Rosh Hashanah 5781 (2020) - Sermon, Day 2

RH2 5781 - Sermon

“What we’ve got here… is failure to communicate.”

That famous quote comes from the movie “Cool Hand Luke” from 1967, starring Paul Newman and George Kennedy. The scene has a prison captain, trying to beat a convict into submission, getting ever-more frustrated that this obnoxious, worthless lowlife, Luke (played by Newman) continues to be stubborn, defiant, and proud. After knocking him to the ground, standing in the scorching heat overseeing the chain-gang, the exasperated captain, played by Strother Martin, utters this immortal phrase: “What we’ve got here… is failure to communicate.”

Three days ago, The Forward, one of the largest Jewish newspapers in the country, published an article entitled, “Nick Cannon and Public Enemy’s Professor Griff were both called antisemitic. Only one recovered.” The reporter, Ari Feldman, was referring to a conversation that turned antisemitic and became a scandal, which took place between a well-known Hollywood actor and director, Nick Cannon, and a older musician who is most famous for having been a founding member of a rap group from the 1980’s. Professor Griff, originally Richard Griffin, started Public Enemy together with bandmates Chuck D and Flava Flav. I don’t want to get into all the background, but I encourage you to read about it online, say, for example, on the Forward’s website. The point of this most recent article was to reflect on how Nick Cannon, since this took place in July, had been “allowed” to redeem himself, while Professor Griff never was. In fact, the only time, in thirty years, that Professor Griff has EVER been invited to speak to a Jewish group, or any leader within the Jewish community, was in 2018 when he sat with me on the Wolf Auditorium stage here at Ohev Shalom. We were brought together by Dr. Khalid el-Hakim, who runs something called The Black History Mobile Museum 101, based out of Detroit, and el-Hakim invited Griff to join us for a panel discussion. I didn’t know this at the time, and only found out two years later, when the three of us were interviewed for last week’s article in the Forward, that when Griff first heard about the invitation, he thought it was a joke. The lines of communication had NEVER been opened.

It turns out, that dialogue at Ohev Shalom was significant enough that Professor Griff mentioned it to Nick Cannon in their interview - mentioned that he spoke to a Jewish group and with a rabbi (me!) - and after it became international news that the two men had veered into antisemitic territory, this reporter tracked down that I was the rabbi in question. Ok, so here’s why I’m telling all of you this; why it’s the topic of my second High Holiday sermon, why it’s a tragedy that we all need to work on, and why it is a vital message for today, right now, this present moment:

“What we’ve got here… is failure to communicate.” We are not speaking the same language. White Jews - and I acknowledge there are also many Jews of color, so my point isn’t to say “Jews” and erase the experience of people of color, but in this conversation, I am specifically talking about the rift and the tension between the WHITE Jewish community and the African-American community. And it is a language barrier. You may not agree, but it feels clear as day to me, and it is causing us ALL tremendous damage and pain. And it simply doesn’t need to. We can change this RIGHT NOW. 

Soon after the scandal with Nick Cannon erupted, Ari Feldman, that same reporter for the Forward, wrote another article entitled, “What’s behind the spate of anti-Semitism among Black celebrities?”, in which he stated: “Most of these anti-Semitic expressions build on an increasingly visible theology among Black cultural figures: That Black people are the true descendants of the ancient Israelites.” From Louis Farrakhan at the extreme end of vitriolic speech, to Nick Cannon, Ice Cube, Stephen Jackson, the basketball player, and our own DeSean Jackson of the Philadelphia Eagles, AND Professor Griff as well, what they are trying to say and what we hear them saying are two totally different things. So let me lay out to you the two trajectories of thinking, as I understand them, and hopefully together we can see the tragic - and ALMOST comical, if it weren’t so heart-breaking - language barrier in question.

As I explained to you in my sermon yesterday, the history of the people brought to America as slaves was stolen from them. Severed deliberately as a means of control and subjugation, and brutally efficient. It has in fact been SO successful over the course of the last few hundred years, that today the absence of history has become a source of embarrassment for some people in the Black community. How did white America manage to not only rob them of their stories, but then somehow make THEM feel bad about it?!? I spoke to a couple of friends recently who had similar experiences, one herself as a teenager, and one with her teenage son. The two youths each had an assignment in High School, to create a family crest, like one of those medieval shield-thingies hanging above an English or French castle. Both kids, AND their families (in two totally different communities), felt embarrassed that they didn’t know what to put on there. What, Africa? The whole thing? Maybe pick a random country and GUESS that that’s where you’re from? Why don’t we know this? Why don’t we have more stories?? How embarrassing…

So what did the African-American community do? It borrowed stories from the Bible. That powerful article I quoted yesterday, by Rhobena Nelson, writing in the “Negro History Bulletin,” she mentions Abraham’s prophecy of his descendants being enslaved for 400 years, and says “What other people could fit this prophecy so perfectly?” (And to jump, for a moment, to the OTHER side of this miscommunication, we as Jews might be soooo tempted to chime in with, “What other people???” “OUR ancestors in Egypt; hello!?!?!” But just hold onto that feeling for right now…) Think about old spirituals referencing “Go down Moses, way down in Egypt’s Land,” or “By the rivers of Babylon, where we went down.” Why are they using that imagery? Because their own images were ripped away from them, and beaten out of them for centuries.

And when Black celebrities, like Cannon, Ice Cube, DeSean Jackson, and Professor Griff, say things like “we are the true Jews,” what they are TRYING to do is give the people in their community a sense of pride and dignity: “We began in Africa, the seat of all life, and we were around before ANY of these other people.” It’s not about trying to edit historical records! It’s not about trying to usurp or co-opt our Bible… and it’s REALLY NOT meant as an antisemitic attack to try and erase us. Again, we may disagree. I believe it represents a life-long, centuries-old struggle to regain an identity, a sense of communal and individual pride, and to reclaim some history. BUT, in doing so, they ARE accidentally pinching a very painful nerve for us as Jews.

