Rosh Hashanah 5774 - Sermon 2

(This is my sermon for the SECOND day of Rosh Hashanah. If you'd like to read the sermon for Day 1 first, you can find it here. Thanks!)

What is the Opposite of Guilt?

(SH'EINO YODEI'A LISHOL)

Shanah Tovah.

Yesterday I introduced my theme for this year's High Holiday sermons, namely 'Guilt Free Judaism.' I also presented the metaphor through which I plan on presenting my four main holiday sermons: The Four Children of the Passover Seder. And I got a few quizzical looks from people yesterday, presumably because they didn't come to Rosh Hashanah services expecting to hear about Passover, and I appreciate how some of you are recreating those puzzled looks for me here today. Thank you for that.

As you may have suspected after yesterday's D'var Torah, my speech, the Passover connection is going to continue into today and further into Yom Kippur as well. But don't worry, I'll make it up to you by talking about Apples and Honey and blowing the Shofar in the spring, during Passover.

I always loved the image that the rabbis painted for us at the Passover Seder of these Four Children asking questions during the meal. It’s presented, inconspicuously, as these four curious kids, just trying to understand what the heck is going on with this whole Seder thing. Yet, each one of them winds up posing to US, a few challenging questions about what WE’RE doing here! It turns out, it isn’t about these four children at all; it’s about you and me, and not going through the motions by rote, year after year. It's an important reminder, both that children play an essential role in our holiday observances, and that we should look at our various traditions, rituals, and laws through the fresh and inquisitive eyes of children. It's easy for us to get complacent, and to start observing our Jewish customs without really thinking much about what we're doing. Along come these four mischievous kids and really force us to answer, not only their questions, but really our own as well.

My favorite of the four children has always been the last one, known in Hebrew as Sh’eino Yodei’a Lishol. Literally, it means 'the one who does not know how to ask.' I find it such a humbling, and human, statement; being so thoroughly lost that we don’t even know how to ask a question. We don't like to acknowledge that we feel this way sometimes, but the reality is that there are always occasions in our lives when we are SO confused, so utterly befuddled and confounded that we do not EVEN know how to ask the first question that it going to start us on the road to begin to understand what we don't know, and eventually move towards some semblance of comprehension. Right? Now, it's not always like that. Sometimes we just don't get it. We're perplexed, but we ask a couple of questions and we start to get a hang of things. But there ARE occasions, even as adults, when we're not sure what the first question should even be to help get out of the utter fog of mystification that we find ourselves in; THAT is Sh’eino Yodei’a Lishol.

Just to give you an example, many of you know that math just ain't my thing. I love rabbinic math, like when they tell you there are 10 commandments, but when you start counting you either get to 9 or 12. Or they tell you there are four essential truths you need to know, and then list 5. Oddly enough, I GET rabbinic math. But algebra, geometry, and calculus; terrifying! So I just made sure to pick a profession where it's not essential that I bring a calculator or an abacus, and most of the time I'm fine. But it does occasionally intrude into my little rabbinic world. Like when we review the synagogue budget information at Executive Committee and Board of Directors' meetings. In fact, next month I've asked Matt to offer a tutorial to 'all' the new board members who are confused about these B&A, P&L, whosiwhatsit's. And maybe one or two other board members will come to make me feel better, but we all know for whom this tutorial has really been set up... I look at the information before me, and I’m not even sure what my first question is to start making sense of it all!

But it can be freeing to admit this. Society tells us NEVER to do that, to never use terms like 'I don't know.' Fake it, till you make it, we say! Never ADMIT that you're confused!! But that can be SUCH a burden. Yesterday we talked about the weight that we carry around with us, the heavy load that guilt can constitute when we allow it to drag us down. Sh’eino Yodei’a Lishol, admitting that we're hopelessly lost, invites connection. It allows us to be vulnerable, to maybe even laugh at ourselves a bit, and then accept help from another to begin that long journey towards comprehension. The research professor, Brené Brown, whom I’ve spoken about from this pulpit before, writes about this in her book, “The Gifts of Imperfection”: “To overcome perfectionism, we need to be able to acknowledge our vulnerabilities to the universal experiences of shame, judgment, and blame.” Vulnerability is SUCH a crucial emotion, and one that we generally think of as a four-letter-word, or a sign of weakness and failure. And we feel guilty when we are vulnerable, when we’re less than perfect. Brené Brown admits that even she has to use ‘fake it till you make it’ from time to time, but she likes to think of it as ‘practicing imperfection.’ I think we all need a little practice to get BETTER at being IMperfect…

So how does Sh’eino Yodei’a Lishol relate to today, to the High Holidays? Sometimes we feel stuck at the opposite end of where we want to be. We are lost, and we are in fact so lost, we don't know where to begin to turn around. In Hebrew, we might call that t'shuvah, turning around and beginning to take that first step towards repentance. We feel so FAR away from repentance sometimes, that even that first step, just turning around, and exposing ourselves by saying ‘I’m sorry,’ without qualifying it or laughing it off, feels impossible. We don’t even know how to take that first step.

Guilt can permeate our lives, and we feel so saturated with it, it's hard to know where to start, in our attempts to move away from it. Perhaps we need to begin by freeing ourselves, by just acknowledging how much guilt infuses everything? Brené Brown refers to the hard things we DON’T want to talk about. It’s more fun to talk about joy and gladness, maybe the weather or the Phillies (on second thought, no one really wants to talk about the Phillies…). We focus on what’s easy and uncomplicated… but all the while, we aren’t getting to the heart of the matter. And we’re NEVER going to improve, or get out from under that weight, if we don’t talk about the hard things that get in the way. Let's begin by accepting that we're at the other end of the spectrum, and let's talk about what the opposite of that might be.

