A Good Question!

An imperfectly and incomplete annotated bibliography for Jews and Comics

2012-01-31T21:57:00.002-05:00

In preparation for my class on Jews and Comic Books, I've been asked to share a few titles on the subject, so here goes!

First step has to be From Krakow To Krypton, Arie Kaplan's history of the role Jews played in the Comic Book industry from the birth of the Golden Age until today (well, until the early 2000s). A writer for MAD Magazine, Arie gives an insider's look, often citing hard to find resources, his own interviews with the greats (Stan Lee, Joe Kubert) as well as other primary sources.

For a thinly veiled fictional account of the Golden Age and the Jewish impact thereof, Michael Chabon's The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Klay. Chabon takes a lot of the subconscious Jewish elements of the early superhero stories and translates them into overt and intentional literary/artistic devices, all woven together with stories of loss, love, the Shoah, and American antisemitism.

Now, onto the actual comics:

Will Eisner's Contract With God trilogy: the Spirit's creator blends autobiography with a story of the immigrant experience in America over the course of 100 years in the first bona-fide "graphic novel'.

Joe Kubert's Jew Gangster explores the seedier, tough-guy side of Jewish life.

A. David Lewis, MP Mann and Jennifer Rogers' The Lone And Level Sands explores the Exodus story through a thoroughly modern Midrash. A story on faith, love, and power.

Joann Sfar's The Rabbi's Cat series is a blend of Yiddish and Chasidic tale in graphic novel form.

Art Spiegel's Maus. 'nuff said.

Harvey Pekar's American Splendor. An autobiographical story of being normal. Or not-so-normal. Or just grumpy and Jewish from Cleveland.

R. Crumb's The Book of Genesis. Okay, Crumb's not a Jew (just married to one, who happens to be a damn fine comic book writer herself), but it's hard to read this book without thinking of how it just oozes a certain Jewish view of God and the world.

Neil Gaiman's The Sandman took Jewish narrative elements, western fairy tale and myth, and absolutely blew the roof off what a comic book could do. Much like Stan Lee and Jack Kirby, Will Eisner and Art Spiegel, he helped push the genre and helped it gain acceptance as true art form.

"But Rabbi, where are the Superhero and mainstream titles?" I'm glad you asked!

J. Michael Straczynski is one of the best comics writers working today. Period. And he injects his yiddishkeit into his works (much as he did with Babylon 5) . His runs on Spider-Man, Superman, Wonder Woman as well as his own books have gotten rave reviews. Look for Superman: Earth One, (where he re-imagines The Man of Steel's origins) and The Brave and The Bold (where he takes the idea of Superhero teamups and blows them up) for some of his best examples (and see if you can find the dialogue that I used as an illustration for an High Holiday sermon!).

Stan Lee and Jack Kirby may have birthed the X-Men and gave them their latent Jewishness, but Chris Claremont took them out of the closet, making Magneto an Holocaust survivor, giving us a strong Jewish lady as a superheroine (Shadowcat, aka Kitty Pryde), People-of-Color as Superheroes with depth, and brought stories about the fight against bigotry to teens and college kids. While it's considered bombastic by today's standards, X-Men: God Loves, Man Kills is a good starting point for first-time readers.

Larry Hama's GI Joe Special Missions. No kidding. Hama took a kiddie book meant to sell toys in the 80s and used it to present one of the most compelling accounts of what it meant to grow up with a Holocaust Survivor as a grandparent, as well as present the idea of a Jew as an elite soldier. Lance "Clutch" Steinberg talks about his grandmother's horror while on a mission to recover a Nazi War Criminal.

Howard Chaykin's American Flagg (sometimes also Amerikan Flagg!). Follow Reuben Flagg, former actor and stand-up comic, as he climbs from Plexus Ranger to becoming the first Jewish President of the United States in a terribly prescient dystopian future of corporate government control, corruption, graft, spiritually empty consumers, and blind idealism.

There are others, and I've left out Kirby's and Lee's autobiographies (among others) but this is a good start, especially for those who don't read and collect comics already.

Last Days of L'taken

2012-01-26T21:16:00.002-05:00

On Sunday, we began with a simulation of Israel's Knesset in the Israel-Palestine peace process. Afterwords, we attended a seminar on how to achieve a nuclear weapons-free world. After lunch, we learned how to effectively lobby a congressman and be a strong advocate for a cause. Then we left the hotel for the Smithsonian Museums on the Mall where we visited the Natural History Museum and the Air and Space Museum. We then had dinner in Pentagon Row where we saw the infamous Billy Cundiff put all of Baltimore into misery. Upon returning to the hotel, it was time to write our lobby speeches. We chose to advocate for bills regarding campaign finance reform (inspired by Steven Colbert) and climate change. After a grueling writing process, we finally closed the laptop and got some sleep.

On the last day, we nervously made our way up to a fancy room and ate breakfast, dressed in our suits and ties. We said some goodbyes, got in the car, and headed off to Capitol hill. We visited Senator Carper's office, Senator Coons' office, and Representative John Carney's office. We lobbied on the subjects of environmental bills and campaign finance reform. Luckily, our [Congressman's and Senator's] staffs all agreed with our views, making our day very easy. We then traveled to see Senator Carper before we left among a frenzy of "right to life" protesters. It was a hectic day, and we had to say goodbye to some nice new friends, but it was worth it.

L'Taken Day 2

2012-01-22T14:17:00.002-05:00

Shavua Tov! Below you'll find my students' summary of yesterday's events.

One of the things they didn't mention is the added significance of the date of this retreat. Today is the anniversary of Roe V. Wade, which means tomorrow is the Right To Live rally for the Pro-Life (or Anti-Abortion) movement. So moving in parallel with us are a couple of church youth groups and a Catholic high school, which literally was going to the same places we were, and are staying at the same hotel. Amazing to think about the implications of that shared/parallel experience...

Hoping to post another summary tomorrow, followed by the kids' speeches for the congregational delegation. In the meantime, go PATS!

Day 2
We awoke to a breakfast as an entire L'Taken congregation, then enjoyed a Saturday morning service. Following the service, the congregation divided into two groups to simulate a lobbyist experience in which one group supported a ban on live ammunition being available to the public, while the other opposed the ban. Each side had to persuade a group of three senators to vote for their group. Afterwords, we boarded buses and traveled to the Holocaust Museum, then to the MLK Memorial, and finally to Georgetown for a fabulous dinner at il Canali. I had the pizza special, a delicious assortment of meatballs and lasagna on top of a thin-slice crust. Then we went to the Jefferson memorial and had havdalah. next we traveled back to the hotel for the shuk programs. We both took a lecture on poverty and how to deal with the recession in this country. After that we had a social end to the day in the lobby and headed off to bed.

Reflections on L'Taken, Day One

2012-01-21T20:37:00.000-05:00

Between funerals and dastardly plans I've been a little behind on blogging. I'm at L'Taken right now, the Religious Action Center's Social Justice Seminar. I won't lie, I wish I had more kids, but I'm really happy with those kids I have. They're clearly having a good time (and some of it is even related to advocacy and social justice!). I'll be posting their...unique perspective on the program throughout the next couple of days here in this blog. First day appears below. For those who have done L'Taken as a staffer, chaperone or participant, feel free to chime in on your experiences!

After finally navigating in circles through the Arlington highways, we made it to the Sheraton in one piece. We explored the hotel for a short time, then took a shuttle to a nearby mall where Michael and I learned assorted info about watches. The entire RAC congretated at 6:15 for an introduction and Shabbat service, then dinner. Afterwords, we heard two speakers from the National Coalition for the Homeless. They told inspiring tales of how they managed to overcome their addictions and bring themselves out of squalor and tell inspiring stories. Afterwards we had a social gathering during which they served bananas, cheesecake, chocolate fudge, and an assortment of other sugary delicacies. (sucrose and glucose) Then we wrote a description of our day and hit the hay.

Clemency for Robert Gattis! (Almost)

2012-01-15T21:20:00.000-05:00

From Bruce Gilette at Limestone Presbyterian:

Dear Friends, The NewsJournal’s Sunday afternoon online news is “In a historic4-1 decision, the Delaware Board of Pardons today announced it was recommendingthat the death sentence for convicted killer Robert Gattis be commuted to lifein prison, according to his attorneys.Gattis, 49, isscheduled to die by lethal injection early Friday morning. It will now beup to Gov. Jack Markell to decide whether he will accept the board’srecommendation – and spare Gattis’ life – or whether he will allow theexecution to go forward.”
See below for theofficial statement from the Pardons Board.Thank you for all of your prayers,your phone calls and notes to the Pardons Board and your encouraging otherclergy and church members to join in the appeals for clemency.
Together we havemade history for never before has the Pardons Board recommended clemency forsomeone facing execution in Delaware.
Thank you foryour faithful witness that has made a real difference.Our workis not yet done. We still need the Governor Markell to accept the Board’srecommendation to commute Robert Gattis' sentence to life in prison withoutparole.
Please pray forour Governor to be merciful and grant clemency.Please contact the Governor Markell and urge him to accept the PardonBoard’s recommendation (email or phone): http://governor.delaware.gov/connect/
If you see theGovernor at the Martin Luther King, Jr.’s celebrations tomorrow, please remindhim of Dr. King’s teachings on the death penalty (below).Please send athank you note to the Pardons Board: Pardons@state.de.usThank you againfor all that you are doing to save a life and making a more merciful and justDelaware .
Blessings on you and yourministry

If you're so moved, please email the Pardons board to thank them, and please write to the Governor to encourage him to accept the recommendations!

Books read

2012-01-06T20:25:00.005-05:00

You might remember from last year around this time I mentioned that I was getting a Kindle to try to read more. I had hoped to read a nice mix of classics and new work, fiction and nonfiction, Jewish and not-explicitly Jewish, and just read more than the half a book I'd read in 2010. I can safely say that I was successful this year in that goal. Here's a list of the books I read (some of which were reviewed in this blog). These are presented in no particular order. 29 books (well, 28 and one 'single'; that is, longform essay). A nice mix of quality and 'fun' (read: junk), serious and lighthearted. I've put an asterisk next to the Jewish books, but hopefully you'll find the list helpful, or at least illuminating about me. How about you: what did you read this year?

The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes
The Man in the Iron Mask
The Count of Monte Cristo
The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin
American Gods
Civil Disobedience
Burnt Books: Rabbi Nachman of Bratslav and Franz Kafka*
"Comic-Con Strikes Again!"
Early Modern Jewry: A New Cultural History*
Empowered Judaism: What Independent Minyanim Can Teach Us...*
The Finkler Question*
The First Men in the Moon
The Five Dysfunctions of a Team: A Leadership Fable
A Game of Thrones: A Song of Ice and Fire
The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo
The God Who Hates Lies: Confronting and Rethinking Jewish Tradition*
How to Live Safely in a Science Fictional Universe: A Novel
The Hundred Years War: The English In France 1337-1453
The Imperfectionists
Inventing Jewish Ritual*
Just Kids
Radical Judaism: Rethinking God and Tradition*
Ready Player One
The Sabbath World: Glimpses of a Different Order of Time*
Siddhartha
Silver Canyon
Super Sad True Love Story
The Warmth of Other Suns: The Epic Story of America's Great Migration
Who by Fire, Who by Water: Un'taneh Tokef*

Share your voice! What is the Future of Reform Judaism?

2012-01-05T11:22:00.000-05:00

The URJ is conducting a survey about their future, and our voices count! Please share your thoughts at www.urj.org/biennialvision. And,if you’re interested, share your answers to these questions with me here:

What will it be like to bea Reform Jew in the year 2020

What uniquecontribution is North American Reform Judaism making to the world?

What is it about ReformJudaism that gives you energy?

What aspects ofReform Judaism nourish your soul?

Seeking Clemency for Robert Gattis

2012-01-03T22:12:00.002-05:00

The following is a letter I sent Governor Markell last week, co-signed by my Conservative colleague Rabbi Michael Beals, asking for clemency for Robert Gattis. I've also signed onto a joint, interfaith clergy letter asking for clemency. If you are so moved, I welcome you to take similar action and contact Governor Markell's office.

CORRECTION: You can go to this site to sign a petition to go before the Governor and the state clemency board

DearGovernor Markell:

I write to you insupport of the clemency application of Robert Gattis. There are compelling reasons to grant Mr.Gattis clemency, reasons which have nothing to do with belief in, or oppositionto the death penalty. Rather, theyrelate to Mr. Gattis's horrific background which damaged him profoundly andwhich was never disclosed to his trial jury; and his demonstrated redemptionand rehabilitation over the course of his 21 years of incarceration followinghis death sentence. I am asking you to showhim mercy, because mercy is warranted.

As a child andadolescent Mr. Gattis was sexually molested by a series of perpetratorsbeginning at an age so young it is disturbing to consider. The molestations were often quitebrutal. Mostly they occurred when he wasleft in the "care" of others who had no interest or ability toprotect him. Mr. Gattis was also physicallyabused by the men in his mother's life, in one case a step-father who was aviolent drunk with little regard for a child not his own, and in the other, hisnatural father, who abused his son as severely as the step-father. Mr. Gattis's mother did not provide him witheven the most basic protection that one would expect from a parent. Her absence from the home allowed much of thesexual abuse to occur; and although she witnessed many of the acts perpetratedby her husband and paramour against her son, she did nothing to intervene orprotect him.

This background doesnot excuse Mr. Gattis's crime during which, in a jealous and irrational rage, hewent to the home of his former girlfriend, Shirley Slay, kicked in her door andshot and killed her. The crime wasterrible, as are all murders, and Mr. Gattis's life history does not make it anyless terrible. But it does provide someinsight and understanding of the man, and how he arrived at a place in his lifewhere he could commit such an act. Our society has made great strides inrecognizing that a background of sexual and physical abuse and trauma profoundlydamages a child's ability to grow into a healthy adult, and our state hasdemonstrated a commitment to dealing with this issue. It strikes me as quite troubling thatwe in Delaware would put to death a man who suffered from the same terrifyingchildhood sexual and physical abuse that shocks us in the headlines today. Mr. Gattis's many abusers included trustedfamily members who took advantage of him while no one – not a parent, not ateacher, not a doctor or clergy person – came to his aid. Much of this abuse occurred on our watch, as hepassed through our schools unnoticed.

Iunderstand that Delaware’s Constitution creates a role for grace in theadministration of the death penalty, and allows you to grant mercy to thecondemned. I am aware of a number ofrecent instances in which the Governors of Ohio,Tennessee and Oklahoma have exercised this grace on behalf of other inmatesfacing the death penalty. The stories ofthese cases share a common thread with Robert Gattis, in that deeply troublinginformation about the tragic lives of these individuals came to light longafter their original trials. Onegovernor (John Kasich of Ohio), in language that echoes the terror of Mr.Gattis's life, found that as a childthe condemned "was destined for disaster," having "suffereduniquely severe and sustained verbal, physical and sexual abuse from those whoshould have loved him." Mr. Gattistoo was destined for disaster considering his background.

None of this tragicstory was ever presented at Mr. Gattis's trial. While the courts have had opportunities to look over Mr. Gattis's case, itis my understanding that because this evidence was not presented earlier, Mr.Gattis faced legal hurdles that prevented the courts from giving this evidence theirfull consideration. The lawyers who handledMr. Gattis's trial and appeals have acknowledged their errors in not tellingthis story at the earliest opportunity. I understand why in the interest of bringing the legalcase to a close the courts have the right to say this evidence was provided toolate to be considered, but the fact that Mr. Gattis's lawyers failed him inthis respect makes it all the more important that you take his horrifying lifestory into account in determining whether Robert Gattis is worthy of mercy.

Another fact that nocourt or jury would have had a chance to consider is Mr. Gattis's remarkablerehabilitation during his 21 years under a sentence of death. Several former Delaware state correctionalofficers have come forward and attested to his good conduct in custody, and thepositive influence he has played in the lives of other inmates. His two sons, successful and thoughtful youngmen, have strong and enduring relationships with him. They speak of his positive influence on themand their families. Mr. Gattis is keenlyinvolved and interested in their lives. Over the years of his incarceration, through letters, visits andtelephone calls, Mr. Gattis has counseled them not to repeat the mistakes thathe has made. He has provided similarmentoring and guidance to other young people, including nieces and nephews, whoalso attest to the positive influence he has had over them. Mr. Gattis has accepted full responsibilityfor the terrible crime that he committed, and has repeatedly and consistently expressedremorse and contrition for his act.

I would be grateful forthe opportunity to meet with you regarding this extraordinarily importantmatter. I am motivated by my belief that, evenaccepting the legitimacy of the death penalty, Mr. Gattis is not a man whoneeds to be removed from the human community. The crime he committed 21 years ago was committed by a different personthan the person he is today. Althoughlimited by his confinement, his contribution to society today is a positiveone, and it is my hope that you will allow him to continue to live inconfinement for the rest of his natural life.

As Britain Seeks a New Chief Rabbi, Extremists Rise

2012-01-02T14:10:00.000-05:00

As Britain Seeks a New Chief Rabbi, Extremists Rise: "There is a common thread uniting these stories. Religious extremism festers when decent lay people are cowed into submission by fanatics whom they falsely believe to be more religious than them. But there is nothing holy about Rabbis refusing to teach 2500 young Jews who are pining for Jewish knowledge. More importantly, it is an abomination to faith for men to treat women abusively. A black coat will never redeem a dark heart and a long beard is poor compensation for a shriveled soul.

"

'via Blog this'

sermon for Vayigash and Beit Shemesh

2011-12-30T21:58:00.005-05:00

Rabbi Yair Robinson

Sermon Parashat Vayigash

12/30/11

“What is the price-current of an honest man and patriottoday? They hesitate, and they regret, and sometimes they petition; but they donothing in earnest and with effect.”

These words, written by Henry David Thoreau, from Civil Disobedience, have been at theforefront of my mind in the last week, as protests rocked the State of Israel.Not over economic considerations, nor over peace (or the lack thereof), butbecause an 8-year old girl was spat upon. In Beit Shemesh a week ago, a dati—that is to say, religious—girl, waswalking to her school. Her arms were covered, she was wearing a long skirt. Shewas observing tzniut to anyreasonable halakhic observer, and a haredi—so-calledUltra-Orthodox—man spat upon her, and said she was dressed as a prostitute. Hercrime? Her collarbone was showing.

This is, of course,not the first act of violence performed by the Harediim of late. Their war against women has been going on fordecades, throwing ink at women reading Torah by the Western Wall, calling womenwho wandered into the wrong neighborhood shiksesand worse. But in the last year things have gotten worse: rabbis callingfor Orthodox Jews in the army to leave if a woman’s voice is heard at a secular, military event. There have beenoften violent attempts to ban women’s images in advertising in Jerusalem. Therehave been attempts to create segregated seating on public transportation,including just this past week a haredi mancalling a woman in her military uniform, returning home on leave, a prostituteand trying to force her from her seat on the bus. Just capture that image inyour mind: a woman in uniform, who is defending the Jewish state, a place ofrefuge for all Jews, is called a shikse anda whore by the very person that woman is protecting.

Thankfully, in the latter case, the individual has beencharged with sexual harassment, but I’m sad to say that this is the exception,not the rule. Too frequently women on buses are left to fend for themselves,and too frequently the government says nothing, or little, but does encouragethose same haredi political partiesto join their coalition. Moreover, those same harediim, after years of having their misogynistic, racist andanti-Zionist idea of Judaism accommodated, chose to riot last night rather thanadmit that their idea—which resembles Iran more than the Halakha!—should beremoved from the national stage.

