B'reisheet: Creation, Take Two

Happy New Year - Shanah Tovah! The High Holidays have all come and gone, and the Jewish year of 5780 has officially begun. The last holiday that we celebrated (just a few days ago) was Simchat Torah, where we read
the very last verses of the Book of Deuteronomy; thus concluding all Five of the Books of Moses. We rejoiced upon completing the cycle of Torah readings once again, and celebrated this achievement by... starting the whooooole book right back over again! Which means, of course, that we are back at the famous story of God creating the world, along with the Garden of Eden and the first humans, Adam and Eve. I say "famous" because even people who aren't so familiar with the Bible tend to know at least something about these original ancestors and their paradise-like starter-home. Sooo... how come the facts in the actual text don't match up with what we "know"?

Well, wait a minute. That can't possibly be true, can it? I mean, maybe we don't know ALL the in's and out's of the text, but there are at least a few basic plot points that we all
KNOW to be true, right??? Let's see... well, for instance, most people know that Adam was created first, correct? He was formed out of the dust of the earth, and God blew spirit into the nostrils of this lump of clay and POOF! Instant Human. Sometime later on, God decided Adam shouldn't be alone, so God took out one of Adam's ribs and turned into a second human, Eve. I mean, so far that's all part of the original story of humanity... isn't it? Well, no, actually. Not exactly. You see, all of the details I just mentioned happen in Genesis, chapter TWO... but there's an earlier creation story - back in Chapter One - where the specifics are surprisingly different.

In Genesis 1:27, the Torah states: "And God created the (hu)man in God's Own Image; in the Image of God, God created him; male and female, God created them." My translation may be a bit awkward, in my attempt to avoid male pronouns for God,
but nevertheless, two things are certainly true: the text does NOT indicate a source-material for this new creation, AND female and male versions were created TOGETHER! Traditional commentators will try and explain that Chapter Two is just a recapitulation of the verse I just quoted, but the inconsistencies continue. In Genesis One, the last thing God creates on Day Six is human beings, but in Genesis Two, the story BEGINS with God forming Adam out of dust (v. 7), and only subsequently describes God adding plants and animals (vs. 8-9, 19) to the picture. So which one is the REAL creation story???

The answer (of course) is "both." Aspects of each narrative have made it into the "common" wisdom about our origin story, while parts of each have also fallen by the wayside. To me, the lessons in all of this are quite powerful: There's never just ONE,

true version of how something happened. We like to imagine there's an objective "truth" out there, but even the very FIRST origin story of our entire world has multiple versions. There are gray areas in EVERY story. I also think this teaches us that even God doesn't get everything right the first time. The Divine, Omnipotent Creator of All also has restarts and second takes and do-overs. On the one hand, this seems like shocking information, upending a lot of what we believe we "know" about the Creation story. But on the other hand, I hope it can also serve as something of a relief, to know that even God makes mistakes, changes God's mind, and has multiple versions of how it all began. And surely, if The Source of Everything, The Lord of the Universe, The All-Powerful, Omnipresent, Divine Originator, GOD gets to be flawed from time to time... can't we afford ourselves, and one another, the same leeway? Happy New Year!


CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. Richard Cahan on Flickr
2. Pixnio
3. RAZ Zarate on Flickr
4. Horia Varlan on Flickr

Chol Ha-Moed Sukkot: A Frail, Yet Unbreakable, Structure

Right now, as I write this blog post, Delaware County is getting knocked around by wind gusts of up to 50 mph! Needless to say, it's not the greatest weather in which

to build - or try to preserve intact - a Sukkah. It is, almost by definition, a fragile, impermanent, flimsy structure, designed to last (we pray...) eight days before it is stored away again for another year. And inevitably, the week of Sukkot is filled with rain, wind, debris, and other hazardous conditions. How are we possibly supposed to eat our meals outdoors? According to some sources, we're even meant to SLEEP outside in this poor-excuse-for-a-camping-tent; which isn't considered kosher unless the roof is intentionally porous?!?! There is honestly no good reason why Sukkot should be as popular, wonderful, cozy, intimate, and enjoyable a holiday as it most definitely is...

Its origins are pretty straight-forward, right? We build the Sukkah to remind ourselves of the temporary shelters the Israelites built (and rebuilt) for 40 years of wandering in the desert. But the symbol shifted. A generation later, when the people were settled in Israel, the Sukkot were again constructed out in the fields
during harvesting time, so they could maximize their yield at this most crucial season. Our liturgy then also refers intermittently to the Ancient Temple as "David's Sukkah." Still later, our rabbinic ancestors spoke of God's protection feeling like a Sukkah covering us, and yet other texts imagine the Sukkah as a metaphor for life itself. So, in fact, it is quite the versatile symbol. Perhaps this is one of the keys to its longevity and staying-power, despite its vulnerability in the face of Mother Nature?

There is a wonderful reading in our Lev Shalem prayer book, included in a special section for Sukkot. It is entitled "Impermanent Dwellings" and was written by I. Michael Hecht. This poem includes the following juxtaposed lines:

"Life is frail as a sukkah: we are insubstantial as a harvest hut. Exposed to the ravages of nature, we are impermanent... But life is also strong as a sukkah. We are enduring as a harvest hut; often beaten down, we rise again." I love this image! The Sukkah gets smacked around by wind... but no matter what, it'll be back next year. Or maybe we need to take a year off? It'll still return the year after, or a decade later, or 500 years after that. Some of my own fondest childhood memories are of sitting in our Sukkah in Stockholm, Sweden, covered in snow, shivering around a small space heater! Sure, it was cold, but it was also cozy, it was filled with a different kind of warmth... and as a child, it felt like quite the adventure!

Perhaps most importantly of all, the Sukkah may remind us of life, and of our own struggles, challenges, and victories. Life is filled with uncertainty, admissions of our own weaknesses and vulnerabilities, and obstacles that sometimes feel as if they're being hurled at us, like 50-mph gusts of wind!

But not only do we continue to rise, like a Sukkah being built again and again, generation after generation. Eventually, we even realize that the struggles MAKE US resilient! Like the Sukkah, our ability to endure, to persevere, and to keep dusting ourselves off and marching on, that in-and-of-itself is a source of strength. The metaphor would be lost, if we suddenly decided to build the Sukkah like a concrete bomb shelter. Its frailty IS its strength... and our vulnerabilities are our "super power." And like our little, rickety harvest huts, that ability will allow us to rise again and again, no matter how hard the wind may blow.


CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. Matthieu Aubry on Flickr
2. zeevveez on Flickr
3. Crystal A Murray on Flickr (yes, that IS a snow-covered Sukkah!)
4. Ewald Caspari on Pexels

Yom Kippur Morning Sermon, 5780

Here it is, the final sermon of the High Holiday season! As a quick reminder: If you aren't already familiar with my High Holiday writing, I always choose a theme, and then present four sermons on/related to/surrounding that theme. Included below is Sermon #4; the final piece of the puzzle :-). Feedback and responses are always welcome! Happy and Healthy New Year!!

Yom Kippur Morning 5780 - Main Sermon

Shanah Tovah.

“Jewish and Imperfect Humans.” That is my topic for this morning. Many of you have probably heard by now, that my theme for this entire High Holiday season is “Jewish and…”, looking at various ways that our individual AND communal identities are multi-faceted. They need to be. We are not, nor can we be, one thing all the time. We’ve talked about skin color, sexual orientation, religious history and culture, all of which add nuance and difference to our conglomerate identities. We also discussed our congregation consisting of Jews AND non-Jews, and that our obligation to our neighbors and ourselves is to keep expanding our fences, widening our circle, and examining who we are. To be in relationship, we need to make (more) space for ‘And.’