So what is the opposite of guilt? There's no right answer here, and there's no wrong answer. But it's an interesting little question, no? A good first question for that Passover child, who's been seeking just a question to get him or herself started. What IS the opposite of guilt, of feeling burdened by so much self-imposed guilt?

Because it is self-imposed really, isn't it? It's not as if what we're wrestling with here is the felony form of guilt, like, ‘I'm racked with guilt because I killed someone/stole/cheated.’ It's imagined guilt; self-inflicted and wholly unkind. That's an important word to me, unkind. We can be so harsh on ourselves, so punishing. This illusory guilt is particularly unkind, because we won't forgive ourselves, and then we feel bad about feeling bad, and the vicious cycle continues. And it can be crippling. So maybe the opposite of guilt has to do with kindness? Kindness towards others, and particularly kindness towards ourself. And don’t be fooled here, folks! Just because we can name it, doesn’t mean it’s easy. This too takes practice, like vulnerability or imperfection. But we’re not going to get ANYWHERE until we admit that a lack of kindness is problematic, and in need of remedy. Perhaps kindness is the opposite of guilt?

The Baal Shem Tov, a very famous rabbi from the 1700s, was considered the founder of Chassidic Judaism, and an expert on the Kabbalah. And he taught about something called the 'Yeitzer Ha-Rah,' the evil inclination that is in all of us. Picture a little devil sitting on your shoulder, and of course you've also got the 'Yeitzer Ha-Tov' on the other shoulder, a little angel. And the Baal Shem Tov said that the Yeitzer Ha-Rah was always trying to get you in trouble. Like talking you into eating just one more little piece of cake, or convincing you to stay up just a little bit later to watch one more episode of the TV show, “Homeland.” (It’s a really good show, ok?!?) The Yeitzer Ha-Rah IS a part of you, it's just not the most kind or forgiving part. The Baal Shem Tov said that, 'More than the Yeitzer Ha-Rah desires that you should sin, it desires that you should feel GUILTY that you sinned.'

The guilt is in some ways WORSE than the sin itself. It's more damaging, because it lasts longer, and allows you to keep punishing yourself, again and again, for something that is in the past, can't be changed, and is so completely human. So maybe the opposite of guilt, according to the Baal Shem Tov, is letting go? Again, related to t’shuvah, to repentance, because we end that vicious cycle. We don’t allow the guilt to fester, to remain in the darkness of our souls, continuing to plague us with ‘what if’s’ or ‘I should have’s.’ Again, we think it’s easier to just not talk about it, to just ‘drop it,’ and move past the sin that was committed. But our Yeitzer Ha-Rah won’t let us drop it, and so we have to recognize the guilt in ourselves FIRST, and then we can begin to let go.

But the opposite of guilt can also be freedom. Freeing ourselves, and freeing another. When someone has been hurt, they sometimes think that refusing to be consoled, or forgive, is empowering. ‘I am in control,’ they might say. ‘I have a right to be hurt, I have a right to refuse forgiveness, and I have a right to demand that the other continue to feel guilty!’ But we’re not just hurting someone else; we’re actually hurting ourselves as well. Again, it is a wound that festers, that languishes. It isn’t made better, and it is once again the Yeitzer Ha-Rah that’s in there, giving us the language of empowerment, entitlement, and righteous indignation. But it hurts. It’s unresolved. And it damages everyone.

So the opposite can be, again, FREEDOM! Release. Like it says on the Liberty Bell, here in Philadelphia, from our Torah, from Leviticus, 25:10: “You shall proclaim liberty throughout the land for all its inhabitants.” It’s a funny word, in the Torah, for ‘liberty.’ It’s not the normal word for ‘freedom,’ either ‘chofesh’ or ‘cheirut,’ like when we say the Israelites were taken from slavery to freedom, ‘Mei-Avdut l’Cheirut.’

(Yeah, I know, I’m back to the Passover story again. I don’t know what’s going on, I can’t help myself!) In Leviticus, it uses a peculiar word, ‘D’ror.’ It’s a hapax legomenon (I love that term!), meaning a word that appears only once in the entire Torah. It can mean ‘liberty,’ or ‘freedom,’ or even ‘release.’ WE need to release ourselves and each other: Summon from the depths of our being the strength to BE free of guilt, and to give that freedom as a gift to one another.

It’s not easy! This word appears once in the Torah, certainly a reminder of how hard it is to recreate! But without it, without liberty and release, we are left without the words to speak; unable to ask even a simple question to figure out how to begin feeling less guilty.

But there isn’t just one opposite of guilt. I told you, there isn’t a right answer and a wrong answer, there are only nuances and choices. Sometimes we need kindness to reduce guilt, sometimes we need to practice letting go, and sometimes we need to just open our arms wide and allow freedom to wash over us! Personally, I like another choice: ‘self-compassion.’ In a way, it is a combination of all the other traits we spoke of; kindness, letting go, and freedom. Dr. Kristin Neff is a researcher and professor at the University of Texas at Austin, and she has a whole website devoted to this, www.self-compassion.org. There, she summarizes self-compassion as three things, self-kindness, common humanity (meaning, the importance of recognizing that it's part of being human, for EVERYONE, to experience suffering, and to feel inadequate), and mindfulness (dealing with our challenges and limitations, but not obsessing over them). Neff writes about how self-compassion is a lot like compassion for other people, except it's often hard to truly accept that we're like everyone else, with the same fears, the same frustrations... the same guilt. It is indeed part of THE human condition. Neff deduces, "The more you open your heart to this reality instead of constantly fighting against it, the more you will be able to feel compassion for yourself and all your fellow humans in the experience of life."

