When faith served empires—and empires consumed faith.*
As Easter approaches, we remember the story at its center: the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus.
But too often, we forget that Jesus was born and raised as a Jew—not merely a figure in a Christian narrative, but a product of Jewish culture, belief, and conflict.
And when we speak of Jewish history, we must be honest—not only about persecution, but about the moments of profound influence, of survival not through conquest, but through proximity to power.
Even in Jesus’ time, the Jewish priesthood—deeply intertwined with Roman authority—played a critical role in pushing for his execution. Why? Because his presence threatened the delicate balance they had secured with the empire. Jesus was not just challenging Rome; he was challenging a religious leadership clinging to its place within Rome’s system. He was, in essence, bad for business.
This tension—between prophecy and power, between challenging the system and managing it—has echoed through Jewish history ever since.
Take Henry Kissinger, for example. A Holocaust refugee turned U.S. Secretary of State, Kissinger didn't just serve power—he defined it. His fingerprints are all over realpolitik, détente, and America's role in reshaping post-war order.
Or Alan Greenspan, who as Chairman of the Federal Reserve for nearly two decades, fundamentally shaped the global financial system. His philosophy of deregulation and "market self-discipline" paved the way for modern finance—sometimes praised, sometimes blamed, but always monumental.
Or Ben Bernanke, who arguably saved the global economy during the 2008 financial crisis. His academic leadership and practical decisions in central banking redefined monetary policy worldwide.
And Robert Rubin, Treasury Secretary during the Clinton era, architect of the neoliberal policies that reshaped not just American finance, but global economics for a generation.
And there are others—Einstein, Freud, Marx, Rothschilds, Disraeli—the list is long, and the impacts are vast. Sometimes for good, sometimes for contention—but always undeniable.
This isn’t about labeling or blaming. It’s about recognizing a pattern of influence born not from shadowy plots, but from centuries of exclusion, survival, education, and adaptation.
When you're locked out of power, you learn to whisper into its ear.
When you're forbidden to rule openly, you learn how to guide those who do.
There is both admiration and tragedy in that. And as we reflect on Easter, perhaps we should also reflect on what it means to hold influence without open power—and the cost of proximity to empire.
But what has this to do with resurrection, you might ask?
Perhaps the real tragedy is that we have forgotten the teachings of Jesus.
The rolling back of the stone, his appearance to the true believers, the reminder that he had given his life to atone for the sins of man.
Yet today, the nation that once bore his footsteps seems to have fallen into the temptations of the modern world, where no cheek is turned, and the old adage of an eye for an eye takes absolute precedence.
Provoked or unprovoked, there must be a limit—and quite frankly, a dangerous example is being set.
Do we really have to fall back into the bitterness and hatred of the past?
Or should the good teachings of this man be resurrected instead?
Enjoy your Easter. Celebrate your Passover. Rejoice in your traditions.
And, if only for a while, dig deep into your souls for a peace that desperately needs to be found.
No comments:
Post a Comment