Yesterday, I also talked about being Jewish AND American AND a Zionist… AND often quite conflicted. But it also took me nearly half my D’var Torah before I finally named the topic! So today, I wanted to shift my approach. I led with the title instead: “Jewish and Imperfect Humans.” Not only are we multi-layered as people and as communities… but we also have to learn to accept our limitations. ‘Accepting’ is even too passive a term. Perhaps one might wish we could leave it at that; “Ok, I accept that I am limited, that I am not perfect. I accept it…” The problem is, it just isn’t enough. You have to LEAN into it. If, and when, an opportunity presents itself to stare directly at some uncomfortable, unpleasant realization about ourselves… we need to cultivate ways to run TOWARDS that opportunity. Because running away isn’t working. It may feel like it, for a time, but it isn’t. Yom Kippur comes to tell us that being imperfect and making frequent mistakes, ones that potentially hurt both ourselves and others, IS an integral part of being human. And sometimes we’re even begrudgingly willing to accept that; acquiescing that it’s an unavoidable aspect of being a homo sapiens. But actively run TOWARD it?? That’s too much. Isn’t it?

You know, we have a lot of brilliance right here in our community. Not perfection, of course, because we already know that’s impossible. But scholarship, wisdom, accomplishment, expertise; we’ve got it all! Recently, two members of our community demonstrated their talents in a new joint publication. Rabbi Helen Plotkin and Stephen Lehmann worked together to translate and annotate a never-before-published set of essays written by Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel. Fifty years ago, Heschel was one of the most recognizable figures in America, marching arm-in-arm with Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., and both speaking and writing publicly in support of social causes and against hatred. But before he fled from the Nazis just before World War II, Heschel lived in Germany, and was a prolific writer there as well! But much of his early writing was never translated out of the German. Enter the crack team of Lehmann&Plotkin, together with another translator, Marion Faber. And I bring up this new volume, entitled “In This Hour,” because Heschel wrote these compelling articles in Germany in the 1930s, yet they carry unspoken weight that even he couldn’t have imagined, but which we - on the other side of the Holocaust - feel SO powerfully. He is writing in a moment in time… but his reflections resonate to this very day, and beyond. In her introduction to the book, Rabbi Plotkin writes, “Even as he teaches history, Heschel teaches more than history: the old becomes new, and the struggles of one era shed light on another… his words address the issues of his own time and speak urgently to ours.”

And I thought about this concept a lot. Back in June, for Shavuot, Stephen came and presented some excerpts from the book, which were truly fascinating. And some of what Stephen presented back then directly informs what I wanted to say to you here today. Why must we run TOWARD our imperfections and our insecurities? Why can’t we just talk about, say, the weather, the suddenly successful Eagles, or about infuriating traffic conditions around the county? Because we cannot escape the flaws we need to see. Running from our challenges actually makes them WORSE. Heschel writes, “as they flee, they are losing the last remnants of their dignity and piling misery upon misery. We have been challenged by the darkest powers, and no indignity could be more shameful than crawling away. What is our answer?”

Now, you might want to respond, “But Heschel is talking about fleeing something MUCH more terrifying and tangible!” Well, I would respond that Heschel isn’t suggesting armed rebellion, but introspection and self-reflection at this crucial time… In This Hour. Furthermore, if Heschel urged the Jews of THAT moment to face the horrifying reality of their situation, how could you and I possibly claim that our demons are too scary to look at or face?

Here is another reason why it is so important to talk about how we are “Jewish and Imperfect Humans”: We need to interrogate our own stories. We tell ourselves that we are strong, courageous, independent, and open-minded… but THOSE people, The Others, are intolerant, ignorant, hypocritical, and they stay in their silos, their echo chambers, and don’t consider others’ opinions! These are all stories we tell ourselves. Because life is made up of stories. We each have a narrative that is ours; origin stories of where we grew up, and journey stories of how we came to, or remained at Ohev. We have stories about our professions, about our country, and mythical stories in our families that get retold and retold over and over again. Stories are fundamental to who we are, to human existence… and every story crashes.

Nearly a year ago, I was at a conference in New York, and heard an incredible presentation by Lannie Solomon, a teacher at a school called SVARA. Their website states: “SVARA is a traditionally radical yeshiva dedicated to the serious study of Talmud through the lens of queer experiences.” And whenever new students come to learn at SVARA, they always begin by hearing “The Crash Talk.” Solomon gave us the abridged version… which I am now going to abridge further for you. Lannie Solomon explained what I just shared; we all tell stories. And, they said, every story crashes.
Think about it, as young children, we often think our parents are invincible… until we become teenagers, and that idea crashes. We believe that what we learn in school is all fact, and not at all biased by history or politics… crash. The role models we idolize at one point or another - whether musicians, actors, politicians, world leaders, activists -  they are supposed to be flawless and beyond reproach, impervious to scrutiny!! Crash. And people often say to me some version of: “I know that Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, Moses, Miriam, Esther, Deborah, King David, all those people were fearless, brilliant, and sin-free, but I just can’t live up to that standard…” Crash. Ok, well, at least God is perfect, right? Never messes anything up??? … crash.

Then, SVARA teaches, there are three responses to the inevitable crash. One is, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. There is no crash. I see nothing. My world is perfect. I’m not wrong, YOU ARE! Everything is great!!! La, la, la, la, la, LAAAAAA!” Willful ignorance and radical insistence that some crashes Simply. Cannot. Happen. Period. Option two is, run like hell. Abandon ship, erase all evidence, burn the surveillance tapes, delete, delete, delete!! The coping mechanisms in our brain, the fight or flight instinct, says pretend none of this ever happened, and never, EVER look back. Sometimes this feels right. Anything else just seems too, too scary. Though we cannot forget what Abraham Joshua Heschel wrote, in December of 1939 in London, that “no indignity could be more shameful than crawling away.” That is when SVARA introduces option three.

It’s called “The Torah.” Several generations later, it was also presented in the form of Midrash. Last night, I talked about anti-Semitism, and all the many times that our stories crashed… violently. Later today, in our service, we’ll be reflecting on the Eileh Ezkerah, a part of the service that memorializes the martyrs of so very many generations of our ancestors who were killed, and whose stories were literally burned to the ground. But the texts of our tradition talk directly ABOUT those destructions; they do NOT shy away from them. They talk about our ancestors’ flaws, their insecurities, their narcissism, and all their worst choices and decisions, AND it incorporates those weaknesses into a new story.

That is SVARA’s brilliant reframing, which blew my mind. You can’t actually say “no crash happened.” Nor can we really say, “forget this, I will never tell another story as long as I live.” No, the only real option is to look squarely at our history, our lives, our truths, accepting the good AND the bad, and incorporating ALL OF IT into constantly-generating new stories. The first generation of rabbis were the ONLY ones in their time to say, “Yeah, this just happened. Our Temple was destroyed, sacrifice is gone. God seems to have thrown us to the wolves… But we also love the Torah. We aren’t ready to be done. So we bring it with us, and we write a new story that ALSO mentions destruction, sin, rebuke… AND then rebuilding. Lannie Solomon said, and I thought this was SO powerful, that the Talmud itself is like a guidebook or a work plan to survive any and all proverbial “end of the world” scenarios. Crashes WILL come and go. They just will. But we are still here. Let’s write a story about it.