So here’s the other side of our “failure to communicate.” We Jews have been here before. Other people, in our 4,000 year history, have leaned in, peaked over our shoulder at our book and our stories, have said “hey, those are pretty great! I think I’ll base my own stories on some of these.” And then, slowly but surely, they hijack that story, make it their own, and then try to destroy us in the process. This may be uncomfortable to say about Christianity, but think about it for a second: They had the audacity to share our Bible, our Tanach, then slap the label “Old” onto it - now it’s the “Old Testament” - then merge it with a second book, called the “New Testament,” and then, as a final insult, they commandeer our word, “Bible,” and say we’re using it wrong. “Bible” means both books together. That is A LOT of Chutzpah! 

Christianity did it, later Mohammed honestly did something similar, and centuries later Martin Luther, with Protestantism, tried it as well. Borrowed some language, shared some of the stories, characters, and locations, and connected some concepts together so it would feel similar… and then tried to annihilate us for not migrating over, for not accepting their software updates of Version 2.0, 3.0, and 18.0. We’ve been here before! This is a scary line of questioning for us, and even though we personally didn’t experience those moments, and some of you may not have even KNOWN about all the details, our DNA knows it, and the hairs on the backs of our heads stands up when we hear it repeated again and again. “I borrow your story; I take ownership of OUR story; now it is MY story alone.” 

Are you starting to see where I’m going with all this? One path is saying, “I have no history. It was stolen from me. Right now - in this moment - I need to create a new story and feel grounded in it, because my people are being destroyed and we are destroying ourselves, because we are so lost and alone. Can’t you see that?” And the other path is saying, “You can’t borrow my history. Or if you do, you can’t say “I am the true Jew,” because that erases ME! Others have done that before, and it leads to genocide, expulsions, pogroms, and concentration camps. Can’t you see that??” Well, maybe now we see: “What we’ve got here… is failure to communicate.” We are both afraid, both defensive, and both groups feel they’re fighting for their survival. 

My theme this morning is “Hoveh,” the present. And what I want to say to us all is, let’s not shy away from this moment. Let’s not withdraw, each to our corner of the boxing ring, preparing for the next round. Be Here Now. Are there grievances on each side? Yes. I know Farrakhan uses hateful language, and that the Nation of Islam put out a book called “The Secret Relationship Between Blacks and Jews,” which falsely suggests Jews were central players in the trans-Atlantic slave trade, and/or owned slaves at a higher rate than other white Southerners. I know that. It’s awful. And unfair. But are we also willing to admit that there WERE Jewish slave owners? Or that a century later, some Jews DID minimize their ethnic differences to become more “white,” to “fit in,” and in doing so, sometimes DID push down other minorities, like the African-Americans, to climb a little higher? And our boxing gloves come snapping back in place: “Well, you did this! Your people didn’t do that. And what about the Palestinians???” I don’t mean to excuse some of the vitriol, and all the times that Jewish students on college campuses have felt attacked for supporting Israel. I can’t and won’t excuse any of that. But let’s talk. Let’s put our weapons and accusations aside… and dialogue. Now, this is hard. I KNOW that! Just listen for a moment: For A LOT of people around the world, when they look at the political situation in Israel today, they do see a majority of Israelis, often with Eastern European (a.k.a. WHITE) roots, oppressing a minority of darker-skinned Palestinians. 

I know this is wrong! You know that I know this is wrong. That it’s ignoring millennia of oppression, then the Balfour Declaration, then 1948, 1967, 1973, Intifadas, Oslo Accords, and on and on. But not everyone knows that! And maybe, just maybe, it isn’t fair of us to insist they SHOULD know that. We love to point out how few Jews there really are in the world, right? Believe it or not, there are only 14.7 million  of us GLOBALLY. And, side note, according to Israel’s Central Bureau of Statistics, that number  is actually STILL lower than the pre-WW2 Jewish population of 16.6 million! We haven’t recovered yet. Many of us also find it HILARIOUS to point out how small a percentage we are of the US population (somewhere around 2%)... but then we are OUTRAGED when people don’t know our story, or understand what Israel had to go through to become a nation! That doesn’t make sense. That is ALSO a failure to communicate.

When Khalid el-Hakim, Professor Griff, and I were interviewed by the Forward, Feldman, the reporter, asked Griff if he could identify what he had said that was so offensive to Jews. And it was heart-breaking FOR ME to hear his answer; I wanted to cry for my new friend, Professor Griff. He said, honestly, and I believe him 100%: (and I’m paraphrasing) “No. I don’t see it. I don’t understand why, when I tried to speak up for my people and give them a sense of pride in themselves, that I offended this other group, and now I’m branded a hater.” Then he added, “But I want to know. Tell me! Explain what I said and why it’s so hurtful.” And do you know what? For 30 years, when he would say that, people’s response - from the media, fellow celebrities and musicians, and people in the Jewish community - was to say, “You’re not remorseful. You don’t even realize why it was so terrible.” Zero communication. 

Two years ago, for the first time since 1989, someone said to him, “Can I tell you how that makes me feel, as a Jew?” And that happened to be me. So what I am trying to explain to you all is, THIS is Teshuva. This is repentance, reconciliation, and repair… because it starts with TALKING. It absolutely MUST begin in the here and now, in the Hoveh, the present moment, by saying this is who I am. This is what my history looks like - or lack thereof - and this is what I’m trying to do and say. It sounds so ridiculously simple and obvious… but it’s incredibly hard. 

I’m telling you all of this, and making it the central message of my sermon, not because I want to prop myself up, or keep doggedly insisting on making every sermon about race, but because I want us all to think about how we ARE, and how we can BE. How barriers that seem huge and insurmountable may just be the products of total and utter “failure to communicate.” And the road back may “only” require us to be open, honest, humble, vulnerable, willing to listen, and ready to concede - just maybe - that our version isn’t the right and true and ONLY version. I believe this applies to EVERY level of interaction between humans; whether family members, friends, political adversaries, protesters on either side of a fence, or even among nations. 

