I was a new mother and a young rabbi in the spring of 2004 and the world was in shambles. Maybe you remember. Every day, we heard devastating reports from the war in Iraq. There were waves of terror rolling across the globe. It seemed like humanity was spinning out of control. I remember the night that I read about the series of coordinated bombings in the subway system in Madrid, and I got up and I walked over to the crib where my six-month-old baby girl lay sleeping sweetly, and I heard the rhythm of her breath, and I felt this sense of urgency coursing through my body. We were living through a time of tectonic shifts in ideologies, in politics, in religion, in populations. Everything felt so precarious. And I remember thinking, "My God, what kind of world did we bring this child into? And what was I as a mother and a religious leader willing to do about it?
Une isha një nënë e re dhe një rabine e re në pranverën e 2004 dhe bota ishte ne kaos. Ndoshta e mbani mend. Cdo ditë, ne dëgjonim lajme shkatërruese nga lufta ne Irak. Ishin disa valë terrori qe rrotulloheshin në të gjithë globin. Dukej sikur njerëzimi po dilte nga kontrolli. Më kujtohet nata kur lexova rreth nje serie bombardimesh të koordinuara në një metro të Madridit, dhe u ngrita e eca deri te krevati ku vajza ime 6-muajshe po flinte ëmbëlsisht, dhe degjova ritmin e frymëmarrjes së saj, dhe e ndjeva si nje prioritet që përshkroi gjithë trupin tim. Ishim duke jetuar në një kohe të përplasjeve tektonike në ideologji, në politikë, fe, dhe në popullsi. Cdo gjë ishte e pasigurtë. Mbaj mend që mendoja: "Zoti im, ne cfarë lloj bote e sollëm këte fëmije? Dhe cfarë isha unë si një nënë dhe udhëheqëse fetare e gatshme të bëja rreth kësaj?
Of course, I knew it was clear that religion would be a principle battlefield in this rapidly changing landscape, and it was already clear that religion was a significant part of the problem. The question for me was, could religion also be part of the solution? Now, throughout history, people have committed horrible crimes and atrocities in the name of religion. And as we entered the 21st century, it was very clear that religious extremism was once again on the rise. Our studies now show that over the course of the past 15, 20 years, hostilities and religion-related violence have been on the increase all over the world. But we don't even need the studies to prove it, because I ask you, how many of us are surprised today when we hear the stories of a bombing or a shooting, when we later find out that the last word that was uttered before the trigger is pulled or the bomb is detonated is the name of God? It barely raises an eyebrow today when we learn that yet another person has decided to show his love of God by taking the lives of God's children. In America, religious extremism looks like a white, antiabortion Christian extremist walking into Planned Parenthood in Colorado Springs and murdering three people. It also looks like a couple inspired by the Islamic State walking into an office party in San Bernardino and killing 14. And even when religion-related extremism does not lead to violence, it is still used as a political wedge issue, cynically leading people to justify the subordination of women, the stigmatization of LGBT people, racism, Islamophobia and anti-Semitism. This ought to concern deeply those of us who care about the future of religion and the future of faith. We need to call this what it is: a great failure of religion.