We here at Ohev Shalom are the inheritors of one such incredibly powerful story. It is about a small town in Moravia, deep in Czechoslovakia, that was destroyed nearly 80 years ago. By now, many of you are familiar with the town of Lostice, which, I must tell you, makes me so happy.
Their community was annihilated by the Nazis in the early 1940s, their Torah scroll was saved by the Jewish Council of Elders in Prague, who offered to catalog for the Nazis all the stolen artifacts they had looted from the smoldering ashes of Jewish life that they left behind. Secretly, the Prague Council was hoping to delay, delay, delay, so that all their work would be a damning indictment of the Nazis, if the world should ever recover from this lunacy, and somehow be able to begin telling a new story.

After the war, over 1,300 scrolls sat in a warehouse in Prague, forgotten, ignored, left to rot, and slowly disintegrating. But by sheer luck, they were rediscovered in the 1960s, and eventually brought to Westminster Synagogue in London. Then, in 1980, a dynamic, young rabbi from Wallingford, PA, wrote to the Memorial Scrolls Trust, based at that synagogue, asking if his congregation could be so honored as to care for one of the rescued scrolls. Soon enough, Rabbi Louis Kaplan was bringing a Torah to Ohev Shalom, where it found a new home, and began a new story.

When I came to Ohev in 2009, the scroll was being kept in a glass case in the lobby. One of my first executive decisions as Ohev’s rabbi, almost immediately when I arrived, was to take it out of that display, and put it back in the ark. The Nazis had a plan to turn our texts and our traditions into museum objects; I get a chill down my spine every time I see a Torah scroll kept permanently behind glass. (And no, that is not the situation with the scrolls you think you see in our hallway either…) A few years ago, we were able to add many, wonderful new chapters to the story of this Lostice Scroll, which I urge people NOT to call a Holocaust Torah. I wish I could share all of them with you here, but hopefully many of you have attended our annual Lostice Shabbat, in the spring, or heard me read from Megillat Lostice, a scroll (of sorts) that I wrote in four chapters, to tell the “official” story of the Torah. Or you’ve heard me tell of the incredible coincidences of Fanny Neuda, the wife of Lostice’s rabbi in the 1850s, who wrote a prayer book for women nearly 170 years ago. Copies of which, miraculously, have found their way into our congregation RIGHT NOW.

I can’t tell you all of that right now; I so, so wish I could. My main point to you today, however, is that the story of Lostice has been reborn after one of the most dramatic and terrifying crashes in human history. And in line with SVARA’s interpretation of how rabbinic tradition has worked for millenia, incorporating the crash and rebirth into OUR story has been a powerful force at Ohev Shalom in Delaware County, PA, in the 21st Century. This is our Jewish process; looking squarely at our crashes and figuring out how to weave them into new, and therefore more powerful, stories. Our lives are like the Lostice Scroll. We go through many phases in life, some filled with joy and celebration, others laden with tragedy, illness, scandal, and death. We COULD pretend they never happen… we could run as fast as we can in the opposite direction… or we could embrace the imperfect, flawed, torn, damaged parchment that constitutes who we are, and stitch it together into something new.

Indeed, many of you are already aware that our Lostice scroll is having a new chapter added to its story right now. It is literally being written for us! Thanks to an incredibly generous donation by Phyllis and Alan Schapire, the scroll is in Florida, as we speak, being fully restored for the first time since it was stolen from Lostice. I also want to highlight that the Schapires made this fabulous gift in memory of Phyllis’ parents, Sheila and Benjamin Garberman, who were both Holocaust survivors, and actually fought as Bielski partisans in the forests of Nazi-occupied Poland. In reminding myself of their incredible story, I found an article from a New Jersey Jewish newspaper online, from 2014, after the Garbermans had told their stories of survival to local religious school students. The article ended by stating: “The Garbermans explained that they never kept their difficult past from their children. They wanted them to know what happened so it would never be forgotten.”

The stories of death, persecution, chaos, pain, and suffering, are hard to hear. They are some of the most intense and difficult examples of crashes. The enduring power of our people, however, can perhaps be summed up in our ability to weave pain and suffering INTO the fabric of our continuing, undying narrative. To clean off the damaged parchment surface, wipe away - with tears in our eyes - the old, crumbling letters that have fallen off the parchment. But then we write new words in. We stitch the scroll back together, whether we’re talking about a literal scroll from a small town in Czechoslovakia, where an inspiring woman wrote prayers for women, and local artisans made a super-stinky, but famous cheese. Or about painful experiences in our own lives, or perhaps in the life of our community.

My main point to you all is, the crashes ARE inevitable. We are human, and thus flawed, imperfect, sometimes stupid, afraid, vulnerable, and we can injure one another. We are all those things AND we are Jewish, and one way that our ancestors have survived all the other “And’s” is to keep telling our story, and to keep incorporating joy AND pain, victories AND defeats into those stories. As we embark on this new Jewish year, let us not run from the challenges facing us as individuals, a community, a nation, or a planet. Let’s also stop pretending the problems don’t exist, or that they can somehow be ignored. They cannot. But let’s write new chapters and whole volumes, filled with “And’s” and bursting with life, honesty, and compassion. In this hour - in this moment in time in this holy place - let us begin yet another new story. It’s gonna be a great one, I guarantee it.

Shanah Tovah!

Kol Nidrei Sermon, 5780

Dear all,
I apologize for not writing a new blog post last week or this week. However, now that the High Holidays have concluded, I am posting my sermons from Kol Nidrei (the evening of Yom Kippur) and Yom Kippur morning, in case anyone is interested. As a quick reminder: If you aren't already familiar with my High Holiday writing, I always choose a theme, and then present four sermons on/related to/surrounding that theme. Included below is sermon #3 out of 4. Feedback and responses are always welcome! Happy and Healthy New Year!!

Kol Nidrei 5780 - Main Sermon

Shanah Tovah.

Well, really, the full greeting should be “Shanah Tovah U-Metukah,” “May you have a Good AND Sweet New Year.” Or, I guess if we’re being REALLY fastidious about it, now that it’s Yom Kippur, we should really say “Shanah Tovah U-Metukah... Ve-G’mar Chatimah Tovah,” “May you have a Good AND Sweet New Year, AND May You be Inscribed [in the Book of Life] for Good.” In addition, for good measure, we could also throw in, “Ve-Tzom Kal,” “AND May You have an Easy Fast.” But all that is a pretty serious mouthful, so “Shanah Tovah” works just as well. Or even better: the Yiddish catch-all, “Gut Yontif.” 

But if we DID want to extend all these protracted greetings to one another, the way we would keep adding phrases in Hebrew, is to add a single letter between each new salutation - the letter Vav. Most often, we translate this single letter, when it functions as a prefix and a conjunction, as “And.” Depending on context, however, it can sometimes mean “but,” which arguably is the exact OPPOSITE of “And”! This one letter can also mean “However,” “Nevertheless,” “Indeed,” “Yet,” and even “if”! It can almost be used to express any conjunction imaginable… all depending on context. Therefore, you can probably see how this creates some challenges if you’re trying to interpret a text and don’t know which conjunction Vav is meant to signify!