In Feldman’s article in the Forward, he quoted me, actually, as saying: “...it is very difficult to be in a relationship and ask somebody else for the vulnerability of being open and honest about things that they said and apologize, if we’re not willing to be open and honest and vulnerable ourselves.” That is our task. That is what it means to be present, to be connected, and to genuinely seek to be better in the year to come. Come, walk this path with me, and let us fail to communicate no more.

Shanah Tovah!  

Rosh Hashanah 5781 (2020) - Torah Reading Intro, Day 2

Shanah Tovah!

So… there’s this woman... In the Bible. (I really narrowed it down for you, didn’t I?) She can’t have any children. (Hm… that’s true for A LOT of Biblical women; maybe that didn’t help you much.) Her husband has children by a second woman (sadly, that doesn’t trim the lineup much either). She’s very upset about her predicament and she calls out to God for help. (STILL a bunch of candidates?? Ok, maybe I should just tell you who I’m talking about…)

Oddly enough, all of what I just said really DOES apply to several Biblical heroines; Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, Chanah, Samson’s unnamed mother, the Shunamite woman who appeals to the prophet Elisha. It’s intriguing, I think, that such a theme would be repeated over and over again. Though, if we think about it, we could likely each imagine many reasons why. I venture to say that at least one is about the importance of passing on our traditions and customs to a next generation. All of this - everything we do in life - kind of just ends, if there isn’t a next generation of our family, our congregants, citizens in our country, or humans on this earth. We don’t have to limit our scope to just parenting; there is so much that we pass on from one person to another, and from one era to another.  

So the theme of “Oh no! What will our heroes do? It is the end of the line for them and their family!!!” is significant. And of course, the answer to all their prayers is - God swooping down, performing the miraculous, and she has a child. It’s a patriarchal story cover-to-cover, so let’s also acknowledge that yeah, the answer to everyone’s prayers is a BOY! But what I really wanted to share with you this morning is an interesting aspect OF that same theme, that both connects to it and offers a pretty stark and blunt reminder about the obligations it creates in us. 

So you’ve got this theme, right? Repeating over and over. Woman, no child, miserable, God steps in, BABY BOY, everyone celebrates. And there are actually two of them that we read close together, both on Rosh Hashanah. The first would have been yesterday’s Haftarah, from the very beginning of the First Book of Samuel, where a woman named Chanah had no children, her husband had a second wife with a TON of kids (it doesn’t matter, let’s say she had 38 children), and Chanah was despondent. God hears her pleas and grants her a son, Samuel, whom she “dedicates” to Temple service, meaning that when he’s old enough, he goes and lives at the Temple in Jerusalem, under the tutelage of the priest, Eli. Great. Fine. Lovely. Boarding School. Very Harry Potter; terrific.

Today, our Torah reading begins similarly. Sarah, married to Abraham, no kids, inconsolable. Abraham has a child with Sarah’s handmaiden, Hagar, which actually makes things WORSE. But God gets involved, angels come to visit, and they have a son, Isaac. All is right with the world. Then, somehow, we lose control of the steering wheel, our proverbial car careens off the road, and the “happily ever after” turns into a nightmare. God says (but not in so many words): “I gave you that son. You owe me. You need to offer him as a sacrifice on an altar back to me.” I shouldn’t say this from the Bimah… but “what the hell?!?” The logic is perverse, right??? You prayed for a son, I answered your prayers, so now as a sign of gratitude, kill the kid. 

Now we can offer all kinds of explanations for why God was never intending to go through with it, or it was just a test, or we simply don’t understand the depths of meaning and intention here, blah, blah, blah. This story makes me, anyway, deeply uncomfortable… and, quite frankly, mad at God. And this week, I read a two-sentence commentary by Rabbi Arthur Waskow, that offered new a new perspective. I thought it was just so terrific, that I wanted to share it with you. 

Waskow writes, so simply: “Seems to me that the rabbis’ choice of the story of Chana as the Haftarah [on the] 1st day Rosh Hashanah was a quiet rebuke of the Akedah [the Binding of Isaac]: to bring your child as an olah [for dedication], you don’t need to kill him or come even close. Do what Chana did, through prayer and steadfast chesed [righteousness], lift him to become a prophet.” I love this. In a sense, Waskow is suggesting incredible rabbinic chutzpah. When God conveys to Abraham, “you owe me,” Abraham is supposed to say “yes, AND…” My version is: You’re right, God. Abraham does owe you. We all do. We all should be incredibly grateful and appreciative of the blessings in our lives, and to know that joy, love, cuddling, closeness, and passing on our traditions from generation to generation - these are ALL phenomenal gifts. Buuuut, I’m not killing a child. That is NOT how I will show you my gratitude. Who talks like that to GOD?!? Oh yeah, we do. 

I also love this, because the rabbis NEVER outright criticize the Torah. God forbid! They just mandate that we read the story of Chanah FIRST, then the Akeidah, the Binding of Isaac, so that we might say to ourselves, “huh. That was an interesting choice. Why couldn’t Abraham just have done what Chanah did? Teach the boy how to love God, be a force for righteousness and goodness in our world, help some of the less-fortunate of God’s creations, and THAT can be the way you dedicate him TO God!!!” But the rabbis never SAY that… they just subtly lay that out there for us to see. Not for nuthin’... bad call, God. Just sayin’...

My commentary on that, and then we’ll jump into our Torah reading is, we all have to find this balance too. Yes, we DO have to educate our children, give them a sense of values, pride in the self and in our religion, and a commitment to justice, compassion, and fairness. But we cannot sacrifice our children on the altars of our own causes. And we do sometimes. People do… and we’re tempted to say “other” people, but it’s worth stopping and thinking about ourselves too. We don’t bind a child to a physical altar and raise a knife over our heads to do something unthinkable (though I’m told when you’re the parent of teenagers, the thought MAY cross your mind…). But there are other ways that we DO damage our kids, and other ways to challenge ourselves to be better partners WITH them, and work together to demonstrate shared gratitude to God for the gift of life, meaning, love, and commitment. 