And so, Secular and non-haredireligious Jews—including Progressive and Masorti Jews—rallied in BeitShemesh for the madness to stop. Shimon Peres and Tzipi Livni called for themadness to stop. Binyamin Netanyahu asked his haredi partners in government to please kindly settle down. But myfear is that we will continue to coddle, continue to accept and accommodate,out of some mirror-world idea of what diversity means. That somehow our values of egalitarianism, of realpluralism, of a Judaism that recognizes the Godliness in all, should take aback seat to someone else’s bigotry, lest they be offended. Or because that’sthe way it’s always been in the Jewish world. Or because we as American Jewsdon’t somehow have a right to speak Truth—real Truth—to those in the Israeligovernment who are distorting what a Jewish and Democratic state is meant tobe.

This week’s parasha beginswith Judah defending his brother Benjamin from the Vizier of Egypt—reallyJoseph in disguise. He doesn’t just bow and ask nicely—he speaks truth topower. He scolds. He chastises the most powerful man in the world because ofthe lack of justice he sees. Joseph forgives his brothers not just because theytry to save Benjamin, but because they have been transformed from people whohesitated doing the right thing and then regret their decision to people who immediatelyact in pursuit of justice.

We would do well to do the same. Yes, signing onlinepetitions is a good first step, as is sending money to groups like the IsraelReligious Action Center and ARZA. And asI said at the high holidays, we need to go to Israel and stand in solidaritywith our Progressive Brothers and Sisters fighting the good fight. But we needto fight here as well. We need to rediscover our voice, to find ways toadvocate for the kind of Judaism and the kind of Israel we want, one thatreally seeks l’taken olam b’malchutshaddai, to bring about the repair of the world—an end to bigotry, an endto the use of religion to espouse bigotry, an embracing of all—for the sake ofHeaven. Rabbi Jonah Pesner of the URJ has called for increased activism in ourcongregations and we must heed the call. And we must be unafraid to makemistakes, to insist on our vision of Judaism, a Judaism that belongs to all, as much as they insist on theirs,even if it means suffering under the false accusation of beinganti-pluralistic.

Rav Kook, the first Chief Rabbi of Palestine, and anOrthodox Jew, wrote: “The truly righteousdo not complain about evil, but rather add justice; they do not complain aboutheresy, but rather add faith; they do not complain about ignorance, but ratheradd wisdom.” It’s time to live up to our namesake Judah, to add justice, to addfaith, to add wisdom, instead of hesitating and regretting and waiting forsomeone else to pick up the tab. Amen.

Reflections on Biennial

2011-12-23T19:10:00.000-05:00

Here's my reflection on biennial, presented sermonically. I tried to incorporate those comments I received from folks in answer to my question; in the coming weeks I hope to post their actual comments as well. Chag Urim Sameach!

Tonight we continue our celebration of Chanukah, the festivalof lights. But that is not what the word ‘Chanukah means’. Chanukah means‘dedication’, and it hearkens back to the rededication of the Temple inJerusalem, defiled by Assyrian Greeks and their allies, restored after too muchbloodshed to its former grandeur. One would think this holiday would then failto speak to us; I don’t know about you but as much as I love barbecue I don’tlong for a return to Temple Sacrifice, and the assimilationist tendencies ofthe Maccabees’ enemies don’t feel so far off to us—the idea of learning allthat world has to offer us as opposed to Mattathias’ parochialism. Even therabbis are happy to give it short shrift: there is no tractate Chanukah in theTalmud, after all; it appears but briefly in Tractate Shabbat, around thequestion of lighting lights.

And yet, throughout the centuries, this holiday has resonated.Yes, lighting lights in the darkest time of the year is common among allreligious traditions, and yes, its proximity to Christmas has given the holidayextra ‘oomph’, let’s not delude ourselves. But for me, there is anotherelement, a spiritual element that goes back to that idea of dedication. While Idon’t dedicate myself to a Temple rite that long ago expired, this holidaygives me a chance to think about what I want to rededicate myself to—what Ishould focus on in my own personal life and my professional life, as a husband,father, friend and rabbi .
Fortunately, I had an opportunity to have that reflection ondedication last week, but on steroids. Last week, 15 of us went by car andtrain down to the Gaylord Convention center, just across the Potomac fromAlexandria, to join as many as 6000 other Reform Jews at the Union For ReformJudaism Biennial. This is the time when congregational leaders, clergy, andlaypeople gather for singing, learning best practices, schmoozing, networking,and the study of Torah. Oh, and shopping. Some of us had been to previousgatherings, especially the sisterhood folks. I’ve been to eight myself. Othershad never been to one, or if they had, it’d been years ago.

This convention was notable for a number of reasons. It wasit the largest gathering of the Union ever, with registration fully closed afew weeks before. It was the first time the Biennial was addressed in person byIsrael’s deputy prime minister and former Prime Minister, Ehud Barak. It wasthe first time AIPAC was welcomed, along with the head of the United Synagogueof Conservative Judaism, and politically conservative leaders likeRepresentative Eric Cantor and William Kristol. It was the largest gathering ofJewish rockers ever, from Julie Silver and Dan Nichols to Rick Recht, MattanKlein, Michelle Citrin and Josh Nelson. It was the first convention addressedby a sitting president, Barack Obama, who began by kvetching about the lengthof the skirts his daughter wears to bar mitzvahs and giving a drash on theTorah portion, and gave a shout-out to NFTY, causing 300 teenagers to goabsolutely bonkers. It was a time of transition, as Debbie Friedman wasremembered, and Rabbi Eric Yoffie, The leader of the Reform movement for 16years, handed the presidency over to Rabbi Rick Jacobs, formerly senior rabbiof Westchester Reform in Scarsdale New York, a very different but equallypassionate and devoted rabbi and community activists.

Most of all, it was the most intense, most engaging anddynamic biennial I have ever been to, and our delegates came home exhausted andrejuvenated at the same time. I asked them to share with me what was, for eachof them, the most important thing, or idea, or moment that they took away fromtheir experience.

For some it was the idea that we are part of a largercommunity, with a voice that should be heard and heard loudly. As the onlyProgressive synagogue from Malvern PA to Havre De Grace Maryland, and certainlythe only voice of Reform in the First State, it can feel a little lonely, andit’s easy to feel like we do what we do in a vacuum. To experience Shabbat with4700 Jews of all ages, to sing with 4700 other voices, to enjoy Shabbat dinnerand song session with 4700 others (and the chicken was just fine thank you) isa powerful moment. And to see our values—of choice, openness, egalitarianism,of a Shabbat that isn’t Orthodox, of a Religious Judaism that is OURS, and notTHEIRS (whoever they may be) and only ours sometimes—hailed and trumpeted andcelebrated by thousands of others, representing 900 congregations and over amillion individuals, filled our hearts with affirmation that Reform has a voicethat must be heard.

And it was poignant to see Eric (he’s a classmate of mydad’s, I can call him that) talk about his own children’s spiritual journeys,and about the very real deficits we are facing in our movement, not onlyfinancial, as in so many congregations that are suffering from lack oftreasure, but the spiritual deficit too many of us feel, unconnected to eachother, working ourselves to the bone, over programming our children such thatthe only relief we feel, as Eric said, is when we finally stagger to sleep,exhausted.

For me, and I know I speak for cantor as well, I came awaywith a profound feeling that, while what we do here at Beth Emeth is good, itis not yet great. That we are too used to the idea that ‘good enough’ is goodenough. That immediate need so often trump opportunities to really focus on ourvision of what we could be as a caring congregation, devoted to Tikkun Olam andmeaningful Jewish experience. I know I feel that myself more often than I’dlike to admit: with so much to do already, so many practical demands on my timethat are right here, it’s hard to see past them to what is truly visionary,what encourages us to be the kind of congregation I know we can be. For that, Iwant to give three examples of things I’m going to be working on with ourleadership that I think, I know willlead this congregation to be the place it should be:
The first is our school. This is not to fault our wonderfulreligious school director—I know Myrna’s devotion to this place and rely uponher wisdom daily, and anyone who knows me knows how much I appreciate what shedoes in this place. Nor is it to fault our devoted teachers, far from it! It isclear that we have the best religious school in the state, if not the region.But we do not do enough to provide our kids—and their families—with Jewishexperiences. Oh, we’re excellent at teaching them ABOUT Judaism, but giving themopportunities to connect with deep, resonant Jewish moments in their lives,well, we could do more, and we could do better. Just as you can’t learn to playtennis or drive a car just from reading a book, our children will not learn tolive meaningful Jewish lives if we only talk ABOUT the experience. They need toexperience it for themselves. If that sounds a little like a pitch for Jewishcamp or an Israel trip, you’re right. That’s what makes camp and Israel sosuccessful, and we need to bring more of that here, including moreopportunities for our families to experience Shabbat and the holidays, andexperience each other: how many of our kids don’t know each other because theygo to different schools? We can do more and we can do better.

Another is our Saturday morning experience. Too often wefail to make minyan when there is no bar or bat mitzvah. Too often attendanceat Torah study is dependent on who’s teaching. Too often we as a congregationsurrender the morning service over to the family of the bar mitzvah, with thebest of intentions, and while I think we do the bar mitzvah experience betterthan almost any other congregation I have seen, with real love and devotion, wecan do better. Shabbat morning must no longer be the neglected stepchild to Fridaynight, nor dependent on ‘shtick’ like one-off programs. We can do more, and wecan do better.
Finally, our Friday night Shabbat experience. (uh-oh, hereit comes!) Where are the children? At home and in bed, with someexceptions. Where is our patience withyoung families? Where is our willingness to engage, not just with each other,but with the tradition itself? We have taught a generation that they’re onlyallowed here for family services or some special program “fir de kinderlach”,that worship must either be formal or ‘entertaining’, and unchanging—not onlyof structure and time and space, but worship that leaves us unchanged. I know Ihave worn people out with talking about Friday night, with trying differentthings and trying to meet different needs halfway. I have often despaired, andhave heard the accusations that I’m trying to ‘Shir Ami’-ify our congregation,or make it something that it’s not, and before last week I was willing to giveup. I was reminded at biennial that to do so, to give up, would be to shirk myduty to this congregation, to you, to myself, to give up on making thiscongregation’s Shabbat the best it can be, to be truly great. We can do more,and we can do better!
More than anything else, we as a congregation need to dream big,we need to think big. I know you have dreams for this congregation. I do too.What are your dreams? Please, share them with me, with the leadership, anddon’t think ‘this will never happen here’, or, ‘they won’t listen to me’. Iwill and we will. If we dream small that is all we are going to be, and I’m nottalking about numbers in attendance. Biennial reminded me of the importance ofhaving that vision, of living up to that vision, of sharing that vision withothers. I want to hear your dreams, and I want to find ways to make them comealive. We can do more, we can do better.
You’ll notice I didn’t say anything about the solutions.That’s on purpose. Oh, I have ideas, and soon enough we’ll talk about them:with our teachers and parents, with our Ritual committee, in forums large andsmall. I know that many of you have better ideas that will achieve the samethings: more engaging Shabbat experiences for all generations, more connectionin our religious school, the uplifting of Shabbat morning, and a host of dreamsonly you can articulate. The practical stuff will come—it will be complicatedat times, there will be the gnashing of teeth and shaking of head, and a not afew people will tell me I’m crazy, and some of them to my face. But tonight, inChanukah, we talk about rededication. I rededicate myself to this ReformCommunity, this House of Truth, this congregation that I promise you, willshine even brighter, even brighter than it does now. Amen.

Marsha Lee's funeral

2011-12-22T16:03:00.002-05:00

Some folks have asked for my comments from this afternoon's funeral (Rabbi Grumbacher gave the eulogy). You will find them below:

None of us should be here, in this place today. Least of allMarsha.

Today should be a day like any other: Marsha should havewalked her dog this morning, gone to work, maybe made some phone calls for theKutz home, perhaps met Marcie or Ethel for lunch, hung out with Scotti, talkedto the kids, lit the Hanukah candles tonight.

None of us should be here today. None of us should befeeling that sense of loss, of mourning, of anger burning within us, of deepsadness, of horror, of pity, that grief that reaches out from our depths forMarsha being taken from us.

Yet here we are. And we know what is in our hearts.

In our tradition we speak of an evil so great, so malicious,so horrible that we pray daily that it be blotted out from beneath God’s sight,and those who perpetrate that evil also be blotted out. Marsha’s life is gone.Taken from us by just such an evil, by a person so filled with rage andsickness that his actions even shocked the police. Marsha is gone, taken toosoon, leaving us bereft, but also leaving us a legacy of kindness, ofcompassion, of devotion to her people, to the elderly, to animals, her family,to the world. She leaves us a great love shared by all of us here: those whoknew her best, her community, and even the strangers in our midst who feltcompelled to share their own grief and sorrow, and support for Scotti and hisfamily.

We are in Chanukah, the festival of lights. Marsha’s lightshines on. And may our lights shine with the love and holiness we each carry toillumine the darkness that overwhelms Marsha’s family. May they find comfort,love and support through God’s agents—each one of us. And as we remember Marshathis day, and as their family mourns and grieves, may we help lead them throughtheir darkness back to the light, back to Marsha’s light, that we may bask inher love and her commitment to each of us and each other.

Marsha Lee

2011-12-20T14:24:00.002-05:00

Dear Friends,

As many of you are now aware, Marsha Lee, our longtime congregant, former member of the board of directors, and devoted friend, was kidnapped near her home, and was found dead later yesterday afternoon. Our hearts and prayers go out to her husband Scotti and their family and circle of friends. Few of us know what they are going through, but as a congregational family, I know we will do whatever we can to support them in this terrible hour. To protect the family’s privacy, please contact Jan Goodman with your loving offers of support and encouragement. The funeral will be held at Congregation Beth on Thursday, December 22 at 1:00. Burial will be at Beth Emeth Memorial Park. A meal of condolence will be held at Congregation Beth Emeth. Shiva will be observed on Thursday, December 22 and Saturday, December 24 at 7:00 PM at 4403 Whittier Rd., Wilmington, DE 19802-1231.

Marsha’s kidnapping took place near our congregational home. We want you to know that we are doing everything in our power to ensure the safety of our congregants while on the premises, and have been assured by officials that there isn’t a greater threat to our community. That being said, please be vigilant in the parking lot as always, and if you feel the need for an escort to your car, ask. We will have Hebrew School on Wednesday, and we will continue with those securities measures that are already in place.

As we prepare to light the Chanukah lights, let us do what we can to drive away the darkness that has fallen on their home. May God bring consolation to Scotti and his family, as we—God’s agents—bring comfort to their grief.

Y’hi Or, let there be light,

Rabbi Yair Robinson and President Jan Rosenfeld Goodman

Chief rabbi: Israel isn't haredi land - Israel Jewish Scene, Ynetnews

2011-12-19T23:09:00.000-05:00

Chief rabbi: Israel isn't haredi land - Israel Jewish Scene, Ynetnews:

'via Blog this'

So now that Biennial is over...

2011-12-19T17:01:00.001-05:00

So, now that biennial is over, it's time to process. That's what I'm going to do Friday, but before I do, a question for all of you (who went):what was the most important part ofbiennial for you, and/or what from biennial was most important for you to bringback to your congregation? Post your response here or over at FB...

Barak: Israel won't accept Palestinian state that perpetuates Mideast conflict - Haaretz Daily Newspaper | Israel News

2011-12-16T08:46:00.000-05:00

Barak: Israel won't accept Palestinian state that perpetuates Mideast conflict - Haaretz Daily Newspaper | Israel News: "

"I will not allow politicized, targeted legislation to undermine the value of the supremacy of the law. The only Jewish democratic state in the world must remain exactly that: a Jewish and democratic state!" Barak said."

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Love fest

2011-12-15T09:05:00.001-05:00

David Saperstein just said nice things about Eric Cantor, andthe Rep. Cantor said nice things about the Religious Action Center. Cats and Dogs, living together!

EDIT : after calling Reform Judaism part of the moral fabric of America and commending the URJ's commitment to Tikkun Plan, he changed tack to Israel and the middle east. Safer topic to be sure, but it sounded too much like AIPAC boilerplate. Having said that, he did start to make some interesting parallels with Israel support and Tikkun Olam, and hinted at what a conservative Tikkun Olam might look like, but never fully went there. Disappointing...

Trafalgar Square

2011-12-15T00:47:00.001-05:00

The wonderful and entirely overwhelming thing about Biennial is that, if you stand in one place long enough, you will run into everyone you've ever connected with. Everyone you went to summer camp. Every synagogue president you ever interviewed with. Former congregants. Colleagues. Classmates. Family. EVERYONE. You want a 'Standing at Sinai' moment? Stand in the lobby outside the exhibit hall at 4pm on the first day.

So as you can tell, I made it in (finally), made it to my consultation with my phenomenal president, got to have dinner with some colleagues, caught up with family and friends, saw the evening Plenary (best line from Theodore Bickel, honored tonight with the first Debbie Friedman Award: that she reminded us that Judaism is OURS, not THEIRS and sometimes ours), and went to a bunch of dessert receptions. I had the particularly joyful-but-awkward experience of catching up with my congregants and then having my former congregants love bomb me (which was delightful, but a little like having your ex-girlfriend meet your wife). I got to hang out with people I almost never see otherwise. And now it's quarter to 1, I am well and truly exhausted, but can't quite bring myself to go to sleep.

What's really amazing is the sense of "Biennial time" as well. I have to remind myself that I'm in Washington (well, just outside), and not in San Francisco or Phoenix (in terms of time change). It's a little (I imagine) like being in a casino: the temperature is always 72, the ambient light is constant, the rooms all look the same. It could be 5pm or 11pm, the energy level is the same and you have to pace yourself carefully.

It's clear that the URJ worked REALLY hard on this conference, and the sheer number of people, even for a biennial, is overwhelming. A the same time, as wonderful as the facilities are, it has the feel of a Potemkin Village (or at least a theme park): the hotel and conference center are like a fake town, surrounded on the outside by an equally artificial city. Like they cut part of Baltimore's Inner Harbor or Old Town Alexandria out and dropped it off here.

OK, starting to get random. Going to bed. Looking forward to dinner with congregants, lunch with my former senior, checking out the exhibit hall, going to some sessions (!) and catching up with more people, watching the waves of wonderful folks wash ashore.

Well, we're off to a fantastic start

2011-12-14T15:35:00.000-05:00

So, I should be writing this on my phone from the shuttle to the URJ Biennial at the Gaylord Convention center. Instead, I'm still on the train. Which is just, almost, not quite pulling into Union Station. Sigh. So I'll be catching a cab in about 15-20 minutes and hopefully still making my 4:30 appointment with my synagogue president, as well as our URJ consultants. I've seen congregants posting pics and such from their experiences so far, which is fantastic. Looking forward to joining in the fun!

Blogging from Biennial

2011-12-13T16:16:00.003-05:00

I'll be blogging my Biennial experience throughout the conference, as will many of my friends and colleagues, and members of my congregation at the Beth Emeth Facebook page. You can also follow along 'virtually' (seems like such a dated word these days) over at the URJ Biennial site.

Welcoming our Machine Overlords?