A friend recently shared with me the term 'analysis-paralysis.' Sometimes when you spend too much time on something, read too much, and now know too much on a subject, it crosses over a threshold from being useful, informative, and empowering, and instead becomes debilitating. I don't want that to happen here. I think analysis-paralysis is what happened to that poor fourth child at the Seder table, listening to endless debates and conversations about Passover, and all that Hebrew being chanted. Lost and overwhelmed by too much information, there isn't even a question left to help get back on track. I hope that isn't the case here.

We know our first question: What is the opposite of guilt? Guilt is up there with shame, fear, perfection, and insecurity - they're all barriers to keep us from ourselves and others, to stop us from feeling connected and in harmony. So what do YOU think is the opposite of guilt? Is it kindness, letting go, freedom, or perhaps self-compassion? Just start with one question, one small change to start moving away from guilt and distance. A simple turn like that can help us achieve real and lasting t'shuvah.

The Baal Shem Tov, our Kabbalistic friend, also taught that t'shuvah, repentence, is process - not accomplishment; journey, not destination. In order to move away from Sh’eino Yodei’a Lishol, from being unable to EVEN ask that first question, we don't need to know the final destination, the total accomplishment. We need only to be WILLING, today, right now, right here in this room, on this holiday, to begin the journey, begin the process. Then Guilt Free Judaism won't seem impossible; it'll be SO close by, just opposite us, in fact. We've just got to turn and look.

Happy Passover - ach, darn it, I'm still stuck! Shanah Tovah - Happy New Year!

Rosh Hashanah 5774 - Sermon 1

Shanah Tovah! Happy and Healthy New Year, everyone! I had hoped to be able to share with you all a video of my first two High Holiday sermons, but sadly, those aren't ready yet. We will try to get them online within the next week or two. For now, if you're planning on coming to Yom Kippur services, and want to know what I spoke about at Rosh Hashanah, I'm posting the texts of my two sermons here, in two separate posts. It's not quite the same as HEARING them, but it'll have to do for now. Otherwise, you can certainly wait and watch them next week, and if you're joining us for some part of Yom Kippur, I promise the sermons will STILL make sense. Thanks for your understanding; sorry about the delay.

Warm regards,

Rabbi Gerber

What Does It Mean To Be Jewish? (TAM)

Shanah Tovah!

Every year, at the Passover Seder table, we read from a book called 'the Haggadah.' Bear with me, people. I KNOW it’s not Passover right now, I haven’t lost my mind, but I’m going someplace with this, you’re just gonna have to trust me.

So it’s Passover. We’re reading from the Haggadah, and we’re talking a lot about questions, right? Like the Four Questions. And there’s one particular Haggadah that I like to use for teaching purposes and at our communal Seder here at Ohev, called A Different Night. And when you get to the page with the Four Questions, there’s a little story in the margins about Nobel laureate, Isidor Rabi. Mr. Rabi – let’s call him ‘Izzy,’ we’re all pretty informal around here – Izzy was once asked why he became a scientist, rather than a doctor, lawyer, or businessman like the other immigrant kids in his neighborhood. And he responded: “My mother made me a scientist without ever intending it. Every other Jewish mother in Brooklyn would ask her child after school: ‘Nu? Did you LEARN anything today?’ But not my mother. She always asked me a different question. ‘Izzy,’ she would say, ‘Did you ask a GOOD QUESTION today?’ That difference – asking good questions – made me become a scientist.”

Now first of all, my mother loves that little story, and she reads that at our Passover Seder EVERY year, so that’s one reason why I like to begin my sermon there. But again, I know it’s not Passover today – in fact, we’re about as far from Passover as we can possibly GET in the Jewish calendar! – yet nevertheless, that story jumped out at me, when I was planning for this year’s High Holiday theme.

The theme is NOT questioning, I just wanted you to know that. It's also NOT about asking good questions. But questioning IS going to guide us along on our journey through these holiday services, as we explore the theme that we ARE going to deal with, namely ‘Guilt Free Judaism.’ So let’s begin with our first question, which is ‘Why is this our theme for 2013, or the Jewish year, 5774?’ Why should these High Holidays be any different from all other High Holidays?!?

Well, let’s begin with the fact that it, guilt, is here, right now, in this Sanctuary. It’s almost palpable, that infamous Jewish guilt that we like to kid about all the time, but can actually be quite powerful, and quite painful for so many people. Just think about how many of you here are attending because someone said to you, ‘How can you NOT be in services on Rosh Hashanah??’

Or at least, maybe you WORRIED that someone MIGHT say that to you, and you started feeling guilty even before giving anyone the CHANCE to make you feel bad! And how many people feel guilty because they haven’t set foot in the Sanctuary since last year’s holidays? Or feel guilty because their kids aren’t as familiar with this service or the Junior Congregation service as they'd like? Or are wishing I’d stop talking already so this service can end, because they're bored… but are then feeling guilty for even thinking that! (and you know, even though this sermon is about being Guilt Free, you SHOULD feel bad for even implying that my sermon is boring or long...). All kidding aside, it really IS a powerful emotion that seems almost entirely intertwined with our experience of Judaism, and maybe all religion. And it creates distance. It stops us all from being fully present and open to some of the essential questions that we SHOULD be asking ourselves here today.

I started my sermon by referencing two Jewish mothers, our buddy, Izzy’s and my own. And in part, I did that because we often try to trace back a lot of Jewish guilt to moms everywhere, which is sometimes a little unfair, and sometimes a little bit justified. But in addition, I often feel like a lot of people trace their guilt back to right here, to the synagogue. It may be this one, or it may not. Perhaps you grew up in another part of the country or the world, but it's unfortunately quite likely that SOME synagogue SOMEWHERE holds memories of guilt and failure. Or maybe it's a church or mosque, if you grew up in a different religion. Some of it MAY come from parents and grandparents, but we also institutionalize a lot of guilt as well, especially in religious communities, and quite frankly, that, makes me really, really sad.