Sigurisht, e dija mirë se feja do të ishte beteja kryesore në këtë peisazh shpejtësisht të ndryshueshëm, dhe ishte tashmë e qartë se feja do të ishte një pjesë e rëndësishme e problemit. Pyetja për mua ishte, mundet feja gjithashtu te jetë pjesë e zgjidhjes? Tani, përgjatë historisë, njerëzit kanë kryer krime të tmerrshme dhe mizori ne emër te fesë. Sapo hymë ne shekullin e 21, ishte shumë e qartë se ekstremizmi fetar ishte sërish në rritje. Studimi ynë tani tregon se përgjatë rrjedhës se 15-20 viteve te kaluara dhuna e lidhur me fenë ka qenë në rritje në te gjithë botën. Por ne nuk kemi nevojë që ta provojne studimet sepse nëse ju pyes sa prej nesh surprizohen kur dëgjojmë për histori me bombardime apo të shtëna, kur më vonë zbulojmë se fjala e fundit që u tha para se këmbëza të tërhiqej ose bomba te shpërthehej është emri i Zotit? Mezi ngremë sytë lart sot kur mësojmë se një person tjetër vendosi te tregojë dashurinë për Zotin duke marrë jetët e fëmijëve te Zotit. Në Amerikë, ekstremizmi fetar duket si një i bardhë, ekstremist kristian kundër abortit që futet brenda Planned Parenthood në Colorado Springs duke vrarë 3 veta. Duket si një cift qe të nxitur nga Shteti Islamik futen në një zyre në San Benardino duke vrarë 14 njerëz. Edhe nëse ekstremizmi i lidhur me fenë nuk con në dhunë, prapë se prapë përdoret si një cështje politike që cinikisht i con njerëzit të justifikojnë nënshtrimin e femrave, stigmatizimin e njerëzve LGBT, racizmin, islamofobinë dhe anti-semitizmin. Kjo duhet te shqetesoje thellesisht ata prej nesh qe kujdesen per te ardhmen e fese dhe për te ardhmen e besimit. Duhet ta shikojmë ashtu sic është: një dështim i madh i fesë.
But the thing is, this isn't even the only challenge that religion faces today. At the very same time that we need religion to be a strong force against extremism, it is suffering from a second pernicious trend, what I call religious routine-ism. This is when our institutions and our leaders are stuck in a paradigm that is rote and perfunctory, devoid of life, devoid of vision and devoid of soul.
Por problemi është se, ky nuk është problemi i vetëm qe përballet sot feja. Në të njejtën kohë që e duam fenë te jetë një forcë e madhe kundër ekstremizmit, është vuajtëse nga një trend i dyte i dëmshëm, që une e quaj rutinizmi i fesë. Kjo eshte kur institucionet tona dhe lideret tane jane zhytur ne nje paradigme qe eshte rutine dhe sa per forme, liria e jetes, liria e vizionit dhe liria e shpirtit.
Let me explain what I mean like this. One of the great blessings of being a rabbi is standing under the chuppah, under the wedding canopy, with a couple, and helping them proclaim publicly and make holy the love that they found for one another. I want to ask you now, though, to think maybe from your own experience or maybe just imagine it about the difference between the intensity of the experience under the wedding canopy, and maybe the experience of the sixth or seventh anniversary.
Më lejoni t'ju shpjegoj cfarë dua te them me këtë. Një nga bekimet më te mëdha e te qenit mësuese e judaizmit është qëndrimi nën tenden e martesës, me ciftin, duke i ndihmuar te shpallin publikisht dhe te bej te shenjte dashurine qe ata kane per njeri-tjetrin. Dua t'ju pyes juve, te mendoni ndonje eksperience tuajen ose thjesht ta imagjinoni ate rreth diferences mes intensitetit te eksperiences poshte tendes se marteses, dhe ndoshta eksperiencën e përvjetorit te gjashtë apo te shtatë.
(Laughter)
(Të qeshura)
And if you're lucky enough to make it 16 or 17 years, if you're like most people, you probably wake up in the morning realizing that you forgot to make a reservation at your favorite restaurant and you forgot so much as a card, and then you just hope and pray that your partner also forgot.
Dhe nëse do te keni mjaft me fat që ta bëni të zgjase për 16 ose 17 vjet, nëse jeni si shumica e njerezve, do te zgjoheni ne mëngjes dhe do te kujtoni se keni harruar te rezervoni ne restorantin e preferuar dhe ngaqë harroni shpesh, do te shpresoni dhe luteni qe edhe partneri juaj te ketë harruar.