2011-12-07T13:23:00.001-05:00

Back in 2003, as a 'newly minted' rabbi, I was chatting with a board member about prayerbooks. We were both lamenting the slow progress on Mishkan T'fillah and how they'd backed off an electronic version to be distributed to congregations along with the books themselves. I opined that in the future we wouldn't need books at all; our PDAs (I think I may even have said palmpilots) would download the day's liturgy as we walked in the door (or we would scan an IR scanner) and have the liturgy we needed right there.

I know I wasn't the first to think of such a thing (if I bothered I could probably find something in a Lawrence Hoffman book that looks pretty similar, as that's what he does), but it in that moment not quite a decade ago, it seemed like madness. MADNESS! This was before the iphone, ipad, Droid, everything-I-need-plus-angry-birds-in-my-pocket, but we could see it was coming.

Of course, it's not madness. This week, the CCAR released Mishkan T'fillah as an ipad app (with more to come for iphone, droid, etc.). Orthodox siddurim have been available on smartphones as apps (along with seforim like the Shulchan Aruch, Maimonides' writings, etc.). More and more congregations (as well as camp, large gatherings, etc.) are emulating the megachurch approach to project the service on a wall, sometimes interactively. More and more synagogues are livestreaming their services. We have seen the future, and it's 'itefilah'.

Part of me thinks this is fantastic. In fact, part of me thinks this doesn't go far enough. It's not enough to have the siddur in my phone for convenience. There should be a social media element to it as well; a way of sharing one's own personal meditations, Twitter-style, while in the moment (this past year's NFTY convention had exactly that; a live Twitter-feed projected along with the liturgy at T'fillah). Certainly to have something like that with seforim to allow for fully engaged social commentary and study, broadening the realm of a study community beyond the self or the four walls or even the need to find a local chevruta and learn, comment, reply to and study with a whole host of folks through Social Media (JPS is starting to experiment with that with their "Tagged Tanakh" ). Why not 'check in' to parts of the liturgy or Torah reading (or a daf yomi, perhaps) Foursquare-style, to signal to friends that you're this far along in your study, in order to encourage others? What about integrated media? You can't make it to services? Don't just 'watch' on the livestream: participate with your itefilah following along, 'synced' with the service you're livestreaming? We have seen the future, and has social media integration.

It sounds exciting--and terrifying. I know of one colleague who loves technology (blogs and tweets, so she's ahead of me) who's bemoaning the distractions that will come from bringing your tablet to services as your siddur. Services getting boring? Don't like the tune? stick your headphones on and tune into a different service! Or just check twitter, the scores, play some tetris etc. And what is there to say about the financial and social stratification: if you don't have a smartphone or tablet, and have to use a prayerbook, does that convey something negative to your fellow worshiper? Does the competition of the parking lot (who's got the better car) now migrate to the sanctuary? Finally, what happens to the sense of praying as a community? We've all seen cartoons lamenting/laughing at youths 'having a conversation'; that is, looking down at their phones and saying nothing to each other. Does this technology bring people together, or push them apart? We have seen the future, and it's...well, kinda lonely.

In Ernest Cline's book Ready Player One, the main character, and indeed all the characters, have escaped a dystopian future world without hope by immersing themselves in a video game world full of pop-culture nostalgia. But at the end, in true 80s movie fashion, the protagonist learns that this escape has led only to a solitary and solipsistic existence, that the world is worth engaging and saving. I marvel at these developments and know that meaningful, engaging Jewish prayer is evolving in directions I couldn't possibly imagine even two years ago, never mind 10. And so long as it's meaningful, engaging, communitarian and prayerful, I welcome our new machine overlords. And if its not, what are these things except new idols demanding are attention?

If you have thoughts on technology (good or bad) I'd love to hear them!

Why Kiruv Sometimes Fails | Beyond BT - The Baal Teshuva / Baal Teshuvah site for Baalei Teshuva / Baalei Teshuvah and Other Growth Oriented Jews

2011-12-06T17:40:00.000-05:00

I was recently asked by a congregant about their friends' kids who became ba'al tshuvah, or 'frummy' in the more vulgar argot. They had been raised Orthodox (if not necessarily Orthoprax) and as they grew and got married, became more and more drawn to Orthodox practice and ritual. For my congregants, the sense was not that they became more 'religious' but more 'doctrinaire' or 'ritualistic'. Perhaps; I'm increasingly loath to judge in that fashion (especially after seeing the joy of Reform Jewish teens adapt or adopt traditional rituals for themselves with tremendous enthusiasm). What's great about this article is it articulates some of what happens for "BTs" and their process and how exhausting and draining it can be, especially when they don't have good mentors (that is, folks who can guide them beyond the ritual into the Kavannah itself). While I can argue pretty authoritatively that this approach is not for me (specifically due to the lack of egalitarianism) I can appreciate the passion, and how that passion can make the process of religious exploration even more challenging...

Why Kiruv Sometimes Fails | Beyond BT - The Baal Teshuva / Baal Teshuvah site for Baalei Teshuva / Baalei Teshuvah and Other Growth Oriented Jews:

'via Blog this'

What can American Jews do?

2011-12-05T07:45:00.001-05:00

U.S. Jews, use your influence to stop Israeli incitement - Haaretz Daily Newspaper | Israel News

Sermon for Vayetzei, or what happens when we miss the God encounter?

2011-12-01T23:05:00.001-05:00

There is a story—no, really more an anecdote—of Nachman ofBratzlav, the great Rebbe who has influenced so many through his stories. Hewas walking with Rabbi Nathan, his greatest disciple, through town and theypassed a fenced yard that was guarded by dogs. These were vicious,half-starved, half mad beasts that rushed up to the edge of the property tolunge, bark and howl at the two Jews walking passed. The disciple did what anyof us would have done; he jumped at their barking, picked up his pace and castthose dogs a glance, hoping the fence was well secured. But Nachman didn’tjump, he didn’t react like we would. Instead he stayed at the fence, and justsaid in a patient, calm and sympathetic voice “I know, I know”. Later, Nachmanexplained that those dogs weren’t just dogs, they were souls trapped in thebodies of dogs, souls caught in the gilgul,the cycle of ascent and descent, and as they were not human, never mindJewish, could not perform the necessary teshuvahto ascend again. Whereas the disciple heard only angry, ferocious beastsready to devour him, Nachman heard instead the cries of pain of those who couldnot recover their own spiritual selves. And it would be his job, Nachman’s job,to help release them of their pain, to find a way to descend in order to helpthose dog-trapped souls ascend.

What are we to make of this story? Most of us don’t know howto talk to dogs, or at least identify when dogs have an existential crisis. Butmore to the point, most of us, I fear, miss the spiritual element of a moment,of an encounter, as easily as Nathan missed the souls trapped in those viciousdogs. To be sure, we hear cries of pain; in those suffering from AIDS, frompoverty, from humiliation and hunger and abuse. God-willing, we may even heedthose cries and try to bring some kind of relief. But whether it’s in our ownlives or in the lives of others, do we see the element of holiness, the spirit,the Godliness of the moment.

This week Jacob—in exile from his home, under the threat ofviolence from his brother, without a friend in the world—dreams of the ladderwith the angels descending and ascending, in a gilgul a cycle of their own, and upon waking proclaims achein yeish adonai b’makiom hazeh v’anochilo yadati: God was in this place and surely I didn’t know it. it’s afavorite verse of mine, as well as numerous commentators: Larry Kushner wrote awhole book on it, Julie Silver wrote a song on it. And they all focus on themoment of discovery: that point when we, like Jacob, acknowledge theGod-encounter in our lives. But what about the perceived absence of God? Whatabout that moment when we don’t hear the cries of spiritual pain, but only dogsbarking?

Some of it lies, of course, in our image, or images, of God,and how they often prove stumbling blocks. The author Roger Kamentz reminds usthat our images are always dissatisfying. “We…collect portraits of Godthroughout our lives, beginning in childhood. And often we become dissatisfiedwith our old portraits and seek new ones. Child or adult, atheist, agnostic, orjust plain confused, we can never feel satisfied with our portraits of God.”Yes, even the atheist carries an image of the God he doesn’t believe in. Someof it lies in our collective spiritual pain. How can we hear one person’s painover our collective trauma? Kamnetz again: “Logic says, How can you ask me tobelieve in a good and mighty king, after the fires of the Holocaust? How canyou talk about an invisible king, who is supposedly good and mighty and humble?The Holocaust stops every movement toward faith in its tracks…”

But some of it is our own inability—no, our refusal—torecognize the holiness in the other. We become so involved in our own self, inour own cycle of ascent and descent, our own needs, that we become inured toother people’s pain. Dennis Ross (the rabbi, not the diplomat) writes of anexperience while doing hospital visits. On his way out he passed a bank of payphonesand overheard a man speaking, presumably with his spouse, and saying to her,“but dear, if you can’t do this forme, then what good are you?” All of us have experienced this in one way oranother. I have been the recipient of such treatment, and I’m sad to say I’veengaged in this behavior as well, and like Jacob, only realized too late how Imissed the potential sacredness of the encounter.

For Rebbe Nachman, there was no such thing as a meaninglessencounter or experience. Indeed, every moment was full of meaning, of potentialholiness, of opportunities for spiritual ascent. I truly believe that there istruth, profound truth in this. And more than that, when we absent God from theencounter, we only increase the pain and suffering: for the other, and forourselves.

Achein yeish Adonai b’makom Hazeh ve’anochi lo yadati:Surely God is in this place and every place, and too frequently I—we—fail toacknowledge this truth. May we strive to do better, to hear the soul of all whocry in pain and need, and while we may never be satisfied with our ownportraits of God, may we strive to truly see God in the face of those weencounter. Amen.

Well, okay then

2011-11-30T15:26:00.001-05:00

I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving, loyal readers.

Apparently, the Netanyahu government has a new solution to the crisis in Jewish identity: don't marry American Jews! Really, the solution is brilliant in its simplicity, not dissimilar to this solution to child hunger and overpopulation. Except without the humor.

On another note, I just finished David Hartman's The God Who Hates Lies. Such a fantastic and fascinating read, seeing an Orthodox rabbi's own evolution toward egalitarianism and a more liberal acceptance of Jewish identity within the rubric of Halakha, essentially and purposefully proposing a different ethos toward Halakhic engagement. Indeed, one could see this as the Orthodox flipside to Moshe Zemer's (zz'l) own attempt to re-engage Halakha from a liberal/progressive Jewish standpoint. I'll post a more detailed review later this/next week.

Excelsior!

Jerusalem & Babylon / Ultra-Orthodox need not protest Israel, they run it - Haaretz Daily Newspaper | Israel News

2011-11-18T17:13:00.000-05:00

Jerusalem & Babylon / Ultra-Orthodox need not protest Israel, they run it - Haaretz Daily Newspaper | Israel News: "Israel’s political class has long ago sold Jerusalem off to the ultra-Orthodox. The deal was legal and democratic and if Israelis don’t wake up, it won’t stop in the capital."

'via Blog this'

I have a modest proposal: let us eliminate synagogue dues - Reform Judaism

2011-11-14T15:00:00.000-05:00

I'm just going to leave this right here. Great and wonderful insights from Howard Jaffe, a fantastic rabbi at a remarkable congregation. No-brainer for some, incredibly challenging for others (and I know there are finance chairs of synagogues absolutely freaking out--understandably--at the idea of getting rid of dues as a model), but this is worth a read if you care about synagogue life and its sustainability.

I have a modest proposal: let us eliminate synagogue dues - Reform Judaism:

"Okay, it is not so modest. It may be a bit too ambitious. So how about this: can we at least rethink how we fund our synagogues?

We need a new financial model in North American Jewish life."

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Rhythm Guitar Rabbi (Ben Sharff): Joe Pa and Judaism

2011-11-10T13:50:00.000-05:00

Thanks to my friend and colleague, Ben Sharff, for his reflections on the Penn State debacle. In a week when we read Abraham bargain for the existence of Sodom and Gomorrah, asking to spare the cities if even a minimum of righteous people exist, and exhorting God that the God of justice must judge righteously, we are reminded that too often, Evil goes on justified and unchecked, and the righteous do nothing to protect the innocent.

Rhythm Guitar Rabbi: Joe Pa and Judaism:

But I began reflecting on what Jewish tradition might say. In terms of the performance of mitzvot, rabbis list the minimum one needs to do in order to fulfill a mitzvah. For example, when building a sukkah, it needs to be at minimum, tall enough to sit in and fit at least one person (Shulchan Aruch Orah Hayyim 633:1).But of course the goal is to do so much more than the minimum. The goal is to build a structure where one can truly celebrate this wonderful fall festival. Hence, the bare minimum really is never enough.
Also there is the principle of tzedek, tzekek tirdof, justice, justice, you shall pursue, (Deuteronomy 16:20). One of the classic interpretations of this phrase is we are obligated to seek out justice and to make sure it is done and applied fairly. Not just to pass it on to others to handle.

'via Blog this'

"Lo Rotzei Lihiyot Iran"

2011-11-09T13:05:00.001-05:00

When I lived in Israel FAR too long ago, there was a placard and a bumper sticker that I saw frequently that spoke of the peril of Iran. Not as we discuss Iran today, mind you; it wasn't a fear of Iran blowing Israel to bits. Rather, it was a different kind of existentialist crisis; that slowly but surely Israeli values were being undermined and metastasized into looking an awful lot like the Islamic republic. The bumper sticker said: "We don't want to become Iran". Bradley Burston's Op-Ed in Ha'aretz brings that point home again.

We are turning Iran. And every step we take toward that end, Iran wins.

Every time a bureaucrat in black - ostensibly, ostentatiously, a Rav, a rabbi, a man of greatness – can discriminate against women; every time he can deny them access to holy sites and relegate them to the backs of buses; every time he can prohibit the image of a woman's face in public advertising; every time he can decide when and where and if, as soldiers, as students, as worshippers, they may sing or dance or speak or stand or even be present in Jewish worship, Iran wins.

Every time a well-connected crackpot preacher holds up vital hospital construction, brandishing a voodoo ruling of his alone; every time he abrogates the religious rights of Reform, Conservative, Reconstructionist, Renewal and even fellow Orthodox Jews, even rabbis; every time he bars Ethiopian or Moroccan schoolgirls from studying with Ashkenazi schoolgirls, Iran wins.
Every time a self-styled pious Jew places an extremist holy man above the law and its commands; every time he desecrates a mosque, every time he destroys Palestinian-owned olive trees; every time he attacks Arabs with rocks; every time he threatens peace activists in their homes; and every time he gets away with it - which is every time - Iran wins.

Every time the cabinet and the Knesset advance anti-democratic bills meant to stifle dissent, suppress the Arabic language, demonize human rights workers, and curb freedoms of expression and the press, Iran wins.

I hope he's wrong, I hope there's still time. Because as afraid as I am of a madman with a ticking time-bomb with the names of Israel inscribed upon it, I'm even more afraid of what happens to an Israel that, in pursuit of existential security, undermines its very existence.

Joshua Garroway, Scholar In Residence

2011-11-08T18:57:00.003-05:00

Just had a wonderful weekend with Joshua Garroway as our scholar in residence. I can't begin to say how wonderful it was. Firstly, it was great seeing a classmate, friend and colleague in action; I so rarely get to do that. Especially watching someone I've known for 11 years do what they do best: teach Torah to an appreciative audience. I could go on and on, but I'd rather you see his words for yourself. Below you'll find his Friday night talk in all its depth, thoughtfulness, scandal and erudition. Thanks Josh for a terrific weekend!

Congregation Bene Emeth
Wilmington, Delaware
November 5, 2011
Abraham: The First Jew?
Rabbi Joshua Garroway, Ph.D.
Hebrew Union College – Jewish Institute of Religion

I would like to begin my remarks this evening with a somewhat scandalous question. I start in this manner because of my assumption that listeners who are shocked or disturbed by what they first hear from a speaker are more apt to pay attention to what he or she says afterwards. Howard Stern and Rush Limbaugh, famously, have cashed in on that aspect of human nature in the modern world, but great orators of the past, such as Cicero, and the great rabbinic sermonizers of antiquity, knew it all the same. When people ask: “Did he really just say that?” they tend to keep on listening—and they listen eagerly.

The question meant to shock you is this:

Can a woman be a Jew? That’s right: can a woman be a Jew? I am not asking whether a woman can be a rabbi, a subject of lively debate in certain sectors of the Jewish world. Nor am I asking whether a woman can wear a kippah, or read from the Torah, or count towards a minyan – other legal questions still in play in certain non-liberal Jewish settings. No, I am asking a more basic question: can a woman even be a Jew in the first place?

Now, let me put your minds at ease from the start. The answer is categorically “yes,” a woman can be a Jew. Indeed, there are millions of Jewish women in the world, some of whom are here tonight, and I have no intention of undermining that identity. What I will propose here this evening, however, is that the question—can a woman be a Jew?--is not as ridiculous as one might think. And to it we could add other questions which are equally provocative, and, I would suggest, no more preposterous: Can a person with a Jewish mother, but not a Jewish father, be a Jew? Can a person with a Jewish father, but not a Jewish mother, be a Jew? Can a person without a Jewish mother or a Jewish father, that is, a convert, really be a Jew? Can an atheist, even a professed agnostic, really be a Jew? All of these questions, however disturbing or controversial, are, in my opinion, reasonable questions—reasonable enough, at least, that they have been asked and debated by Jews long before I raised them here tonight. The answer to all of them is “yes,” at least in my opinion, but I could name for you at least one
Jew, either presently living or from the past, who would answer “no” to each of these questions because the questions themselves are reasonable.

These questions are reasonable because of the nature of Jewish identity itself. Jewish identity, which is the main focus of my scholarship, is as we all know a notoriously contentious issue—especially in our own day. At present in the state of Israel, for instance, just who qualifies as a Jew, and how the state-endorsed orthodox rabbinate makes those decisions, are matters that affect the lives of many of us in the Reform Movement, not to mention Russian immigrants, Ethiopian immigrants, Karaites, Samaritans, and others. As an example, and to let you know that I have a personal stake in the matter, consider my own quirky dilemma: as the son of a mother converted by a rabbi ordained in the Reform movement, in Israel I am not considered a Jew when it comes to marriage, burial, or other religious rights, but I am a Jew insofar as the Law of return is concerned. Am I a really a Jew then? I certainly think so, but others apparently disagree.

And to show that such controversy is not restricted only to the state of Israel, consider the hairs on the back of your own necks—most of you I’m guessing—were I to proclaim publicly that Jews for Jesus, or messianic Jews, are in fact, as they claim, Jews and as such should be admitted to membership in this synagogue, called to the Torah, and so on. Many of us, I imagine, would contest that claim to Jewish identity. Are, then, messianic Jews Jews? In that case, I don’t think so, but they certainly think so and, again, it’s a matter of reasonable controversy.

As a historian of Jewish identity, I can assure you that what is happening today is nothing new. 25 centuries ago, in the days of Ezra and Nehemiah, “what makes a person a Jew” was a hotly contested matter, as Jews returning from the exile in Babylonia questioned the authenticity of Jews who had remained all the while in Jerusalem. And similar controversies, mutatis mutandis, ensconced Jewish communities 20 centuries ago, 15, 10, and 5 centuries ago, and 5 centuries from today claims to Jewish identity will still be a matter of vigorous contention.