I love Judaism. Not every minute of every day, to be totally honest with you, but I do LOVE being Jewish, and I love sharing that with all of you. But I also hear a lot about Jewish Guilt, in one form or another. Whether it’s someone saying, “Rabbi, I really should come to services more often,” or “Rabbi, I am not as spiritual as I should be,” or “Rabbi, do I have to do this or say that or keep this or observe that?” There’s a lot of ‘Thou shalt’ in there, but probably a whole lot more ‘Thou shalt not.’ It's like there's this weight, this mass, just pressing down on SO MANY people, a weight of communal expectations - perceived or real - of family obligations, unmet personal goals, unrealistic expectations; and it all seems to be just unbearably, excruciatingly, and exhaustingly dragging us down, and sapping us of energy. And it hurts me, when I see that in people. And what really makes me particularly upset is to hear about all the negative experiences people have had with synagogues, and rabbis, and congregational leaders, and yes, even cantors,

throughout their lives, in different communities, cities, and countries, and from almost every decade. I pray to God, literally, that I am not contributing to those experiences, or heaping more guilt and shame and anguish onto people’s already heavy burdens, or adding to their severely tarnished, bruised, and battered images of Judaism.

Instead, I try to find ways to say to people, to you, to everyone here, and almost every single day of the year, but ESPECIALLY right now on the High Holidays; I say: it ain’t about the guilt. I don’t want to dismiss your bad memories, or devalue your experiences, which WERE painful, and which stay with you. I recognize them, and I hear them; I really do. And if you’re loving holding onto that Jewish Guilt, if it's truly doing something good for you, then I guess there isn’t much I can say to take that away. But I honestly don’t get it. And I don’t want it FROM you. I don't want you to feel that I'm looking for it, that I'm expecting it, or that I'm going to give you extra credit for feeling bad that you didn't pay better attention in Hebrew School 30 years ago. I'll hear it, if you really want to tell me about it. But I just want you to know, it doesn't do anything for ME, and I don't entirely believe that it's doing anything good for you either. And I most certainly don’t want YOU to be burdened by it.

Last month, I had to write a press release, as we were trying to let the wider community know about High Holiday services here at Ohev Shalom, and as I thought about what I wanted to say, regarding Guilt, I just kept coming back to this one thought, ‘What is it doing for you?’ ‘What are you getting out of it?’ And to quote a beautiful meditation that we used during the month of Elul, written by Amy Graham's mother, Barbara Wissoker, ‘Is it worthy of you? Is your guilt worthy of the wonderful person that you, that we all, are?’ And the answer, resoundingly, is ‘NO!’

So I’m starting us down this path of asking all these questions, of asking some really Good Jewish Questions, as our pal Izzy might have said. But I want to boil it down to its essence. Let’s focus on one, really big, and really important question: ‘What does it mean to be Jewish?’ If we’re going to talk about our guilt, and if we’re going to start unpacking the barriers and road blocks that we either put up for ourselves, or which other people have constructed in order to halt our progress, we need to FIRST understand what it’s all about. And not just ‘What does it mean to be Jewish GENERALLY,’ but ‘What does it mean to be Jewish… for ME’ and in MY life.

Now I need to stop for a second and share with you a small side note. I’m not ready, you see, to let go of the Passover undercurrent just yet (or, as you'll soon discover, really at all for these holidays), especially since I have FOUR major sermons (two days of RH, KN, and YK), and the theme of FOUR is so prevalent at Passover (questions, children, cups, Biblical verses of redemption, etc.). But I actually don’t want to focus on the Four Questions, per se, though that WAS where I began my sermon, but rather the Four Children, or what were traditionally known as the Four Sons. Because the story of the Four Children isn’t really about four kids at all. It’s about four urges, four emotional states, four ways of being that ALL of us experience throughout life. All four are IN us. We feel smart, we feel contrary, we feel shy, and we feel clueless. Sometimes one, sometimes another, and sometimes all four at once. And sometimes many more than just those four...

So as we delve into that good ol’ fashioned Jewish guilt that we all love to talk about so much, and try to unpack what it’s all about, I think it’s helpful to take four approaches to this question, representing different sides of each of us, individually and collectively. And so each of my four main High Holiday sermons is going to be modeled on one of the Four Children from the Passover Haggadah.

Let us begin, not in the order presented in the Haggadah (cause that would just be WAY too easy and obvious…), but with the third child, known as Tam in Hebrew, meaning ‘simple’ or ‘artless.’ And that is why, before we descend deeper into this question of ‘guilt,’ I think it’s important this morning to ask a very basic and very SIMPLE question, ‘What does it mean to be Jewish?’ Before we can unpack our guilt and our baggage, our issues with religion and history and culture and family and food; before we take on ALL that stuff, let’s remind ourselves what we’re doing here, why we care about being Jewish at all.

I actually started this conversation with all of you back in the summer. Inspired by my friend, Rabbi Eric Yanoff at Adath Israel in Merion Station, I engaged in some ‘crowd sourcing’ by putting a question up on Facebook for anyone to answer. My query was this: Can you summarize the basis of your Jewish identity in SIX words? Literary legend (though apparently not necessarily fact) tells us that Ernest Hemingway once challenged other writers to compose an entire novel in just six words, to really emphasize the importance of crystallizing your message. He himself offered the tragic, but thought-provoking, ‘Baby Shoes for sale: Never worn.’ There are many other examples out there of using six words as the bench mark for summarizing and boiling down concepts to establish what something truly means.

