I apologize for not writing a blog post for this Shabbat. I invite you to read last year's post on this parashah. You can find it here. Right now, I am in the midst of preparing for Yom Kippur, which begins on Tuesday night. If you'd like to read my sermons from Rosh Hashanah, they too are posted here on the blog. You can either scroll down to read them, find them in the "blog archive" on the right, or click on these links:
Sermon for the First Day of Rosh Hashanah
Sermon for the Second Day of Rosh Hashanah
My sermons for Yom Kippur will be added to the blog next week, if you'd like to read them as well. For now, I wanted to invite you to participate in our High Holiday conversation. On Wednesday afternoon, between the Mincha (afternoon) service and the Neilah (concluding) service, I'll be answering people's questions about Judaism. Last year, we discussed many interesting topics, including the history of Conservative Judaism and the theological problem of the Holocaust. Whether you are able to join us or not for the actual service, I am curious if you would like to pose any questions for me to discuss, which I am then happy to share here on the blog as well. If so, feel free to write it in the comments' section of this post, or send me an e-mail at rabbi@ohev.net to share it directly.
Thanks so much for reading my blog, whether you've been following for six (yikes!) years or are a newbie. I wish you all a Shanah Tovah u'Metukah - a Happy, Healthy, and Sweet New Year, and I look forward to writing to you again next week.
Warm regards,
Rabbi Gerber
Friday, September 18, 2015
Wednesday, September 16, 2015
High Holidays 5776 - Sermon 2 of 4 (Second Day of Rosh Hashanah)
If you look up at the walls of the sanctuary, to the right and to the left, you’ll see eight mosaic panels, the first eight in a series of fourteen. When completed, these panels will represent the twelve tribes of Israel, the ancient Levitical priests, and our ancestor, Jacob’s one daughter, Dinah. Yesterday, during services, we dedicated the latest two panels in the set, Issachar and Dan. But I want to reflect back for a moment to our first dedication, the two tribes of Reuben (Jacob’s oldest son) and Naphtali (the twelfth and final tribe). These panels are still being constructed; the final six have not yet been made. And our order of assembly - the decision to make Reuben and Naphtali first - was done based primarily on symmetry. In the first chapter of the Book of Numbers, Moses lists all twelve tribes, and we are simply following his order, putting up 1 and 12, 2 and 11, and so forth from Moses’ enumeration.
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!
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!
High Holidays 5776 - Sermon 1 of 4 (First Day of Rosh Hashanah)
Shanah Tovah - May you have a Happy, Healthy, and Sweet New Year!
Once again, I am posting my High Holiday sermons here on the blog. Included below was my sermon on the first day of Rosh Hashanah this year, the first in a series of four on a single theme. I hope you like it; feedback is always welcome and appreciated. More will be coming very soon:
Twelve years ago, I moved to England. I had graduated college and been accepted to Rabbinical School, but rather than remain in New York, on the Upper West Side and at the Jewish Theological Seminary, I took time off to live in London. I spent a full year traveling to British, Welsh, and Scottish college campuses, speaking about Judaism and the Conservative/Masorti Movement, and I lived in a small apartment, a flat, in the northern suburbs of the British capital. That year I also belonged to one of the most well-known British Conservative congregations, New North London Synagogue, with its incredible rabbi, Jonathan Wittenberg. And before I moved away, in 2004, the community had just begun to discuss a project to construct a new building, centered around a new sanctuary.
I began my Rosh Hashanah sermon here today with this brief nostalgic recap, in order to share with you that back in June, just a few months ago, I returned to London for a visit. Finally, I was able to see, for the very first time, their new, beautiful building, which took them nearly a decade to complete. And it was in that building, in their incredible sanctuary, three months ago, during a Friday night service, that I had an epiphany, truly, and right then I knew what I would be speaking about here, today, to introduce my High Holiday theme for the year 5776.
Close your eyes for just a minute (indulge me…). Picture walking into a very large, cavernous, white room. Hanging from the ceiling in the center of the room, above your head, is an immense piece of wood, as if sliced out of a tree and hovering in the air above the main table. Attached to the wooden piece is the synagogue’s ner tamid, eternal light. At the front of this sanctuary are two enormous doors, nearly 20 ft. in height, covered in stained glass, behind which is, of course, their ark. If your eyes are still closed, I want to direct your mind’s attention to the right, left, and above this oversized ark. On all three sides are Biblical quotes. And it was to these quotes that my attention was drawn, and it was from these that I educed my epiphany.
Three quotes from the Torah, each written three times, and together forming the basis of the mission of the New North London Synagogue: “v’Ahavta et Adonai Eloheicha,” “v’Ahavta l’Rei’acha Kamocha,” and “v’Ahavtem et Ha-Ger” - “You shall love Adonai, your God,” “You shall love your neighbor as yourself,” and “You shall love the stranger.” Ahavah; NOT just the name of a famous brand of Dead Sea skin products - it is, in fact, the Hebrew word for “love.” These three quotes, on the sanctuary walls of a synagogue in London, will each form the foundation of a High Holiday sermon here in Wallingford, with a fourth Biblical quote from a different prophetic source, rounding out my four main speaking opportunities. Our theme for this year’s High Holidays is “Ahavah,” “Love.”
All at once, love seems like something so simple, so cliche, and so overdone; yet also incredibly complex, deeply meaningful, AND unique to each and every one of us. It is also a subject we do not talk about nearly enough. Yet, love is at the core of our religion, and arguably ALL religion. Jonathan Wittenberg, that same London-based rabbi, writes quite a bit about love. In 2009, in an article in the British newspaper, the Jewish Chronicle, Rabbi Wittenberg wrote: “The call to God is love, the foundation of all the commandments.” With that in mind, let us launch into our theme, and our first quote on love. The ancient rabbis latched onto my first quote about love, and used it to illustrate - like Rabbi Wittenberg - that love was, and is, at the very core of everything the Torah is trying to teach us.