The reason for that never-ending controversy is the simple fact that no single criterion for establishing Jewish identity has ever been established, which has applied to all places and in all times. A survey of Jewish history reveals that there has simply never been a single, necessary, and sufficient trait that eternally separates the Jew from the non-Jew. There is, in other words, no such thing as an essence of Jewishness, no irreducible core that unifies Jews in every time and place.

To demonstrate what I mean when I say that no single trait, no single belief, no single criterion qualifies as the essential attribute of the Jewish people, let us consider the man about whom we read in the Torah portions this time of year, Avraham Avinu, our forefather, Abraham. Often one hears that Abraham was the first Jew. That’s a contentious claim, of course, but for argument’s sake let us assume that Abraham is indeed the first Jew, and thus the Jew par excellence. What I’d like to examine for the next few minutes is just what about Abraham makes him the first Jew. Does he exhibit any characteristics that will be uniformly representative of all Jews who follow him?

In the first place, one might say that Abraham was a Jew because of something he did. What exactly did Abraham do that might have made him the quintessential Jew? Most importantly, Abraham forged a unique, eternal covenant with God, which God sealed into his flesh in the act of circumcision. Indeed, Genesis 17 makes it unmistakably clear that circumcision is the irreducible essence of the covenant between God and Abraham: ytiúyrIB. tazOæ God says to Abraham, rkz ta ~kl lwmh. This is my covenant, all your males shall be circumcised. Later God adds:

“Any uncircumcised male whose flesh is not circumcised will be cut off from his people because he has broken my covenant.” In other words, if you are not a circumcised male, at least according to the 17th chapter of Genesis, then you are not included in the covenant. Now, if inclusion in the Abrahamic covenant with God is what makes one a Jew, one might reasonably conclude that only circumcised men can be considered Jews. Hence, the scandalous question with which we began.

Now, most of us probably assume that it is preposterous to suppose that only circumcised men can be members of the Abrahamic covenant, and in that sense, Jews. Yet, there was at least one author in antiquity who believed just that, that the Abrahamic covenant was limited to circumcised men. The author of Jubilees, a Hebrew work of the second century BCE, insists in that work’s 15th chapter that the Abrahamic covenant is restricted not merely to circumcised men, but to men circumcised on the 8th day of life in accordance with the protocol established by God in Genesis. A boy circumcised just a day late, on the 9th day of life, is barred from the covenant.

Now that’s a rather extreme view, but the author of Jubilees was not alone in antiquity when it came to assuming that circumcision is the indispensable requirement for inclusion in the Abrahamic covenant. The great sages of the Talmud make the same assumption about the covenant. In a famous passage from tractate avodah zarah, the Talmud makes an astonishing claim that reveals just how deeply at least some rabbis fretted over the apparent exclusion of women from the covenant of Abraham. The statement comes amidst a discussion about who may perform a circumcision on an infant boy. According to the great sage, Rabbi Yochanan, any circumcised Jew person may perform the circumcision. Bizarre as it may seem, however, the category of “circumcised Jews” includes Jewish women. Jewish women are classified as k’man d’mehila damya, which is to say, as if circumcised. By dint of her birth, Rabbi Yochanan claims, it is as though a Jewish woman has a circumcised penis.

The same is true, by the way, for Jewish boys with hemophilia. Mercifully, the Talmud forbids circumcising an infant if two older brothers had died from the surgery. Assuming that the younger brother, too, will bleed to death, the boy is permitted to keep his foreskin. But such a foreskinned boy would be excluded from the Abrahamic covenant; so, just as Jewish women, the foreskinned boy is reckoned as though his foreskin is not there. It is all a legal fiction, of course: women don’t have penises, much less circumcised penises; and forskinned hemophiliacs are not circumcised by the looks of it. But the rabbis were compelled by the text in Genesis to conclude that membership in the covenant of Abraham requires a circumcised penis, and unwilling to exclude women and hemophiliacs from that covenant, they simply flouted reality: women and foreskinned men are in fact circumcised, they said, however contrived and ridiculous that assertion may seem. But the legal fiction highlights just how inadequate circumcision is as a definitive marker of Jewish identity. More than half the Jews in the world at any time do not even have penises to be circumcised.
Perhaps, then, what makes Abraham Jewish is not something he did – name

ly, seal a covenant with God in his flesh – but it was rather something Abraham thought or believed. Many of us learned as children what Jewish traditions have said about Abraham’s revolutionary religious intuition. Convinced of the orderliness present in our world, Abraham abandoned belief in the pantheon of Babylonian gods, destroyed his family’s idols, and devoted himself resolutely to God, the only God of the universe. Abraham, in other words, was a monotheist, a believer in a single personal God. So, perhaps we might say that monotheistic belief is the hallmark of Jewish identity?

Here again, however, we would run into difficulty. Were monotheism considered the essential attribute of the Jew, many of our beloved ancient forbears would hardly make the grade. To provide just one of what could be scores of examples, consider King David, perhaps the greatest of all biblical heroes, the king from whose loins many Jews still believe the messiah of Israel will emerge. David could not have been a monotheist inasmuch as several of the psalms he is reputed to have written betray unmistakably polytheistic sentiments.

Those of you hailing from conservative or orthodox backgrounds are no doubt familiar with the 29th Psalm, a psalm attributed to King David, which traditionally is recited on Sabbath mornings when the Torah is returned to the ark. Havu ladoshem benei elim, that psalm begins, “Give praise and strength to Adonai, O children of the gods.” Now, of course, no Jewish prayer book translates the verse thusly. One is more likely to find something like: “Give praise and strength to Adonai, O angelic beings,” or some other euphemistic expression that obscures the patently non-monotheistic sentiment in the Hebrew. Scholars of the Hebrew Bible know full well that this Psalm depicts the God of the Israelites, Adonai, in the same manner that contemporary literature represented the Canaanite god, Ba’al—as the king of the gods, like Zeus, who takes his seat in a heavenly counsel amongst the other gods. That is not monotheism. If monotheism is the standard by which Jewish identity is determined, then the author the 29th psalm, if it is King David himself, would not qualify as a Jew.

Of course, that’s only one side of the problem. Consider the alternative: Jews who believe not in many gods, but in no god at all! There may be some gathered here right now who admit to being agnostics or even atheists. Does that mean they are not Jews? And yet, polytheists and atheists would constitute only a part of the problem were we to make monotheism the defining characteristic of the Jew. There remains the precarious fact that, even among Jews who do believe, or have believed, in a single god, there are nearly as many descriptions of that god as there are Jews. The Jewish mystics, for example, describe God as a complex arrangement of ten discrete, interacting emanations of deity. Alternatively, the great 12th century Spanish philosopher Maimonides described God in Aristotelian terms, as the remote and transcendent mind that “thinks the thought that is itself.” In contrast to that, the 17th century Dutch philosopher Spinoza conceived of god as coterminous with the universe. God, he would say, does not transcend the world; God is the world. And then there’s the 19th century German philosopher, Hermann Cohen, who would say that God is not a discrete being at all, but merely an idea, and idea of moral perfection that guarantees a moral universe. I could go on and
on, of course, choosing Jews from different centuries and from different lands, but such a list would only underscore what is already an obvious point: the monotheism of Abraham cannot be the standard by which Jewish identity is determined, since Jews have believed in many gods, no gods, and every type of single god one can imagine.

Perhaps, then, we need to change gears once more. Maybe it is not anything Abraham did that made him a Jew, or anything he thought that made him a Jew, but simply the fact that he was Abraham, the man through whom God chose to establish a covenanted family, the children of Abraham, the Israelites, the Jews. In other words, perhaps Abraham’s Jewishness was in his DNA, so to speak, a trait that would be passed down to his children, his children’s children, and his children’s children’s children, all the way down to us today, those whom George Washington famously dubbed “the stock of Abraham” when writing to the synagogue in Newport, Rhode Island. Perhaps Jewishness is inherited.

Indeed, were one to ask around today, that’s likely to be the standard for Jewishness heard mentioned most frequently: “A person is Jewish if his or her mother is Jewish.” Unfortunately, the certitude with which that claim so often is asserted belies an avalanche of historical evidence to the contrary. Just look at Abraham’s own grandchildren. If we suppose that Sarah, as a co-founder of the covenant alongside Abraham, was the first Jewess, then her son Isaac would be a Jew. Fair enough; no problems so far. But Isaac’s wife, Rebekkah, did not have a Jewish mother, which would end the lineage of Jews only one generation after it began. Yet, even if we assume that Rebekkah, for whatever reason, was also a Jew, then her two children, Jacob and Esau, would also be Jews. Yet, Esau is by no estimation a Jew. In fact, he is the progenitor of an entirely different people, the Edomites, who centuries later would become mortal enemies of the Jews. The matrilineal principle fails to account for Jewishness within just two generations of Abraham himself. And, even if we were to say that the principle of inherited identity only kicked in, so to speak, in the third generation, with Jacob’s children, the Israelites, one would invariably be stymied by the fact that, from biblical times down to the rabbis, Jewish identity ran through fathers, not mothers. The matrilineal principle was in fact invented by the rabbis in the first few centuries of the common era, before which time one was deemed Jewish if his father was Jew. Now, of course, the Reform Movement has blended the two, deeming a person a Jew if either his mother or his father is Jewish, provided that he exhibits timely and appropriate acts of identification with the Jewish people. Thus, one cannot say that Jewish identity is in the blood because just whose blood is determinative has changed back and forth over the course of time. And that is not to mention the

many people over the course of history who, though born to a Jewish mother and father, chose to abandon their Jewish identity. Many, many Jews converted to Christianity in 15th century Spain, for example, or 19th century Germany, and yet we do not consider their descendants Jewish. Yet, if Jewish identity is truly in the blood, then converting out of that identity would be impossible. So, too, would converting into the Jewish people, a prospect that would de-legitimate the Jewishness of twenty centuries’ worth of converts to Judaism and their descendants.

The simple fact is that pedigree, like circumcision, like monotheistic belief, cannot suffice as the single criterion that determines Jewishness. There is no such thing as a Jewish essence.
That can be a disheartening proposition. If there is no Jewish essence -- no trait, no belief, no gene, no experience – that makes a Jew a Jew, then what is it that connects us as Jews? What links me as a Jew to you as a Jew, or us as Jews to another community of Jews convening for Shabbat this evening, or us as Jews to other communities of Jews in the past? So often we invoke ideas like l’dor va-dor, from generation to generation, or shalshelet kabbalah, the chain of tradition, or am Yisrael, the people of Israel, in a way that suggests there is some grand uniformity, some essence, that connects all Jews in different times and different places. That idea gives us comfort and strength, a sense of solidarity, of historical meaning, and purpose. From Abraham, to David, to the Maccabees, to the sages, to Rashi, to Herzl, to those who perished at Auschwitz: we are all connected somehow. We are all Jews. And yet, as we have seen, that notion of a Jewish essence, that there is indeed something that links us all together, is quite simply belied by historical evidence.

That is disheartening.

But it’s also encouraging, I think. For while the notion of a Jewish essence may provide a sense of solidarity and purpose, there are consequences to essentialism, consequences that we as progressive Jews appreciate full-well. An essence, by definition, cannot change. Were Jewish identity to have an essence, then we as Jews would lose the capacity to redefine it anew in every generation. Judaism would lose its capacity to change, to adapt, to progress into something that corresponds to the aspirations of new people in new times and new places. The rich variety of Jewish beliefs and expressions exhibited by the figures I mentioned above – Abraham, David, the Maccabees, the sages, Rashi and Herzl; not to mention Maimonides, Hermann Cohen, and Spinoza; or Reform Jews, Conservative Jews, and Orthodox Jews – that collage of Jewish expression, which has no essence, would never have been possible.

Does that mean that we, as Jews, must resign ourselves to the fact that, without an essence, we are not connected l’dor va-dor, from generation to generation, in a shalshelet kabbalah that links us all as am Yisrael, the Jewish people? I would suggest not, and in closing I’d like to leave you with an image that reveals how a people without an essence can nevertheless understand themselves as an intimately connected people linked through time and space.
That image, to which I am indebted to my teacher, professor Michael Meyer, is a rope. Now, I am no rope-maker, but my understanding is that no single thread in a rope is as long as the rope itself. In a 10 foot rope, for example, no single thread is more than 2 or 3 feet long. A 2 foot thread connects to another 2 foot thread, which connects to another two foot thread in a different place, which connects to a three-foot thread, which connects to a one-foot thread, and so on and so forth until all these threads are twisted into a rope ten feet in length. But no single thread is connected to all other threads. Indeed, if the rope were constructed with such an “essential” thread, the rope would be weaker and its integrity compromised. The strength of the rope owes itself to the interconnectedness of all the non-essential threads.

In like manner we might imagine Jewish identity over time. There is no thread that extends from Abraham all the way down to us, a thread encompassing all Jews in all times and in all places. But that does not mean there is no rope extending from Abraham all the way down to us, a rope that includes all Jews in all times and all places, a rope in which different strands of thought, belief, ritual, appearance, ethnicity, and the like, have been twisted together into a single cord, whose singular strength and integrity has enabled it to endure from the time of Abraham until today.

Tonight's Sermon: or "how to cheer up an overworked rabbi"

2011-10-28T10:57:00.002-04:00

Rabbi Yair Robinson

Congregation Beth Emeth

Parashat Noach 10/28/11

They said in seminary there’d be weeks like these.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my job, but at this time of year,I find myself doing more minutiae and less ‘rabbi-ing’ than I’d like. Therealways seem to be more programs, projects, courses, rehearsals, phone messagesand visitations at this time of year, each more important than the last, andgetting through them takes some measure of discipline.

Yesterday was looking like one of those days when I got tomy second appointment of the day, already running a few minutes late.

I was meeting with a young woman, a mom and member of thecongregation whose kids attend our religious school. We’d talked a few timesand I knew her from Sundays and carpool, and knew her kids, but all in passing.

She sat down and looked at her hands in a way that indicatedshe had something important to say and wasn’t sure how to say it. When she’dasked for an appointment she said it concerned ‘family stuff, but nothing bad’;nevertheless, I had steeled myself.

She started by asking if I knew she wasn’t Jewish. I didn’t;in fact, I make a habit of assuming everyone in shul is Jewish unless I’m toldotherwise, and anyway she had seemed awfully knowledgeable. She began talkingabout her upbringing in the Philadelphia region, growing up nominally Catholicbut feeling disaffected from that religion, but then going to a Friend’s Schoolfor high school, where all her friends and many of her teachers were Jewish.She talked about dating Jewish boys, going to friends’ houses for Passover, andeven being invited to travel to Israel, where she had her most profoundspiritual experience standing before the Kotel. In due time she went to college(where she, by chance, joined a Jewish sorority), married a Jewish man, andbegan a Jewish family, two kids who love religious school and this place. Whileraising her family, she’d read books by Anita Diamant—first the Red Tent , and then Choosing a Jewish Life. She talked about the ethos she read in thatbook, and how it touched her very person: that we strive to do right and goodin this world for the sake of this world, rather than to enter some reward atthe end, and with the hope we would be remembered for blessing.

She looked and toldme how she felt that now she was ready to convert to Judaism.

Needless to say, that half-hour appointment became an hour,and the rest of the morning’s projects got pushed off to the side.

Despite my happy jaunts into Kabbalah and neo-Chasidism, I’mnot prone to flights of fancy. I tend to view the world fairly empirically,with one exception. I am increasingly convinced that some things happen for areason, and when one is born with a Jewish Neshoma,that neshoma, that quality of soulwill out, and will drink in the Jewish experience as a parched man drinkswater. At the high holidays I talked about the idea of coming and searching,and talked about how so often we feel disappointed with our search. Butsometimes, sometimes we find what we didn’t even know we were looking for andfall upon it like a lifeline.

To hear someone’s spiritual journey, and to be given theopportunity to play some small role in that journey, to bring some water to theparched lips, is a special gift. But even greater is the gift for the personwho for even one brief moment sees the journey herself, and is able to seeeverything click into place. For that person, her heritage is secure.

Thus it is in our Torah portion. It begins: Eilah Toldot Noach, Noach ish tzaddik, which is usually translated as “this is thestory or generations of Noah”, but RASHI and the Kabbalists remind us thosewords could also be understood to mean “these are the chronicles—the lifeexperiences, the stories—that lead to comfort, the comfort of the righteous”. Thatthis isn’t the story of a person; rather, it’s a metaphor for the journey weall take toward righteousness and comfort—the comfort we bring to others andthe comfort we ourselves find at last. The Zohar comments that noach, comfort, means ‘returning to thesource’; and isn’t that the journey of all of us who strive for righteousness,to return to that source of Holiness, of Oneness, of Unity, that is Torah, thatis Humanity, that is God? Seen in thislight, Noach isn’t just a story aboutsome dude with a boat, but is a metaphor for all our stories, our own effortsto reach the Source.

Art Green reminds us that the journey does not come aboutfrom moaning over our human inadequacies, nor from burdening ourselves withoverwhelming guilt. Instead, it comes from a place of inner rest and peace. Thepath to self-transcendence begins with self-acceptance. I was given a gift thisweek: to witness that act take place, and be given an opportunity toparticipate. But it was also an opportunity for me to reflect on my own path,my own journey toward the Source. May you be so inspired as I was, and findyourselves as we move past the holidays moving toward the Source, moving towardPeace. Amen.

‘Pidyon Shvuyim’ Validated the Price of Shalit’s Release - NYTimes.com

2011-10-22T22:17:00.000-04:00

‘Pidyon Shvuyim’ Validated the Price of Shalit’s Release - NYTimes.com:

Further texts and references.

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Why Americans Dismiss Sin - Reform Judaism

2011-10-21T13:44:00.000-04:00

Why Americans Dismiss Sin - Reform Judaism:

"Jews and Christians, to be sure, do not understand sin in precisely the same way, but both see it as a foundational theological category. As a Jew, fresh from the jarring experience of Yom Kippur prayer, I find myself wishing that we would struggle with it more than we do -- separately in our respective traditions and collectively as partners in building a more just society."

Wonderful Op-Ed from Eric Yoffie (and when the outgoing head of the Reform Movement--the poster child of Liberal Religion--talks about sin, it's time to listen). Even for those who don't agree (and I'm sure y'all will be legion) this provides wonderful food for thought as we transition from the High Holidays to the rest of the year...

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Thoughts and Texts on Gilad Shalit's Freedom

2011-10-20T14:14:00.001-04:00

This will appear on "The Rabbi Speaks" this coming Sunday and be part of tomorrow night's sermon:

Rabbi Yair Robinson

Congregation Beth Emeth

Gilad Shalit is home.

After five grueling, terribleyears, and two wars, Gilad Shalit, a 25 year-old sergeant in Israel’s defenseforces, was returned by the terrorist organization Hamas, who kidnapped him in2005. In exchange, Israel has freed over a thousand individuals, militants andterrorists who planned and executed attacks on civilians.

It’s hard for us as Americans tofully appreciate why this is so important for Israel, why one soldier’s lifemight be worth the lives of so many others, why Israel would be willing tonegotiate with terrorists to secure the freedom of a single sergeant. Those ofus who grew up living through the 1980s and the kidnappings and hostage-takingsin Lebanon, and remembering the tough language used by the government of thetime, refusing to negotiate the release of even one individual with Hezbollahand other militant organizations, may especially feel that somehow Israelbehaved inappropriately, or at least indiscreetly, letting murderers go free.