NPR (National Public Radio) launched a terrific online campaign called The Race Card Project, inviting readers to summarize the meaning of ‘Race’ (as in, skin color or nationality) in six words. There are thousands of submissions that you can read online, many of which are filled with emotion and tension. A couple of examples are: ‘What kind of name is THAT?’ and ‘Who Will Your Children Play With?’

And so I tried to take a page from these playbooks, turning that same spotlight on Judaism and putting a challenge out there to the magical world that is the online community of Facebook. I didn’t want to disappoint Mr. Hemingway – or should I say ‘Ernie’ – by throwing out a challenge without taking it on myself, and so I came up with a few suggestions of my own. Two of them were inspired by our compadre, Izzy: “Ask Good Jewish Questions Every Day,” and “Questioning Is In Our Blood. Why?” I had a couple others as well, like ‘We’ve Got A Holiday For That,’ but I really wanted to see what others could come up with. I was thrilled and impressed when I received an incredible TWO DOZEN responses back to my question, some of them from people sitting here today. I want to share just a few of them with you:

-       In my blood, in my life – from a member of the congregation

-       Two Jews, Three Opinions, Chosen People.

-       I wouldn’t be alive without it.

-       And here’s one from another member of the congregation, who's SIX years old, Jordana Jasner: The Judaism is awesome to me! (I love that one)

-       I also had someone submit ‘Shema Yisrael, Adonai, Eloheinu, Adonai Echad,’ which is certainly a classic answer, an oldie-but-a-goodie, but let's be honest, it’s not very original.

-       And perhaps my favorite one: Candles glow, tradition guides soul; nourished.

If you’re interested in reading all of them, you can find them on Facebook or on my blog. Or you can just let me know and I’ll print you out a copy.

There's no time limit on this. I invite and encourage all of you to mull it over, and see if you can come up with a six-word answer to this essential question, 'What is the basis of your Jewish identity?' You can send it to me, you can write it on a small slip of paper and just keep it with you, in your pocket or your wallet, or you can just ponder the question without writing ANYTHING down. BUT if we're going to plunge ourselves further into this question of guilt, and if we're serious about wanting to make changes in our lives, and lift that burden off ourselves, then we need to begin somewhere, and this is where I'd like us to start.

I've always been intrigued by that third child in the Passover four-some. 'Tam,' again, meaning 'simple.' 'The Simple Child.' Except nothing in Judaism, or in Hebrew, is ever quite that 'simple' at all. The word 'Tam,' (T-A-M) is also the word used to describe our ancestor Jacob, in the Bible. He was an 'Ish Tam,' we are told, a 'mild-mannered guy,' as opposed to his wild-man brother, Esau. 'Tam' is also the word used whenever we conclude the study of a rabbinic work. We say 'Tam v'Nishlam,' it is finished and complete. So the word can signify 'simple', 'mild,' 'innocent,' but also 'complete,' and even 'honest.' At the Passover table, the Simple Child is just boiling down all the questions and confusion, laws and customs of the holiday, and focusing in on what really matters. For that child it's 'what is Passover all about,' and for us, today, at the start of this High Holiday journey, it's 'what is the essence of Judaism in my life?'

And today, as we talk about resetting, and refocusing on the heart of the matter, and as we also talk about four different types of children, I also want to turn our attention to education. Our chaver - our friend - Izzy, reminded us all of the importance of asking good Jewish questions, but he also talked about how his mother, in her efforts to shape the way he viewed the world, was able to start him off from a very young age on a life-long path of exploration and wonderment. THAT is what we are trying to do here at Ohev Shalom with our new launch of Mispallelim, our synagogue's educational program. We spent a year dreaming, and brain-storming, and marketing, and planning, and organizing this new program, with the help of JLV, Jewish Learning Ventures. And I especially want to recognize and thank our Ometz team, members of the congregation who spent hours and hours every week putting this together, under the fearless and patient leadership of Michael Speirs, our School Committee chair.

And now it's here! It's about to get off the ground THIS upcoming Sunday morning. The program is called LeV, meaning 'heart,' as in 'getting to the heart of Jewish education.' And that's really our theme here today as well, right? Boiling it down to its essence. So let's do that for a second, let's strip away all the distractions and the noise, all the bad memories of Hebrew Schools we hated and lessons about the Jewish holidays we learned over and over, EVERY, SINGLE year. Strip all that away. And let's focus in on the real questions we want to ask. Do we want our kids to be able to answer what Judaism means to them? Do we want them to be able to ask good Jewish questions, and also ask questions about their world Jewishly, with a Jewish lens that informs all aspects of their secular, everyday, regular lives? And if we're really being simple and honest, we should also ask ourselves another question:

"Has Jewish education improved much in the last 100 years?" And without feeling GUILTY about it, we need to admit to ourselves that the answer is 'no, it hasn't improved.'

Our new program? It ain't perfect. And as it gets off the ground on Sunday, it'll have flaws and challenges, kinks that need to be resolved. But will it also be pushing all of us to think about the meaning of Jewish education, and the fundamental basis of what it means to be Jewish? Yes, most definitely. Our kids will learn in new ways, they'll see Judaism as a positive and guiding element in their lives, and they will develop a strong and confident answer to the question of what Judaism means to them. They will go from simple and artless to honest and complete.

We need to talk more about guilt. And luckily we have four sermons to do it. And I'm assuming you're all going to be coming back to hear all four sermons??? I'm kidding, I'm kidding! Yes, I definitely want you to feel guilty by the end of my sermon about Guilt-Free Judaism. But if you can't make it back, and you still want to hear my sermons - only if you want to, NO guilt - I AM going to be recording them and putting them online.