As we begin our Torah reading, let’s all put Chanah (from yesterday) and Abraham (right here) on two ends of a spectrum, and spend some time figuring out where we, and our own values, could potentially fall somewhere between them. Just sayin’... Our Torah reading begins in the High Holiday Machzor, page 103.

Rosh Hashanah 5781 (2020) - Torah Reading Intro, Day 2

Shanah Tovah!

So… there’s this woman... In the Bible. (I really narrowed it down for you, didn’t I?) She can’t have any children. (Hm… that’s true for A LOT of Biblical women; maybe that didn’t help you much.) Her husband has children by a second woman (sadly, that doesn’t trim the lineup much either). She’s very upset about her predicament and she calls out to God for help. (STILL a bunch of candidates?? Ok, maybe I should just tell you who I’m talking about…)

Oddly enough, all of what I just said really DOES apply to several Biblical heroines; Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, Chanah, Samson’s unnamed mother, the Shunamite woman who appeals to the prophet Elisha. It’s intriguing, I think, that such a theme would be repeated over and over again. Though, if we think about it, we could likely each imagine many reasons why. I venture to say that at least one is about the importance of passing on our traditions and customs to a next generation. All of this - everything we do in life - kind of just ends, if there isn’t a next generation of our family, our congregants, citizens in our country, or humans on this earth. We don’t have to limit our scope to just parenting; there is so much that we pass on from one person to another, and from one era to another.  

So the theme of “Oh no! What will our heroes do? It is the end of the line for them and their family!!!” is significant. And of course, the answer to all their prayers is - God swooping down, performing the miraculous, and she has a child. It’s a patriarchal story cover-to-cover, so let’s also acknowledge that yeah, the answer to everyone’s prayers is a BOY! But what I really wanted to share with you this morning is an interesting aspect OF that same theme, that both connects to it and offers a pretty stark and blunt reminder about the obligations it creates in us. 

So you’ve got this theme, right? Repeating over and over. Woman, no child, miserable, God steps in, BABY BOY, everyone celebrates. And there are actually two of them that we read close together, both on Rosh Hashanah. The first would have been yesterday’s Haftarah, from the very beginning of the First Book of Samuel, where a woman named Chanah had no children, her husband had a second wife with a TON of kids (it doesn’t matter, let’s say she had 38 children), and Chanah was despondent. God hears her pleas and grants her a son, Samuel, whom she “dedicates” to Temple service, meaning that when he’s old enough, he goes and lives at the Temple in Jerusalem, under the tutelage of the priest, Eli. Great. Fine. Lovely. Boarding School. Very Harry Potter; terrific.

Today, our Torah reading begins similarly. Sarah, married to Abraham, no kids, inconsolable. Abraham has a child with Sarah’s handmaiden, Hagar, which actually makes things WORSE. But God gets involved, angels come to visit, and they have a son, Isaac. All is right with the world. Then, somehow, we lose control of the steering wheel, our proverbial car careens off the road, and the “happily ever after” turns into a nightmare. God says (but not in so many words): “I gave you that son. You owe me. You need to offer him as a sacrifice on an altar back to me.” I shouldn’t say this from the Bimah… but “what the hell?!?” The logic is perverse, right??? You prayed for a son, I answered your prayers, so now as a sign of gratitude, kill the kid. 

Now we can offer all kinds of explanations for why God was never intending to go through with it, or it was just a test, or we simply don’t understand the depths of meaning and intention here, blah, blah, blah. This story makes me, anyway, deeply uncomfortable… and, quite frankly, mad at God. And this week, I read a two-sentence commentary by Rabbi Arthur Waskow, that offered new a new perspective. I thought it was just so terrific, that I wanted to share it with you. 

Waskow writes, so simply: “Seems to me that the rabbis’ choice of the story of Chana as the Haftarah [on the] 1st day Rosh Hashanah was a quiet rebuke of the Akedah [the Binding of Isaac]: to bring your child as an olah [for dedication], you don’t need to kill him or come even close. Do what Chana did, through prayer and steadfast chesed [righteousness], lift him to become a prophet.” I love this. In a sense, Waskow is suggesting incredible rabbinic chutzpah. When God conveys to Abraham, “you owe me,” Abraham is supposed to say “yes, AND…” My version is: You’re right, God. Abraham does owe you. We all do. We all should be incredibly grateful and appreciative of the blessings in our lives, and to know that joy, love, cuddling, closeness, and passing on our traditions from generation to generation - these are ALL phenomenal gifts. Buuuut, I’m not killing a child. That is NOT how I will show you my gratitude. Who talks like that to GOD?!? Oh yeah, we do. 

I also love this, because the rabbis NEVER outright criticize the Torah. God forbid! They just mandate that we read the story of Chanah FIRST, then the Akeidah, the Binding of Isaac, so that we might say to ourselves, “huh. That was an interesting choice. Why couldn’t Abraham just have done what Chanah did? Teach the boy how to love God, be a force for righteousness and goodness in our world, help some of the less-fortunate of God’s creations, and THAT can be the way you dedicate him TO God!!!” But the rabbis never SAY that… they just subtly lay that out there for us to see. Not for nuthin’... bad call, God. Just sayin’...

My commentary on that, and then we’ll jump into our Torah reading is, we all have to find this balance too. Yes, we DO have to educate our children, give them a sense of values, pride in the self and in our religion, and a commitment to justice, compassion, and fairness. But we cannot sacrifice our children on the altars of our own causes. And we do sometimes. People do… and we’re tempted to say “other” people, but it’s worth stopping and thinking about ourselves too. We don’t bind a child to a physical altar and raise a knife over our heads to do something unthinkable (though I’m told when you’re the parent of teenagers, the thought MAY cross your mind…). But there are other ways that we DO damage our kids, and other ways to challenge ourselves to be better partners WITH them, and work together to demonstrate shared gratitude to God for the gift of life, meaning, love, and commitment. 

As we begin our Torah reading, let’s all put Chanah (from yesterday) and Abraham (right here) on two ends of a spectrum, and spend some time figuring out where we, and our own values, could potentially fall somewhere between them. Just sayin’... Our Torah reading begins in the High Holiday Machzor, page 103.