The first thing we need toremember is the role the military plays in the lives of Israelis, and the roleIsraeli life plays in the military. Nearly every individual, when he or sheturns 18, enters the military to serve a minimum 3-year term, and all servesome form of reserve duty well into their 40s. This means that every parent,every girlfriend or boyfriend, every sibling, has had the experience of seeingsomeone they love dress in uniform and go off, always knowing that they maynever be seen alive again. Israel is a small country—barely 7 and a halfmillion, five and a half are Jewish—so any loss has a tremendous ripple-effect.In the same way that the loss of an American soldier in Iraq or Afghanistan hasa profound effect on a single town or county here in the US, the loss of a single young man or woman inIsrael is felt by all. That soldier could be anyone’s child, and so GiladShalit became EVERYONE’s child. And to have so few moments of contact—the RedCross was denied access to him throughout his captivity—meant that everyone inIsrael was living through their worst nightmares alongside Gilad’s parents.

Jewish tradition is informativeas well. Throughout the middle-ages, prominent Jews and sometimes wholecommunities were taken captive by local royalty, who would ransom them ashostages to raise money, not unlike what we hear about in South America. Onewould expect that this would create a culture hardened against the plight ofsuch captives, inured to the experience. This is not the case. Maimonides, the11^th century Physician and Scholar, writes in his Mishneh Torah, his great legal code:

Hilchot Matnot Aniyim8:12

The ransoming of captives takesprecedence over the feeding and clothing of the poor. Indeed there is noreligious duty more meritorious than the ransoming of captives, for notonly is the captive included in the generality of the hungry, the thirsty, andthe naked, but his very life is in jeopardy. He who turns his eyes away fromransoming him, transgresses the commandments: You shalt not harden yourheart, nor shut your hand (Deut. 15:7), Neither shall you stand idly bythe blood of your neighbor (Lev. 19:16), and He shall not rule withrigor over him in your sight (Lev. 25:53). Moreover, he nullifies thecommandments: You shall surely open your hand unto him (Deut. 15:8), Thatyour brother may live with you (Lev. 25:36), You shall love yourneighbor as yourself (Lev. 19:18), Deliver them that are drawn untodeath (Prov. 24:11), and many similar admonitions. To sum up, there isno religious duty greater (Mitzvah Rabba) than the ransoming ofcaptives.

And Joseph Caro’s Shulchan Aruch of the 17^thcentury adds:

The Shulchan Aruch (YD 252:3)

...And even if money was collectedto build a synagogue, and they have already purchased the wood and stonesneeded, and set them aside for the building, (so that it is forbidden to usethese building materials for any other purposes), it is still permissible tosell them in order to free captives. And he concludes by stating: Every momentthat one delays in freeing captives, in cases where it is possible to expeditetheir freedom, is considered to be tantamount to murder.

So wesee that we as Jews have taken captivity very seriously, and see any effort toransom captives, to redeem those hidden away from the view of the worldunjustly, as entirely meritorious, and to not do so makes one complicit in thedeath of the hostage.

Ofcourse, there are issues of realpolitik involved: does this strengthen thehands of Hamas, weaken the peace process, or somehow show Israel to be softwhen it lives in a tough neighborhood? To respond to that, I return to thewords of Golda Meir, prime minister of Israel at the time of the Yom KippurWar: Golda Meir said, "The only way toeliminate war is to love our children more than we hate ourenemies."The redemption of Gilad Shalit proves that we—and Israel—love our children morethan we hate. And to do so takes great strength indeed, strength that may leadto peace, or not, but at least for now leads to wholeness.

Baruch Matir Asurim:blessed is the one who redeems captives. Amen.

Yom Kippur Morning Sermon 5772

2011-10-08T20:50:00.000-04:00

I first noticed it in the eyes, wide andalert, not with joy, but anticipation, and not a little bit of fear, and old,like the city they were watching. These were the eyes of the soldier on duty inthe Old City of Jerusalem, on my last visit back to Israel. It was the firsttime that the soldiers weren’t adults to me, weren’t these majestic lions, butkids, youths no older than 18, 19, or 20. Where to my American eyes they shouldhave been wearing basketball jerseys and ball caps, they were wearing flak jacketsand helmets. Where the American teenager would be playing on their mobile phonetexting with friends, they’re handling their M-16 and radio (and texting withfriends). Where our kids are worrying about which college is the right fit forthem, or what they should post to facebook, these kids are worrying about theirfriends’ lives, worrying about what their parents will feel if something shouldhappen to them.

We are not used to the idea of discomfort atthat level being brought close to home. We are unaccustomed to that level ofsacrifice. We are certainly not used to the idea of sending off our youngestgeneration, never mind our own children, into harms’ way. And think of thesacrifices, no less small, that our own children, boys and girls of eighteen ornineteen or twenty are making, returning from foreign wars to years ofpsychological or physical therapy, or to be buried.

To many of us, that burden is too much tobear, too much to give. As a culture, we are taught not to think of what weshould give up, but what we should get, what benefit, what pleasure we shouldderive from a thing. We are focused on happiness, on having fun, on enjoyingourselves. We all buy into that notion in one way, shape or form. We justifyour purchases, no matter how petty, or our behavior no matter how erratic, withthe phrase “well, if it makes us happy, why not?” If that car makes us happy,does it matter its gas mileage? If that outfit makes us happy, does it matterhow appropriate or inappropriate it is? This is America, after all, and no onecan tell us what to do or not do. I find myself using the same language; howmany b’nai mitzvah have I told to go onto this bimah and have fun. Not have aspiritual or meaningful experience, not do a good job, or even do their best,but get up here and have fun.

I wonder whether we are really meant to behappy, whether happiness is our greatest and most important tool of measuringhow meaningful our lives are. Think of how many American children areprescribed mood-altering substances despite the paucity of research on whatlong-term effect this has on children, and the studies showing that too manychildren are over-prescribed these medications. Think more of theever-encroaching marketing efforts to us and to our children. Will your childreally be happy unless she has Dora the Explorer episodes on DVD? Or Doracereal? What about Dora underwear? Will you really be happy unless youhave the body you’ve always wanted (and haven’t you always wanted six-pack abs?Or shoulders you could lay a bridge over?). Everything is there, that constantdrone reminding us to be ‘happy’. And yet, happiness seems to get us in moretrouble than it’s worth.

Ralph Waldo Emerson once wrote:” The purpose of life is not to behappy. It is to be useful, to be honorable, to be compassionate; to have itmake some difference that you have lived, and lived well”. I wonder if he was right;our lives are not, should not be about merely sating our appetites, ourdesires, about pursuing fun and happiness with disregard to all else. Rather,our lives should be filled with sacrifice; doing what is right, what is good,what is necessary, what is essential, what is thoughtful. We are meant to useour lives to do that which gives meaning above and beyond simple fulfillment.

There are, of course, justifications for oursense of fun as happiness, as part of the American way. How much does it hurtsomeone, after all, if I’m having fun? Isn’t having fun better advice,especially to our all-too-competitive kids, than to go out there and murdertheir opposition, be it in the classroom or on the playing field? And really,it’s in the Constitution: Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

All this is true, and there is certainlynothing wrong with having fun: and this is a thin-lipped New Englander talking.Nevertheless, I look at these kids coming back from Afghanistan and otherplaces, look at the families of kids who are never coming home, and I wonder:why is it that we only ask sacrifice of the Other: our poor, and our young? Whyis it that we look our noses down at those who do sacrifice of themselves,thinking of them as suckers, as fools who couldn’t be clever enough to avoidthat hazard, who ‘bought the hype’? Look at the way the words ‘sharedsacrifice’ have been treated in the political arena, almost cynically, with asneer befitting Billy Idol attached to the words. This is equally true insynagogue life: we in leadership spend so much time trying to make thesynagogue experience easy and fun, that perhaps we forget to make it meaningfuland challenging as well.

Alternatively, why do we think of those whosacrifice as saints, improbably unattainably and impossibly good, able to giveof their time and energy in a way that no person could do and maintain a careeror family? I think of Danny Siegel‘s mitzvah heroes, people who seemingly spendall their spare time working to get every heroin addict into treatment, everyfoster child with AIDS into a home, every inner-city child to graduate highschool. We look at them and say, one way or the other, “I could never dothat!” Why is it that we never say, or rarely say, ‘that is what I should do’?

A few years ago, shortly after Israel’s ceasefire with Lebanon, I was talking to a young woman. She had advocated for Israelin college, worked for an anti-discrimination agency, and after all herexperiences, talked about a great weariness; she was tired of fighting the goodfight, tired of what our African-American brothers and sisters call ‘thestruggle’. She wanted no more demands for apologia, no more well-meaninglectures about how anti-Israel is not synonymous with anti-Semitism, no morespirited conversations at housewarming parties, trying to convince the other ofIsrael’s legitimacy while balancing the Jewish values of human rights. I think perhaps that is what ails us, thissense that we’ve done it already. A hundred times we’ve called our congressman,we’ve rallied, we’ve raised money, we’ve fought the pitched battles inclassroom and at water cooler. Let it be someone else’s turn to fight; now it’smy turn to enjoy myself, to have fun.

There is a story of two Jews, a religious Jewand a secular Jew, weeping at the Western Wall in Jerusalem. A bystander askseach why he is weeping. The religious Jew says his weeping comes from thesacrifices and travails the Jews have suffered throughout the ages. The secularJew explains that he weeps because he does not know what to weep for. I fear,very soon we will have no longer any connection between our own actions and thestate of the world, no connection between our tradition and its demands upon usand what makes us feel good, no connection between our people here and in theland of Israel. We will, in our pursuit of fun, in our escape from thestruggle, begin to alienate ourselves from our communities and each other andour tradition, more and more convinced that if it does not directly convenienceor benefit us—me—in that moment, then it is worthless, and our childrenwill not even know what they miss.

The truth of the matter is, there is no restfor the weary, there is no option for it to be someone else’s turn, for‘someone else’ will take up the task too late. When Joseph Darby was confrontedwith pictures of torture and humiliation conducted by his comrades at AbuGhraib, he did not wait for someone else to report the violations, did not waitfor someone else to take their turn. He answered the call, he did the rightthing, knowing that he would lose friends, that he would receive death threats,that he would be considered a traitor. Yet if you ask him today if it was worthit, whether he would do it again, he would give an unequivocal yes, that hemade ‘the right decision and it had to be made.’

My friends, if Joseph Darby can give up hiscareer to do the right thing, can’t we give up a few hours of our time a weekto devote to something other than me and mine? My friends, shouldn’t it be timethat we start asking ourselves “what more can I do?” Shouldn’t it be time toput aside our pursuit of what is fun, to put aside questions of what is mostconvenient, or easiest, or cheapest, or looks the best, but to ask, ‘what ismost meaningful?’ To ask: what more can I do? What more can I give of mywealth—and my person, myself, my time, my being—for the betterment of mycommunity, my people? Is it too much to ask of ourselves to go to Israel evenwhen it doesn’t look picture-perfect, when our children go and put their liveson the line, when we are willing to go to celebrate in paradises that hide theslums their staffs come from? Is it too much to ask of ourselves to donate ourtime to volunteer—really volunteer—to prepare books on tape for theblind, to tutor, to visit the sick and the elderly, to go to a shiva house of acomplete stranger, to give up our fifth Sunday to help feed the homeless withSisterhood or Brotherhood—rather than just give a dollar and wear a braceletthat makes us feel like we’ve done something? Is it too much to ask that weobserve more than just one mitzvah day, one Tikkun Olam day ayear?

A guy sees an ant lying on the sidewalk, itslegs pointed toward the sky. He says, “what’re you doing, little ant?” The antsays, “I heard the sky was falling, so I’m here to stop it.” The man laughs andsays, “And what good do you think you’re going to do with those tiny littlelegs?” The ant shrugs and says, “Eh, I do what I can.” As much as we may feelthat we are no bigger than ants, and have as much influence on the world aroundus, we must remember what the ant says, and do what we can. For what we can dois transformative. Arik Einstein wrote years ago: Ani v’atah nishaneh ethaolam. Amru et ze kodem lifanai, ze lo mishaneh”: You and I will change theworld. Others have said it before, but it doesn’t matter, for you and I willchange the world.

That is why I am calling upon all of us tomore fully engage in volunteerism this year. In other synagogues, a HighHoliday appeal means asking for more money. While I certainly won’t turn awaywhatever wealth you may find it in yourselves to generously give to thiscommunity, instead I’m asking for your wisdom and work, for your time andeffort, for you to be fully present here at the congregation in meaningful andchallenging work. Why Beth Emeth? Why not some charitable organization or theJCC or the Kutz home or a club like Kiwanis or Rotary (and by the way, all ofthose are very good things). For a few reasons: because you have to startsomewhere, and despite what Tom Friedman says, the world is still a big placeand it’s hard to figure out where to start. This year, we’re partnering withHanover Presbyterian (among others) to look into how we can better care for ourneighbors and our fellows in Delaware and beyond. Because this is yourcommunity, a place filled with people who know you and love you and want toshare in work but also want to share in your life; where the work of our handsand hearts is spiritual work no different from prayer or Torah Study. Because asynagogue isn’t just a house of prayer or education: it’s a house of communitywork as well, a public house, an assembly of folks looking to shape the world.

So, before you leave today, look to thehandout before you. Look to the opportunities to share of yourself and grow andaffect real change in the world around you.

It was the sages of the Chasidim who said:when I say I can’t do everything, let it not be in order to do nothing. Let itbe, instead, merely a recognition that I don’t have to do everything, thatother people too will do their part to right wrongs, just as they—and I—willtry not to add to the wrongs we see done each day.

It is time to be through with saying “I can’tdo everything” in order to do nothing. It is time to engage in meaningful work,to pursue the meaningful life: For the sake of our children that they may learnto pursue peace and justice; For the sake of our world, that we will have leftit better than when we received it; for the sake of ourselves, that we mayanswer the question asked of us when our days are ended, that we may lookourselves in the eye every day, knowing that ours is a meaningful life, andlived well.

Erev Yom Kippur Sermon 5772

2011-10-08T20:49:00.005-04:00

Before the law sits agatekeeper. To this gatekeeper comes a man from the country who asks togain entry into the law. But the gatekeeper says that he cannot grant him entryat the moment. The man thinks about it and then asks if he will be allowed tocome in sometime later on. “It is possible,” says the gatekeeper, “but notnow.” The gate to the law stands open, as always, and the gatekeeper walks tothe side, so the man bends over in order to see through the gate into theinside. When the gatekeeper notices that, he laughs and says: “If it tempts youso much, try going inside in spite of my prohibition. But take note. I ampowerful. And I am only the most lowly gatekeeper. But from room toroom stand gatekeepers, each more powerful than the other. I cannot endure evenone glimpse of the third.” The man from the country has not expected suchdifficulties: the law should always be accessible for everyone, he thinks, butas he now looks more closely at the gatekeeper in his fur coat, at his largepointed nose and his long, thin, black Tartar’s beard, he decides that it wouldbe better to wait until he gets permission to go inside. The gatekeeper giveshim a stool and allows him to sit down at the side in front of the gate. Therehe sits for days and years. He makes many attempts to be let in, and he wearsthe gatekeeper out with his requests. The gatekeeper often interrogates himbriefly, questioning him about his homeland and many other things, but they areindifferent questions, the kind great men put, and at the end he always tellshim once more that he cannot let him inside yet. The man, who has equippedhimself with many things for his journey, spends everything, no matter howvaluable, to win over the gatekeeper. The latter takes it all but, as he doesso, says, “I am taking this only so that you do not think you have failed to doanything.” During the many years the man observes the gatekeeper almostcontinuously. He forgets the other gatekeepers, and this first one seems to himthe only obstacle for entry into the law. He curses the unlucky circumstance,in the first years thoughtlessly and out loud; later, as he grows old, he onlymumbles to himself. ..Finally his eyesight grows weak, and he does not knowwhether things are really darker around him or whether his eyes are merelydeceiving him. But he recognizes now in the darkness an illumination whichbreaks inextinguishably out of the gateway to the law. Now he no longer hasmuch time to live. Before his death he gathers in his head all his experiencesof the entire time up into one question which he has not yet put to thegatekeeper. He waves to him, since he can no longer lift up his stiffeningbody. The gatekeeper has to bend way down to him, for the great difference haschanged things considerably to the disadvantage of the man. “What do you stillwant to know now?” asks the gatekeeper. “You are insatiable.” “Everyone strivesafter the law,” says the man, “so how is it that in these many years no oneexcept me has requested entry?” The gatekeeper sees that the man is alreadydying and, in order to reach his diminishing sense of hearing, he shouts athim, “Here no one else can gain entry, since this entrance was assigned only toyou. I’m going to close it now.”

Thus wrote the great Jewish writer Franz Kafka, but it is astory familiar to all of us. How often have we been kept out, found the gateand the gatekeeper blocking our path, excluded and alienated for no reason wecan fathom, except here we are, the entranced barred. And this is especially true of our Jewishness, ourpersonal spirituality, our connection to God and each other, a thing we glimpsein darkness, barely illuminated, but blocked, it so often seems, by so manyguards, the next more intimidating than the last. Questions of authenticity, oflegitimacy, of value, of commitment come flooding toward us. Some areindifferent questions, questions about dues and congregational culture andyouth groups and programs. Some are costly questions indeed, about identity,about dedication and obligation, about intermarriage and access, about what wewant to teach our children, and how we want to see ourselves.

And still. We sit on our stool and curse our luck, and neverwonder why we never see anyone else try to enter. We never look to move pastour gatekeepers, our questions, because sometimes those gatekeepers, the mostpowerful gatekeepers, are the ones we put up ourselves. We deny ourselves theopportunities for intimacy, for real, meaningful connection; we fear making amistake, or exposing ourselves, so we keep our connections on the surface. Orwe put the onus entirely on others, then call them ‘unfriendly’ and‘unwelcoming’ when they don’t live up to our expectations. Rabbi Elie Kaufner sharesa story of going to onegs and playing a little game, standing just outside aconversation and waiting to see how long the people talking would acknowledgehim. How often have we felt like the interloper in such settings, but asKaufner points out, the barrier was not them, but him. What would havehappened, he wonders, if he had introduced himself to the people talking, andjoined their conversation?

What would happen if we would give ourselves fully to oneanother—to our spouse or partner, to our children or parents, to the peoplestanding near us—rather than go through life standing just outside each others’circle, fearful of what might happen?

[move away from thepodium] there is nothing that frightens me more as a rabbi than this [gesture], the space between us, that seemingly endless chasm wherewe can pretend somehow that we’re not engaged, not praying together, not reallypresent in each others’ midst, and when I collapse that space [move forward] many in this roomrecoil, as if I’m violating some kind of trust. There is too much space here,too much opportunity to disconnect, and as a rabbi, a Jew, a friend, I wantnothing more than to create that closeness, to get rid of this space!