The Talmud, written and compiled over 1,500 years ago, relates a story that might be familiar to some of you. I’ll give you the Cliff’s Notes version: A heathen, living 2,000 years ago in Jerusalem, decided to play a trick on the two most famous Jewish leaders of his time. He went to the great sage Shammai and announced that he’d convert to Judaism if Shammai could teach him the entire Torah while standing on one leg. Shammai was no fool; he recognized a prank when he saw one, and so he chased the heathen away. Our huxter loved how well the gag was working, and how infuriated he made the great Shammai. He then proceeded to the house of Hillel, an even greater sage still. The same proposal was put forth: “Teach me the entire Torah while standing on one leg and I’ll become a Jew.” To his, and our, great surprise, Hillel responded, “what is hateful to you, do not do to your neighbor - that is the entire Torah; the rest is commentary.” Hillel took a very famous line from the Bible (our quote for today) - “v’Ahavta l’Rei’acha Kamocha - Love Your Neighbor As Yourself” - and he rephrased it in the negative. Rather than commanding the heathen to love another, Hillel set the bar a little lower, saying essentially, “just don’t do bad things to others, and that too represents the essence of the entire Torah.” Think about this for a second: The WHOLE thing?!?! We’re talking about Five Books of Moses; 613 different commandments; one of the foundational texts of all world literature - and Hillel sums it up in a single line?!? It is hard to wrap your mind around. Nevertheless, that is indeed what he is saying.
If you are familiar with this story, you may, however, NOT be aware that Hillel’s quote actually continues. He DOES say that this commandment, often called The Golden Rule, is the entire Torah and the rest is commentary, but then he adds, “now go and learn it.” This IS the essence of the Torah. Hillel DOES believe that the rest IS commentary. BUT you must go and study it to fully grasp what is really is all about. Like the word “love” itself, this Golden Rule seems so simple and straight-forward, yet it must be studied - again and again - before it can truly become internalized and assimilated into the very core and fiber of our being.
What about you and me? Do we really live it? Many of us can quote the Golden Rule, and we know that it is called “The Golden Rule,” but we struggle to put it FULLY into practice. We love our neighbors. You may even have thought that the Golden Rule WAS, simply, “Love thy neighbor.” It isn’t. We care, somewhat, about the people around us. But the hard part of this verse, from the Book of Leviticus, 19:18, is NOT the love part; the really tough part is just one word in Hebrew, two in English: “Kamocha - as yourself.”
Think about how much MORE upset you are when you yourself suffer an illness, or your children or parents are afflicted, or your best friend is in an accident, than if any of these things happen to strangers around us. Or worse still, in some foreign country halfway around the globe. “Sure,” we say, “but that’s just human nature. We take care of our own.” And that is true. However, our Torah, the foundation of our Jewish heritage, is in so many ways ALL about rising above human nature. Not letting that be a good enough excuse for our behavior. Yes, that is our initial inclination, to care about ourselves, our families, and our friends more than we care about others; but we must push ourselves to do better. The Golden Rule is urging us, even demanding of us, that we apply it to EVERYONE, not just the ones for whom it is already self-evident that we should care and be concerned. “As Yourself.” Can we love another THAT much? Can we allow ourselves to hear and internalize the commandment to open our hearts and homes THAT wide?
Can we raise money for cancer when we, ourselves, are not survivors, and when we don’t have immediate family or friends affected? Can we become leading voices against gun violence, with no personal loss to draw from? Can we allow ourselves to be touched by the plight of international refugees, even when our daily lives are unaffected by their struggles or their suffering? Can we care ANYWAY, just because? THAT is the challenge of Hillel’s teaching.
Now, I get it. It’s NOT easy. That’s my whole point, really, isn’t it? That love is more complicated than we sometimes give it credit, and Leviticus’ self-evident Golden Rule is in actuality a lot harder to live by than we think. But here’s the key: Relationships. If you seek to know “the other,” then loving him or her as much as we love those closest to us becomes a whole lot easier. You and I, we CAN manufacture a vested interest. If we’re willing to push ourselves to get there, we can create the relationships that will make us care deeper, and bring a little more “As Yourself” into loving our neighbors. This is basically the guiding principle behind Ohev’s new community initiative, called FUSE. FUSE is a partnership among congregations and community groups from Chester, Media, Swarthmore, and Wallingford, to engage with THIS very issue. In our community, we are often siloed; we share a physical space, but we do not really know one another, and we do not feel responsible for our community as a whole, let alone one another.
FUSE aims to ask what “Kamocha - as yourself” could really mean. Can we expand the boundaries of our communities and our hearts to include people from all walks of life, from various faith traditions, different races and sexual orientation, and disparate economic status? And can we make THEIR fate feel like our own? Not just feel like it, not in an inauthentic way, but actually “fuse” together our shared destiny to make it vital and life-sustaining that we help one another?
FUSE is just getting off the ground. You may never have heard of it until five minutes ago. But our work has begun. Next month, on Monday, October 12th, Columbus Day, we are holding a large communal gathering to which you are all invited. It’s a full-day conversation, 9:00 a.m. to 3:00 p.m., which will include brainstorming and action-planning for us to look at our SHARED community and think about how we can use the resources we already have to start working together to affect change. But the agenda, and the goals, and the action steps are only part of the purpose of FUSE. A major component is the getting together itself - just being in a room together! - the creation of joint space to share stories, meet face-to-face, and just get to know one another a little bit better, and in ways we otherwise never would, and never do. In short, FUSE is about the verse from Leviticus, “v’Ahavta l’Rei’acha Kamocha - Love your neighbor as yourself.” One of the taglines we’ve even been using is “Strangers becoming Neighbors.” Because that is what we need to be doing. We need to break down those barriers.
