But a congregant, Stephen Lehmann, pointed out to me an interesting juxtaposition in these first two. There are many stories in the Bible about Reuben, the person, and Reuben, the tribe. Looking at all these accounts together, we see drama, intrigue, vying for power, sexual scandal, loud complaining and trouble-making; all of it swirling around Reuben.
Naphtali, meanwhile, is silent; barely mentioned as a person in the Torah, and the exploits of his tribe are essentially unknown. The two panels, Reuben and Naphtali, represent opposite ends of the spectrum of people in our community and in our lives. The people who sometimes talk a lot but say very little, and the people who are quiet and introspective, but so insightful and reflective when they do speak. Reuben and Naphtali, together, remind us to pay attention to all people around us, wherever they may fall on that spectrum. Though we had no hidden motivation for putting up these two panels together, it was fascinating to discover connections between them nonetheless.
And now, on Rosh Hashanah, we find ourselves with an interesting - and seemingly happenstance - parallel between our latest two panels, Issachar and Dan. But let me return back to that in a moment. If you were here yesterday, you know that our theme this High Holiday season is “Ahavah,” the Hebrew word for “love.” Back in June, I visited a congregation, the New North London Synagogue, in London, England, which had THREE verses from the Torah inscribed on its sanctuary walls, each referring to love in the Bible. Yesterday’s sermon was based on one of those passages. But you may also know that I deliver FOUR sermons on a single theme each year, so three quotes from this one synagogue meant that I was still missing a fourth.
Well, later in that same weekend - still in June, still in London - our tour group visited another congregation, the New West End Synagogue in the posh neighborhood of Bayswater. Theirs was a beautiful sanctuary, stained glass and marble pillars all around, and many Biblical quotes lined the walls of the balcony as well. I was only still mulling over whether to use these verses on Ahavah as my theme, when suddenly, my eye was drawn to a verse from the Prophet Zechariah, 8:19, and I had my fourth quote. The theme was set.
Zechariah, interestingly enough, is in the midst of talking about fast days (how appropriate for our High Holidays), when he states, “Ha-Emet v’ha-Shalom Ahavu,” “Love truth and peace.” With that in mind, let us look again at our two latest panels. Dan, meaning “judge” in Hebrew, is depicted as scales of justice. Certainly this represents the value of “truth,” mentioned by the prophet Zechariah. Issachar, meanwhile, is represented as the sun, moon, and stars, harkening back to the story of God’s Creation. The rabbis considered the source of creation to be God’s pure, unselfish love, and because God rested on the seventh day of Creation, the number seven is considered the number of peace, Shalom. So together, the panels of Dan and Issachar depict this quote from Zechariah, “love truth and peace.” Again, a peculiar coincidence, when the two panels were only being dedicated together because they are numbers 4 and 9 in Moses’ list.
But what does this really mean? Why does God command us to love truth and peace? Why does God NEED to tell us this? Because we tend to skew to one or the other. Look around the world, or at our newspaper headlines. At one end of the spectrum, we see WikiLeaks and computer hackers everywhere stealing people’s private information and sharing it with the world, because “truth” is absolute, and everyone should have access to all information. We see politicians insist upon no abortion exceptions, even in cases of rape and incest, why? Because they insist that principles are absolute. It is true and right, and there are no exceptions, no room for mercy or compassion.
Though we do also see the other extreme. People who decry all forms of rules and structure, who reject tradition and history if they impinge on individual rights in any way. When the reality is that we sometimes DO need frameworks and systems, traditions and customs, or we have only anarchy and chaos. As a rabbi, I’ve often seen people, especially in the face of terrible illness or death, needing to lean on Jewish law to help them bring order and calm back into their lives. Even when they are not observant, following the customs of grieving and saying Kaddish can help support people through a very challenging period in life.
“Ha-Emet v’ha-Shalom Ahavu,” Zechariah reminds us that we need BOTH. We need law and we need compassion. And so does God.
In the ancient rabbinic work, Bereishit Rabbah, a commentary on the Book of Genesis, the rabbis imagine the Almighty deliberating right before creating the world: “Adonai said, ‘If I create the world on the basis of mercy alone, its sins will be great; [but if I create it] on the basis of justice alone, the world cannot exist. Therefore, I will create it with a combination of mercy and justice, and may it then stand.’” Even God realizes that either extreme is harmful. If the world tips too much in one direction, it cannot survive. In our lives today, we need the justice and structure of Dan as well as the peace, love, and mercy of Issachar, or we too cannot survive.
With that in mind, I want to bring us back to my High Holiday theme from two years ago, “Guilt-Free Judaism.” Back then, a lot of people raised their eyebrows at me, and jokingly/not-so-jokingly said that “Guilt-Free Judaism” was an oxymoron, a total contradiction. But to me, “Guilt-Free Judaism” is about love. It’s about finding that balance between truth and peace, and finding a way to be joyfully Jewish that is filled with honesty, integrity, and most importantly love. We still need “Guilt-Free Judaism” today. But in order to do so, I think we need to change our language.