Rosh Hashanah 5781 (2020) - Sermon, Day 1

RH1 5781 - Sermon

Shanah Tovah.

There is a story told of Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte, who, one August evening in the early 1800s, passed by a synagogue while walking through the streets of Paris. He heard the sound of people praying and weeping. Turning to one of his aides, a Jewish officer, the emperor asked, "What's going on in there?" "Tonight is Tisha B'Av," came the reply, "The Jews are mourning the destruction of their holy Temple." Napoleon Bonaparte was dumbfounded. "I pride myself in having one of the world's most sophisticated intelligence networks," he said. "If the Jews' temple was destroyed, surely someone would have told me.” Napoleon asked: “When did this happen?" The officer replied, "Over seventeen hundred years ago." Napoleon stroked his chin for a few moments, and then said, "If the Jews are still crying after so many years, then this must be a religion based in deep beliefs, tradition, and character. I am sure that the Jewish people will endure, and that one day their Temple will be restored.”

My theme for this morning’s D’var Torah is “history.” (And yes, I am aware that I have not yet told you the theme of the whole High Holiday season … patience, my friends.) Today, I want to talk to you about the power of history, of having a communal memory. It is a power that is not merely limited to feeling grounded, rooted, part of something larger and older than oneself, or “merely” cultivating a sense of pride. All of that would be forceful enough. But communal memory can also yield a better understanding and appreciation of the self RIGHT NOW, and may also serve as a catalyst for social change for both the short- and long-term future. How could anyone answer the question, “Do you know who you are?”, without a solid grasp of where you’ve been? In the song “Buffalo Soldier,” Bob Marley sings, “If you know your history, then you’d know where you’re coming from.”

As Jews, we know all this. History is what we do, it’s one of the things we’re particularly good at, and even known for in other circles. 4,000 years yields an awful lot of holidays, commemorations, rituals, traditions, songs, foods, and even jokes. EVERY one of our holidays is deeply connected back to when it started, how it was observed by some priest or rabbi long ago, and when explained, almost inevitably includes our own personal interjections about what my Bubbie or Savta used to do or cook, or how my Saba, Pop-pop, or Zayde would sing some prayer. We know this… but I don’t think we stop and acknowledge often enough the sheer power that it has afforded us - it is the glue that has held us together for millennia, despite some people’s very best efforts to try to tear us apart, outlaw our way of life, or outright annihilate us. 

I am a fan of “our” history; whether the “our” is Judaism,my own family,  the trials and tribulations of this wonderful congregation, or even the story of the city where Ohev Sholom was born, down the road in Chester, PA. I think the stories are fascinating, spell-binding, and sometimes mystical and otherworldly. But I am also a firm believer in the massive power of owning one’s history, taking pride in it, and using it as an active force - a weapon even - to affect the world around us for good. I find it tragic, and even painful, when I see or hear that someone doesn’t know their own past. I see how people robbed of their own stories are left shipwrecked, unmoored, and battling a constant sense of chaos. As history-experts, we Jews have a duty - I might even go so far as to say a Commandment from God - to share with others the ultimate importance and life-giving nature of having a history.

Our past is so important to me personally, in fact, that I spent the past year crafting a memorial to history and tradition… and I didn’t even realize that’s precisely what I was doing. 

I need to pause here to talk to you about the art projects we’ve undertaken together at Ohev Shalom. Many of you are aware of, and some even participated in, the incredible collaborative efforts that have, in the last ten years, yielded a new Ark in our smaller Balin chapel, then a reader’s table to go with that Ark, then the massive undertaking of the Children of Israel Mosaic Art Project, the 14 panels that adorn our Main Sanctuary walls, that over 120 congregants participated in creating. We recently also added a gorgeous stained glass window in the Balin Chapel, in memory of Andrew Spector, and today I will begin to tell you about our brand new additions of the Ark curtain behind me, and the Amud, reader’s table cover that you all, via my iPad, are resting on right now.

I know that you know they took a lot of work to create. But I need you to truly understand, each one took TREMENDOUS effort to envision, fundraise, present to the board of directors, plan out, implement, install, market, teach about, and then retain in our communal memory somehow. Did we NEED these objects? No, I suppose not. We had tables, Arks, and windows that worked… decently enough. 

But I would argue, forcefully, that these pieces represent the life-blood of our community. Just as art and music in schools, or museums and libraries in cities, can “seem,” to some people, expendable when budgets must tighten. But it’s dangerous. We eliminate these things at our own peril. Each of the creations that we have brought into the synagogue commemorate something, evoke something else, inspire in yet another way, and uplift our souls in countless additional ways still. (P) But maybe more than all of that, I also need you to know that they are my love-letters to you, my community. We’ve been through so much together, and you’ve stuck by me, as I have endeavored to always stick by you. Thank you.

So this memorial, my latest “letter,” has too many parts to share all of them in one sermon. So I’m going to share aspects of our new artwork with you throughout the holidays (but that’s not my central theme either; I still haven’t told you what that is…). The phenomenal artist, Siona Benjamin, who came to Ohev for a weekend not long before the pandemic (so, I guess, around 150 years ago???), agreed to let me pitch this Ark curtain/Table cover idea to her. The fourteen mosaics around the room represent the children of our ancestor Jacob, as well as the Twelve Tribes of Israel, but one name that was left out entirely, was Joseph. And Joseph played SUCH an integral role in our history; helping Pharaoh and Egypt prepare for a devastating famine, then bringing his own family down to Egypt to survive that famine. Thus, he also set us on the course to be enslaved in Egypt - a terrible thing, of course - but also the very thing that created our foundational story of the Exodus, followed by receiving the Torah at Mount Sinai. None of this would be possible without Joseph. As the gatherer of these tribal ancestors “hanging out” on our walls, it seemed to me wonderfully fitting for his famous Coat of Many Colors to adorn our Main Sanctuary Ark. 

