My humanist outlook was nurtured by growing up Jewish in 1930s Chicago. The ominous threat of the fascist Adolph Hitler and his anti-Semitic, hateful followers was very scary. I recall being accosted by roving gangs of boys who yelled at me, “you dirty Jew!” I escaped one time by scrambling over the rocks of a nearby creek. A Jewish, blonde-haired buddy of mine was confronted another time by a gang who demanded to know his last name. “Swanson,” he shrewdly answered, knowing that many Swedes as well as Jews lived in the area. These unfortunate incidents had introduced me to the senseless evil of racial bigotry.
I benefited from growing up with parents whose liberal sentiments led them in 1928 to switch parties and vote for Al Smith, the Democratic candidate for president, who as a Catholic also faced discrimination. They idolized President Franklin D. Roosevelt, whose outspoken anti-Hitler stance made him “a friend of the Jews.” My family joined in the anti-Nazi fervor of World War II that engulfed our community.
My parents’ liberalism also guided them away from the Orthodox Jewish restrictions of their immigrant parents. My mother, for instance, insisted on feeding me and my sisters with nutritious, even if non-kosher, meals. She also was a freethinker, who said she didn’t go to religious services at the Reform congregation we belonged to because “God is within me.” She encouraged me to think for myself and did not object when, at age 13, I declined to be bar mitzvahed, the Jewish coming-of-age ritual.
I grew up in Chicago’s ethnically diverse Albany Park neighborhood and attended Von Steuben high school. Promoted as a gesture of friendly conciliation between Jews and gentiles, my mostly Jewish graduation class agreed to elect a Jewish class president and a gentile vice-president. It hinted at the all-too-common racist quotas of the time, but I welcomed it as refreshing. It also helped cleanse the bitter taste left by the highway signs that advertised resorts and properties for sale or rent as “restricted.” As my parents explained to me, it was code for “no Jews allowed.”
Disturbing to me even earlier was the insensitive, prejudicial act by my 3rd or 4th grade teacher, who asked me and my classmates by a show of hands to identify who was Jewish and who was gentile. I didn’t realize this at the time but it was obviously meant to steer us to who our friends should be. Fortunately, however, I remember the kindness of other teachers, who wanted to keep us together rather than drive us apart.
A similar advance in my maturing outlook came when the Orthodox Jewish synagogue that hosted the Boy Scout troop I belonged to asked for ushers for its Saturday sabbath services. I was among the scouts who volunteered. As a Reform Jew, the yarmulkes we had to wear seemed alien to me. But as a sign of respect for our host, it hardly bothered me.
The next big step in my journey to Ethical Humanism came late in my teens. While I had disavowed God at an early age, I retained Judaism’s focus on justice and ethics. So I began to imagine what an ideal, humane society would be like. An avid reader of history books and science fiction, I came up with an obvious, logical answer: democratic socialism. By age 17 I believed that in the Soviet Union I had found a living example of a socialist society. But its claim to be a socialist country proved to be a sham. Still, I held on to a hope for the socialist ideal that would bring an end to the scourges of poverty, hatred, inequality, and war.
In this period of social and political enlightenment for me, I encountered other progressive-minded youngt people. Before then I had barely questioned the insidious prevalence of racial segregation in our country. But I now began at long last to mingle with African and other nonwhites.
Growing up in a sexist as well as racist society presented other challenges to my being a decent person. Having two sisters and a strong mother probably helped to shape my attitude toward women. For example, after graduating college with a degree in geography, I worked as a cartographer and city planner. I recall how a male coworker objected to hiring a woman as a fellow cartographer. “I won’t be able to swear anymore,” he complained. As chief cartographer I dismissed his offensive remark and welcomed her.
The decisive step in my journey to Ethical Humanism itself came in 1978, when my wife Keke and I discovered the Ethical Humanist Society of Chicago. Being of mixed ethnic and religious backgrounds, we were delighted to find a friendly, churchlike community for nonbelievers like ourselves. We soon became members and enrolled our 8-year-old son Rob in the Society’s Sunday School.
At the Society, I was introduced to the inspirational philosophy of Felix Adler, founder of the Ethical Culture movement, who emphasized the intrinsic worth and dignity of every person. I came to value the insights of other Society members and of the articulate leaders of the American Ethical Union, who often spoke at our meetings. While still a socialist who affirmed the primacy of people’s economic relationships, I now recognized the additional and essential role of our behavior as individuals.
As a member of our caring Ethical Humanist community, I wanted to be a better person—like being kind, doing good, and helping those in need. This induced me to engage in the Society’s ethical action projects, like in soup kitchens or holiday clothing collections. In expressing my growing concern for protecting human rights, I matured as a political activist, participating in voter registration drives and in the election campaigns of progressive candidates.
Being a part of the Ethical Humanist movement has also given me a greater respect for others. It has helped me recognize the normalcy of LGBT people. It has enabled me to more effectively reach out to others in a common effort to make this a better world. I don’t need God to be good, but I try to be a nondogmatic atheist who doesn’t belittle the religious beliefs of others.
That is my story so far. I am now retired and at age 92 live with my son in Massachusetts. But my long journey to Ethical Humanism continues.