Together with other clergy members and community leaders in Delaware County, this is MY effort to embody Hillel’s addition to the famous quote. It’s not just “Love Your Neighbor As Yourself,” but also Hillel’s instruction: “Now go and learn it,” go make this dream a reality. We learn to live the Golden Rule with our actions and our behaviors; by interacting differently with the world. And I am sincerely hoping that FUSE can be just that, a fuse or spark that ignites change in all of us, everyone here.
Think about your own life. Each of us has causes we care about. We give money, time, and effort, we post things on Facebook and retweet them on Twitter. But ask yourself if all your causes and campaigns and contributions are meaningful to you because of an existing connection; to yourself, your history, your family and friends, or your community. For many of us, that is indeed the case. And that’s not a bad thing. I’m not judging those choices. That is, after all, human nature. But ask yourself if there is another level to which you can push yourself, a way to embody the full version of the Golden Rule, “v’Ahavta l’Rei’acha KAMOCHA,” “Love Your Neighbor AS YOURSELF.” Let us all resolve to work on expanding our fences, adding new relationships to our lives, and opening up our hearts to greater love for the people around us.
As we have adorned the walls of our sanctuary with beautiful art that reminds us of our history and what it means to be Jewish, so the New North London Synagogue has inscribed on their walls the values they wish to represent within and without their community. Let us also write these powerful words down, but etch them into our hearts and souls. Rabbi Wittenberg, and the ancient sage, Hillel, remind us: it is the foundation of our Torah; the essence of our people. Let us each emblazon these words in our lives in the new year that is about to begin. “v’Ahavta l’Rei’acha Kamocha”; now go and learn it.
Shanah Tovah!
Once again, I am posting my High Holiday sermons here on the blog. Included below was my sermon on the first day of Rosh Hashanah this year, the first in a series of four on a single theme. I hope you like it; feedback is always welcome and appreciated. More will be coming very soon:
Twelve years ago, I moved to England. I had graduated college and been accepted to Rabbinical School, but rather than remain in New York, on the Upper West Side and at the Jewish Theological Seminary, I took time off to live in London. I spent a full year traveling to British, Welsh, and Scottish college campuses, speaking about Judaism and the Conservative/Masorti Movement, and I lived in a small apartment, a flat, in the northern suburbs of the British capital. That year I also belonged to one of the most well-known British Conservative congregations, New North London Synagogue, with its incredible rabbi, Jonathan Wittenberg. And before I moved away, in 2004, the community had just begun to discuss a project to construct a new building, centered around a new sanctuary.
I began my Rosh Hashanah sermon here today with this brief nostalgic recap, in order to share with you that back in June, just a few months ago, I returned to London for a visit. Finally, I was able to see, for the very first time, their new, beautiful building, which took them nearly a decade to complete. And it was in that building, in their incredible sanctuary, three months ago, during a Friday night service, that I had an epiphany, truly, and right then I knew what I would be speaking about here, today, to introduce my High Holiday theme for the year 5776.
Close your eyes for just a minute (indulge me…). Picture walking into a very large, cavernous, white room. Hanging from the ceiling in the center of the room, above your head, is an immense piece of wood, as if sliced out of a tree and hovering in the air above the main table. Attached to the wooden piece is the synagogue’s ner tamid, eternal light. At the front of this sanctuary are two enormous doors, nearly 20 ft. in height, covered in stained glass, behind which is, of course, their ark. If your eyes are still closed, I want to direct your mind’s attention to the right, left, and above this oversized ark. On all three sides are Biblical quotes. And it was to these quotes that my attention was drawn, and it was from these that I educed my epiphany.
Three quotes from the Torah, each written three times, and together forming the basis of the mission of the New North London Synagogue: “v’Ahavta et Adonai Eloheicha,” “v’Ahavta l’Rei’acha Kamocha,” and “v’Ahavtem et Ha-Ger” - “You shall love Adonai, your God,” “You shall love your neighbor as yourself,” and “You shall love the stranger.” Ahavah; NOT just the name of a famous brand of Dead Sea skin products - it is, in fact, the Hebrew word for “love.” These three quotes, on the sanctuary walls of a synagogue in London, will each form the foundation of a High Holiday sermon here in Wallingford, with a fourth Biblical quote from a different prophetic source, rounding out my four main speaking opportunities. Our theme for this year’s High Holidays is “Ahavah,” “Love.”
All at once, love seems like something so simple, so cliche, and so overdone; yet also incredibly complex, deeply meaningful, AND unique to each and every one of us. It is also a subject we do not talk about nearly enough. Yet, love is at the core of our religion, and arguably ALL religion. Jonathan Wittenberg, that same London-based rabbi, writes quite a bit about love. In 2009, in an article in the British newspaper, the Jewish Chronicle, Rabbi Wittenberg wrote: “The call to God is love, the foundation of all the commandments.” With that in mind, let us launch into our theme, and our first quote on love. The ancient rabbis latched onto my first quote about love, and used it to illustrate - like Rabbi Wittenberg - that love was, and is, at the very core of everything the Torah is trying to teach us.
