gestures, but none could be more irreverent. Historically, Christmas has proved an uncomfortable season, both emotionally and physically, when tides of ill will against Jews climaxed in central and western Europe. Now, happily, participants in a secular world, we share the universal message of the Christian holy day. My intruder may even have enjoyed seasonal music I played Christmas Eve on a temporary return to my dorm. But by then, the deed had been done.

I am at a loss. Harvard receives such high marks for its tolerant atmosphere. I would not venture a dissenting view. Yet, this subtle gesture indicates plainly an appalling and unacceptable private prejudice where I, frankly, had not observed one. When such sentiment foments openly, we can rationally challenge it. But if it remains submerged, only given to autonomous, spiteful assaults, we are left with our anger, puzzlement, and fear.

To declare the theft as wrong understates the implications. To just say that I am offended misrepresents my main concern. Though purchased with care this past August in Jerusalem, my first mezuza will be ungrudgingly replaced. My unqualified trust, however, will never be. Somewhere out there a bigot persists, couching his prejudice in such sheepish acts. Even alone, he is a danger worth confronting. The smallest acts may veil the deepest sentiments.

If this is but an isolated event. I have raised my voice unnecessarily, but not inappropriately. For we should always caution ourselves to respect others customs even in the least offensive circumstances. Flagrant intrusions happen infrequently and must be monitored. Yet even non-malicious inconveniences should be carefully avoided and sympathetically addressed. In a world that has surrendered to prejudices of countless ugly forms, the Harvard community, in particular, has every means and motivation to vigilantly honor its members' unalienable rights. Ellen Resnick '84