I remember the first time I went to a Jewish Cemetery.

I remember the close proximity of the blocky graves that crowded the narrow paths, the carefully placed rocks that lined the tops of gray and white headstones, the piles of dirt to be respectfully thrown atop a lowered coffin, the prayers offered in that language at once new and ancient, and the solemnity occasionally overwhelmed by the roaring jetwash of planes departing and landing at JFK and LaGuardia.

This Jewish cemetery was the final resting place of my wife’s people, the Jews of Europe who entered New York by way of first Castle Garden and then Ellis Island. These graves with their decidedly Russian, Polish, and German names were so different than the age-smoothed, rounded headstones of my Mayflower relatives and others that tilted stoically and anonymously in blue lawns beside white churches in Little Compton, Rhode Island, Duxbury, Massachusetts, and throughout New England.

And yet, for all the differences, shared purposes of remembrance and honor and love connect all American cemeteries, including that cemetery in Washington D.C. that takes one’s breath in awe and thanks as you walk past endless perfect rows of marble and granite marked with various Crosses, Stars of David, Crescents and Stars, and more.

I wonder if those who have toppled headstones in Jewish cemeteries near St. Louis and Philadelphia and Rochester realize that their desecration of a cemetery places shame upon them, upon their families, and upon their twisted versions of Faith and Patriotism. The toppled headstones will be replaced; the families will return with their respect and religion intact; the Nation will rally with responses of commonality, support, and outrage… even when our President is slow to do so. And, if there is a God who watches over us all, “He” may come for those who desecrate the graves of Jews and others “like a thief in the night.”