The Talmud, written and compiled over 1,500 years ago, relates a story that might be familiar to some of you. I’ll give you the Cliff’s Notes version: A heathen, living 2,000 years ago in Jerusalem, decided to play a trick on the two most famous Jewish leaders of his time. He went to the great sage Shammai and announced that he’d convert to Judaism if Shammai could teach him the entire Torah while standing on one leg. Shammai was no fool; he recognized a prank when he saw one, and so he chased the heathen away. Our huxter loved how well the gag was working, and how infuriated he made the great Shammai. He then proceeded to the house of Hillel, an even greater sage still. The same proposal was put forth: “Teach me the entire Torah while standing on one leg and I’ll become a Jew.” To his, and our, great surprise, Hillel responded, “what is hateful to you, do not do to your neighbor - that is the entire Torah; the rest is commentary.” Hillel took a very famous line from the Bible (our quote for today) - “v’Ahavta l’Rei’acha Kamocha - Love Your Neighbor As Yourself” - and he rephrased it in the negative. Rather than commanding the heathen to love another, Hillel set the bar a little lower, saying essentially, “just don’t do bad things to others, and that too represents the essence of the entire Torah.” Think about this for a second: The WHOLE thing?!?! We’re talking about Five Books of Moses; 613 different commandments; one of the foundational texts of all world literature - and Hillel sums it up in a single line?!? It is hard to wrap your mind around. Nevertheless, that is indeed what he is saying.
If you are familiar with this story, you may, however, NOT be aware that Hillel’s quote actually continues. He DOES say that this commandment, often called The Golden Rule, is the entire Torah and the rest is commentary, but then he adds, “now go and learn it.” This IS the essence of the Torah. Hillel DOES believe that the rest IS commentary. BUT you must go and study it to fully grasp what is really is all about. Like the word “love” itself, this Golden Rule seems so simple and straight-forward, yet it must be studied - again and again - before it can truly become internalized and assimilated into the very core and fiber of our being.
What about you and me? Do we really live it? Many of us can quote the Golden Rule, and we know that it is called “The Golden Rule,” but we struggle to put it FULLY into practice. We love our neighbors. You may even have thought that the Golden Rule WAS, simply, “Love thy neighbor.” It isn’t. We care, somewhat, about the people around us. But the hard part of this verse, from the Book of Leviticus, 19:18, is NOT the love part; the really tough part is just one word in Hebrew, two in English: “Kamocha - as yourself.”
Think about how much MORE upset you are when you yourself suffer an illness, or your children or parents are afflicted, or your best friend is in an accident, than if any of these things happen to strangers around us. Or worse still, in some foreign country halfway around the globe. “Sure,” we say, “but that’s just human nature. We take care of our own.” And that is true. However, our Torah, the foundation of our Jewish heritage, is in so many ways ALL about rising above human nature. Not letting that be a good enough excuse for our behavior. Yes, that is our initial inclination, to care about ourselves, our families, and our friends more than we care about others; but we must push ourselves to do better. The Golden Rule is urging us, even demanding of us, that we apply it to EVERYONE, not just the ones for whom it is already self-evident that we should care and be concerned. “As Yourself.” Can we love another THAT much? Can we allow ourselves to hear and internalize the commandment to open our hearts and homes THAT wide?
Can we raise money for cancer when we, ourselves, are not survivors, and when we don’t have immediate family or friends affected? Can we become leading voices against gun violence, with no personal loss to draw from? Can we allow ourselves to be touched by the plight of international refugees, even when our daily lives are unaffected by their struggles or their suffering? Can we care ANYWAY, just because? THAT is the challenge of Hillel’s teaching.
Now, I get it. It’s NOT easy. That’s my whole point, really, isn’t it? That love is more complicated than we sometimes give it credit, and Leviticus’ self-evident Golden Rule is in actuality a lot harder to live by than we think. But here’s the key: Relationships. If you seek to know “the other,” then loving him or her as much as we love those closest to us becomes a whole lot easier. You and I, we CAN manufacture a vested interest. If we’re willing to push ourselves to get there, we can create the relationships that will make us care deeper, and bring a little more “As Yourself” into loving our neighbors. This is basically the guiding principle behind Ohev’s new community initiative, called FUSE. FUSE is a partnership among congregations and community groups from Chester, Media, Swarthmore, and Wallingford, to engage with THIS very issue. In our community, we are often siloed; we share a physical space, but we do not really know one another, and we do not feel responsible for our community as a whole, let alone one another.
FUSE aims to ask what “Kamocha - as yourself” could really mean. Can we expand the boundaries of our communities and our hearts to include people from all walks of life, from various faith traditions, different races and sexual orientation, and disparate economic status? And can we make THEIR fate feel like our own? Not just feel like it, not in an inauthentic way, but actually “fuse” together our shared destiny to make it vital and life-sustaining that we help one another?
FUSE is just getting off the ground. You may never have heard of it until five minutes ago. But our work has begun. Next month, on Monday, October 12th, Columbus Day, we are holding a large communal gathering to which you are all invited. It’s a full-day conversation, 9:00 a.m. to 3:00 p.m., which will include brainstorming and action-planning for us to look at our SHARED community and think about how we can use the resources we already have to start working together to affect change. But the agenda, and the goals, and the action steps are only part of the purpose of FUSE. A major component is the getting together itself - just being in a room together! - the creation of joint space to share stories, meet face-to-face, and just get to know one another a little bit better, and in ways we otherwise never would, and never do. In short, FUSE is about the verse from Leviticus, “v’Ahavta l’Rei’acha Kamocha - Love your neighbor as yourself.” One of the taglines we’ve even been using is “Strangers becoming Neighbors.” Because that is what we need to be doing. We need to break down those barriers.
Together with other clergy members and community leaders in Delaware County, this is MY effort to embody Hillel’s addition to the famous quote. It’s not just “Love Your Neighbor As Yourself,” but also Hillel’s instruction: “Now go and learn it,” go make this dream a reality. We learn to live the Golden Rule with our actions and our behaviors; by interacting differently with the world. And I am sincerely hoping that FUSE can be just that, a fuse or spark that ignites change in all of us, everyone here.