The life of Joseph actually occupies the bulk of the Book of Genesis. His story of betrayal, redemption, imprisonment, and rebirth mirrors the plight of our people throughout history. Understanding why he was beloved and hated, relied upon yet mistrusted, a bonafide insider… who would always remain an outsider - can help us understand the essence what it means to be Jewish. All of this, Siona and I tried to capture in this Ark curtain.

I will tell you more about it, and about the Table cover, in future sermons. But for now, I want you to just look at the curtain. In fact, what I really want is for you to Just Be. To exist. Stay in the moment, with me here. You see, that is actually my theme for the holidays. This first sermon is about history, the second will be the present, the third - future, and the fourth… well, you’ll see. In Hebrew, the words “was,” “present,” and “will be,” all come from one root, Lihyot. To Be. Was is Hayah, Present is Hoveh, Will Be is Yihyeh; all reworkings of a single word. At this precarious moment in our community, our country, and indeed the world, we are tempted to spend all our time reminiscing about what was, pre-pandemic, pre-climate disasters, pre-political schisms. Or we gaze longingly into the future; to a vaccine, a new climate agreement... an election. Interestingly, Hebrew doesn’t have a word for “is” or “am.” If you say “I AM walking” in Hebrew, it’s “Ani Holech,” “I walk!” We can use the word “Lihyot” to speak ABOUT being and existing, but there’s no Hebrew word for expressing that sentiment in real time - “I am.” Perhaps that is our work to do, it cannot be fashioned by another; we need to force ourselves, constantly, to exist in the present moment. To say - quoting a past High Holiday theme of mine - “Hineini,” “Here I am.” Right now.

Now, owning your history - individually, communally, collectively - is complex. It is NOT simple. If you turn your dedication into full-on worshipping your history, it can consume you. You become immobilized by it, and desperately try to move backwards, which is absolutely, positively impossible. But if you become TOO confident in your ownership, you may lose your humility, and you reshape, reconfigure, and mould what you still call “history” into whatever you want it to be, and then inevitably use it as a sledgehammer to beat others over the head with. This is NOT easy. But without history, we are like castaways, or like survivors of some horrific destruction. You want to see what that looks like? Read the Book of Lamentations. It is like you have no oxygen, and you’re left gasping for something to sustain you. 

And you know where else you can look? This is hard to do, but we must witness the racial reckoning in this country through our Jewish lens. Imagine if our enslaved ancestors in Egypt were robbed of all the stories of what had come before? No Abraham, Isaac, or Jacob… no Joseph or his beautiful coat. Wandering off into the desert, what would freedom have possibly meant, if we didn’t have a destination in our mind’s eye, based on ancient texts, rooted in a land that we knew - with every fiber of our being - was out there, AND had been promised to our ancestors? Or fast-forward to the Babylonian exile, after the First Temple was destroyed. What if the Babylonians had set about systematically eradicating all memory of where we’d come from, what happened there, and who we had been… and they were successful? When the Persians defeated the Babylonians and set us free, where would we go? What would we do? Thankfully, we looked to our prophets, our books… and our history to lead us home.

This isn’t my one sermon on race. For better or worse, this is going to come up again and again. Because how we interact with the world, and especially how we treat those less fortunate than us, who have suffered similar fates to ours, is fundamental to who we are as Jews. Think about what I just said about our ancestors in Egypt and in Babylonia, and what it was that saved us, that allowed us to survive and THRIVE after escaping that trauma. Hold onto that, as I read to you a quote from an article from 1962. This was written by a woman named Rhobena A. Nelson for a publication called “Negro History Bulletin,” and the title of the article was “The Stolen Identity of the So-Called American Negro.”

Ms. Nelson writes: “ ‘Know thyself,’ two words with which the so-called American Negro must acquaint himself in order to find the real meaning for his very existence. Why is this necessary? For this very reason: He must regain his national identity, an identity stolen from him for some three hundred years. (Pause) The importance of an identity to a people is unlimited in its aspects. We find that we, as a Negro race, know less about ourselves than we are taught of other races. This in itself is detrimental to us. One can have no pride of self, unless one knows his heritage. One must become educated in his heritage in its true sense; look at it, be critical of it, tear it apart, and be able to record it intelligently.”

Folks, friends, family, dear congregants, and everyone watching and listening over zoom; this should make you feel like crying. “One can have no pride of self, unless one knows his heritage.” As Bob Marley said, “If you know your history, then you’d know where you’re coming from.” We know this to be true. We would not be here were it not for our history. It literally saved us. The cries today of “Black Lives Matter,” “Speak Her Name,” and “I Can’t Breathe,” they are actually all about an identity and a story that has systematically, and by design, been erased. Rhobena Nelson’s article explains how this happened, and it is ugly. I am sorry, but this is where I say that we need to bear witness to the stark and terrifying reality of why African-American history is missing. Nelson states: “Most of the slaves after reproducing were killed, and the story of their true heritage died with them. However, some of the slaves that were not murdered were here to tell of their heritage. This to the white man was detrimental. Laws were then set up. ‘They were especially forbidden to hold meetings or to teach one another to read or write.’ “ I know that’s hard to hear. But how can we look away? Not now. And you and I both know, we’ve been there! For 4,000 years, enemies have tried to erase our story, burn our Talmud, forbid us from teaching our children, ban our Kosher laws and restrict our ability to perform circumcisions. Not to mention all the atrocities done to our spirits and our bodies. 

Two hundred years ago, a world-famous emperor, conqueror of many nations, walked by a synagogue and was awed by our ability to STILL cry over a destruction that had taken place 1,800 years prior. Napoleon understood, right then and there, that owning and retelling one’s history doesn’t just give you confidence and courage, it gives you a reason to live, something precious to pass along, and it can make you immortal. … or maybe that story never really happened. It could just be a made-up myth. But Napoleon is gone, and can’t dispute it, while that story remains, and has become solidified in our history. That, folks, is power.