Well, religious ritual and rites were essentially designed to serve the function of the anniversary, to be a container in which we would hold on to the remnants of that sacred, revelatory encounter that birthed the religion in the first place. The problem is that after a few centuries, the date remains on the calendar, but the love affair is long dead. That's when we find ourselves in endless, mindless repetitions of words that don't mean anything to us, rising and being seated because someone has asked us to, holding onto jealously guarded doctrine that's completely and wildly out of step with our contemporary reality, engaging in perfunctory practice simply because that's the way things have always been done.
Në rregull, ritet dhe ritualet fetare janë krijuar fillimisht per te shërbyer si përvjetor, dhe te jete nje ene ne te cilen do te hedhim gjerat e shenjta, ne takimin e shpalljes qe lindi feja per herë te parë. Problemi është se pas disa shekujve, data qëndron ne kalendar, por dashuria ka vdekur me kohë. Kështu ndodh kur e gjejmë veten nëpër përsëritje te pafundme dhe të pamend te fjalëve qe nuk kanë asnjë kuptim për ne, qe shtohen dhe nuk lëvizin sepse dikush na ka pyetur për to, duke u kapur pas doktrinave me kujdes qe është komplet pa lidhje me realitetin e sotëm, duke u përfshirë ne një praktikë te përciptë thjesht sepse kështu ka qenë mënyra si si janë bërë gjërat.
Religion is waning in the United States. Across the board, churches and synagogues and mosques are all complaining about how hard it is to maintain relevance for a generation of young people who seem completely uninterested, not only in the institutions that stand at the heart of our traditions but even in religion itself. And what they need to understand is that there is today a generation of people who are as disgusted by the violence of religious extremism as they are turned off by the lifelessness of religious routine-ism.
Feja po dobësohet ne Shtetet e Bashkuara. Ne te gjithë vendin, kishat, sinagoget dhe xhamitë po ankohen per vështirësinë për te ruajtur rëndësinë të nje gjenerate te re qe duken tërësisht te painteresuar, jo vetëm per institucionin fetare qe qëndrojnë ne krye të traditave tona por edhe për vetë fenë. Ajo që duhet te kuptojnë eshte se sot ekziston nje gjeneratë njerezish qe jane te merzitur nga dhuna e ekstremizmit fetar qe i mbyll ne rutinizmin fetar.
Of course there is a bright spot to this story. Given the crisis of these two concurrent trends in religious life, about 12 or 13 years ago, I set out to try to determine if there was any way that I could reclaim the heart of my own Jewish tradition, to help make it meaningful and purposeful again in a world on fire. I started to wonder, what if we could harness some of the great minds of our generation and think in a bold and robust and imaginative way again about what the next iteration of religious life would look like? Now, we had no money, no space, no game plan, but we did have email. So my friend Melissa and I sat down and we wrote an email which we sent out to a few friends and colleagues. It basically said this: "Before you bail on religion, why don't we come together this Friday night and see what we might make of our own Jewish inheritance?"
Sigurisht kjo eshte pjesa e dukshme e historise. Duke pare krizen qe po shtohej ne jeten fetare rreth 12 apo 13 vjet me pare, vendosa te provoj te gjej nese ka ndonje menyre qe une mund te permiresoja vete traditen time Judaiste qe te kishte serish te njejtin kuptim dhe mendim ne nje bote qe po ziente. Fillova te pyes veten, nese mund te merrnim disa nga mendjet me te mira te gjenerates tone dhe te mendojne serish ne menyre te fuqishme, imagjinare dhe te spikatur rreth asaj se si perseritja e fese do te duket? Tani, ne nuk kishim para, hapesire, dhe asnje plan loje por kishim email. Keshtu qe, shoqja ime Melisa dhe une u ulem dhe shkruajtem nje email te cilin ia derguam disa miqve dhe kolegeve. Shkurtimisht thame kete: "Perpara se te lini fene, pse nuk bashkohemi kete te premte ne darke dhe te shikojme se cfare mund te bejme per trashegimine tone hebreje?"
We hoped maybe 20 people would show up. It turned out 135 people came. They were cynics and seekers, atheists and rabbis. Many people said that night that it was the first time that they had a meaningful religious experience in their entire lives. And so I set out to do the only rational thing that someone would do in such a circumstance: I quit my job and tried to build this audacious dream, a reinvented, rethought religious life which we called "IKAR," which means "the essence" or "the heart of the matter."