Think about your own life. Each of us has causes we care about. We give money, time, and effort, we post things on Facebook and retweet them on Twitter. But ask yourself if all your causes and campaigns and contributions are meaningful to you because of an existing connection; to yourself, your history, your family and friends, or your community. For many of us, that is indeed the case. And that’s not a bad thing. I’m not judging those choices. That is, after all, human nature. But ask yourself if there is another level to which you can push yourself, a way to embody the full version of the Golden Rule, “v’Ahavta l’Rei’acha KAMOCHA,” “Love Your Neighbor AS YOURSELF.” Let us all resolve to work on expanding our fences, adding new relationships to our lives, and opening up our hearts to greater love for the people around us.
As we have adorned the walls of our sanctuary with beautiful art that reminds us of our history and what it means to be Jewish, so the New North London Synagogue has inscribed on their walls the values they wish to represent within and without their community. Let us also write these powerful words down, but etch them into our hearts and souls. Rabbi Wittenberg, and the ancient sage, Hillel, remind us: it is the foundation of our Torah; the essence of our people. Let us each emblazon these words in our lives in the new year that is about to begin. “v’Ahavta l’Rei’acha Kamocha”; now go and learn it.
Shanah Tovah!
Friday, September 11, 2015
Nitzavim: A Safe Place to Remember
Memory is a funny thing. Earlier this month, I was in Israel with a group of congregants from Ohev Shalom. All at once, my memories of
that experience feel as if they are already distant, ancient recollections of another universe, and yet they also seem as if they happened yesterday. Today, as I write this, we are commemorating 9/11, which somehow, inexplicably took place FOURTEEN years ago. I recall that day, living in New York City, as something that also happened 100 years ago, but is also strangely fresh in my mind. This week's Torah portion, Nitzavim, as well as the upcoming holiday of Rosh Hashanah each have interesting perspectives on human and Divine experiences of memory.
Our parashah begins by stating that "you stand this day, all of you, before Adonai, your God" (Deut. 29:9). And in just the first seven verses, the Torah uses the term "Ha-yom," meaning "today" or "this
day" five times. But this isn't a diary entry, is it? We aren't given a date or time, so we don't know exactly when "this day" took place. The Torah, in fact, doesn't seem to care about a particular moment in time, despite all it's references to "Ha-yom," because it goes on to say that "I make this covenant, with its sanctions, not with you alone, but both with those who are standing here with us this day before the Lord our God and with those who are not with us here this day" (29:13-14). So it applies to EVERYONE, whether you lived 4,000 years ago, today, or 4,000 years into the future. Time is fluid, just as memory, for us, often seems fluid and malleable as well.
One of the main sections of the Rosh Hashanah liturgy is the repetition of the Musaf Amidah, towards the end of the lengthy morning service. And right in the middle of this repetition are three special parts called the Malchuyot, Shofarot, and Zichronot. The last one, Zichronot, means "remembrances," and talks about the importance of personal and communal memory.
But it acknowledges also that humans aren't very good at this whole memory-thing. God is described as "Zocheir Ha-Brit," "the One Who remembers the covenant" (i.e. unlike us mere mortals, who get a little forgetful from time to time...). And our prayers also state that God "Zocheir Kol Ha-Nishkachot," "remembers all that which has been forgotten." Again, we're good at the forgetting part; God does the remembering. We can view this in a negative way - our memory is, and our memories are, flawed. But a dean of mine from rabbinical school, Rabbi Mychal Springer, wrote a commentary this week that read it a different way: "We are safe in God's memory." We do our best. We try to recall - we share stories, listen to others, and write history books - but acknowledge that memory often plays tricks on us. But we are also safe, knowing that God DOES remember, and none of us are forgotten or left out of the Divine covenant.
I find this comforting. As my recollections of 9/11 do indeed begin to fade away, I feel good knowing it IS still recorded somewhere. And perhaps our individual memories are sometimes stronger or weaker, more vivid or foggy, but collectively we have incredible powers of
remembrance. Part of why we come together for the High Holidays, and why our prayers at that time include Zichronot, Yizkor, and Eileh Ezkerah (all prayers related to memory and memorials), is to strengthen those communal ties THROUGH memory. "Remember what happened last Yom Kippur?" "Remember how grandma used to pray with such fervor on the holidays?" "Remember dad's old special Rosh Hashanah recipe?" Memory is activated around the festivals. We'll never quite be able to achieve God's level of recollection, but we don't have to. Let God worry about all the things we have forgotten; we are safe in God's memory. But now that the holidays are upon us, let us be strengthened in our communal bonds and shared family experiences through the incredible power of memory. This can be a very meaningful and spiritual time to really feel how you fit into the chain of Jewish history, going back thousands of years and (please God) continuing for many millenia yet to come. Each of us is so essential and unique in that chain. Never forget that!
Photos in this blog post:
1. CC image courtesy of Ekabhishek on Wikimedia Commons
2. CC image courtesy of USMC Archives on Wikimedia Commons
3. CC image courtesy of BeefJeaunt on Wikimedia Commons
4. CC image courtesy of CSIRO on Wikimedia Commons
Our parashah begins by stating that "you stand this day, all of you, before Adonai, your God" (Deut. 29:9). And in just the first seven verses, the Torah uses the term "Ha-yom," meaning "today" or "this
One of the main sections of the Rosh Hashanah liturgy is the repetition of the Musaf Amidah, towards the end of the lengthy morning service. And right in the middle of this repetition are three special parts called the Malchuyot, Shofarot, and Zichronot. The last one, Zichronot, means "remembrances," and talks about the importance of personal and communal memory.