BUT, they are all related, right? Every conjunction connotes A relationship, whether connecting or separating, and in some ways, the Torah - in using Vavs for so many things - is perhaps reminding us that the POTENTIAL for relationship is always there. The building blocks for “And” are present, we have the means to create meaning and purpose and holiness all the time… however, if we don’t value it, or cultivate it, it can also become destructive and toxic. Vav is indeed an important letter.

This past June, I marked the occasion of being Ohev Shalom’s rabbi for ten years. An entire decade. Amy and the leadership team did a wonderful job of acknowledging this at our congregation’s annual meeting, and I want to publicly thank them for that. Many of you are also aware, though, that there was a lot going on over the summer, and it was challenging to be fully present to that milestone a few months ago. Many of you know this from personal experience, that when people go through difficult times they come to appreciate what they have. Today, I want to genuinely express how much more grateful I am for you, the Ohev Shalom community, and for all the relationships that we have built here, together, over these ten years.

I mention all of this because I want to raise up something that went a bit unnoticed then, but which I feel deserves more attention and gratitude. YOU gave me a present. (Maybe you didn’t know you did. But it was very thoughtful of you. Thank you.) I am, in fact, wearing it right now - my new tallit. I want to formally thank Alan Schapire for helping me pick it out on behalf of the congregation, back in October, when we were in Israel on our synagogue trip. And I love that Alan himself, as well as Allan Baron and Arnold Steinman, each got tallitot from that same store, because it kind of feels like we have a secret (though now NOT so secret…) little talles club! I bring up this tallit in order to say “Thank You” to you all, AND to highlight two things about it that speak to my overarching theme for these High Holidays AND my specific theme for tonight’s sermon. 

A brief origin story: This is a hand-made tallit from a small shop in the Old City in Jerusalem, called Weaving Creation, and Yosef, the shop owner, told me I could have the “Atarah,” the neckband along the top, embroidered with essentially any prayer or phrase I would like. It came to me instantly, a quote from Pirkei Avot, the Ethics of Our Ancestors, chapter 1, teaching/mishnah 12, spoken by the great sage, Hillel: “Hevei Mi-Talmidav Shel Aharon; Ohev Shalom VE-Rodeph Shalom.” We actually read this quote every single morning in services, right before the Kaddish d’Rabbanan. It means: “[Strive to] be one of the disciples of Aaron [the High Priest], loving peace and pursuing peace.” Besides the fact that it’s a nice quote, and it speaks to an important mission which I’ll get to shortly, it also contains the phrase “loving peace,” or “Ohev Shalom.” I wasn’t sure if it would be too blunt a statement… but then I thought: “This IS my Ohev Shalom tallit!” For the rest of my life, this tallit will always, always keep me intertwined with Ohev Shalom. And I will cherish that connection - that Vav - forever.

BUT this sermon isn’t about me. I haven’t even told you the topic yet, for goodness sake! Well, many of you know that my High Holiday theme this year is “Jewish and…” focusing on all the ways we are multi-faceted, nuanced, interconnected people, and more than just any, one, single thing. Tonight, I want to take all that I’ve already said about the letter Vav, and about my tallit, and about loving, as well as pursuing, peace, and I want to weave these ideas together into my topic for tonight, which I’m calling: “Jewish AND American… AND Zionist… AND occasionally conflicted.” You see, the very existence of a Vav - of an “and” after the word “Jewish” - has been a source of huge pain, suffering, and persecution for us over the course of millenia. AND (or BUT…) it has ALSO held us together, and enabled us to survive DESPITE that oppression; and we need to stop and acknowledge both. 

Four thousand years ago, when our ancestors were happily living in Egypt, the very beginning of the Book of Exodus tells us that a new Pharaoh arose and turned against the Israelites. His specific accusation, 1:10, is chilling. We have heard this same anti-Semitic slur from essentially every enemy, using some version of these same words: “[speaking to his fellow Egyptians:] We must make a plan to keep them from growing even more. If we don’t, and if war breaks out, they will join our enemies and fight against us. Then they will escape from the country.” In the Hebrew, the text tells us “v’Nosaf...”, “v’Nilcham...”, “v’Alah...” Three vav’s for three central accusations: They will join [the enemy], wage war [against us], and then get up [and abandon us]. After the Egyptians it was Assyrians, Babylonians, Persians, Greeks, Romans, Church leaders, Crusaders, Mamluks, Cossacks, Nazis, and alt-right Neonazis. The verses change, but the refrain remains the same: we are backstabbers, we are disloyal, and we’re not REALLY part of the people. After all, we’re always “Jewish and…” Can we ever TRULY be trusted?? 

Fascinatingly, this argument wasn’t even just raised by external voices, but internal ones as well. The battle between assimilation and exclusionism is at the center of the Chanukah story, over 2,000 years ago when we were dealing with Assyrian Greeks. Jews trying desperately to run from that “And.” During the Spanish Inquisition, Jews would convert out and try and shed their previous religion, only to be violently persecuted to make SURE we weren’t “Spanish AND still Jewish.” 

Centuries later, at the time of the European Enlightenment, it was the philosophy du jour to renounce all differences and just be 100% French, or German, or Italian. In rabbinical school, I wrote an extended paper, specifically looking at the Swedish Jewish community, where I grew up, in the early 1900s. Before the State of Israel was established in 1948, many Jewish communities were very, VERY nervous about Zionism. It was brandished by the anti-Semites as a clear example of “Jewish and…” Or rather “blank-and-Jewish.” They might say: “You told us you were French! Or German! Or Swedish! Or American. But now you ALSO want to talk about Zionism, which at its core longs for a homeland in Israel?!?! Homeland for whom??? If an enemy rises against us, are you going to join them, wage war against us, and then abandon us for the Zionist State???” 

We were deathly afraid of that accusation. I found my old essay, from 2005, and a quote that stood out for me came from the late 1800s, when the Jewish community of Sweden was attempting to petition the Swedish government for full citizenship, and made the declarative statement: “To us, there now exists no other native country besides Sweden.” Even at the Jewish Theological Seminary, where I received my ordination (AND my previous tallit), it is well-documented that faculty and leadership opposed political Zionism before 1948. Jacob Schiff, a prominent JTS board member, wrote in 1907: “Speaking as an American, I cannot for a moment concede that one can be at the same time a true American and an honest adherent of the Zionist movement.” We could not (and some still hold this fear today!) declare too loudly that we were/are “American AND Jewish,” or “Swedish AND Jewish,” because others may use it against us, and could say - once again - that Jews are disloyal spies… who will eventually stab their neighbors in the back.

As I mentioned earlier this evening, even this very service at which we sit now, the Kol Nidrei, was used in many generations as a covert way for Jews to return to the faith. Conversos in Spain, and later many forced converts throughout Europe, would come back to synagogue on the evening of Yom Kippur to declare: “Kol Nidrei!!” “ALL the vows which I have declared (for someone else…) are hereby renounced!” No matter what we went through, or how we were persecuted, we held onto that Vav. We insisted always that we were “Jewish and.” 

So what does any of this have to do with my tallit? Well, there’s a Vav in there. “Ohev Shalom VE-Rodeph Shalom,” which I think is quite critical. “Ohev” can be a more passive stance; to accept, to reconcile, to love. “Rodeph” is a more active and action-based word, to pursue, to go after, to chase down. But in order to create peace - among our people, between us and our neighbors, and around the world - we need to do both. We need to insist that we are absolutely “Jewish and…” We are ALSO Americans, or Swedes, or Mexicans, or whatever. This is our synagogue’s Centennial year! Ohev Shalom has been “Peace-loving” for AT LEAST a hundred years, and our community members have been present for some truly monumental moments in American history, by being stitched into the fabric of the city of Chester for decades. The city’s motto for several decades was “What Chester makes, makes Chester,” and certainly our ancestors helped produce FOR and WITHIN Chester, and thus helped make Chester what it was for a long, long time. 

