A Story of Redemption
By Douglas J. Workman
I would like to have the opportunity to have a conversation with the
University of Virginia’s basketball coach, Tony Bennett. But I don’t think the conversation would be
about basketball. That would be like
someone at the level of finger-painting attempting to talk art with
Picasso. I know, however, that Coach
Bennett is a deeply religious Christian and in my own confused Jewish way, I
share some of his religious devotion as well.
And I would truly like to discuss with him my personal insight into the
religious implications to journey taken by the University of Virginia’s
basketball program over the course of the last two seasons.
I would begin with something that I learned in one of the first classes I
ever attended at the University of Virginia, which was a history seminar about
World War I. The Professor spoke about
the reason for studying history; with the past being the only thing that we
have to hold onto. The future is unknown
and the present is ephemeral; as soon as it is here, it’s gone. Perhaps the professor’s statement can better
be explained by something I later learned from the Danish philosopher, Soren
Kierkegaard. “Life is lived looking
forwards, but only understood looking backwards.”
What my professor and Kierkegaard have taught me is that the stories we
tell about events ultimately surpass the events themselves in their impact on
our lives. Our stories shape who we are
and how we view things. This analysis
begins with an understanding of the role of myth in society. Myth is something more than an invented epic
tale; it can be a symbolic narrative, perhaps of unknown origin, which
ostensibly relates to actual events and in so doing transmits a defining
story.
As an example, on the fourth Thursday in November, we all gather around
our festive tables and recite some variation of the following: Our Puritan ancestors left religious
persecution to seek a New Zion and freedom in this great land. When they arrived to Plymouth Colony, they
encountered hardships and suffered greatly.
But thanks to the assistance of the native population, they managed to
survive and held a festival with the native population expressing gratitude for
the bounty of the land. We all celebrate
the holiday of Thanksgiving as part of our story as Americans. If you wanted to dissect the Thanksgiving
story for historical accuracy, the myth is only remotely related to the
reality. Nevertheless, part of what it
means to be an American is to adopt the Thanksgiving myth as part of your
story. And just like the vast majority
of the population of this great country, my family sits at our dinner table on
that day and celebrates the holiday as part of what it means to be an
American.
As a Jew, my root story is the Exodus from Egypt, popularized in film by
The Ten Commandments and The Prince of Egypt.
Every year at Passover, we sit down at a Seder table and recount the
story of Exodus as our defining myth; i.e.,
what it means to be a member of the Jewish people. We retell the story laid out so beautifully in
the movies. We use flowing metaphors to
describe what God has done, freeing the Children of Israel from bondage with a
mighty hand and an outstretched arm, with great awe, and with signs and wonders.[1]
The most important line that we read in the Passover Seder is not the actual
telling of the story, but our personalization of it. “In every generation a person is obligated to
regard himself as if he had come out of Egypt.”
What is it that is so important about this story of redemption that
makes us want to view it not as a historical memory but as a uniquely personal one? Acknowledging our origins as slaves, we are
in a position not to feel just sympathy, but actual empathy for the widow, the
orphan, the stranger and the alien in our midst. As we read 36 times in the first five books
of the Hebrew Bible, we were strangers in the Land of Egypt, which is the most
repeated phrase in the sacred text.
Personalizing that myth works as a matter of laying the foundation for
our ethics and morals in a way that we would not be able to understand without
having experienced the event. The lesson
is so powerful that it does not matter whether I believe in its historical
accuracy; it is my defining myth as a Jew.
In my somewhat feeble attempts to modernize the Passover Seder, I have
introduced into our family’s liturgy songs of freedom and redemption that teach
the same lesson. One of my favorites was
written by Bob Marley in 1979 at the same time I was a UVA student, called, “Redemption
Song.” The lyric from that song that I
always found applicable to the Passover story, “Emancipate yourselves from
mental slavery, none but ourselves can free our minds.”
Or to put it another way, “If you learn to use it right, the adversity,
it will buy you a ticket to a place you couldn't have gone any other way.” Coach Bennett, picking up on a phrase he
heard in a TED talk pointed out to him by his wife, has managed to encapsulate
the meaning of Passover, which is the root experience of being Jewish, in a
single sentence. So when he used that quote
as the mantra for the Virginia basketball team’s last 14 months, he was
speaking right to my soul.
The story of Virginia basketball is one of redemption. Only by learning through adversity were the
Cavaliers able to go to a place deep inside their selves. And when you are able to make that discovery,
in Bob Marley’s words, your hand has been made strong by the hand of the
Almighty. Kudos to Kyle, Ty et al. for allowing the public to be a
part of their journey. We as fans and
supporters of the program were also taken to places to which we never could
have been without the adversity. I kept
alternating between tears of joy and deep feelings of contentment. Thank you to Coach Bennett for teaching me a
better understanding of my own religion.
Doug
Workman, a 1980 Virginia alumnus, is a lawyer in Los Angeles.