I find this comforting. As my recollections of 9/11 do indeed begin to fade away, I feel good knowing it IS still recorded somewhere. And perhaps our individual memories are sometimes stronger or weaker, more vivid or foggy, but collectively we have incredible powers of
Photos in this blog post:
1. CC image courtesy of Ekabhishek on Wikimedia Commons
2. CC image courtesy of USMC Archives on Wikimedia Commons
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3. CC image courtesy of BeefJeaunt on Wikimedia Commons
4. CC image courtesy of CSIRO on Wikimedia Commons
Friday, September 4, 2015
Ki Tavo: Remembering Our Humble Beginnings
Sometimes we need to be reminded of our history. It may not always feel like it, but it's good to remember where you came from; what you
were like as a child, as a teenager, in college, as a young parent, etc., etc. We work pretty hard in life to grow, evolve, mature, and move away from the antics of our youth, but that doesn't mean we should forget the past. In fact, the only way to really move forward is to bring the past with you; to learn from it and allow it to inform future decisions. Nevertheless, sometimes it seems easier to leave the past behind. It can even feel embarrassing to be reminded of ourselves as children, now that we're trying to be "real" adults. Three things are bringing this issue to the forefront of my mind. The first is a declaration at the start of our Torah portion this week... and the second is that my sister is coming to visit!
I don't write about family here too often. I've talked about my daughter from time to time, but otherwise mainly just quoted a family member here or there. Both of my siblings - my older brother, Benjamin, and my younger sister, Nomi - live in Sweden, so it's really a rare treat when I get to see them. In fact, this will
be Nomi's first visit to Wallingford! On this exciting occasion of her visit, I know that I will feel torn between who I was and who I am; the man who's been a rabbi for six years and the child inside who used to run around in our local park and play pretend. Family members knew us when. They have inside information that both creates intimacy and makes us feel vulnerable. But it is really SO vital for us to remain in touch with that side of ourselves. It allows us to feel human and humble, which we honestly so desperately need. Believe it or not, that sense of humility connects us back to parashat Ki Tavo, towards the end of the Book of Deuteronomy.
Moses is speaking to the Israelites as they are on the verge of entering the Promised Land. He urges them not to forget their modest beginnings when they eventually enter the land and become a powerful nation. "When you enter the land that Adonai, your God, is giving you as a heritage, and you possess it and settle in it... you shall then recite as follows before Adonai, your God: 'My father was a fugitive Aramean.
He went down to Egypt with meager numbers and sojourned there; but there he became a great and very populous nation.'" (Deut. 26:1, 5) Don't forget how you started out! It will make you arrogant, conceited, and - most importantly - indifferent to the plight of others. And it applies to you and me today as well: If you become a big and powerful CEO of a company, be kind to the little guy at the bottom, for you were once him. If your family has been settled and comfortable in a place for four generations, don't turn your back on the immigrants and refugees, just because you no longer remember what that was like. Their story is yours, and you are forbidden from forgetting that!
Earlier in this blog post I said that THREE things are making me think about the past - and specifically how it informs the present and future - but I only articulated two. The third is the month of Elul, which is rapidly turning over into the High Holiday
season itself. This Saturday night we hold the Selichot service, which REALLY makes it clear that Rosh Hashanah is here! And Elul is a month of reflection and introspection. Though we actually cannot go through this process entirely alone. Family can help us remember things from yesteryear, which are essential pieces of the puzzle that help us feel whole. On the High Holidays we have services called Zichronot (remembrances), Eileh Ezkerah (These I remember), and Yizkor (Remember). Clearly, our history is essential for helping us repent and change! We need to connect to our origins in order to grow. Whether through family, the Torah, or the holiday season, I hope that you will think about how to connect the past to your own present AND future, and explore ways to keep them all connected in your own life.
Photos in this blog post:
1. My siblings and me when our family lived in Jerusalem for a year. I'm the one in the funky green sweater on the right!
2. A family picture from summer camp. I'm in the center of the photo, in the white T-shirt.
3. CC image of Moses speaking to the Children of Israel courtesy of Dauster on Wikimedia Commons
4. Sitting on a swing with my dad. Ah, memories...
I don't write about family here too often. I've talked about my daughter from time to time, but otherwise mainly just quoted a family member here or there. Both of my siblings - my older brother, Benjamin, and my younger sister, Nomi - live in Sweden, so it's really a rare treat when I get to see them. In fact, this will
Moses is speaking to the Israelites as they are on the verge of entering the Promised Land. He urges them not to forget their modest beginnings when they eventually enter the land and become a powerful nation. "When you enter the land that Adonai, your God, is giving you as a heritage, and you possess it and settle in it... you shall then recite as follows before Adonai, your God: 'My father was a fugitive Aramean.
Earlier in this blog post I said that THREE things are making me think about the past - and specifically how it informs the present and future - but I only articulated two. The third is the month of Elul, which is rapidly turning over into the High Holiday
Photos in this blog post:
1. My siblings and me when our family lived in Jerusalem for a year. I'm the one in the funky green sweater on the right!
2. A family picture from summer camp. I'm in the center of the photo, in the white T-shirt.
3. CC image of Moses speaking to the Children of Israel courtesy of Dauster on Wikimedia Commons
4. Sitting on a swing with my dad. Ah, memories...
Friday, August 28, 2015
Ki Teitzei: A Jewel of Forgiveness
Right now, we are in the Hebrew month of Elul. Not only is it the month that precedes Rosh Hashanah, it also affords us an annual opportunity for introspection and reflection. Elul is a full month of
preparation for the Days of Awe to come. At morning minyan, each day of the month, we blow the shofar, and we also add psalm 27, known as "the Psalm for the Season of Repentance." It is in the spirit of Elul that I would like to share with you an interesting debate that took place this week on my Facebook page, mainly dealing with the Holocaust and how we interact with it in our lives today.
It began with an interview. The actress Natalie Portman was quoted as saying that the Jewish community focuses too much on the Holocaust. I shared her comments, and I invited people to discuss their reactions. And boy, did they! Interestingly, I think our Torah portion this week engages us in almost the EXACT same conversation.