Just walk down our hallway, to the parking lot entrance, and on the right AND left you will see names and photos of congregants who fought - and some died - to protect the values which this country stands for. Many people here remember Larry Edelstein, of blessed memory, who survived the Holocaust together with his good friend, Yaakov Farkas, who is here today. Larry just barely survived, like so many, then made his way to America, only to put on a uniform, turn around, and head right back out to fight for his new country. If that isn’t “Jewish and,” I don’t know what is!!

What Larry understood is that we do indeed need to be Ohev Shalom, peace-loving, AND we also need to be Rodeph Shalom, going out and pursuing just and rightful causes, to actively help bring about that peace. At the same time, as loyal as we have been everywhere we’ve lived, our ancestors have often needed a place of refuge, a homeland… and we needed to fight for that as well. We are both-and; we absolutely consider ourselves Americans and defend this country, but we must also be careful students of history, and remember ALWAYS that the anti-Semitic trope is never gone for good. We must also always remember our misguided Jewish ancestors who were embarrassed about our differences, and who thought, if we could just convince our neighbors that we had renounced that Jewish-stuff, that Promised-Land-silliness, maybe they would accept us fully. They often found out the hard way, that simply doesn’t work. We ARE different, we ARE multi-faceted, we ARE “Jewish and,” and that is never going to change.

When the Alan’s and Arnold and I purchased our tallitot in that tiny little shop in the Old City of Jerusalem, I messed up. You see, the shop owner asked me what phrase to put on the tallit, but didn’t tell me how much space I had. I was so pleased with my little Pirkei Avot quote, that it never occurred to me how short it was. When the tallit arrived, months later, it looked kinda empty. And I was, in truth, somewhat disappointed. Then this crazy little notion flitted through my head. Could I ADD to the tallit? Put my own little “Vav” on it??? Long-story-short (but I AM a rabbi, so if you want the full version, just let me know after services…), Elsa Wachs, who is a congregant, an Ohev fixture for many decades, and a world-renowned artist, agreed to enhance my Atarah. And boy did she sew meaning, spirituality, and relationship into the fabric of this cloth!! She even wrote me a note to explain the depth of meaning in her symbols. A pomegranate, sliced open, with half at either end; which I see as a symbol of the land of Israel, our Zionist homeland, where my tallit was crafted. The two halves also represent the Jewish Shabbat candle blessings of “Shamor” and “Zachor,” “Protect” and “Remember.” I would add that, like Ohev and Rodeph Shalom, one is active, to protect the sabbath, and one is more passive, to remember it. And both are needed there as well.

There are five seeds inside each open pomegranate, so ten in total. According to Elsa, this is both a celebration of our years together AND a symbol of a minyan. There are then 36 more pomegranate seeds adorning the Atarah, representing two-times-chai (18), with which Elsa sent me a message and wish that my (and I would say OUR) “journey through life be filled with bountiful energy and accomplishments.” Now, perhaps more than ever, I hope and pray that she is right. 

As if the tallit wasn’t already special enough, linking me to all of you, Elsa has embellished and enhanced it that much more. It is overflowing with “And.” You know, in modern Hebrew, “Vav” is also a noun. It likely comes from the origin of the letter itself, beginning as a hieroglyph with our “friend” back in Egypt, Pharaoh. It was the Egyptian picture/symbol meaning “hook,” and THAT is what it means in Hebrew today, a pin, a peg, a hasp… a hook. The letter Vav links things together, it hooks them up, one to the other. “Ohev Shalom VE-Rodeph Shalom” - we love peace AND we pursue it vociferously. “Shamor v’Zachor,” we protect our Sabbath AND our Jewish identity as well as our strong, enduring connection to the Land of Israel AND we remember what we have been subjected to. We remember that we cannot shed our “Jewish and”; but rather, we must embrace it. We are proud citizens of this country AND we hold a special place in our hearts for our people’s homeland, where we can commission hand-woven tallitot and learn about Aaron the High Priest, and our ancient history. That same “hook” also links together our complex, nuanced identity, where we are Jewish AND American AND Zionists… AND conflicted. It’s not easy keeping one foot in each of these varied places… we only have two feet!!

We remember AND protect our history as well as our identity. We recall what Kol Nidrei meant to generations of our ancestors. But it holds new meaning and holiness for us today; we are part of the Jewish tapestry as well! Kol Nidrei, our service tonight, can send us off into the new year, full of hope and energy, ready to love AND pursue peace. Let us pour forth like the 36 seeds of this pomegranate, manifesting two-times-chai or maybe ten or even A HUNDRED times chai - creating life and peace and relationship in our shared community. That’s my “hook” for all of us here tonight. 

Shanah Tovah!

L'Chaim (newsletter) article - October, 2019: Past, Present, and Pizza

Some of you already know that on the first Thursday of every month, a group of Ohevites meets at Pinocchio’s Pizza in Media for a Lunch n’ Learn. We rent out their upstairs room (which you possibly didn’t even know existed!), and spend an hour-and-a-half, or so, eating pizza and salad, and learning about Judaism, or aspects of the world through a Jewish lens. Sometimes we get 14 people, other times we’ve hit close to 40. We seem to have formed a die-hard group of LunchersN’Learners, who generally try to come every month, though all are welcome! This year, we’re mixing it up.

In honor of Ohev’s centennial celebration, our Lunch n’ Learn in 5780 (2019-2020) is going to be a bit different. I thought we might spend the next few months delving into the history of the Jews who settled in Chester, where our congregation was founded. I already began this topic at LnL in July and August, but so far we haven’t even gotten to the founding of the synagogue in 1920!

On October 17th (yes, I know it’s not the first Thursday of the month... read on...), we will continue our conversation in the Ohev Sukkah. Then, on November 7th, we’ll return to our usual venue (Pinocchio’s in Media) and normal schedule. My hope is that we’ll not only learn about the story of B’nai Israel and B’nai Aaron becoming Ohev Sholom (with a faction forming Mispallelim), then Ohev Shalom, then moving to Wallingford - but that it’ll teach us something else vital as well. Our story is a microcosm of American Jewry everywhere, and even includes elements of worldwide Jewish migration patterns, AND the stories of all minorities in this country. You might be surprised to learn how they all overlap, intertwine, and share themes.

So, whether or not you personally were born in Chester, or have family from there, this is YOUR story too! Our Centennial is an opportunity to look back at our incredible history, and how we’ve been present to some pivotal moments in the history of our entire nation. But it’s also a chance to see yourself in that history, to understand how it reflects your life, your story… and hopefully, your future. And if that isn’t enough to entice you, I’ll also divulge that there are some CRAZY, HBO-worthy anecdotes in there that you DON’T wanna miss!!

And you can learn all about our wonderful and turbulent past, every first Thursday at noon, over a delicious (and most-popular) slice of mushroom-and-onion pizza!