Today, across the Jewish world, we talk about being observant or not. In Hebrew, we say someone is “Shomer Shabbat,” meaning they keep or observe all the rules of the Sabbath. Similarly, we say someone is “Shomer Kashrut,” meaning they keep or observe all the ritual laws of keeping Kosher (separation of meat and milk, separate dishes, no non-Kosher meat, shellfish, even products that don’t carry a hechsher, certification, etc., etc.) Our Jewish language only contains two options; you’re either Shomer Shabbat and Shomer Kashrut or you’re not. You can be aspiring, you can be on a journey of working on your observance, but ultimately our Jewish lingo describes us as in-or-out, doing Judaism right or wrong. We need a new category.
Last month, a group of Ohev congregants traveled with me to Israel. We had a fabulous trip, and saw and learned so much about Israeli culture. We spent our first Shabbat in the north, at a Kibbutz called Ginosar. It wasn’t a very touristy place, but was instead filled with locals; mainly secular Jews getting away from the cities for a weekend. And I was fascinated to watch these non-religious Jews sitting down for Shabbat dinner with their families in the hotel restaurant. They covered their heads with napkins, because no one had a kippah, and they only said a single blessing over the wine, rather than the traditional Friday night Kiddush. And after dinner, they sat on the grass outside, smoking and texting away on their iPhones. Clearly, they were not Shomer Shabbat, but they also clearly made room for Shabbat and family celebration, and it was very powerful for me to see this mix of secular and religious. Should we not have a term for this?
Or let’s talk about Ohev, and people here in Delaware County. If you, for instance, come to Friday night services, but then go to the Phillies game or go out to dinner at a restaurant - AND do NOT order Kosher food - I still say you brought Shabbat into your life, and that constitutes real commitment. If you keep a Kosher home but don’t eat Kosher food outside, that too represents genuine, heartfelt dedication to Judaism. I cannot call that “Shomer Shabbat” or “Shomer Kashrut,” but maybe I don’t need to. Or want to. It is hurting us, as a people, to define ourselves as good or bad. “Ha-Emet v’ha-Shalom Ahavu,” find a balance between being at peace with yourself but making a genuine effort to bring Judaism into your life, and I say you are “Mechabed Shabbat,” honoring Shabbat, or “Mechabed Kashrut,” honoring the dietary laws. That, by the way, is just a made up term, because we currently don’t have other options besides observant or not. Over the past few months, I've been discussing this concept with other rabbinic colleagues, and it was our very own Rabbi Kelilah Miller who suggested these new terms. So thanks for that... and now I'm stealing them! The reality is, we NEED another category like “Mechabed Shabbat and Kashrut.”
There is a famous story about a great Chassidic rabbi of the 18th Century, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev. He once was walking on the road and saw a man oiling the wheels of his cart WHILE wearing his tallit and tefillin. Another rabbi might look on in disgust. “What a defilement of these ritual objects!” or “This jerk left services early to get a jump on his day, disrespecting himself, his congregation, and God.” But not Levi Yitzchak. He saw the man hard at work, looked up to heaven, and proclaimed:
"Ribbono Shel Olam- Master of the world, look at your wonderful children, even while oiling the wheels of his buggy, this man wears his Tallit and T'fillin."
Can we have this level of love for ourselves and the people around us? Maybe we don’t have to whisper, as if we are ashamed, to one another about the non-Kosher meal we had, or the vacation we took on a Jewish holiday, or how poorly we speak and read Hebrew. Maybe it’s ok, or at least it can be ok. If we can stand in the breach, somewhere between the judgment of Dan and the peace of Issachar, we can learn to accept how we live our lives and seek ways to be more “Mechabed Shabbat and Kashrut,” honoring of the Jewish rituals in ways that fit our own lives and infuse joy, meaning, and spirituality into our daily experiences.
Some people may see this an “out,” that I’m giving people permission not to challenge themselves to be more observant. But I see it as an “in,” as a way of inviting more people into the community. Bring your authentic selves; bring all aspects of your struggles with Judaism and its rituals, and leave behind the obstacles and barriers that you think Judaism has put up to keep you at bay. Judaism is not holding you at arm’s length; it is inviting you in. “Ahavah Rabbah Ahavtanu,” we sing in the Shacharit, morning service: “With a great love you have loved us, Adonai.” The challenge is not for God to accept us as we are, with our flaws and our unfulfilled aspirations, our vulnerabilities and idiosyncrasies. The challenge is our own. God loves us already.
“Ha-Emet v’ha-Shalom Ahavu,” can we challenge ourselves to be more truthful and honest, yet also be more compassionate and forgiving?
You don’t have to be “Shomer Shabbat” or “Shomer Kashrut.” You don’t have to get there, and you don’t even have to worry about trying. But on this Rosh Hashanah, at the start of a new Jewish year, perhaps you can push yourself to be “Mechabed Shabbat” and/or “Mechabed Kashrut.” Bring Judaism into your everyday life, and find a place to stand between Dan and Issachar. The word, “Ahavah,” comes from the Aramaic “y’hav,” which literally means “to give.” Love is a gift that we share, that we offer. And just as God gave us the gift of Creation, and loves us with “Ahavah Rabbah,” great love and acceptance of who we are, AND just as Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev could see the good and the intention of the man working on his cart while wearing tefillin, we can get there too. We can find a place between the “Emet,” the truth of Dan, and the “Shalom,” the peace of Issachar, and we can fill that space with love, with a gift that we give ourselves, the gift of “Ahavah.”
Shanah Tovah!
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