For now, just sit with that first, basic question, and think about what Judaism means to you, and how grappling with that question CAN and WILL help relieve the burden of Jewish Guilt that weighs down on all of us. We CAN change the script. We CAN reverse the trends and change the narrative, and give ourselves, and our children, a Jewish identity that we can all be proud of. But you have to be willing to engage, to challenge. Our leadership team for the new Mispallelim is called the Ometz team, from the Hebrew word meaning 'courage.' It takes courage to think outside the box, to shirk old models and be willing to dream big... AND then act on it.

Yeah, it's scary, and yeah, it's safer to stick with what we know, and just keep repeating the same lines, and joke about good ol' Jewish guilt the way we've always done. But Isadore Rabi's mother didn't stick with the same tired questions all the other mothers asked their kids. She changed the conversation, which emboldened her son to change the world, and inspired my mother to tell THEIR story every year at Passover, and motivated me to stand here and tell you all to LET GO of your guilt, and hopefully has now sparked something in each of you. So? Nu? Did it work?

Shanah Tovah!

Nitzavim-Vayeilech: Your A-ha Moment for Taking on Torah

This is going to be my last blog post for the pre-High Holiday season. I may try to post my Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur sermons at some 

point, in text and/or video format, but other than that, no new blogs. So as we wrap up our fourth year together (crazy, isn't it?), what else is there to say? We're finishing up a year of blog posts, we're finishing up the Torah reading cycle, and we're preparing ourselves for the end of the month of Elul, and thus the start of the High Holidays. There's got to be SOMETHING we can take away from the convergence of all these transitional moments???

As usual, Moses is the one who comes to the rescue, giving us the words to help focus our thoughts. "Surely, this Instruction which I enjoin upon you this day is not too baffling for you, nor is it beyond reach. It is not 

in the heavens, that you should say, 'Who among us can go up to the heavens and get it...?' Neither is it beyond the sea, that you should say, 'Who among us can cross to the other side of the sea and get it...?' No, the thing is very close to you, in your mouth and in your heart, to observe it." (Deut. 30:11-14) First of all, what is 'this Instruction'? Usually, we would say it's THE Torah, but here the Hebrew says 'Ha-mitzvah ha-zot,' this mitzvah. So it's really open for debate. And, in many ways, Moses' grand plea here is the same sentiment I've tried to convey throughout my four years of writing this blog.

It is all very close to you, close to your heart. What is YOUR take on the Torah? What is your perspective/opinion/reaction/thought on this Instruction that you see before you? Because, at the end of the day, it ain't about what I think, it's about what Judaism and the Torah and the High Holidays mean to YOU. 

And you don't have to be a scholar, rabbi, or cantor to offer an opinion; that's comparable to saying that all this stuff is somewhere up in heaven or across an ocean. And it isn't! It's yours for the taking as well!! So use the opportunity of these High Holidays, and this restarting of the Jewish year, to think about where you are. What does Judaism mean to you? What will your role be in your Jewish community? And how do these two questions impact your everyday life, at work, home, the gym, and walking outside in the street?

I've sincerely enjoyed writing this blog for over four years now and 200+ posts (how is that even possible??). And I also want to say 'thank you' to everyone who has sent me e-mails, stopped me in the hallway at Ohev, or commented in some other way on what I've been writing. But even 

here, on my blog, it shouldn't be all about me and my opinions. Do you have something to say? Either in a comment on a blog post, or in an e-mail to me about something you'd like to see discussed? Your input is welcomed - and HIGHLY encouraged - here at Take on Torah. Sometimes the Internet can make things seem really distant and remote. But I promise you, none of this is up in heaven or across an ocean. It's very, very close to you, and super-easy to access. As we head into our fifth year together, and as we all prepare for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, as well as the new year ahead, maybe it's time for you to discover your very own Take on Torah?


Photos in this blog post:

1. CC image courtesy of Xose Arsenio Coto on Flickr

2. CC image courtesy of Skrewtape on Flickr

3. CC image courtesy of Torley on Flickr

4. CC image courtesy of Valerie Everett on Flickr

Ki Tavo: A Month of Mining for Jewels

Last week, I told you about a daily e-mail that I've been getting for the Jewish month of Elul, called 'Jewels of Elul.' As the month leading up to the High Holidays, Elul is a time of introspection and reflection, and the 

Jewels of Elul really help me do just that. Every year, these daily essays have a joint theme, linking them all together, and this year the theme is 'The Art of Welcoming.' And it's not an exclusive list! You're welcome to get the daily e-mail as well, if you sign up on their website. Earlier this week, I was reading two of these Jewels back-to-back, and they really gave me something to think about, especially in relation to this week's Torah portion AND in relation to the State of Israel.

I don't know if Craig Taubman, the Jewels-editor, put these two sequentially on purpose, but I couldn't help but think that perhaps he did. You see, on the 14th of Elul (August 20th) we were sent a piece 

written by Anat Hoffman, an activist with the Women of the Wall group who are fighting for equal rights to pray at the Western Wall in Jerusalem. And on the 15th of Elul, we received an article written by Rabbi Yehoshua Fass, the co-founded of the group Nefesh b'Nefesh, which helps people make aliyah to Israel and become Israeli citizens. And though they both spoke incredibly lovingly about the State of Israel, they also live in VERY different worlds. 

Our Torah portion this week, Ki Tavo, includes the oft-quoted verse, "Blessed shall you be in your comings, and blessed shall you be in your goings" (Deuteronomy, 28:6). Thirteen verses later, we see the same phrasing used again, but this time turned on its head as it describes what will happen if the Israelites DON'T follow God's commands: "Cursed shall you be in your comings, and cursed shall you be in your goings!" 