Shpresuam se vetem 20 do te ishin te interesuar. Por erdhen 135 veta. Ata ishin cinike, kerkues ateiste dhe rabinj. Shume njerez thane se ate nate ishte hera e pare qe kishin patur nje eksperience me kuptim per fene ne te gjithe jeten e tyre. Dhe keshtu kam vendosur te bej gjene logjike qe dikush do te bente ne rrethana te tilla: Lashe punen dhe u mundova te ndertoja endrren e guximshme, nje jete te re fetare te rizbuluar dhe rimenduar te cilen e quajtem "IKAR" qe do te thote "esenca" ose "qellimi i ceshtjes."
Now, IKAR is not alone out there in the religious landscape today. There are Jewish and Christian and Muslim and Catholic religious leaders, many of them women, by the way, who have set out to reclaim the heart of our traditions, who firmly believe that now is the time for religion to be part of the solution. We are going back into our sacred traditions and recognizing that all of our traditions contain the raw material to justify violence and extremism, and also contain the raw material to justify compassion, coexistence and kindness -- that when others choose to read our texts as directives for hate and vengeance, we can choose to read those same texts as directives for love and for forgiveness.
Tani, IKAR nuk eshte i vetem ne peisazhin e feve qe ka sot. Ka lider fetare hebrenj, te krishtere, muslimane dhe katolike, dhe meqe ra fjala, shumica prej tyre jane femra, qe kane vendosur te permiresojne qellimin e traditave tona te cilet besojne se tani eshte koha qe feja te jete pjese e zgjidhjes. Jemi duke u kthyer pas ne traditat tona te shenjta dhe duke njohur qe te gjitha traditat tona permbajne material te mire per te justifikuar dhunen dhe ekstremizmin por gjithashtu permbajne material te mjaftueshem per te justifikuar meshiren bashkejetesen dhe miresine-- qe kur te zgjedhin te lexojne tekstet tona si udhezues per urrejtje dhe hakmarrje ne do t'i lexojme te njejtat tekste si udhezues per dashuri dhe per falje.
I have found now in communities as varied as Jewish indie start-ups on the coasts to a woman's mosque, to black churches in New York and in North Carolina, to a holy bus loaded with nuns that traverses this country with a message of justice and peace, that there is a shared religious ethos that is now emerging in the form of revitalized religion in this country. And while the theologies and the practices vary very much between these independent communities, what we can see are some common, consistent threads between them.
Kam zbuluar ne komunitete te ndryshme qe nga start-ups indipendente hebrenj neper brigje, deri tek xhamia e femrave, tek kishat e njerezve me ngjyre ne Nju Jork dhe Karolinen e Veriut, tek nje autobus te mbushur me murgesha qe kalonte ne te gjithe vendin me mesazhin per drejtesi dhe paqe, qe atje ndahet nje karakter fetar qe po shfaqet ne kete vend ne formen e fese se revitalizuar. Nderkohe qe teologjite dhe praktikat variojne shume midis ketyre komuniteteve te pavarura ajo qe shohim jane ca fije te perbashketa dhe te perhershme midis tyre.
I'm going to share with you four of those commitments now.
Do te ndaj me ju tani kater nga parimet e tyre tani.
The first is wakefulness. We live in a time today in which we have unprecedented access to information about every global tragedy that happens on every corner of this Earth. Within 12 hours, 20 million people saw that image of Aylan Kurdi's little body washed up on the Turkish shore. We all saw this picture. We saw this picture of a five-year-old child pulled out of the rubble of his building in Aleppo. And once we see these images, we are called to a certain kind of action.