[return to podium].So here we stand, on the holiest day of the year, and we are already preparingour gatekeepers—the ones that keep us out of synagogue, the one that keeps usfrom each other. Or, we could make a promise to eliminate that gatekeeper onceand for all, and to bask in the light of Torah, the light of prayer, the lightof intimacy, the light of each others’ holiness. Let’s not let the moment pass!Let’s not let our gatekeepers close the door! Let’s strive for that closeness,that relationship with one another that is rooted in holiness, and let’s startnow. I invite you to open yourselves up and participate in a ritual. Hold thehand of the person next to you, or lock arms, or place an arm around the other—evenif that person is a stranger to you! Even if that person is someone you havenever met in your travels in this world! Take hold of the person next to you,and say these words with me:

I pray in this new year

Include me

Invite me in

Allow me to make space for you

May I be supported by those around me

May I be a strength to those who need me

May I let others see the real me

May I see what is real and holy in you.

May our words be true. Amen

Press Release: Monument to Fallen Jewish Chaplains visits Wilmington DE

2011-10-06T14:11:00.004-04:00

Contact:

Rabbi Yair Robinson

Congregation Beth Emeth

300 W. Lea Blvd WilmingtonDE 19802

302-764-2393

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Monument to Fallen JewishChaplains Visits Wilmington DE

on the Road to ArlingtonNational Cemetery

The community iswelcome to a service as the memorial to fallen Jewish military chaplains visitsCongregation Beth Emeth on Tuesday, October 18, 2011 at 7pm.

The memorial will bepassing through Wilmington on its way to Arlington. Delaware is one of only 10 states where thememorial will stop prior to its formal dedication on October 24th at ArlingtonNational Cemetery.

Congregation Beth Emeth, one of the many local DignityMemorial providers, is proud to sponsor the new memorial to fallen Jewishmilitary chaplains.

On Tuesday, October 18^th at 7pm , the memorialwill be on display and commemorated with a special service featuring RearAdmiral (ret.) Rabbi Harold L. Robinson, former Deputy Chief of Chaplains for ReserveMatters for the US Navy, and current Director of the JewishWelfare Board-Jewish Chaplains Council.

The monument will be formallydedicated on October 24 at Arlington National Cemetery.

The campaign to erect the Jewishchaplain’s memorial, initiated by Ken Kraetzer and jointly led by JWB JewishChaplains Council and Jewish Federations of North America, has taken severalyears to reach its successful conclusion and involved the concerted effort ofmany community organizations, including the Sons of the American Legion andBrooklyn Wall of Remembrance. The U.S. House of Representatives and Senatepassed legislation permitting the construction of the new monument, which willbe placed on Chaplains Hill next to similar memorials dedicated to Catholic,Protestant and World War I chaplains.

The October 24 ceremony at theMemorial Amphitheater at Arlington National Cemetery is open to the public andeveryone is encouraged to attend. “We hope people from all over the countrycome to the dedication at Arlington,” said Rabbi Harold Robinson, director ofJWB Jewish Chaplains Council. “This is an extraordinary event for the Jewishcommunity, and for anyone who is concerned that proper respect be paid tochaplains who died while on active duty. The American military chaplains’ corpsis unique in its dedication and commitment to the diversity of religiousexpression in our armed forces.”

Before its formal dedication, the newmonument will be displayed at different venues, allowing people who may not beable to visit Arlington to view it. The tour, sponsored by the DignityMemorial® network of funeral providers, will travel over 3,000 miles andinclude stops in 10 states;South Carolina, Florida, New York, New Jersey, Connecticut, Pennsylvania,Massachusetts, Rhode Island, Delaware, Maryland and Washington, D.C. NationalFuneral Home and Cemetery in Falls Church, Virginia, a local Dignity Memorialprovider will break ground, lay the foundation, install the nearly 4,000 lbs.granite monument and install the solid bronze plaque prior to the dedication ceremony.

The day’s events on October 24 willbegin with a wreath laying at the Tomb of the Unknowns at 11:15 a.m. The Tombof the Unknowns is located next to the Memorial Amphitheater. Full details areat www.jcca.org/jwb.

More than 250 American chaplains ofall faiths have died while on active duty in the U. S. Armed Forces. In 1926,the chaplains who served in World War I erected the first Chaplains Monument atArlington National Cemetery, dedicated to the memory of their 23 colleagues whogave their lives in that conflict. In 1981, a separate monument was erected tomemorialize 134 Protestant chaplains who died in World Wars I and II. Eightyears later, a similar memorial to 83 Catholic chaplains who died in World WarII, Korea and Vietnam was consecrated on Chaplains Hill. Now, through theefforts of many individuals and organizations of all faiths, a memorial to the14 Jewish chaplains who died while on active duty will stand alongside those oftheir Protestant and Catholic brethren.

The 14 Jewish chaplains include:(World War II) Rabbi Alexander Goode, Rabbi Herman L. Rosen, Rabbi Henry Goody,Rabbi Samuel D. Hurwitz, Rabbi Louis Werfel, Rabbi Irving Tepper, Rabbi NachmanS. Arnoff, Rabbi Frank Goldenberg; (Cold War Era) Rabbi Solomon Rosen, Rabbi SamuelRosen; (Vietnam/S.E. Asia) Rabbi Meir Engel, Rabbi Joseph Hoenig, Rabbi MortonH. Singer and Rabbi David Sobel.

– END

In Preparation « Frume Sarah's World

2011-10-06T12:44:00.000-04:00

From Rebecca Schorr's blog; a wonderful reminder of what real tshuvah looks like.

G'mar Chatimah tovah folks!

In Preparation « Frume Sarah's World:

"To all those I might have slighted, offended, or upset during the year 5771,

Please let me know. Really.

I cannot give a blanket apology for unknown sins/transgressions/mistakes. For in doing so, I am unable to correct my behaviour in the future. And I would be unable to make a direct confession to God. Or an apology to you.

True repentance cannot be done on a Facebook status or in a 140-character 9or less) Tweet. It is a process that requires us to turn and face those whom we have wronged. To face ourselves. And to face the Holy One.

Please grant me the opportunity to say, “I have wronged you and I am sorry.”

G’mar Chatimah Tovah (May you be sealed [in the Book of Life] for good),
Frume Sarah"

'via Blog this'

For Many Orthodox Teens, ‘Half Shabbos’ Is A Way Of Life | The Jewish Week

2011-09-30T21:42:00.000-04:00

For Many Orthodox Teens, ‘Half Shabbos’ Is A Way Of Life | The Jewish Week: "At a recent campgrounds Shabbaton sponsored by a local Modern Orthodox high school, the teenage participants broke into small groups after the meals, as is usual, to talk with their friends.
On their cell phones.
Of the 17 students who attended the weekend program, said 17-year-old Julia, a junior at the day school, most sent text messages on Shabbat – a violation of the halachic ban on using electricity in non-emergency situations."

'via Blog this'

Rosh Hashanah Morning 5772

2011-09-30T11:48:00.002-04:00

And here's my sermon for yesterday morning!

Hi!
So I’d like to ask a question. Truth be told I’ve beenmeaning to ask it for a while, but I’ve been a little intimidated. Some of youwill find the question silly, and others yet may find the question offensive.Please understand that I’m truly, honestly asking the question not to bejudgmental or cute or smart, but because it’s important.
Why are you here?
Seriously, why are you here?
I know for some, it’s ‘tradition’; the question doesn’t evenarise because the answer is self-evident. What else do Jews do, after all? Forothers, it’s about family; the chance to be together once or twice a year. Someof you are here for memory: you’re not really ‘here’ per se, but are hearingthe sounds and feeling the feelings of your childhood. Then there are those whowant to connect spiritually: you want to do the hard work of cheshbon nefesh the accounting of thesoul. Yet others are here for the music, a few might be here for the sermon,and at least one person is here because the clergy look really good in white.
And then I’m guessing that there are many of you who truly donot know why you’re here. You come every year—or perhaps this is the first yearin a long time—looking for something, hoping for something, expecting, well,you’re not sure what. Connection? Inspiration? Meaning? Something other thanconfusion and tedium, which you encounter all too frequently as you stumbleover unfamiliar prayers (not just the Hebrew ones, but wacky over-formalEnglish as well), as you try to join in music that doesn’t quite sound likewhat you remember from childhood, as you sit surrounded by people who all seemto know each other, but not you. You could come up with a thousand reasons tobe anywhere else, but you chose to be here. And so you sit, waitingmore-or-less patiently, for something to happen, some trigger to go off, some‘a-ha’ moment, waiting for your Abraham moment.
What do I mean? For that we have to look at today’s Torahportion, the binding of Isaac. We tend to focus on the act itself, gruesome andawful as it is, a father nearly sacrificing his son to the voices in his head.Or we focus on the Ram at the end of the story, the justification for theShofar blast we’ll hear momentarily. But there is something else happening inthe story as well. When God calls to Abraham he uses the same words as when Abrahamfirst heard the divine voice: Hineini, here I am. When his son looks at himplaintively and calls out to his father (for comfort? For inspiration?) he usesthose words again: hineini, here I am. When the angel cries out to stopAbraham’s hand as the knife is about to plunge, again Abraham says Hineini,here I am. Three times in this portion Abraham says “Hineini”. It’s a simplestatement, yet one filled with meaning. The Torah doesn’t give us tone of voiceor a sense of emotion—it’s all action verbs and nouns—but we can well imaginehow that word, “hineini” is said in each moment along this terrible and awesomejourney.
Now please don’t misunderstand—I’m not suggesting we’rewaiting for a voice in our heads that tells us to kill our children. This isRosh Hashanah, not “The Shining”. However, I think there’s something emulativeabout coming to a place unfamiliar and declaring ‘here I am’. There isexpectation and readiness, to be sure, but there’s also openness to what comesnext, the willingness to be challenged, to be taken seriously. The text saysGod was testing Abraham, and we assume the test was the binding andnear-sacrifice of his son. But what if the test was really whether or notAbraham would listen at all? What if Abraham passed the test just by saying‘hineini’, here I am?
Of course, the high holidays aren’t the only ‘hineini’moments in our lives. In fact, I would argue that our days are filled withhineini moments, that potentially every moment of every day is a hineinimoment. When we acknowledge someone in need and respond in kind, when we engagein love and compassion for the other, when we have that moment of connectionwith someone else, when we read sacred text, sing and celebrate with gusto, weare saying “Hineini, here I am. When we speak these words, we are seeking notmere survival, but nourishment for the soul, connectedness, meaning. Weremember the words of Herman Hesse in Siddhartha:
When someone issearching," said Siddhartha, "then it might easily happen that theonly thing his eyes still see is that what he searches for, that he is unableto find anything, to let anything enter his mind, because he always thinks ofnothing but the object of his search, because he has a goal, because he isobsessed by the goal. Searching means: having a goal. But finding means: beingfree, being open, having no goal. .. striving for your goal, there are manythings you don't see, which are directly in front of your eyes."Too frequently, however, we don’t say ‘hineini’, we don’tpass the test. We don’t listen hard enough, we don’t reach out enough. Wejudge, we engage in snark, we find others wanting. We keep up our armor lest ourvulnerabilities be exposed. We engage in a world where everyone is trying toscore points and interaction is a zero-sum game, where openness is weakness. Wesee it in our political discourse, we see it in our personal interactions.There has to be a winner and a loser, and none of us wants to be the loser. Inthis environment, who can take chances? Who can build real trust, who can learnor grow? Please don’t misunderstand me: I’m not speaking of walking oneggshells, afraid to insult the other. That is mere political correctness, agame of ‘gotcha’ where we never reach real dialogue because we’re too busytrying to figure out the right words. That too is a kind of armor. I’m speakingof the constant search for criticism that we find on the radio and theinternet, the devaluation of the self we see in magazines that are meant toinspire ‘beauty’, the kind of meaningless point-counterpoint we saw in theinternet debate on CNN a few weeks ago, between teachers and parents, arguingthat one is right and the other wrong, that parents always distrust teachersand make their jobs more difficult, or that parents need to look out forpredatory educators more interested in assumptions than learning. Are thosereally our only two options? Is it impossible for teachers and parents to heareach other, ask questions of each other, challenge each other meaningfully andrespect one another’s positions? Is it impossible for us to stand beforesomeone and say: “Here I am, open to the possibilities that our encounter canlead us someplace better”?
So let me make a suggestion for all of us, even the ones whoalready ‘know’ why they’re here. Let’s learn to say ‘hineini’. Let’s learn tobe open, to be vulnerable, and to create space for others to do so as well.Easier said than done, I know, and we can come up with all kinds of reasons tokeep those defenses up, to go on living life the way we always have, but ifthat were true, you wouldn’t be here today, would you? You wouldn’t be sittingin this place, waiting. You’re not at yoga, you’re not at the gym, or work, oryour favorite restaurant, or at home; you’re here. Be here more: not only inthis physical space (though that’s good too), but in this state of being, opento what is before you.
We end with a prayer, a poem written by Rabbi RachelBarenblat, a prayer for a service leader, but one that I think applies to allof us.
Here I stand painfully aware of my flaws quaking in my…shoesand in my heart.I'm here onbehalf of this kahaleven though the part of methat's quick to knock myselfsays I'm not worthy to lead them.All creation wasnurtured in Your compassionate womb!God of our ancestors, help meas I call upon your mercy.Don't blame thiscommunityfor the places where I miss the markin my actions or my heartin my thoughts or in our davening.Each of us isresponsible for her own teshuvah.Help us remember that withoutrecriminations.Accept my prayer asthough I were exactly the leaderthis community needs in this moment,as though my voice never faltered.Free me from myown baggagethat might get in the way.See us through the rose-colored glassesof Your mercy.Transform oursuffering into gladness.Dear One, may my prayer reach Youwherever You arefor Your name’s sake.All praise is dueto You, Dear OneWho hears the prayers of our hearts. May this day open us to all the moments when we may sayHineini, “Here I am”, and may we be so transformed and moved to hear others andourselves, to hear the Voice even as we hear the sound of the Shofar. Amen.

Erev Rosh Hashanah Sermon 5772

2011-09-30T11:47:00.000-04:00

Here's my Erev Rosh Hashanah Sermon from this year.

So here’s how the story goes, as recounted by MartinGilbert:
“Whilevisiting Israel, a teacher of mine encountered an American minister who startedbadgering him with hostile questions and comments about Israel, and finallyasked him, "What is it that you Jews really want?"“Myteacher responded with the following story:AtStolpce, Poland, on September 23, 1942, the ghetto was surrounded by Germansoldiers. Pits had been prepared outside a nearby village where the Jews wouldbe led and then shot. The Germans entered the ghetto, searching for the Jews. Asurvivor by the name of Eliezer Melamed later recalled how he and hisgirlfriend found a room where they hid behind sacks of flour. A mother and herthree children had followed them into the house. The mother hid in one cornerof the room, the three children in another.TheGermans entered the room and discovered the children. One of children, a youngboy, began to scream, "Mama! Mama!" as the Germans dragged the threeof them away.Butanother of them, only four years old, shouted to his brother in Yiddish, "Zog nit 'Mameh.' "Don't say 'Mama.' They'll take her,too."
The boy stopped screaming. The mother remainedsilent. Her children were dragged away. The mother was saved."Iwill always hear that," Melamed recalled, "especially at night. 'Zognit Mameh' 'Don't say Mama.' And I will always remember the sight of themother. Her children were dragged away by the Germans. She was hitting her headagainst the wall, as if to punish herself for remaining silent, for wanting tolive."Afterconcluding the story, my teacher told the minister, "What do we Jewsreally want? Well, I'll tell you what I want. All I want is that ourgrandchildren should be able to call out 'Mama' without fear. All we want isthat the world leaves us alone."This story has been close to my heart ever since I firstheard it. There are a number of things we could take away from this awful tale.One is that even today, even now when we as a people are as secure and asprosperous as we have ever been, when we can finally stop wincing inanticipation of the violent act, when our charities have worldwide reach and doprofound good throughout the world (witness IsraAid, American Jewish WorldService, and Mazon, just to name a few), even today, there are those who, be itout of spite or ancient hatred or well-meaning ignorance—would seek to do usharm. That there are still people in this world who hold dear the notion of theJew as weak, helpless (alternating, of course, with powerful and insidious) anda strong State of Israel undermines that deeply felt idea.
Another idea—one that follows directly from the first—isthat a strong Israel in partnership with the Jews of the world is our bestchance to live in a world without fear. And that means, of course, our ownadvocacy and support: Through AIPAC and J-Street and their advocacy for astrong Israel, through support of institutions like ARZA, The Reform Movement’sZionist wing, and through the purchase of Israel Bonds.
I also draw from this story an idea that Israel—and byextension the Jewish people—wish merely for survival, for equal treatment, tobe, as Melamed said, left alone. And certainly, there is that sentiment I’msure among those in this room and in the halls of the Knesset: that we want tobe left alone, that only then will we as a people and the Jewish state havereal peace. Why else would the security fence have been built, except to saymost definitively to the Palestinians: ‘we don’t want to talk, we don’t want tobe blown up, we don’t want to be at war but we don’t think we can be friends,so leave us alone.’
I take something elsefrom the story as well. Yes, we want to survive, but survival means more thanmere existence. There is an ethical, a moral element to survival as well. Manyof us want Israel to be more than just a country like any other, withprostitutes and crime and dirty sidewalks. We want a state that is Jewish andDemocratic in the full sense of both of those words. We want a Jewish state thatrepresents the values of our People, thatstands, to quote our Scriptures, as a light to the nations. Perhaps this is Diasporathinking; perhaps Israel has nothing to prove to other countries and byespousing this belief we are fooling ourselves somehow, forgetting our lessonsin realpolitik, too concerned with exceptionalism. However, as an American, Icome by my exceptionalism honestly, and just as I want the United States to bea nation that, if it were a person, we could describe her behavior as moral andupstanding, so too do I wish for an Israel that fulfills the words of ourprophets, that is informed not just by our heritage of oppression but ourheritage of joy and commitment to the betterment of others.
Of course, this is all well and good to speak of thistheoretically utopian Israel, what about the Israel that exists, the facts onthe ground? What do we find there?
Well, let’s find out!
It’s been too long since Beth Emeth had a trip to Israel. Wehave been away from that country for too many years. Much has happened sincethen—heck, much has happened in the last year! The uprisings in Egypt, Syria,Yemen, Libya, Tunisia, and throughout the Middle East, sometimes resulting inregime change, sometimes revealing the oppressiveness of those in power, havetransformed the middle east. Israel has seen herself transformed as well, withher citizens piling into the streets to peacefully protest financial, civil andsocial inequalities, demanding a better lifefor themselves and each other. And the Palestinian Authority saw this month asa month to make their move, to finally express their longing for their own homein ways that many of us find understandable, but challenging and disconcerting,to say the least.
And yet, despite all these changes, despite all that’shappened in Israel in the last several years, how well do we know the country?Oh, we’re informed in our news consumption, in communicating with relativesback home, but you and I know that’s not the same thing as being present, beingphysically there, being amongst Israeli Jews and Arabs and Druze, touching theearth, breathing the air, listening to someone else’s cellphone conversation inHebrew, and arguing every last point with the guy at the makolet corner storewhen all you want is a coke and he wants to talk politics, jutting acigarette-ornamented finger at you to make his point.
If you can’t tell, I miss Israel. I miss the country, herpeople, every aspect of that place. And my guess is many of you are like thatas well—even those of you who haven’t been to Israel. That’s why it’s time togo back. To go to Israel, to meet her people, to see the places—ancient,historical and contemporary—that make the place the homeland of our souls, and tobetter understand what it means to advocate for Israel.
Because, I will tell you, there is no better way to advocatefor Israel than by being there. Yes, it is crucial to support Israel here athome, through support of ARZA, AIPAC, J Street, and other organizations. Yes,to buy Israel bonds is as close to achieving Maimonides’ highest rung oftzedakah: for by buying them, we give Israel the ability to invest in her ownpeople, who can lead meaningful lives, making the whole land bloom not justwith the flowers and eucalyptus trees of the old songs of the yishuv, butscientific, technological and educational endeavors as well. But there’s areason AIPAC is taking 81 congressional representatives and senators to Israelthis fall. They understand that it’s one thing to read a really nice brochureor follow things online, or to bring in all kinds of experts to speak with us;it’s another to go and learn for yourself, to experience with your own handsand own eyes. And that is what all of us need to do. For those of us, likemyself, who trend left-of-center, we need to go to Ariel University and Ma’alehEdumim on the other side of the green line, and ask ourselves if these‘settlers’ are really the demons we think they are. And those of us who trendright, and see no partners for peace among the Palestinians, need to bechallenged as well, and speak with Arabs who want to see their children grow upas our children grow up, with a sense that their homeland is free and at peace. Friends, we need to go to Israel, you and I. We need to bethere, to feel Israeli earth beneath our feet, to breathe the air. So it’s mypleasure and honor to announce that we are going to Israel. It has been toolong since Beth Emeth had a congregational trip to Ha’Aretz, ,and so this summer, we are going, and I want you to comewith me.
If you’ve never been to Israel, now is the time to go: we’llgo to Tel Aviv and experience Shabbat in Jerusalem, stand where our ancestorsstood in Safed and Masada, connect with our Reform brothers and sisters atKibbutz Yahel and Lotan and learn what ecological marvels they’re creatingthere. And if you’ve been to Israel before, now is still the time to go: we’llmeet settlers and Palestinians, studywith Rabbis for Human Rights and work the looms with Yad L’khasish, lifelinefor the old. Over 10 days in June we’ll marvel at this country and all itswonders. We’ll offer words of prayer andhave challenging and meaningful experiences. And yes, there will be shopping.
If you have children, don’t leave them behind! This is a trip for all ages. And if you’retravelling without children, don’t worry: There will be special educators andguides with us to create and lead kid-friendly programs separate from theadults.
I could spend all night talking about this trip, but I’drather you came to a special parlor meeting here at the Temple on November 15^th,where you’ll have a chance to see the itinerary, learn about costs and thetrip, and meet people from Ayelet the tour company we’ll be working with.
Most importantly, I want you to come with me. To see Israelas you’ve never seen her before. Not only for your own spiritual wellbeing, notonly for your own growth and understanding of Israel; but so that you and I canadvocate for Israel better. So that when we return from the Holy Land, we canrespond to questions as banal as that minister’s, so that we can speak to ourcongressional leaders with authority, so that when something happens, we aren’tthinking about abstract ideas, we will have real places in our hearts and ourminds.
So, let us support AIPAC, and go to their advocacy programin March (you will see the fliers for that program on your seats or, will behanded a brochure on your way out). Let’s fill out every ARZA petition ever andmake sure to commit ourselves to the Progressive vision of an Israel strongenough to be the kind of country it wants to be. Let’s buy Israel bonds—andushers will be handing out Israel bonds brochures as you leave and I will tellyou, you are not permitted to leave this place without one! But mostimportantly, let’s go to Israel and help speed redemption: for our people, forour children, for our grandchildren, so that they will only ever know a worldwhere Israel is strong, the Jewish people secure, and they can cry out fortheir mamas without fear.