I thought about these two Jewels of Elul, and how they challenge us to think about blessed comings and not-so-blessed goings. Rabbi Fass tells us the beautiful narrative we WANT to believe about life in Israel: "The Oleh [new immigrant] should feel proud of their decision, welcomed by their new neighbors, applauded for their courage, and honored for their brave and life-changing choice to come home." And I agree with Rabbi Fass. Two-and-a-half years ago, both my sister and one of my best friends made this very courageous decision to make aliyah. But it's also been eye opening - even for me, sitting all the way over here in Wallingford, PA - to see how tough it is for each of them to make a new life in Israel. By framing both the blessing and the curse in the same way, and putting them so close together, the Torah is reminding us that it can feel pretty precarious, and that the line between the two ain't as easily delineated as we might like...

And Anat Hoffman's piece - placed as close to Fass' article as the proximity between the blessings and the curses - reminds us of the complexity of Israel, and the struggles that are fought there every day. Hoffman tells us: "Reform and progressive Jews in Israel have become accustomed to living in metaphorical handcuffs... second class Jews in the eyes of the State for so long that we have learned to function this way." 

Fass shows us the ideal, but (sadly) Hoffman speaks of the unfortunate reality for non-Orthodox Jews who which to express their religious identity. But we are in control! All of us have the ability to separate between blessings and curses, even when they seem so close together. This month, Elul, calls for us to search our own lives, as well as the life of our community and our people, and think about what needs to change. And Elul urges us to have the courage to MAKE that change a reality. Jewels aren't stumbled upon; they are mined and polished, and that is the work we all must do as this new year is about to begin.

Photos in this blog post:

1. CC image courtesy of tom chandler on Flickr

2. CC image courtesy of David Holt London on Flickr

3. Image courtesy of Rabbi Gerber, from his friend (the new oleh), Eric's wedding. Mazal Tov!!

4. CC image courtesy of .v1ctor Casale on Flickr

Ki Teitzei: A Welcome Way To Help Yourself

Why do we offer help? If and when we step outside of our own little universes, and we extend a hand to make someone else's life a little easier; why do we do it? Is it for reward or praise? So that someone

else will see how righteous, kind, and selfless we are? In the field of Anthropology, there is a constant debate about the subject of altruism; can you ever help another purely for selfless reasons, or is there always some underlying personal benefit that you hope or expect to get out of it? This subject is touched upon in our Torah portion this week, but perhaps more importantly, it is something we all should consider in this month of Elul; the month preceding the High Holiday season.

Our parashah, Ki Teitzei, continues the theme from last week, listing various laws that govern society. One, small section talks about harvesting, and how you should leave some of your yield for the orphan, 

widow, and poor. But we are given TWO distinct justifications for why we should do this. Deuteronomy, chapter 24, verse 19 tells us the reason for our kindness is 'in order that the Lord, your God, may bless you in all your undertakings.' And three verses later, after repeating the obligation to leave some for the underprivileged, we are adjured to 'always remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt; therefore do I enjoin you to observe this commandment.' So why are we supposed to help the people around us, so that God will reward us or as a sign of our gratitude for God's saving us from slavery?

You think I'm going to say that the answer is 'both,' don't you? Well, sort of. It's actually MORE than both. I don't believe that Deuteronomy 24:19 is really about God blessing us for good behavior. God's blessing 

is not an objective reality; it's a perception, an experience. You will FEEL blessed, and your life will be filled with more meaning, when you treat other people this way. Similarly, we are meant to remember the slavery in Egypt, not because of some debt we owe God, but because it will soften our hearts. When we remember the pain and suffering we experienced as the lowest caste members in society, our eyes and souls will open up to the pain of the other in our society, and we WILL help them.

And this is the lesson of Elul, leading into the High Holidays. Every day in Elul, I get an e-mail from Craig Taubman in California, entitled 'Jewels of Elul.' He's been compiling these for years, and I encourage you to sign up as well. This year's theme is 'The Art of Welcoming,' and in his introduction, Taubman writes: 'welcoming is more than just the way we greet people, it is a way of life. Welcoming is the attitude with which 

we respond to people, ideas and the world around us. It’s not just about opening our doors but also opening our hearts and our minds to that which is new and sometimes even frightening. Only when we overcome our fears and choose to trust can we be welcoming in the truest sense of the word.' When you think of being welcoming, you may think of how it affect someone ELSE. But it affects you as well. It makes you a better person, softer and more open, kinder. It's not something you do out of obligation or debt, or to receive praise from an onlooker. It is truly its own reward. And so it is with preparing for the High Holidays. Don't do it out of guilt or obligation, or to be more pious than someone else. Start to think about the upcoming season (and indeed this season of preparation RIGHT NOW), because it will enhance the quality of your life. So maybe it isn't entirely altruistic; I'll give you credit for it anyway.

Photos in this blog post:

1. CC image courtesy of eyecmore on Flickr

2. CC image courtesy of U.S. Department of Agriculture on Flickr

3. CC image courtesy of Kirsten Skiles on Flickr

4. CC image courtesy of per egevad on Flickr

Shoftim: Priorities in a Time of War

Sometimes we lose track of what really matters. Other 'stuff' gets in the way; whether it's mundane distractions like everyday work, e-mail, and 

Facebook, or temptations like money, fame, and power. Or it could even be disastrous events, like accidents, illnesses, or war. And it's ok to get distracted for a time, but the work that we all must do is to bring ourselves back to our core values. The Torah reminds us of this in an interesting passage in this week's Torah portion.