E para eshte vigjilenca. Sot jetojme ne nje kohe ne te cilen kemi akses te pashembullt ne informacionet per cdo tragjedi boterore qe ndodh ne cdo cep te Tokes. Per 12 ore, 20 milion njerez pane imazhin e djaloshit Aylan Kurdi i mbuluar me pluhur nga sulmet me bomba. Te gjithe ne e pame ate fotografi. Pame ate foto te nje femije 5-vjecar i nxjerre nga rrenojat e nderteses ne Alepo. Dhe sapo i pame serish keto imazhe kerkuam te merrej nje lloj aksioni.
My tradition tells a story of a traveler who is walking down a road when he sees a beautiful house on fire, and he says, "How can it be that something so beautiful would burn, and nobody seems to even care?" So too we learn that our world is on fire, and it is our job to keep our hearts and our eyes open, and to recognize that it's our responsibility to help put out the flames.
Ne traditen tone tregohet nje histori e nje udhetari qe po ecte ne nje rruge dhe kur pa nje shtepi te bukur ne zjarr, thote, " Si ka mundesi qe dicka kaq e bukur te digjet, dhe askush te mos e vrase mendjen?" Pra, gjithashtu mesojme se bota eshte ne zjarr dhe eshte detyra jone te mbajme zemrat dhe syte hapur, por edhe te pranojme qe eshte pergjegjesia jone ta nxjerrim boten nga flaket.
This is extremely difficult to do. Psychologists tell us that the more we learn about what's broken in our world, the less likely we are to do anything. It's called psychic numbing. We just shut down at a certain point. Well, somewhere along the way, our religious leaders forgot that it's our job to make people uncomfortable. It's our job to wake people up, to pull them out of their apathy and into the anguish, and to insist that we do what we don't want to do and see what we do not want to see. Because we know that social change only happens --
Eshte shume e veshtire per t'u realizuar. Psikologet thone se sa me shume te mesojme se sa eshte shkaterruar bota me te veshtire e kemi per te reaguar. Quhet mpirje psiqike. Ne thjesht mbyllemi ne nje pike te caktuar. Diku gjate rruges, lideret tane fetare harruan qe eshte puna jone ti bejme njerezit te ndihen rehat. Eshte detyra jone te zgjojme njerezit, ti nxjerrim nga apatite dhe nga ankthet, dhe te insistojme qe te bejme ate qe nuk duam ta bejme dhe te shikojme ate qe nuk duam te shikojme. Sepse dime qe ndryshimi social vazhdon e ndryshon--
(Applause)
(Duartrokitje)
when we are awake enough to see that the house is on fire.
kur ne jemi mjaftueshem ne dijeni te shohim se shtepia eshte nen zjarr.
The second principle is hope, and I want to say this about hope. Hope is not naive, and hope is not an opiate. Hope may be the single greatest act of defiance against a politics of pessimism and against a culture of despair. Because what hope does for us is it lifts us out of the container that holds us and constrains us from the outside, and says, "You can dream and think expansively again. That they cannot control in you."
Parimi i dyte eshte shpresa, dhe dua te them kete per shpresen. Shpresa nuk eshte naive dhe shpresa nuk eshte lende narkotike. Shpresa mund te jete akti i vetem i optimizmit kunder politikes se pesimizmit dhe kunder kultures se deshperimit. Sepse ajo qe shpresa ben per ne eshte qe na heq nga ena qe na mban dhe ndrydh nga pjesa jashte, dhe thote,"Mund te enderrosh dhe mendosh fort serish. Sepse ata nuk mund te kene kontroll mbi ty."
I saw hope made manifest in an African-American church in the South Side of Chicago this summer, where I brought my little girl, who is now 13 and a few inches taller than me, to hear my friend Rev. Otis Moss preach. That summer, there had already been 3,000 people shot between January and July in Chicago. We went into that church and heard Rev. Moss preach, and after he did, this choir of gorgeous women, 100 women strong, stood up and began to sing. "I need you. You need me. I love you. I need you to survive." And I realized in that moment that this is what religion is supposed to be about. It's supposed to be about giving people back a sense of purpose, a sense of hope, a sense that they and their dreams fundamentally matter in this world that tells them that they don't matter at all.