Sincerely,

Rabbi Gerber

Rosh Hashanah Sermon, Day 2 5780

Part Two: Now that Rosh Hashanah is behind us, I am posting my sermons online from days 1 and 2. If you aren't already familiar with my High Holiday writing, I always choose a theme, and then present four sermons on/related to/surrounding that theme. Included below is sermon #2, which expands (I hope...) on the initial concept, and develops it in a new direction. After Yom Kippur, I will post sermons 3 and 4 in the series. Feedback and responses are always welcome! Happy and Healthy New Year!!

RH2 5780 - Main Sermon

Shanah Tovah.

Can I tell you something frustrating about this morning’s sermon? Not the specifics of what I’m planning on saying to you, but just some of the challenges that come automatically, when you deliver a sermon on the second day of Rosh Hashanah? No matter what I talk about with you all, here today, some people will automatically view it as a second-tier issue. Last year, I spoke about Israel, and when someone questioned me about it, I said, “but I devoted an entire sermon, one of my four MAIN talks on the High Holidays, to Israel!” and their response was, “sure, but you ‘buried it’ on the second day of Rosh Hashanah.”

For the record, I put all my sermons on my blog after the holiday (which you've clearly discovered, dear online reader...), so even people who weren’t here COULD read them, but again, no matter what I focus on for Day Two, or how I talk about it, it’s seen as getting short-shrift. So, what am I trying to “bury” and barely talk about with you today?

Well, if you were here for services yesterday, you may know that my theme for this year is “Jewish and…” thinking about various ways that our identities are multi-faceted. We can, and need to, maintain multiple priorities at once, and strive for a harmonious balance among all these various sides of ourselves.

I don’t talk a lot about voting or politics. I push enough buttons already, and - this year in particular - I am trying to choose my areas of engagement very, very carefully. One thing, however, that I continue to maintain vociferously, is that we cannot be one-issue-voters. Life doesn’t work that way. Yes, the world is confusing and overwhelming, and sometimes we are tempted to say, “I just want to focus on issue x,  and whoever says what I want to hear on that topic, s/he will get my vote!” But it’s a dangerous oversimplification, and one that can easily be exploited by someone with ill-intent. No, my point of emphasizing “Jewish and…” is more than just talking about Jewish identity. I want to raise up how all of us - all people - are nuanced, complex, opinionated, passionate, diverse, and multi-layered.

So for today, for sermon #2 (you know, the throwaway one…), I want to expand even the scope of my topic: We, our community, Ohev Shalom, as a whole; we are “Jewish and.” We are Jewish AND… not-Jewish. And I mean this in a couple of distinct, but equally crucial ways. If we think of this as my Interfaith Sermon, there are two different paths we could walk down, and indeed we need to stroll along both of them. Interfaith can refer to the relationship WITHIN a family, where (at minimum) one person is Jewish AND one person is something else. And Interfaith is also the term we most often use for relationships between our congregation and the other houses of worship in our region. Our local gathering of religious leaders is, in fact, called the Interfaith Council of Southern Delaware County. Interfaith means both things, which in and of itself is quite interesting.

On the one hand, we might have thought (or still think) that there should be two different terms for these areas of connection. After all, one is intimately connected to a specific family, an internal dynamic within a unit, and how we, as a community, integrate family units with more than one history, tradition, culture, food, terminology, and even theology into our shared community. And the other is about our congregation as a single entity, affiliated and engaged with the local area communities, joining together on social projects, services, awareness campaigns, vigils, and to stand united when needed. So they can seem like QUITE different definitions of “Interfaith.” Yet on the other hand, both topics force us to engage with an important question, namely, “who do I include as ‘us,’ and who is left out as ‘them’?”

In the course of my work with FUSE, our Fellowship of Urban-Suburban Engagement, which has now been in existence for nearly six years, I have thought about this question a lot. Early on, the leadership team of FUSE discussed a subheading for our name, something like “expanding the fences.” And we received pushback. “Shouldn’t we be eliminating fences??” people would say. “All borders and boundaries are bad! There should be no ‘us’ and ‘them,’ that kind of talk is inherently discriminatory!” I wonder about that though. In a very impressive volume, written in 2011, entitled “Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind,” Dr. Yuval Noah Harari tackles this question of us/them. He writes: “No social animal is ever guided by the interests of the entire species to which it belongs. No chimpanzee cares about the interests of the chimpanzee species, no snail will lift a tentacle for the global snail community, no lion alpha male makes a bid for becoming the king of all lions, and at the entrance of no beehive can one find the slogan: ‘worker bees of the world - unite!’”

Harari goes on to say that globalism is a human invention, or rather an invention of homo sapiens. And even when our ancestors tried to remove barriers and create common causes, according to Dr. Harari, “somewhere in the next valley, or beyond the mountain range, one could still [always] sense ‘them.’” So rather than try to eradicate this notion that has existed for millennia upon millennia, perhaps our time would be better spent reflecting on how we treat the people who are considered ‘us,’ AND the people who are considered ‘them.’ Yesterday, the main point I tried to make in my sermon was that “to be in relationship, we need to make space for ‘And.’” Today, the question is, ‘in relationship with whom?’

At least for me personally, our community definitely includes “Jewish AND not-Jewish.” We are interfaith in BOTH senses of the word. Let’s look a bit more closely at each one: Our expanded community of FUSE - made possible by the Netzach Grant established here in our congregation - as well as our partnerships through the incredible work of our Social Action committee, our USY teens, our families engaged in Mitzvah Projects, and the collaborative work we’ve been doing through the Outreach Grant; all of these create a greater sense of ‘us.’ This is indeed relationship-building, so it takes a lot of time and effort. This includes awkward moments, misunderstandings, clashes in food culture, some disagreements, and a GENEROUS helping of patience… but what many of us are discovering is that it starts to shift from an engagement across a vast divide - ‘us,’ over here, dealing with ‘them,’ over there - and gradually morphs into a new definition of who WE are. We 'fuse' together into the “US” in the middle of our name...

In his recent book on Jewish community-building, entitled “Next Generation Judaism,” my colleague, Rabbi Mike Uram, who heads the Hillel program at UPenn, writes about the importance of changing your mindset. “When we speak differently, we think differently, and when we think differently, we act differently.” It can be incredibly powerful - AND empowering - to change our vocabulary to one where our FUSE network and our Outreach partners, all the people we live with here in Delaware County, and who share our desire to thrive and succeed, be safe and healthy, and to nurture our families and our communities; ALL are one, united “us.” THAT is my goal.

Just last month, our FUSE group received some very exciting recognition. The Religious Leaders Council of Greater Philadelphia - which represents more than 30 member communities and (according to their website) more than 2 million people in the Greater Philadelphia region - awarded FUSE a distinction known as Zones of Peace. We were actually nominated by Shari Baron, so I want to extend a shoutout to her for her pride in our FUSE work and her desire to magnify FUSEs voice and reach. In their presentation ceremony in early September, John Hougen of the Religious Leaders Council talked about how FUSE is “creating relationships and fostering cooperation among people who are often isolated by mistrust, fear, and bigotry” and he praised FUSE for its “effective work in addressing the root causes of violence and building a better community.”

Building a better - and SHARED - community is indeed our goal. The hard work, however, is by no means concluded! The Zones of Peace award will hopefully be a great motivator for future progress. It can be used, say, in a High Holiday sermon (albeit on the second day of Rosh Hashanah…), to energize new participants to join FUSE. But more always needs to be done.

The same is true for our interfaith inclusion within Ohev Shalom. It can so easily just remain a talking point, or a hot topic to put on our new ShulCloud app (shameless plug!), to demonstrate that we are relevant and modern. But we also NEED to continuously challenge ourselves to walk the walk of our convictions; or as Rabbi Uram stated, “speak differently, to think differently, to act differently.”