We are not done here. I’ll conclude my sermon for today. But we will yet speak about being mindful of Hoveh, what is today, and clear-eyed about Yihyeh, what will be in the future. When you look at this Ark curtain, this table cover, and all the other artwork we’ve produced together, I hope you marvel in its beauty, share it with friends and family with tremendous pride, and also remember that it is meant to honor our history as a people and a community. And if you see all of that, and understand how vital and life-giving our history has been to us as a people for millennia, I hope and pray... and I implore you to make our story one that can benefit others, help someone else find their grounding, and bring us all together to fight, side by side, for a better shared future. THAT would surely be history worth passing on for generations to come.

Shanah Tovah.

Rosh Hashanah 5781 (2020) - Torah Reading Intro, Day 1

This year, I am posting not only my High Holiday sermons, but also my introductions to the Torah reading, and possibly some other messages as well. Please feel free to scan/scroll through any and all, and let me know what you think. Thanks!!

Shanah Tovah!

    I venture to say, one of the best - and worst - things about our Torah reading cycle is that it is consistent. No matter what is happening in the world, no matter what year it is, what wars are being fought, where we live on the planet (or beyond), and regardless of a pandemic, the Torah reading cycle persists. I actually have a book in my office - gifted to me by our former cantor, Steven Friedrich, called “The Comprehensive Hebrew Calendar.” On the first page after the introduction, it tells me that September 9th, 1899, was a Saturday (so, Shabbat), the Torah reading was Vayeilech, and it was Shabbat Shuva, so the Saturday between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, and a special Haftarah was chanted that day (and a footnote tells me that, at least according to the editor of this volume, the Haftarah should be chanted by the Rabbi… or another scholar).

    On the very LAST page of the book, it tells me that September 2nd in the year 2100 will ALSO be a Saturday, corresponding to the 28th of Elul, 5860, and the Torah portion will be Nitzavim. And that’s just a printed book from 1986. These days, I have an app on my phone that can go WAAY beyond that! It can easily tell me the Torah portion on, say, January 6th of the year 1500 (Va-Eira) or, perhaps, December 25th in the year 2500 (Shabbat Chanukah, also the eighth night of the holiday; mark your calendars...). My point is, when the world seems chaotic and unpredictable, the Jewish calendar, and our cycle of Torah readings, can feel wonderfully familiar, routine, safe, and just as they always have been and always will be.

    Of course, the flip side of this is, today is the first day of Rosh Hashanah, and we are once again reading the SAME Torah reading we’ve read EVERY year on this day since perhaps the year 500, and will continue to chant beyond the year 3500! Which, in part, is my shameless plug to you to come to ANY other service during the year - Friday night OR Saturday - or to attend our Bible class on Wednesday mornings, so you can hear me discuss literally ANYTHING else besides this reading. All of those opportunities are right here on zoom, btw, so you can tune in, right from the comfort of your own home. What a deal, folks!

    And maybe you don’t recall from year to year what I said about this reading, but I do (well, sometimes anyway), and I need to mix it up. So I want to focus on something other than Abraham and Sarah, or Abraham’s treatment of his maidservant Hagar, and her son (by him), Ishmael. All of these plots swirl around a different character, who almost never is the central protagonist himself, namely Isaac. He is an odd personality, from whom we actually hear very little anywhere in the Torah, and around whom things constantly seem to happen... usually unbeknownst to him. Unfortunately, I am not here to rescue Isaac from this anonymity or lack of agency, but I DO want to take a couple of minutes to focus on his name. In Hebrew, it’s Yitzchak, from the Hebrew word, Tzachak, meaning “laughter.” 

    I wish we had more time together on this, I really do. In our first Aliyah, Abraham will name his son Yitzchak, but then in the second Aliyah, a few verses later, Sarah is the one who explains the etymology of his name. And what she says is cryptic. She exclaims: “Kol Ha-Shomeya Yitzchak Li,” meaning “everyone who hears [that I gave birth at age 90] will laugh with me.”
But the Hebrew “Yitzchak Li” isn’t so clear. Even in our Machzor, on page 100 at the bottom on the right, you can see the commentary note that it might mean “will laugh with me,” or it could mean “will laugh at me.” Which, obviously, changes dramatically, not only the meaning of what she’s saying, but her own experience of this miraculous event, and her emotional state at this moment. 

    Laughter can be a bit cryptic and indecipherable like that, can’t it? Are we all laughing together… or am I the butt of this joke? Have we been laughing too long? Does my laugh annoy people, is it too understated, or perhaps it makes me sound maniacal???? But laughter can also break the tension of a difficult moment, whether filled with anger, deep sadness, or just misunderstanding, and give sweet relief to everyone present. And I’ve been thinking a lot about laughter, and humor, in the Bible lately. You see, I maintain that the Bible is a very FUNNY document. And I am fascinated by the fact that no matter how often I say this, people raise their eyes at me (even over zoom). Not only is it very funny, but I have recently decided that humor, in the Torah, is a litmus test.

    There is a moment, featuring this very same Isaac, but later as an old man, trying to bless his son, Esau. His other son, Jacob, steals that blessing in disguise, and in an incredibly painful and heartbreaking scene, Isaac blurts out to the real Esau, “if you’re here… who did I just bless?” It hurts, sure, but it’s also kind of a gag line. In a totally different scene, in the Book of Numbers, the prophet Bilaam tries to curse the Israelites on behalf of King Balak, and when God won’t let him, Balak says, “Maybe I’ll bring you to another spot, where you can squint, and maybe you can curse them over there???”
The Book of Esther is filled with physical comedy and even slapstick-like humor, and it really is everywhere in our Sacred Texts. And I strongly believe it is a litmus test, because God AND the Torah are saying, “if you can’t see the humor, and if you can’t laugh a little at holiness and certainly at yourselves… it’s not just a shame; something is very, very wrong.” If we look around the world, we can see what religion without humor looks like. Fundamentalist, ice-cold, uncaring, intolerant, and absolutely NO acceptance of disagreement; the greatest perceived insult comes when someone else makes fun of them!! Because humor - and I’m talking about irreverent, silly, clever comedy, not mean, bullying, or insulting forms - demonstrates humility and self-awareness.