Some Pictures from CBE's Selichot Barbecue

2011-09-26T10:55:00.001-04:00

Hey, what's today?

2011-09-22T12:20:00.001-04:00

Oh, Yeah.

Sigh.

YIHYE TOV (It's going to be good) DAVID BROZA from Solo Avital on Vimeo.

Book Review: Empowered Judaism

2011-09-19T20:54:00.000-04:00

WSince the beginning of Judaism, there have been those prognosticators, philosophers and agitators who have written about how the official community isn't working, and something radical is needed. From the book of Jubilees to Maimonides' Mishneh Torah, to Abraham Geiger and David Einhorn in the 19th century, to Arthur Waskow and Art Green more recently, there have been no shortage of folks with prescriptions for how we can reinvigorate, revitalize, re-imagine or reinvent Judaism. Some, like Green, are quite convincing in their efforts. Some, like the book of Jubiliees of antiquity, don't make the final cut. Some are just trying to sell you something.

I picked up Empowered Judaism, expecting it to be along these lines. Written by Elie Kaufner (RKs represent!), it describes the rise and development of the Independent Minyan phenomenon, how it is both similar and different from the chavurah movement of the 60s, and what it offers to the rest of "organizational" Judaism as a whole. In other words, I'm waiting for them to sell me something; to shout from the mountains "this is the way Judaism of the 58th century must be done!"

Interestingly, it doesn't do that. Kaufner, himself now a rabbi, specifically does not offer independent minyans as a salve or solution to all the problems of North American synagogue life. In fact, he goes out of his way to discuss those ways that synagogues are better institutions than independent minyanim: more responsive to families with children, built-in pastoral care and support networks, more stability (though he later discusses instability as a virtue). Rather, he suggests that we may be addressing the wrong problem. That is, we're spending most of our time worried about survival, when we should be talking about meaning.

Minyanim, as many of us know, grew out of a generation that had done 'everything right' Jewishly: they went to summer camps, Israel programs, and attended day schools as kids; later they participated in college-level leadership programs. Steven Cohen, in his landmark article "A Tale of Two Jewries" (pdf) describes how this generation is (in part) the most Jewishly well educated in North American history. In addition, this generation (not just the Jews, but in general) are more transient, tending to put off marriage and children until later in life, and tend to stay in urban areas a lot longer. As a result, there wasn't an institution that served their needs: folks in their 20s and 30s (and 40s) who knew how to daven and lein Torah, and give a d'var torah, were drawn to traditional modalities of worship, but were interested in egalitarian participation and leadership, weren't looking for education for their kids, were in "the city" (or 'downtown'), and hadn't put down roots yet. A challenging group indeed! so, they set out to create a community for themselves:

Its goal, he explains, is "to build a prayer community that speaks to each of its members' spiritual longings, gives participants a sense of community and belonging, and empowers them to find in Judaism a deep sense of meaning and purpose that infuses every corner of their lives."

While there is tremendous freedom to start from scratch, there are also tremendous challenges. No building. No money. No lay-leadership. No clergy. The question did not focus primarily on dealing with logistics however. The question became, "How can we educate and empower a generation of Jews to take hold of their tradition? Can we shift from a mentality of survival to one of meaning? How will we recognize and meet the overwhelming demand for an engaged Jewish life? Can we imagine a new Jewish world?"

It is those two words: empowerment and engagement that then become the bywords of the movement, and the overriding goal that fueled all the decisions that were made at Kehilat Hadar (the minyan Kaufner and his friends founded in New York City), be it leadership (keep an eye out for those who show up early and help; gradually give them more responsibility, but keep ultimate responsibility with a small handful), fundraising (or lack thereof; they pride themselves on a 'suggested donation' and 'pay as you go' ethos, and having a lack of 'machers', which works for transitory folks), service leading (start on time, no change to the liturgy, anyone with skill can lead), to even simple things like arranging the room (rows not circle: looking at others can be intimidating) or communicating programs (email and website only; share what other local communities are offering) and mistakes (unpacking the previous week thoughtfully; being willing to dump a program if it's unsuccessful but also learn from it).

From here Kaufner is able to share what elements he thinks we can take away from the experience. Primarily, it's about inspired worship and study, and creating more spiritually fulfilling experiences. "Because this generation does not join out of guilt or institutional obligation, but out of a search for meaning, then if the meaning is absent, some will not join at all." How do we achieve that kind of meaning? Let people own the experience, and let them learn. Create more opportunities for learning; Kaufner talks about 15 minute sessions on new melodies or how to lead the service, but also more serious text study, arguing that the mainstream movements' rabbis have ceded serious study to the academies, ending up as 'sacred social workers'. Don't be focused on the particularities of a denomination, and don't treat 'capturing' this demographic as a zero-sum game:

Loyalty to institutions is not a given. The minyanim were founded by a group of people living a generation after Watergate. They have no loyalty to an institution simply because it is an institution. This is part of the misunderstanding in the denominational challenge to independent minyanim. Denominational loyalists are confounded when graduates of denominational institutions "spurn" a denominational synagogue in favor of a minyan (assuming for a moment that the choice is zero-sum, which I doubt it is in reality). According to the minyan study, most founders were never loyal to the denomination-they liked (or disliked) each discrete experience without signing on to a larger movement loyalty statement.

And don't be afraid to challenge people:

Among American Jews, there is a significant demand for meaningful, engaged Jewish life. There is a temptation to assume that Jews-especially young adults-are only interested in surface-level engagement with Jewish culture: jokes, bagels, singles events. Anything challenging, deep, or smacking of religion might scare people away. This is simply not the case. Jews are in search of meaning and engagement, and they are interested in the wisdom of their own heritage. They may not find that engagement in existing institutions, but that does not mean they aren't looking for it. They are looking for more than a class; they want to build real community. They want substance, and they want the skills to own their Jewish lives.

(A great example of this, by the way, is the gravitation of post-college educated kids going to PARDES, Hartman, HUC's Beit Midrash or one of the other egalitarian, non-clergy oriented yeshivot in Jerusalem).

As you might imagine, reading this book (especially as a fellow Gen Xer) is exhilarating, especially because Kaufner accentuates the positive--about synagogues, chavurot, and minyanim--at least for the most part. There are some moments of whinging; a certain generational divide (though I suspect it's as much philosophical as generational). While he avoids the triumphalism that often accompanies a new movement, three articles written by leaders of other minyanim don't quite have the same sensitivity (or organization). And the book ends rather suddenly (I noticed this with Art Green's "Radical Judaism" as well) before going into an excellent appendix that's really an example of the kind of robust text study he suggests. I'm not sure why that is, but it feels rather anticlimactic, like he was afraid to push too hard somehow?

Finally, while I find much of the argument compelling (the argument for rows of chairs rather than 'in the round' was a new one and convinced me), a lot of it isn't either rocket science or new. Good congregations have always figured out how to balance their leadership between those with wealth, wisdom and work. The synagogues I've served have used similar methods of evaluating potential leaders, giving them gradually more responsibility. And I worry that, while there are many Jews who are interested in meaningful study, it's not necessarily universal as a goal. A congregant reminded me this summer (after leading an excellent experimental Torah study) that many people are terrified of text (especially traditional study) and find it alien and discouraging. That doesn't make them lesser Jews (nor do I think Kaufner would argue that), but it means they need to experience Torah in a different way: pairing them off in 'chevruta' and putting a Vilna Shas in their hands isn't going to lead them to meaningful encounters with Judaism, but send them screaming.

Minor complaints. In a world full of venture philanthropists, organizational and communal leaders all looking for the 'silver bullet' or 'next big thing' (and consultants and educators willing to suggest they have the answer), it's refreshing to read someone who admits that there is no magic 'one-size-fits-all' solution: just meaningful engagement, inspirational worship, and compelling Torah. All the rest is commentary; time to study.

Liberal Whateverism?

2011-09-17T23:30:00.000-04:00

It's articles like this that make me wince at the direction of liberal religiosity, as well as the (very well meaning) role of 'bad' interfaith dialogue (that is, the kind of milquetoast, don't challenge each other, politically correct stuff that too often substitutes for the real thing). Real Pluralism happens when we don't just tolerate each other, nor minimize each other by saying 'it's all the same thing', but holds up and honors those differences and recognizes that those different paths are all sacred.

There was a time in American culture, only a few generations ago, when religious differences were major. Baptists were not Methodists, and both were definitely not Presbyterians. Catholics were absolutely not Protestant, and Protestants doubted that Catholics were even Christians. Jews and Mormons were whole other species. Non-religious Americans were beyond the pale. And Muslims, Buddhists and Hindus were heathen living in faraway places. The problem with that world, we now see, was the destructive bigotry, misunderstanding, conflict and sometimes hatred that went with it. Let us call that world one of sectarian conflict.
We have come in America today to a very different world, which we might call liberal whateverism. This outlook reacts against sectarian conflict by dramatically discounting the claims of religion. The more aggressive side of this view asserts that religion per se is pernicious and should be eliminated or radically privatized. The more accommodating side says religion is fine as a personal lifestyle commodity, but that religious inclinations are ultimately arbitrary and should not be taken too seriously.
I have been studying the lives of American teenagers and emerging adults for the past decade. In our recently published book, "Lost in Transition: The Dark Side of Emerging Adulthood," my co-authors and I describe the larger world in which liberal whateverism makes sense. Many emerging adults have few considered moral bearings, are devoted to mass consumerism, routinely become intoxicated and engage in casual sexual hook-ups, are civically and politically uninformed and alienated. Our story is not a tirade against "kids these days." It is about wider, deeper problems in American society and culture -- concerns that should trouble liberals and conservatives -- which show up in disquieting ways in the lives of youth.
Liberal whateverism was obvious among most of the emerging adults we studied. About 10 percent were militantly atheistic. But the vast majority opted for the more accommodating "whatever" default. Anyone could take religion or leave it. It was an individual "opinion" that didn't matter much.
Most interesting was the belief of a significant minority in "karma." This meant to them simply the idea that, in some mysterious way, good and bad people would get what they deserve in this life. Few emerging adults know anything about the religious traditions that seriously teach karma. "Karma" is simply a reminder that they should try to do the right thing and a substitute for anger or revenge against bad people by believing they will soon get their comeuppance. Karma is a way to try to sustain justice in our moral universe without having to appeal to a personal God or a real judgment day.
As a sociologist, I view this belief in karma as socially functional and psychologically therapeutic. But I doubt it works over time. Good and bad people do not always get what they deserve. Sometimes the wicked prosper and horrible things happen to good people. Without a metaphysical view explaining the reality and power of karma, belief in its mysterious capacity to achieve this-worldly justice can easily slide into cynicism. And from most faith perspectives, pop karma is shallow, naïve and perhaps even disrespectful to the religious traditions which teach it. Claiming it as many emerging adults do is somehow like stealing candy from the Bhagavad Gita giftshop.
Is there not a better way for all of us to take religion more seriously without descending into sectarian conflict? That is one of the most important questions of our day.
I think we need to reject both sectarian conflict and liberal whateverism and commit ourselves instead to an authentic pluralism. Genuine pluralism fosters a culture that honors rather than isolates and disparages religious difference. It affirms the right of others to believe and practice their faith, not only in their private lives but also in the public square -- while expecting them to allow still others to do the same. Authentic pluralism does not minimize religious differences by saying that "all religions are ultimately the same." That is false and insipid. Pluralism encourages good conversations and arguments across differences, taking them seriously precisely because they are understood to be about important truths, not merely private "opinions." It is possible, authentic pluralism insists, to profoundly disagree with others while at the same time respecting, honoring, and perhaps even loving them. Genuine pluralism suspects the multi-cultural regime's too-easy blanket affirmations of "tolerance" of being patronizing and dismissive. Pluralism, however, also counts atheist Americans as deserving equal public respect, since their beliefs are based as much on a considered faith as are religious views and so should not be automatically denigrated.
We as a society and a culture have much to learn about ourselves from teenagers and emerging adults, both good and bad. One of those things, I believe, is the need to get beyond not only sectarian conflict but also liberal whateverism, to a more respectful and just world of authentic religious pluralism.

"What did the Rabbi say?!"

2011-09-17T23:25:00.004-04:00

Recently, someone posted a comment to a blog post I wrotesuggesting that the topic was inappropriate subject matter for a rabbi to post about inpublic.

I don’t know why this reaction surprises me, but it alwaysdoes. Truthfully, there are actually very few things that are, technically, inappropriatefor a rabbi (or any clergy) to comment on in the public sphere. We are notpermitted to endorse political candidates (well, unless we want ourcongregations’ non-profit tax statuses revoked). We are not permitted to shareanything told to us in confidence, in deference to the “priest-parishioner’relationship. And Jewish tradition would suggest that lashon harah—gossip or slander; that is, speaking about anotherperson, rather than of my own experience—is beneath the dignity of any Jew (orhuman being for that matter).

But that’s about it. As a rabbi, I have freedom of thepulpit; that is to say, the congregation, when it calls me (hires me),understands that I will speak my mind from that pulpit. That’s the job, and thatdoesn’t mean I’m going to shy away from controversy. Nor does it mean that thecongregation may respond indelicately to that controversy; David Einhorn wasrun out of antebellum Baltimore due to his anti-slavery sermons is just oneclassic example. And, as a rabbi, I know that making controversial statementsruns me the risk of the ba’al habatim ofthe congregation asking me to go with God...somewhere else. But in theory, arabbi and his congregation should have the kind of relationship that isapolitical. In other words, I shouldn’t be editing my sermons (or articles, orblogs, or teaching materials) because I’m worried about what others will thinkof me. But, if I’m going to say something controversial, then it should a) besomething I have direct experience of (i.e. not lashon hara) and b) something I believe quite strongly and willingto stand behind, something I’m passionate about, even though the people in mycongregation may reject or challenge my opinion.

And, really, isn’t that why rabbis share challenging,controversial things? To get our congregants to think, to move them, to have them respond, perhaps even angrily. Sure, I could getup there and give a variation on ‘it’s good to be nice and nice to be good,’ again and again and again, and I’d get a ‘nice sermon, rabbi’ from folks whodidn’t even hear what I was saying (and truth be told, I wouldn’t be listeningeither). This is not to say that sermons should be written for shock value, but a goodteacher challenges his or her students and encourages them to push back. Torahstudy—REAL Torah study—isn’t [just] about finding ways to read our own valuesin the text. It’s about wrestling with the sacred in the text and in the person with whom I’m studying. That’snot going to happen if the rabbi is offering trite aphorisms or harmless, safe, messages about whatever. The trick, then, is toprovide a safe space for both rabbi and laypeople to explore and challenge eachother. I think often the problem is that communities (and rabbis) don’t knowhow to do that. Folks who are cowed by the imageof their rabbi are going to sit on their hands and stew (or worse, quit)rather than engage in meaningful conversation, because they don’t know how toapproach, (I’m endlessly amazed by folkswho in one moment call me ‘approachable’ and in a later conversation say, ‘butyou’re the RABBI!’) . And rabbis grow fearful about losing their jobs whenboard members start complaining, especially when a member quits (“he’s hurtingthe bottom line!”).

So, you don’t like what I said? You have a different opinionor world view? Good: challenge me! Disagree with me! Not disrespectfully (I would neverdisrespect YOU after all); don’t insult me or my intelligence. Don’t bejudgmental, don't be personal. But challenge me, push back, talk about your experience in contradiction to my own, ask for clarification, for refinement, read thetext differently from me, with me: teach me something.I’ll be happy to do the same for you (again, in a respectful, thoughtfulway).We may not change each others’ opinions, but we will understand each otherthat much better, and we'll create space for one another. Just don’t tell me that it’s inappropriate for me to talk.