Do we remember too much, or can we truly never allow ourselves to forget? In our parashah, Ki Teitzei, we read: "Remember what Amalek did to you along the way when you came out from Egypt; how he [the tribe] met you along the way and attacked among you all the stragglers at your rear when you were faint and weary; and he did not fear God.… Therefore it shall come about when Adonai, your God, has given you rest from all your surrounding enemies, in the land which Adonai, your God, gives you as an inheritance to possess, you shall blot out the memory of Amalek from under heaven. Do not forget!" (Deut. 25:17-19) Elsewhere in the Bible, this charge is reiterated: NEVER forget! Amalek is an enemy of God and the Jewish people for ALL time! Period. End of story.
Rabbi Shai Held, in a wonderful Torah commentary on our portion, asks: "Why Amalek?" It's not like they were our only enemy. They were despicable, sure, but how about the Egyptians, who enslaved us for centuries? Or the Canaanites, Edomites, Ammonites, or Moabites?
Why is Amalek singled out for such unrelenting hatred, and why are we asked to perpetuate that hatred for all generations, even if (and perhaps especially when) we don't personally feel that anger and vengefulness today? This, of course, brings me back to my original point about Natalie Portman's statements. Can we, who live in the third and fourth (and will eventually be in the fifth, sixth, and twelfth) generations after the Holocaust, be expected to hate as much as our ancestors did? Should we be comparing any and all signs of potential anti-Semitism to Berlin in 1939, in order to win arguments? Should we boycott Germany, Italy, and Japan, and all their products, as a lasting punishment for their roles in the Holocaust, and refuse to move beyond? I want to urge us all to think long and hard about this, because to me, the question at the core of this issue is: When will the hatred begin to consume us?
Every year, in this month of Elul, I receive daily e-mails called "Jewels of Elul," that contain reflections from a wide range of authors, all revolving around a central holiday-related theme. Earlier this week, Dr. Izzeldin Abuelaish, a Toronto-based professor whose children were killed by Israeli rockets, wrote an incredible "jewel" about forgiveness.
One point she made, that was SO powerful for me, was about how forgiveness is for ourselves, not the one we're (supposedly) forgiving. "When you forgive someone, you forgive and value yourself," she writes. "Indeed, forgiveness opens the door to a future that will not repeat the old tragedies." I'm not suggesting we forgive Nazis. Not by any means. To me, Amalek represents the force of evil that DOES still exist in the world, and the Torah is reminding us - demanding of us - that we remain vigilant against evil. Let's not be naive. BUT, we have to walk the fine line between vigilance and hate. The ancient Amalekites are long gone... but we are still here. We must find room for forgiveness in our hearts, because otherwise we will be destroyed by it. Utterly destroyed.
It's confusing, I know. Who are we supposed to forgive? How can we honor the memories of our ancestors if we also need to let go of something? The forgiveness doesn't even need to have a recipient. It's not for THEM. It's for me. And it's for you. Because hatred consumes and poisons. In this month of Elul, focus on forgiveness; focus on letting go and allowing yourself to forgive. It will open new doors and allow for greater healing. I think it's time to find your way into the season.
Photos in this blog post:
1. CC image courtesy of Chadica on Wikimedia Commons
2. CC image of Poussin's "The Victory of Joshua over the Amalekites" courtesy of Jan Arkesteijn on Wikimedia Commons
3. CC image of Natalie Portman courtesy of Georges Biard on Wikimedia Commons
4. CC image courtesy of Grant Barclay on Wikimedia Commons
It began with an interview. The actress Natalie Portman was quoted as saying that the Jewish community focuses too much on the Holocaust. I shared her comments, and I invited people to discuss their reactions. And boy, did they! Interestingly, I think our Torah portion this week engages us in almost the EXACT same conversation.
Rabbi Shai Held, in a wonderful Torah commentary on our portion, asks: "Why Amalek?" It's not like they were our only enemy. They were despicable, sure, but how about the Egyptians, who enslaved us for centuries? Or the Canaanites, Edomites, Ammonites, or Moabites?
Every year, in this month of Elul, I receive daily e-mails called "Jewels of Elul," that contain reflections from a wide range of authors, all revolving around a central holiday-related theme. Earlier this week, Dr. Izzeldin Abuelaish, a Toronto-based professor whose children were killed by Israeli rockets, wrote an incredible "jewel" about forgiveness.
It's confusing, I know. Who are we supposed to forgive? How can we honor the memories of our ancestors if we also need to let go of something? The forgiveness doesn't even need to have a recipient. It's not for THEM. It's for me. And it's for you. Because hatred consumes and poisons. In this month of Elul, focus on forgiveness; focus on letting go and allowing yourself to forgive. It will open new doors and allow for greater healing. I think it's time to find your way into the season.
Photos in this blog post:
1. CC image courtesy of Chadica on Wikimedia Commons
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2. CC image of Poussin's "The Victory of Joshua over the Amalekites" courtesy of Jan Arkesteijn on Wikimedia Commons
3. CC image of Natalie Portman courtesy of Georges Biard on Wikimedia Commons
4. CC image courtesy of Grant Barclay on Wikimedia Commons
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Friday, August 21, 2015
Shoftim: Treat Yourself in Elul
I apologize for having disappeared from the blog for a couple of weeks. I was in Israel with a group of congregants, and only just got back on Sunday. During our ten-day trip, we were in fact writing a collective blog about our experiences, and I kept meaning to post HERE about that other blog. But the time got away from me, and instead I posted nothing. I'm sorry. If you would like to read about our adventure, you can find our blog here:
http://ohevmilkandhoney.blogspot.com
It was a wonderful trip (a food tour, no less!), and I was very glad that we went. But it's also very, very nice to be home. As you'll see below, this week's blog post is heavily influenced by our trip to Israel (not to mention that all the photos come from the trip...). Thanks for sticking with my blog, despite my absence.