So many studies tell us that interfaith families either do NOT feel welcomed, especially into Conservative synagogues. Or even if they ARE greeted warmly, they are continuously treated as newcomers, assumed to be outsiders looking in. Especially if it’s a multi-racial or multi-ethnic family. I don’t have an easy answer here; it is an open question put to our entire community… all of the “US” present right now, or reading this sermon online: How do we change ‘them’ into ‘us’? How do we begin to live, openly, fully, and proudly, with a community that is Jewish AND not-Jewish?

Another colleague of mine, Rabbi Michael Knopf, at Temple Beth-El in Richmond, VA, has been a leading voice in pushing the Conservative Movement to be more inclusive of interfaith families. He led his congregation, last year, to the bold and unprecedented resolution of permitting their synagogue’s clergy to officiate at interfaith ceremonies... IF and WHEN the movement allows it. In other words, they are breaking NO prohibitions at the moment… but publicly putting pressure on the leadership of the movement, by signaling that they would be supportive of the change, and ready to begin making the shift a reality… and ideally sooner rather than later!

Rabbi Knopf has written eloquently about this issue himself, specifically taking on the infamous surveys of American Jewish Life, that many of us know and have had brandished in our faces, stating that interfaith families are less likely to affiliate, even lesser-likelier to raise Jewish children, and almost impossibly ever going to produce Jewish grandchildren. Challenging this common trope, Rabbi Knopf writes, “As intermarriage has shifted in our time from crisis to simple fact of contemporary Jewish life, many have come to realize that intermarriage is not a threat to Jewish continuity, but rather an opportunity for Jewish flourishing and vitality.”

But more than just stating an opinion, he goes on to say: “When Jewish organizations and institutions reach out to and include intermarried families in Jewish life, they become as likely as in-married families to remain Jewishly attached... Conversely, when the Jewish community adopts an exclusionary posture toward intermarried families, we miss an opportunity to strengthen the Jewish partner’s connection to his/her tradition… and to bring the partner from a different background into deeper and more meaningful relationships with Jewish tradition and community.”

In other words, intermarriage is simply a reality of the Jewish and American landscape in 2020. It does not help us to label it as good or bad; it just is. But where we have agency, where we - as a community - CAN affect change, is how we define ‘us’ and ‘them.’ When we turn people away, they will indeed feel rejected, and will not affiliate with the Jewish community. Big surprise! But what if we expand our fences? Folks, we’re already doing it, but our language hasn’t always caught up. We don’t mean to, but sometimes we state our interfaith inclusion hesitantly or sheepishly. If we change how we speak, it may shift how we think, and in turn transform how we act.

You already know that we are more than just one thing. I think even though I’m only on sermon two out of four (and on the consolation-prize one, no less…), most people already agree, generally speaking, with the notion of “Jewish and.” I believe we can all appreciate that there are multiple parts to our identity, both individually and collectively. But is there room for “Jewish AND not-Jewish”? Yes, we care about relationships, but we also need to keep asking ourselves, ‘in relationship with whom?’ 

As we gaze ahead into our future, we cannot help but wonder who we will be, and who will be the ‘us’ that keeps this place going. We believe in Relational Judaism, and we know that we are also relational Sapiens, who WOULD lift a paw or a tentacle for others of our species, and who DO want worker bees everywhere, metaphorical AND actual, to be protected. This is our space, our home, our Zone of Peace. Let ‘us’ continue to FUSE together with others who share our community, and let’s expand our fences together. And yes, even though I spoke about this on the infamous Second Day of Rosh Hashanah, I care about this topic a lot.

Shanah Tovah!

Rosh Hashanah Sermon, Day 1, 5780

Now that Rosh Hashanah is behind us, I am posting my sermons online from days 1 and 2. If you aren't already familiar with my High Holiday writing, I always choose a theme, and then present four sermons on/related to/surrounding that theme. Included below is sermon #1, which introduces you to this year's theme. After Yom Kippur, I will post sermons 3 and 4 in the series. Feedback and responses are always welcome! Happy and Healthy New Year!!

RH1 5780 - Main Sermon

Shanah Tovah! … AND… (Pause)

You were expecting me to say something else there, weren’t you? I mean, that makes sense. You can’t exactly end a sentence - much less a greeting - with the word “and,” can you? It’s not considered a grammatically correct practice even to BEGIN a sentence with “And,” so it surely isn’t acceptable to trail off saying “And,” with nothing whatsoever to follow it! … but it DOES grab your attention, doesn’t it?

And I would argue that the reason it doesn’t work well at the start OR the end of anything, is because “And” is a connector. Some of you may already have read my September article in L’Chaim, our synagogue newsletter, where I subtly hinted that the word “And” would be integral to my theme this year, to the topic which I hope to continue expanding upon through the four main sermons of the High Holiday services. The more I’ve thought about it, over the past few months, the more I’ve felt it is a perfect metaphor for community, for engagement, for relationship; because “And” cannot stand alone. It needs to connect to something - or someone - on one side... and ideally it really needs someone to hold its hand on the other side as well.

I want to pause and give credit for this year’s theme to my friend and colleague - really, my teacher - Rabbi Kelilah Miller. Months ago, she and I were engaged in one of our extended, philosophical conversations, which happen with some frequency around the office, and somewhere along the way, this idea was born: We are not one thing. None of us, not a single person in this room, no human on earth, and perhaps not even any living creature anywhere, is defined simply by one trait, one belief, or one action. You are not exclusively a male or a female, such that all your decisions or actions can be traced back to your gender. You are not a Democrat or a Republican or an Independent or apolitical; meaning that the dividing lines are not solid, firm, and clear, with no commonalities across the various spectra. And we cannot be labeled entirely as Jewish, Muslim, Christian, atheist, Hindu, Buddhist, Baha’i, Sikh, humanist - and thereby imagine that all our choices and behaviors stem from our faith or lack thereof. We are not one or the other. This OR That. Right OR Left. We are “Jewish and…”

For the rest of this sermon, and then for three additional sermons - tomorrow morning, Kol Nidrei evening, and Yom Kippur morning - I want to talk with you about the topic of “Jewish and.” And today, on the first day of Rosh Hashanah, my sermon’s subtitle is “Jewish and Different.”

Sometimes, especially in cultures like ours here in America, or even across Western Civilization, it is easy to create stereotypes and simplistic pictures in our heads. Indulge me for a moment, and close your eyes, right now. If I asked you to picture “A Jew,” what would you see? Just create an image in your mind. Is this person wearing a kippah? Maybe a tallit? Maybe it even tips over into the stereotypical, and your mental image is of a male, and HE is wearing all black, maybe has peyes and a big beard. But even if all that is not true, and you didn’t picture that at all… I imagine you likely still pictured a Caucasian. (You can open your eyes now)

Now, my pointing this out isn’t meant to make you feel bad, or ashamed in any way. What I want us to do is look at our own preconceived notions, so that we can step away from them. It is difficult - maybe even impossible - to change and evolve, if we can’t first look at ourselves RIGHT NOW honestly and openly. Each person here has a framework within which s/he sees the world AND it is almost certainly different from the person sitting next to you, AND we need to talk about our own frameworks in order to make room for someone else’s. To be in relationship, we need to make space for ‘And.’ Right now, we are in the Season of Repentance; the High Holidays. And most of us know that the main theme of Rosh Hashanah is NOT celebrating or merriment or even eating (though food is obviously central to this, and EVERY, Jewish holiday too…), but really, Rosh Hashanah is about reflection and introspection. We are preparing for Yom Kippur, just ten days away, and trying to begin this new year better than the previous one.