E kam pare shpresen te manifestohej ne nje kishe Afro-Amerikane ne pjesen jugore te Cikagos kete vere, ku cova vajzen time te vogel, e cila eshte 13 vjece dhe disa cm me e gjate se une, per te degjuar predikimin e pastorit Otis Moss. Kete vere, te pakten 3000 njerez jane qelluar midis Janarit dhe korrikut ne Cikago. Ne shkuam ne kete kishe dhe degjuam predikimin e tij, dhe pasi ai vdiq, nje kor me femra te mrekullueshme, rreth 100 u ngriten dhe filluan te kendojne. "Kam nevoje per ty. Ti per mua. Te dua ty. Kam nevoje per ty qe te mbijetoj." Dhe ne kete moment kuptova se kete supozohet qe te beje feja. Supozohet qe te jete rreth te dhenit pas sensit te qellimit, sensit te shpreses, nje sens qe ata dhe endrrat tyre kane rendesi te madhe ne kete bote qe u tregon atyre qe ata nuk kane rendesi fare.
The third principle is the principle of mightiness. There's a rabbinic tradition that we are to walk around with two slips of paper in our pockets. One says, "I am but dust and ashes." It's not all about me. I can't control everything, and I cannot do this on my own. The other slip of paper says, "For my sake the world was created." Which is to say it's true that I can't do everything, but I can surely do something. I can forgive. I can love. I can show up. I can protest. I can be a part of this conversation. We even now have a religious ritual, a posture, that holds the paradox between powerlessness and power. In the Jewish community, the only time of year that we prostrate fully to the ground is during the high holy days. It's a sign of total submission. Now in our community, when we get up off the ground, we stand with our hands raised to the heavens, and we say, "I am strong, I am mighty, and I am worthy. I can't do everything, but I can do something."
Parimi i trete eshte parimi i forces. Ka nje thenie rabinike se ne duhet te ecim perreth me dy copa letre ne xhepa. Njera thote," Une jam por me pluhur dhe me hi." Nuk eshte gjithcka rreth meje. Nuk mund te kontrolloj gjithcka, dhe nuk mund ta bej kete vetem. Copa tjeter e letres thote, "Per shkakun tim u krijua bota." Eshte tregimi i te vertetes qe une nuk mund te bej gjithcka, por me siguri mund te bej dicka. Une mund te fal. Une mund te dashuroj. Une mund te dalloj. Une mund te protestoj. Une mund te jem pjese e kesaj bisede. Qe tani ne kemi nje rit fetar, nje qendrim, qe mban paradoksin mes pafuqise dhe fuqise. Ne komunitetin hebre, koha e vetme ne te gjithe vitin, qe ne gjunjezohemi plotesisht ne toke eshte gjate diteve te shenjta. Eshte shenje e nje bindjeje totale. Tani ne komunitetin tone kur ngrihemi nga dyshemeja, qendrojme me duart tona te ngritura lart, dhe themi," Jam i forte, jam i vendosur, jam i vlefshem. Nuk mund te bej gjithcka, por mund te bej dicka."
In a world that conspires to make us believe that we are invisible and that we are impotent, religious communities and religious ritual can remind us that for whatever amount of time we have here on this Earth, whatever gifts and blessings we were given, whatever resources we have, we can and we must use them to try to make the world a little bit more just and a little bit more loving.
Ne nje bote qe komploton te na beje te besojme qe jemi te padukshem dhe qe jemi te pavlefshem, komunitetet dhe ritet fetare mund te na kujtojne se per cfaredo kohe qe jemi ketu ne Toke, cfaredo dhurate dhe bekimi qe na kane dhene, cfaredo burimesh kemi, ne mund dhe duhet t'i perdorim ato qe te perpiqemi ta bejme boten pak me te drejte dhe me shume te perzemert.