In this case, the distraction in question is war. A reality for Ancient Israel as it (sadly) is still for us today. How do you behave in war time? What are the responsibilities of the community, as well as those of the individual? In the middle of these combat laws, the Torah talks about 

mobilizing your troops for war. And while the officials are gathering together men who can fight, they are required to make the following proclamation: "Is there anyone here who has built a new house, but who has not yet dedicated it? Let him go back to his home, lest he die in battle and another dedicate it (instead of him)." (Deut. 20:5) The proclamation continues by asking if anyone has planted a vineyard, but not dedicated it, betrothed a women but not yet married her, or ultimately if anyone is just too afraid or disheartened to march into battle. What is this section meant to teach us?

Rabbi Gunther Plaut, in the Reform Movement's Torah commentary, explains that these various commands 'follow an order of even greater anxiety: the home builder, the farmer (who works four years before harvesting), the newly married, and lastly the coward.' Personally, I 

think it's a bit harsh to call the poor guy a coward, but I think we all see his point. Plaut also suggests that the anxiety felt by any and all of these individuals could 'prove infectious,' and would affect company morale. He also refers to a commentary by Gerhard von Rad, where the author posits that 'it was believed that someone who had to dedicate a thing was threatened by demons who were dangerous for others as well.' I would like to add another interpretation to these various thought-provoking ideas.

It's about priorities. The Torah knows that war is important, or at least necessary. Yes, in this very moment, the battle is vital and a matter of life and death. But in the grand scheme of things, there are OTHER things that matter more: Creating a home, providing sustenance for self and others, love and family, and even emotional health and stability. 

The Torah isn't just ranking these in order of greater anxiety, it's also listing them in terms of more significant core values. And by proclaiming these out loud to the ENTIRE army, you are both exempting those who have immediate needs to which they must attend, but you're also reminding EVERYONE of what it is we're fighting for. You are letting them know that yes, we must fight today, but let us never battle just for the sake of waging war. And let us work tirelessly to ensure that war is a temporary reality; never a permanent one. Sadly, we still have trouble learning that last lesson. There are more important values out there, in each of our lives, and in the community as a whole. We lose sight of them sometimes, but hopefully never for too long. We simply can't afford it.

Photos in this blog post:

1. CC image courtesy of FindYourSearch on Flickr

2. CC image courtesy of Moyan Brenn onFlickr

3. CC image courtesy of Michael Hodge on Flickr

4. CC image courtesy of Howard Lake on Flickr

R'eih: Just help.

What does the Torah mean when it tells us to help other people? Or perhaps more specifically, WHO does the Torah mean that we should help? This is not a minor question, because it speaks to our philosophy as a society. When we can't help everyone in the entire world, and we have

to make choices, whom does the Torah want us to help? Some people think this is a no-brainer. We help other Jews, of course! We help our own first, and only later (as if we're SO close to solving all the problems in the Jewish community...) we'll help others outside our community. Other people might say we should help where it's needed the most. Focus on the places and people who are the most desperate, or put your money and effort where it will make the greatest difference. And yet other people might respond that it's up to the individual. It's YOUR money, you decide where to use it, if at all. So I return to my original question; what does the Torah say about all of this?

As you can imagine, the answer is: "It's complicated." In this week's Torah portion we read: "There shall be no needy among you" (Deuteronomy, chapter 15, verse 4). Simple enough, right? Except, who is the 'you' we're talking about? Is it your Jewish congregation? The entire Jewish people? The city you live in? The country? Or 

humanity??? We're back where we started!! A few verses later, the Torah helps us out (somewhat...), by clarifying that we're talking about the needy 'among your kinsmen.' So it's referring specifically to fellow Jews. Except in other places in the Torah, we learn about helping the poor, the orphan, and the widow. And we're taught to love our neighbors (and again, we can ask what the Torah means by 'neighbor'...) as ourselves. So sometimes it seems insular and particularistic, and other times the Torah is open-minded and universal. I'm so confused! 

Sadly, we see that same confusion all around us in society, in the form of disregard for those outside our own groups. I myself experienced this lack of kindness during my vacation in Israel last week. Rebecca and I attended a wedding where the Orthodox Rabbinate badgered the couple for weeks, trying to force them to conform to a harsh, unyielding Orthodox standard. They even threatened to send a spy to observe 

the wedding, to really make sure everything was done according to their expectations! And on our way back to Ben Gurion airport, our cab driver was pulled aside at a checkpoint and forced to wait for 20 minutes for no reason other than the fact that he was an Arab. No one checked our car or our credentials, they just made us sit and wait, purposely trying to inconvenience the driver, deter his passengers from choosing an Arab taxi, and deliberately keeping him from returning home to conclude Ramadan after a full day of fasting. Where is the care for 'the other' in either of these stories? 

I think the Torah gives us conflicting advice to COMPEL us to think more consciously and intentionally about these crucial issues. Giving us one, authoritative answer doesn't kick our brains into gear, and we MUST use our brains, our hearts, AND our souls when we're talking about helping make the world a better place. Sometimes we need to 

devote our resources to our own community, or Jews somewhere else in the world. But sometimes we need to focus on Delaware County, or people in Africa, or animals, or the environment. There isn't ONE answer for everyone, and there isn't an answer that applies all the time. But when we think in absolutes, bad things happen. We need to remain open to learning new things, to seeing the pain and the need in others, and to the nuance that permeates our world. We ask the Torah, 'whom should we help?' And the response back is, 'It doesn't matter. Just help. And be filled with kindness, mercy, and compassion while you're doing it. The rest is commentary.'

Photos in this blog post:

1. CC image courtesy of quinn.anya on Flickr

2. CC image courtesy of Wesley Fryer onFlickr

3. CC image courtesy of Joe Goldberg on Flickr

4. CC image courtesy of Norlando Pobre on Flickr