And I would argue, that it is hard to do any real self-examination or experience any true growth, without asking some tough questions. Certainly in my own experience, wisdom - which is quite different from intelligence or knowledge - wisdom comes from perseverance, resilience, and challenge. Sitting comfortably and relaxed, enjoying services and not feeling pushed to search inside yourself at all, simply CANNOT lead to change. So if you and I are serious about why we are here for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, if we MEAN what we say when we claim to want to begin a new year fresh, with a desire to be better, to improve, to strive for different, then it has to begin with questions that challenge us, AND with examining our relationships with the people around us.

We need to start with looking at ourselves. When we think “Jewish,” we sometimes forget to imagine “Different.” It’s not intentional, but we likely imagine “Jewish = looks like me.” “Jewish” can ALSO mean African-American, or Latino, or gay, or someone with different needs or abilities. And/or a vastly different origin story. Last year, Siona Benjamin was our Artist-in-Residence, and she provided us all a wonderful opportunity to learn about the Jewish communities of India. Her artwork, which combined Judaic imagery, with traditional Indian and Hindu symbols, as well as American ones, was incredible, and hopefully we’ll have a chance to enjoy her art again soon. My main takeaway from her visit was a way to see the term “us” as expanded. To think of “Jewish and…” as meaning more than just Ashkenazi, or American… or white.

The title of a 2015 documentary about Siona Benjamin and her art is called “Blue Like Me.” This is a reference both to the influence of a type of art called Indian “miniature” paintings with a lot of blue figures, but also to what Siona herself describes as the feeling of an outsider looking in. People who live in a Jewish community that is predominantly white, Ashkenazi, and heteronormative, but who don’t fit into one or more of those categories, or feel they don’t “fit” some other accepted norm within our community, can often feel like an outsider looking in. My point here is, someone around you might feel like an Other, and you don’t even know it.

Now, you could be thinking, “Do we HAVE TO recognize our differences, our diversity, explicitly? Why should our specific terminology matter, if our actions demonstrate what a welcoming and inclusive community we are?” And my response is, when people don’t feel they are represented, see someone like them on the bimah, hear their story in our tradition, then they may NOT feel welcomed and included. If we don’t talk directly about marginalized groups or give voice to the tough and painful questions that many people feel inside, then are we really being warm and welcoming? Aren’t we just putting “And” at the end of a sentence, without bridging it to something on the other side?

To be in relationship, we need to make space for ‘And.’ I mean, REALLY make space for it. The challenge is one of humbling ourselves, of withdrawing a little, and not making assumptions about who “fits in” and who doesn’t. The ancient rabbis of the Mishnah famously wrote about being open to difference in their own way, writing statements in Pirkei Avot - Ethics of Our Fathers - like, “Eizehu Chacham? Ha-Lomed Mi-Kol Adam.” “Who is Wise? One who learns from ALL people.” And a separate teaching, from the Babylonian Talmud, Tractate Ta’anit, is a perfect partner to that first quote: “Rabbi Chanina taught, ‘I have learned much from my teachers. I have learned more from my colleagues than my teachers. But from my students I learned more than all of them.’”

In other words, when read together, these two texts remind us to learn not just from ALL teachers, from all people who identify themselves as educators - who teach a class or a Lunch n’ Learn or deliver a sermon or an instructional YouTube video. No, we truly learn from ALL people. We need to withdraw our own egos, humble ourselves a little, and discover how amazing it can be to learn from 4-year olds, from complete strangers on the street, from an annoying co-worker who usually only says obnoxious things. Or, during this Season of Repentance, perhaps we can challenge ourselves to learn from someone who has angered, upset, or disappointed us? Or learn by pulling back, and listening for a still, small voice that may offer an unexpected teaching, that we were ONLY able to hear because we created space with our silence?

We’re here, right? We’re in synagogue ON Rosh Hashanah, taking seriously the themes presented to us about making changes to begin the new year better than the previous one. So what does that mean? For me, for you, for each person here? Can change really take place, without examining ourselves, without asking some challenging questions, without evaluating our relationships with the people around us? If change doesn’t involve any of those things, how is it meaningful, substantive, significant change?

I want to share with you one, final image that encapsulates this concept of “Jewish and” for me. It is a window, metaphorically AND tangibly. As an aside, I want to share that our building is filled with artwork. Some you see immediately, others are more subtle or blend in with their surroundings. Some might be incredibly beautiful and eye-catching, while other pieces are - shall we say - an acquired taste. Or perhaps slightly dated in their appeal. But what they all have in common are stories. Incredible, personal, meaningful, beautiful stories. As the rabbi of Ohev Shalom for over ten years now, I have had the privilege to learn many of the stories that predated me, and the even GREATER privilege to make new stories along with you. Occasionally, I find it sad that so many people will never know the details, intricacies, and the history that is hiding behind a glass dove or a plaque in the grass or inside a Torah cover. But I want you to know, today, that each one unlocks an entire life and a series of events. As part of our Centennial celebration, we are hoping to record as many of those stories as possible; if you personally want to know any more details about something you see anywhere around Ohev Shalom, please ask. Each is like an “And”; a relationship waiting to open up to you.

One such story began just one year ago, when we dedicated a beautiful new stained glass window in our Balin Chapel (across the lobby). The window depicts a gorgeous tree, sprouting some unidentified, but delicious-looking orange fruit. And throughout the roots and the branches of that tree are words in Hebrew and in English. Like the art around the building, some are obvious, others are hidden. Every word connotes relationship. For the family that dedicated the window, each characteristic mentioned represents a facet of a relationship that is incredibly meaningful and powerful. But like all artwork, it begins with one story, but it spreads out - much like the branches of the tree in that window - to create new possibilities. New branches, leaves, and fruit, or for each new onlooker, new interpretations, personal meaning, AND a relationship.

I love our new chapel window. On sunny late afternoons, the light reflects into that prayer space at the perfect angle, creating an inverted, glassy, watercolor-like image on the wall opposite the window. Other times, the whole room is bathed in a warm, soothing, blue shimmer. It kind of makes us all look a bit more similar; a bit more "blue like me"... Depending on how I am feeling, a different word in the window will catch my eye, or the little mockingbird hidden among the branches. The art itself might not change, but we shift and grow and evolve, and so the world around us seems altered all the time. If you change your perspective, or change your approach - or maybe even just look out a new window - you really can see things in a different light.

Every year, the focus for me at these High Holidays is relationships. How is our relationship to ourselves, our family members, our friends, our community, the world, AND God? But it has to begin with an honest look at where I am RIGHT NOW. The goal isn’t to be totally different, to change everything about yourself! But we do need to make space for growth. To do that, we have to look at ourselves through a new lens and a new light, AND then we have to remove ourselves enough to hear other people’s stories and their challenges, AND then we have to spend some time on relationships. It may seem like a lofty goal, but I know we’re up to the challenge. We may all be different, but we can all make space for relationships. We can grow new branches and new fruit, we can learn from all those we encounter along life’s way. We are not just one thing; none of us are limited nor are we immutable. No. We are “Jewish and…”


AND… Shanah Tovah!