    As many of you already know, humor plays an important part in my rabbinate. Whether it’s silly performances on the stage with the Ohev Players, light-hearted banter, jokes in my sermons, or even humor brought out at funerals; I think it’s not just a nice change of pace. It’s not just meant to keep things fun and goofy; I think it bespeaks an essential human emotion, and a way of viewing the world around you. The Torah is actually testing us, constantly looking for signs of compassion, acceptance, and basic humanity. And throughout our history, we have often FAILED those tests! When the Torah throws in a joke and says “funny, right???”, God learns a lot about our reaction. And we should learn from it too. Religion needs to be celebrated with joy, warmth, and yes, laughter. If we want to make it to Shabbat Chanukah in the year 2500 (eight candles, don’t forget!), we have to be able to laugh together. We just have to. Our Torah reading begins on page 100 in the Machzor. 

Shanah Tovah!

I wasn’t able to get a new blog post put together for/before the holiday, I apologize. But I will make sure to upload all my sermons (even Torah reading introductions!) here on the blog, as soon as Rosh Hashanah is over. Then I’ll add the Yom Kippur sermons next week. 

In the meantime, I wish everyone a most Happy, Healthy, and Sweet New Year. We wish each other all the blessings of love, joy, peace, and connection that we share every year, and of course add so very many more blessings on top of them for this year of firsts. We pray that next year will look a bit (or a lot!) more like previous Rosh Hashanah celebrations, rather than this one. We pray that we all get to the other end of the pandemic able to look back and reflect on how crazy this was... even though right now we need to stay focused on doing what we can to just get OUT of it first!

And we hope and pray for our leaders to make good and wise and compassionate decisions about the election, the climate, and the economic distress experienced across the country and our world. And if they can’t or won’t do it, we pray for new leaders!

All of this is to say, Shanah Tovah, dear friends. We have each other, and we will persevere and go on thriving afterwards. As my wonderful sister, Nomi, likes to say: “I’ve got you, and you’ve got this!” 😄😄 

🍎🍯🍏❤️ Happy New Year! 🍎🍯🍏❤️

Rabbi Gerber 

Ki Tavo: Cursed by Chaos

No one likes bad news. We don't like to hear it, and we CERTAINLY don't like to deliver it. But the problem is, sometimes there simply IS bad news that must be conveyed. We can cover our ears, run away, sing loudly to drone out the unwelcome "noise," or even attack what we deem to be the source and/or bearer 

of it... But none of those things change reality. And not only will those things not improve the situation, but they actually make everything worse. Denial, evasion, and anger exacerbate the problems. It leads to something that every one of us, in 2020, has become all too familiar with: Chaos. The result of refusing to address climate change appropriately? Chaos. Our current predicament with no unified message or coordinated effort to end the pandemic? Chaos. And the disaster that ensues when we endlessly, endlessly deny that there is systemic racism and refuse to change centuries-old practices that continue to harm and kill? Chaos. So yeah, there's bad news to deliver here. But if you close out this blog post and/or stubbornly refuse to listen, the Torah has a very "interesting" and graphic list of consequences that await you...

So, look, I'm not saying *I* have all the answers here. Most of the time it feels like I have closer to NONE of the answers. But if we all agree that 

the problems swirling around us are undeniable, doesn't it make sense to start doing a lot more listening and a lot less yelling? Because this week's Torah portion includes a very stark and uncomfortable list of the curses and tragedies that were predicted to befall our ancestors - and yes, us as well... - for non-compliance with the Torah's commandments and laws. The "list" from our parashah is actually an entire section, a tirade, if you will, that has its own name, The "Tochecha," meaning "Rebuke." Here are some of the unsettling components in the Tochecha, that feel alarmingly relevant in our lives RIGHT NOW:

First, and most painful, the Tochecha speaks repeatedly about disease, plague, and... you know, pandemic. I'll spare you the details, but in Deuteronomy, chapter 28, illness in one form or another is referenced in verses 21, 22, 27, 35, 59, and 

60-61. There's also reference to heat, drought, and environmental disasters in verses 22, 23, and 40, that I am sure in NO WAY are meant to make us think of our current forest fires, powerful hurricanes, or floods. In addition, the Tochechah mentions infestations of locusts, crickets, and worms; surely nothing like the spotted lantern flies, murder hornets, or yes, locusts, that plague the planet today. If none of this was on-the-nose enough, the Tochechah includes this verse, which never stood out quite so much as it does in 2020: "[The enemy] shall shut you up in all your towns throughout your land until every mighty, towering wall in which you trust has come down." (v. 52) I read this and thought "quarantine"; and indeed, many trusted institutions are falling by the wayside as a result. 

The last section I wanted to mention, which is particularly painful in light of the protests, lootings, and violence ravaging our country at the moment. Repeatedly in the Tochechah, God tells the Israelites that what awaits you is terror, fear, and ultimately chaos (verses 20, 25, 29, 32, 34, 49-50, and 64-67). This sounds 

excruciatingly like what's happening across America, and it's tempting to point to one side or the other as the "bad guys," the "instigators," or the "perpetrators of violence." However - and here's the part I think we ESPECIALLY need to hear - it is the act of turning on one another that leads us down the path of curses. All of these awful things I've listed above, they are all the SYMPTOMS of a rot in society, and that toxicity is NOT better or more faithful adherence to law and order. It is about compassion, sympathy, equality, and communication. We are all failing, NOT because one group or another is perpetrating violence, but because we are all vilifying one another and pointing fingers.

When God says "observe my commandments," we should all be thinking "Golden Rule." Treat others as you'd want to be treated. You want the benefit of the doubt? You want the situation to calm down? Then we all need to take greater personal responsibility to BE the change we want to see! The more we ignore this message, the deeper we are going to dig ourselves into this hole of disaster, chaos, and rebuke. The chaos itself is our enemy; not the person on the other side, whose proverbial pitchfork matches mine. Unless we start to see what unites us instead of what divides us, the curses will indeed proliferate without end...

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. Depositphotos
2. pikist
3. Wikimedia Commons
4. pixabay