The fourth and final is interconnectedness. A few years ago, there was a man walking on the beach in Alaska, when he came across a soccer ball that had some Japanese letters written on it. He took a picture of it and posted it up on social media, and a Japanese teenager contacted him. He had lost everything in the tsunami that devastated his country, but he was able to retrieve that soccer ball after it had floated all the way across the Pacific. How small our world has become. It's so hard for us to remember how interconnected we all are as human beings. And yet, we know that it is systems of oppression that benefit the most from the lie of radical individualism.
E katerta dhe e fundit eshte nderlidhja. Disa vite me pare, nje burre ishte duke ecur ne nje plazh te Alaskes, ku i doli nje top futbolli perpara qe kishte disa shkronja japoneze te shkruajtura ne te. I beri nje foto dhe e postoi ne nje media sociale, ku nje adoleshent japonez kontaktoi me te. Ai kishte humbur gjithcka ne cunamin qe shkaterroi vendin e tij, por ishte i afte te gjente ate top futbolli pasi kishte pluskuar ne te gjithe Paqesorin. Sa e vogel qe eshte bere bota. Eshte kaq e veshtire per ne te kujtojme se sa te lidhur qe ne jemi si qenie njerezore. Por serish, e dime qe eshte sistemi i tiranise qe perfiton me shume nga genjeshtra e individualizmit radikal.
Let me tell you how this works. I'm not supposed to care when black youth are harassed by police, because my white-looking Jewish kids probably won't ever get pulled over for the crime of driving while black. Well, not so, because this is also my problem. And guess what? Transphobia and Islamophobia and racism of all forms, those are also all of our problems. And so too is anti-Semitism all of our problems. Because Emma Lazarus was right.
Me lini t'ua shpjegoj se si funksionon. Mua nuk duhet te me interesoje kur policia i bie ne qafe te rinjve me ngjyre, sepse femijet e mij te bardhe hebrenj ndoshta nuk do te ndalohen ndonjehere per krimin qe jane shofere me ngjyre. Ky eshte problemi im gjithashtu. Gjeje cfare? Transfobia, islamofobia dhe racizmi i te gjithe formave, jane te gjitha problemet tona. Gjithashtu keshtu eshte edhe anti semitizmi jane problemet tona. Sepse Emma Lazarus kishte te drejte.
(Applause)
(Duartrokitje)
Emma Lazarus was right when she said until all of us are free, we are none of us free. We are all in this together. And now somewhere at the intersection of these four trends, of wakefulness and hope and mightiness and interconnectedness, there is a burgeoning, multifaith justice movement in this country that is staking a claim on a countertrend, saying that religion can and must be a force for good in the world.
Emma Lazarus kishte te drejte kur tha qe derisa te gjithe te jemi te lire, asnje prej nesh nuk eshte i lire. Jemi te gjithe bashke ne kete. Dhe diku ne nderprerjen e ketyre kater parimeve, te vigjilences, shpreses, forces dhe nderlidhjes, eshte nje levizje e drejte, mugulluese shume besimore ne kete vend qe po ndermerr nje pretendim kunder trendit duke thene qe feja mund dhe duhet te jete nje force per mire ne bote.
Our hearts hurt from the failed religion of extremism, and we deserve more than the failed religion of routine-ism. It is time for religious leaders and religious communities to take the lead in the spiritual and cultural shift that this country and the world so desperately needs -- a shift toward love, toward justice, toward equality and toward dignity for all. I believe that our children deserve no less than that.
Zemrat tona dhembin nga feja e deshtuar e ekstremizmit, dhe ne meritojme me shume sesa rutinizmi fetar i deshtuar. Eshte koha qe lideret fetare dhe komunitetet fetare te marrin drejtimin ne levizjet shpirterore dhe kulturore qe ky vend dhe bota kane nevoje deshperimisht-- nje zhvendosje drejt dashurise, drejtesise, drejt barazise dhe dinjiteti per te gjithe. Une besoj se femijet tane nuk meritojne me pak se kaq.
Thank you.
Ju falemnderit.
(Applause)
(Duartrokitje)