I want to take a little liberty with the Hebrew text of this week's Torah portion, Shoftim. I hope you will indulge me. I want to offer an
inaccurate translation of the first verse of our reading, simply because it helps me make a point. But hey, at least I'm being honest and upfront about it, right? The verse begins, "Appoint judges and officials for yourselves, from each of your tribes, in all the towns which Adonai your God is giving you" (Deuteronomy 16:18). My rereading is based on a peculiar phrasing in this verse. It says "Ti-tein lecha," meaning "give to yourself [judges and officials]." In light of our recent synagogue trip to Israel and everything we experienced there - and with the help of this strange, reflexive formulation - I want to interpret this verse in a new way.
Rather than "appoint judges and officials for yourselves," I would like to read this verse as saying "Judge for yourself." The verse goes on to talk about the city gates, the tribes, and the entire people of Israel.
It is incumbent upon all of us to see, with our very own eyes, the cities, communities, and indeed the entire State of Israel, and to form our own opinions. Every time I go there, I am struck by how fundamentally different things are on the ground from what's being reported in any and all news outlets. I could try to explain to you what I mean, but that would really defeat the purpose. You would still be getting it through a third party! Our Torah portion is telling us to see it for ourselves: ti-tein LECHA - give YOURSELF this opportunity. And it's not even phrased in the plural (yourselves), but it's the obligation of each and every individual.
How can I fully describe to you what we felt, walking along the boardwalk in Tel Aviv, seeing Arab families next to ultra-Orthodox families next to secular teenagers, each group barbecuing in the grass, but living side-by-side in (relative) harmony? Or leaving a Jerusalem
restaurant after dinner, to find a spontaneous dance party in the streets with secular Jews, Orthodox Jews, and everyone in between dancing together seemingly unbothered by the threat of terrorism that we thought was supposed to be pervasive and oppressive in Israel? I saw so many scenes on this trip, just as I do every time I go, that defy what we are told is the ubiquitous narrative throughout Israel. But you probably don't believe it. OR you are trying to reconcile my images with those you read or hear or see elsewhere. And then again, we are back to our original problem. You can't take my word for it or really ANYONE else's; you simply have to "ti-tein lecha," give yourself the chance to experience Israel and see it through your own eyes. And if you went once, ten years ago, I'm afraid your narrative has a layer of dust on it and your filters need cleaning.
Our wonderful synagogue group spent last Shabbat, just one week ago, praying with a modern Israeli service looking out at the sunset over the Mediterranean, and then with a Conservative/Masorti synagogue in the trendy Tel Aviv neighborhood of Neve Tzedek. And there we began the Hebrew month of Elul, which will lead us into Rosh Hashanah.
Elul is a month of introspection and self-examination. A chance, perhaps, for some dusting and filter cleaning. It is a reminder to us all to look at our lives with a fresh perspective. I just spent four paragraphs talking about Israel, but that's just because I returned four days ago and I'm still jetlagged! A new perspective is often needed in MANY areas of our lives, not just our relationship with Israel. What is your relationship like with prayer, community, and Shabbat? Or, perhaps to hit a bit closer to home, your relationship with family, partner, work, and self-care? Elul is the perfect time to "ti-tein lecha," to "treat yourself," to work on taking a little bit better care of yourself and to making some much-needed improvements. But I can't tell you what to do, can I? Ultimately, there's only one judge and one official who decides what you do - you. So is it time for some change? You be the judge.
Photos in this blog post:
1. The Haifa skyline from our first day in Israel.
2. Our group celebrating Shabbat on the Kinneret (Sea of Galilee)
3. Exploring the Davidson Archaeological Center, along the Southern Wall of the Temple Mount in Jerusalem. (Right around the corner from the Kotel, the Western Wall)
4. Joining Beit Tefilah Yisraeli, a modern Friday night service on the Tel Aviv boardwalk. It's hard to describe what it felt like to sing Shabbat songs as the sun set over the Mediterranean.
http://ohevmilkandhoney.blogspot.com
It was a wonderful trip (a food tour, no less!), and I was very glad that we went. But it's also very, very nice to be home. As you'll see below, this week's blog post is heavily influenced by our trip to Israel (not to mention that all the photos come from the trip...). Thanks for sticking with my blog, despite my absence.
I want to take a little liberty with the Hebrew text of this week's Torah portion, Shoftim. I hope you will indulge me. I want to offer an
Rather than "appoint judges and officials for yourselves," I would like to read this verse as saying "Judge for yourself." The verse goes on to talk about the city gates, the tribes, and the entire people of Israel.
How can I fully describe to you what we felt, walking along the boardwalk in Tel Aviv, seeing Arab families next to ultra-Orthodox families next to secular teenagers, each group barbecuing in the grass, but living side-by-side in (relative) harmony? Or leaving a Jerusalem
Our wonderful synagogue group spent last Shabbat, just one week ago, praying with a modern Israeli service looking out at the sunset over the Mediterranean, and then with a Conservative/Masorti synagogue in the trendy Tel Aviv neighborhood of Neve Tzedek. And there we began the Hebrew month of Elul, which will lead us into Rosh Hashanah.
Photos in this blog post:
1. The Haifa skyline from our first day in Israel.
2. Our group celebrating Shabbat on the Kinneret (Sea of Galilee)
3. Exploring the Davidson Archaeological Center, along the Southern Wall of the Temple Mount in Jerusalem. (Right around the corner from the Kotel, the Western Wall)
4. Joining Beit Tefilah Yisraeli, a modern Friday night service on the Tel Aviv boardwalk. It's hard to describe what it felt like to sing Shabbat songs as the sun set over the Mediterranean.
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