Appearances aren't always reality

2011-09-16T11:06:00.002-04:00

Stumbled upon this interview with Rabbi Rick Jacobs from three years ago, about CHABAD and how we as Reform Jews should respond to them. (for those who don't know, CHABAD, or the Lubuvitcher movement, is a Chasidic, what is often called "Ultra-Orthodox" movement devoted to what we could call today 'Outreach'; that is, creating programming to reach as many Jews as possible and get them to join their movement, for the purpose of bringing about the time of the Messiah).

I have always had a problem with CHABAD, which tends to take people by surprise. After all, I've studied Chasidut and use a lot of Chasidic material in my own teaching and spiritual practice. And yet I have this really visceral response to them as an organization. Because of that really energetic (okay, angry) response, I don't do a very good job of explaining my position. It's not because of their practices or beliefs--I've studied that Tanya (the spiritual writings of their founder, Shneur Zalman of Liadi), and have learned tremendously from their outreach approach. My problem with them isn't even philosophical; while I strongly believe in a Judaism that is egalitarian and recognizes the holiness of every individual (Jewish and non-), I recognize their right as a group to practice a different Judaism, and no matter how much I may disagree with them on those issues, there is a place in the market of ideas for them to sell their wares. I don't even care that they accuse Reform of being inauthentic; it wouldn't be the first time, after all. And, anyone who has read a lousy self-help book will tell you that someone else cannot make me feel anything: if, at the end of the day, I regard my practice as inauthentic or irrelevant, it is because I believe it to be so, because of my doubts and insecurities.

And, in truth, CHABAD offers (like any other movement) an opportunity for spiritual searching and exploration. Not better or worse than any other (though perhaps with better marketing): but a different approach that can be appealing for some (or just appealing in one moment).

My issue with them has always been this profound sense that they're not being honest, either within their movement or with those they encounter. I have seen Chabad community centers (really, synagogues, but call them what you will) use other congregations' directories to recruit members and donors, advertise themselves as egalitarian (!), refuse to participate in community institutions (with two exceptions: a) there's money involved and b) they think they can show up others in the community in some way). Others smarter than me have written and commented that this emerges from their sense of mission--only they have the truth (look to their name: CHABAD is an acronym for Chochma, Bina v'Da'at--Wisdom, Understanding and Knowledge) and the means to bring about mashiachtzeit (the Messianic Age), so why should they partner with others unless it's to their advantage? Better to get everyone to come to their side of the table. And if they have to break a few congregations and JCCs and Hillels along the way, so be it. Nothing personal: just business.

And really, my problem isn't even their 'business model' (pardon the expression), though I really don't like that 'winner take all' approach. It's that we buy into it. How many of us (myself included) shry gavult over slick marketing materials, over super-attentive rabbis saying slick things? How many of us complain about tactics? How much energy have I spent as a rabbi agonizing over 'how to get CHABAD'?

Years ago I remember being in a meeting with my colleagues and laypeople and saying that the best response was to create a superior product. I don't believe that anymore; Judaism can't be a zero-sum game (thanks to Donniel Hartman for teaching me that one--at the CCAR conference in Atlanta in 2007). And it can't be about mere survival: of the People, of the State, of individual institutions. At the end of the day, it's about survival of an idea, and about believing in that idea, being passionate over that idea, so much so that we want to share it with others. We spend too much time looking at the wrong data: we look at membership numbers, at attendance at programs, because those are easy metrics. But at the end of the day, Reform needs to be more about what we believe than how many of us there are in North America.

Rick ends the interview with the following exchange:

As a Reform rabbi, I think that their role ought to be as one of the spiritual paths within Jewish life. A passionate, committed, very authentic path, but one of the paths and not the path, not a hierarchically overarching path making others seem less authentic or less serious.I was in midtown Manhattan, and I'm walking down the street and this wonderful friendly warm Chabadnik stops me and says, 'Are you Jewish?' I'm walking along, I'm wearing a grey suit. I don't know, maybe I have curly Jewish hair. I said, 'Yes, are you?' And he looked at me and started to laugh and he pointed to his tzit tzit and to his beard. I said, 'You know, appearances are not always reality.'

I truly believe we are most successful when what we appear to be is what we truly are: that there is no difference between the outside and the inside, that we believe in our own authenticity as Jews providing meaningful, spiritual Jewish encounters: in Torah, in social justice, in worship, in life cycle and community, experiences that are welcoming, that are open, non-judgmental, and egalitarian. As Rick says, we didn't become the largest movement in America by provided a watered-down product, and CHABAD doesn't have the market share of wisdom, understanding and knowledge. We offer something that resonates deeply with people, and I'm always going to celebrate that.

If It Feels Right - NYTimes.com

2011-09-13T22:35:00.000-04:00

If It Feels Right - NYTimes.com:

"Charles Taylor has argued that morals have become separated from moral sources. People are less likely to feel embedded on a moral landscape that transcends self. James Davison Hunter wrote a book called “The Death of Character.” Smith’s interviewees are living, breathing examples of the trends these writers have described."

So...thoughts? Is relativism so ascendant that we can no longer speak of shared morality, or self-evident truths?

'via Blog this'

A Blog for September 11th

2011-09-11T15:00:00.003-04:00

We had a great first day of religious school today. There was tremendous energy and joy at being together. Kids who hadn't seen each other all summer were running up and hugging each other. New families were making connections with long-time congregants. Confirmation was amazing. The opening picnic was well attended and kids were having a great time. Volunteers were welcoming people, working in the garden, sharing food and laughter with each other. It was Beth Emeth doing what it does best: being a warm, dynamic, holy community.

I say all of that because of the date. Today is not any given Sunday; it is a day that has become sacred and terrible. For some it is a transformative day, a memorial day, a day to justify one or another set of political beliefs. But it's also a day full of people being people, full of people loving each other.

Rabbi David Levinsky and I were talking about how rarely we find, even 10 years later, a 9/11 commemoration or response that stirs our heart, that doesn't resolve itself in pablum, in treacle, in maudlin words that give neither comfort nor challenge us meaningfully. Scott Simon, in a blog this past week, probably comes close (thanks to Rachael Bregman for sharing it with me). But I think for some, it is still too raw, too soon. And for others, well, how can you watch children playing and learning and not think the world full of blessing? The desire to put it in the past is strong.

In that blog post by Simon, he shared a poem by WH Auden, written when World War II broke out. In some ways, it speaks better to that moment than anything written as a direct response. So I (RE)share it with you in the hopes that it brings meaning.

I sit in one of the divesOn Fifty-second StreetUncertain and afraidAs the clever hopes expireOf a low dishonest decade:Waves of anger and fearCirculate over the bright
And darkened lands of the earth,Obsessing our private lives;The unmentionable odour of deathOffends the September night.Accurate scholarship can
Unearth the whole offenceFrom Luther until nowThat has driven a culture mad,Find what occurred at Linz,What huge imago madeA psychopathic god:I and the public knowWhat all schoolchildren learn,Those to whom evil is doneDo evil in return.
Exiled Thucydides knewAll that a speech can sayAbout Democracy,And what dictators do,The elderly rubbish they talkTo an apathetic grave;Analysed all in his book,The enlightenment driven away,The habit-forming pain,Mismanagement and grief:We must suffer them all again.Into this neutral airWhere blind skyscrapers useTheir full height to proclaimThe strength of Collective Man,Each language pours its vainCompetitive excuse:But who can live for longIn an euphoric dream;Out of the mirror they stare,Imperialism's faceAnd the international wrong.Faces along the barCling to their average day:The lights must never go out,The music must always play,All the conventions conspire
To make this fort assumeThe furniture of home;Lest we should see where we are,Lost in a haunted wood,Children afraid of the nightWho have never been happy or good.The windiest militant trashImportant Persons shoutIs not so crude as our wish:What mad Nijinsky wroteAbout DiaghilevIs true of the normal heart;For the error bred in the boneOf each woman and each manCraves what it cannot have,Not universal loveBut to be loved alone.From the conservative darkInto the ethical lifeThe dense commuters come,Repeating their morning vow;"I will be true to the wife,I'll concentrate more on my work,"And helpless governors wakeTo resume their compulsory game:Who can release them now,Who can reach the deaf,Who can speak for the dumb?All I have is a voiceTo undo the folded lie,The romantic lie in the brainOf the sensual man-in-the-streetAnd the lie of AuthorityWhose buildings grope the sky:There is no such thing as the StateAnd no one exists alone;Hunger allows no choiceTo the citizen or the police;We must love one another or die.Defenceless under the nightOur world in stupor lies;Yet, dotted everywhere,Ironic points of lightFlash out wherever the JustExchange their messages:May I, composed like themOf Eros and of dust,Beleaguered by the sameNegation and despair,Show an affirming flame.

Mazal tov to Jonathan Blake: incoming Senior of WRT

2011-09-09T19:13:00.001-04:00

So I'm going to get sappy here; doesn't happen often (or does it?), so bear with me.

I've known Jonathan Blake since 2000, when Marisa and I first arrived in Cincinnati to start my 2nd year of rabbinical school, and Jonathan was completing his 5th year. We met Kelly around the same time; she was beginning her serious exploration of Judaism after singing in Bonia Shur's choir for some time. The two of them became our greatest mentors, wonderful friends, and deep inspirations. Over the years we've gotten to know them and their families, keeping in touch and visiting when Jonathan was the associate rabbi in Providence, and grabbing drinks or meals together at conference. Jonathan is one of the smartest, most capable and thoughtful rabbis I know; other than my dad, he was the only rabbi in the field I spoke to seriously about my placement prospects my ordination year. And Kelly is simultaneously the nicest and most talented and most honest and authentic person (rare capabilities!). So it was no surprise to me that he went to Westchester Reform (one of the most dynamic and engaging congregations in the US) in 2003 to be their associate rabbi, and even less of a surprise when they named him senior-elect this week. Surely, he will not be Rick Jacobs (who could be?), but he will be Jonathan--someone who knows the tradition intimately, who engages in worship and music with great joy, who has a wicked sense of humor (as we say in New England), who takes people and their neshamot seriously, and knows how to listen as well as inspire. So Kol Hakavod Jonathan and Kelly! May this year bring you meaningful challenges and successes that lead toward growth, renewal and joy.

Thinking about the HiHos

2011-09-07T12:43:00.003-04:00

So, here's a question that is TOTALLY not meant to be confrontational nor judgmental, but I want to explore this idea at RH and perhaps you could help me:

1. Are you going to High Holiday services this year
2. if so, why?
3. what are your hopes and expectations? What are you least expecting to happen?
4. what is your favorite (or most meaningful) aspect? Least meaningful?

Yes, I'm thinking about writing a high holidays sermon about why people come to the high holidays. My tautology is tautological. However, there is method to my madness, IF I can write it in a way that is challenging without being just insulting.

So, please answer! It'll be a big help! THANK YOU!

(this is expanded from my post to LinkedIn and Facebook, so if you answered there, thanks! Feel free to repost but no worries if you don't!)

Kudos to a bar mitzvah kid

2011-09-03T20:51:00.002-04:00

Great (but exhausting) Shabbat today. Walked to synagogue out of necessity (my car's in the shop) and was reminded of how much I love (and miss) walking to shul on Shabbes. The Bar Mitzvah did a great job, but more than that, he brought his own musical ability (he plays rock guitar in a band) and included the song "With My Own Two Hands" in his D'var Torah. Very applicable to this past week's parasha and a wonderful tikkun--by making sacred a secular song (though it really lends itself well).

The Haimish Line - NYTimes.com

2011-08-30T21:44:00.000-04:00

Interesting article by David Brooks on what is 'Haimish" and what do we lose when Haimish goes away (or to use his metaphor, when we're on the wrong side of the 'Haimish' line). What does that word mean to you?

The Haimish Line - NYTimes.com:

I know only one word to describe what the simpler camps had and the more luxurious camps lacked: haimish. It’s a Yiddish word that suggests warmth, domesticity and unpretentious conviviality.
It occurred to me that when we moved from a simple camp to a more luxurious camp, we crossed an invisible Haimish Line. The simpler camps had it, the more comfortable ones did not.
This is a generalized phenomenon, which applies to other aspects of life. Often, as we spend more on something, what we gain in privacy and elegance we lose in spontaneous sociability.

Strenger than Fiction-Israel News - Haaretz Israeli News source.

2011-08-30T16:00:00.000-04:00

Strenger than Fiction-Israel News - Haaretz Israeli News source.

Given that the diplomatic defeat is unavoidable, the question is, was there any alternative? The Netanyahu government took it as an unquestioned dogma that UN recognition of a Palestinian state is a catastrophe for Israel. But this is neither the position of the security establishment, nor of the whole diplomatic corps. Veteran diplomat and former head of the Foreign Ministry Alon Liel has explicitly argued that that it could be favorable to Israel.

Israel’s potential gains from engaging with the Palestinian UN bid would be tangible. UN recognition of a Palestinian state alongside that of Israel could finally put the fears of many Israelis that the country’s existence is not internationally accepted to rest.

This would have required Israel to engage with the Palestinian UN bid and to support it under condition that the resolution explicitly states that the Palestinian state will exist alongside Israel, thus reaffirming Israel’s legitimacy.
Such an Israeli request to reformulate UN recognition would probably have garnered wide support in the international community, and it would have forced Palestinians to make a choice: either a fully recognized Palestinian state along the 1967 borders with agreed land-swaps, or no UN recognition.

An interesting idea and a thought about the kind of 'soft' power Israel could exert, even at the UN, a body that doesn't play nice with Israel very often...

Coexistence Training « jerusalempeaceseeker

2011-08-29T15:08:00.000-04:00

Coexistence Training « jerusalempeaceseeker: " I’m by no means impervious to fear, just willing to put it aside in order to push the boundaries a little. "

'via Blog this'

Wife of my teacher Michael Marmur, on experiments with public transit in Jerusalem.

Looks like we're in for Nasty Weather.

2011-08-25T22:02:00.001-04:00

Stay safe folks!

Modern Orthodoxy's Human Pillar – Forward.com

2011-08-25T20:56:00.000-04:00

It's probably ironic (at least in the Alanis Morresette sense of the term) that Joseph Soloveitchik (himself no fan of Reform) is one of my favorite theologians. This article, describing a collection of papers delivered on the centenary of his birth is worth a read. In a time when the need for an interrogative faith (to quote David Aaron), Soloveitchik's religious approach--rooted theologically but with an openness that might surprise those unfamiliar with his work--is one that resonates strongly for me, as the following clip makes clear.

It makes clear how, for Soloveitchik, maintaining an Orthodoxy both firmly rooted in the tradition and open to the outside world could be accomplished not according to predetermined formulas, but rather through balancing complex competing values. Add to this the ad hoc pronouncements he felt compelled to register to cope with practical problems as they arose, and it is no wonder that his record seems hardly consistent.

Modern Orthodoxy's Human Pillar – Forward.com:

'via Blog this'

A few more songs for Earthquake Apocalypse

2011-08-23T15:48:00.001-04:00

Thanks Aaron Nathans!

Why I went with J-Street this afternoon

2011-08-23T15:01:00.004-04:00

So this afternoon, in addition to being shaken up by a little earthquake, I joined the crew from J-Street Delaware to deliver a few hundred postcards and have a conversation about supporting a strong, secure, democratic and Jewish State of Israel. I know J-Street has gotten a bad rap, which makes me sad. I think too often there's a sense that if you deviate from a set script on Israel--whether you're a rabbi, a politician, or just a member of the Jewish community--you're branded as an antisemite, an Israel-hater, at best naive, or something similar. And I get where that anxiety comes from--Israel's in a rough neighborhood, surrounded by nations (even those at peace with her) who'd like to see the country go away, and her allies (with the exception of the US) are often not terrific (c.f. Turkey, the UK, France, etc.). So, J-Street (which advocates for a Two-State Solution to the peace process and supports a secure, democratic Jewish state alongside a secure Palestinian one) gets painted with that brush as well, and I would argue, unfairly.

Certainly, there were people in that room who would use terms like 'occupation' when relating to the West Bank. But then there were others--like myself and Rabbi Michael Beals, who joined us for this visit--who see terms like that for what they are: divisive and unhelpful. As Rabbi Beals said to me: no peace, no dialogue can come if you use the terminology of blame. But what's most important is creating a new kind of conversation about Israel, one that expresses support in serious terms, including support for really difficult, challenging work, work that Israel's Palestinian neighbors are not especially good at, and that many Israelis are despairing of whether it can actually happen, the work for peace.

And for those of you who are looking for a musical interlude to celebrate our earthquake:

A Special Place in Hell-Israel News - Haaretz Israeli News source.

2011-08-19T17:13:00.000-04:00

There is no such thing as moral equivalency when a sovereign nation seeks to defend itself against terrorist attacks. This is not about who is stronger or weaker, nor is it a fight between two equals targeting each others' military capabilities: this is about one side's willingness to kill civilians and another side's desire for security. HOWEVER, hatred of one's attackers (and responding appropriately) does not justify hatred of an entire people.

A Special Place in Hell-Israel News - Haaretz Israeli News source.:

Here's one reason: You can bet that terrible things are about to happen, with Gaza being the imminent target of Israeli retaliation. The next step will be a ritual bifurcation of sympathy, either exclusively for Israeli victims of the Thursday attacks, or exclusively for the Gazans to follow.

There will even be scorn for those who suggest that innocent victims are innocent victims no matter who they are – an observation which will quickly be written off by some (at the bottom of this article) as mendacious moral equivalence, or willful ignorance of the obvious malice and evildoing of one side – take your pick – toward the other...

It seems to me that people who justly fight racism have a responsibility not to practice it. It is all too natural a matter, especially in this part of the world, for anger over hated policies to boil over into racism against an entire people.
We've seen what that does. We've seen what that enables. We're about to see it again. By the time these words see print, more innocent people are going to die. They are not the enemy, faceless, merciless, heartless and monstrous.

This I Believe

2011-08-09T11:17:00.003-04:00

As many of you know, our theme for this Summer Speakers' Series has been "This I Believe" based on the NPR program of the same name. I had asked Jan Goodman, our new congregational president, to speak on community and personal service, as she's quite passionate about that subject. Below you'll find her sermon. I leave it without commentary, except to say this--I love it when the president of the congregation sounds as rabbinic (or more rabbinic) than the rabbi! It's a wonderful thing.

THIS I BELEVE – SERVICE

I went to a wonderful liberal arts college in rural Central Pennsylvania – Dickinson College. For a small school Dickinson had some pretty incredible offerings, academic as well as extra-curricular. I chose Dickinson because of the rigorous International Studies curriculum and particularly the focus on studying abroad, as I hoped to one day to live and work overseas. The school’s foreign language program was and still is very well-respected, which definitely appealed to me. I was especially excited about the chance to join the Swimming team. And there were so many club activities that interested me that I really didn’t know where to begin. One offering that I had never seriously considered, however, was a program called ROTC – the Reserve Officers Training Corps.

Soon after I arrived at Dickinson and was pouring through the course selection guide with my roommate, she convinced me to try this elective called ROTC. Margaret had Swiss citizenship, her brothers served in the Swiss Army, and she thought it would be fun to see what the military was all about – but she didn’t want to take the class alone. I agreed to join her because ROTC seemed like a great elective – lots of hiking, skiing, camping, canoeing, climbing and other adventures, a perfect complement to all the studying I was anticipating. I’m pretty sure the course description – at least that first year – pretty much glossed over the military service component of the class. Well, to make a long story short, Margaret lasted only one semester in ROTC, and I was commissioned as a 2^nd lieutenant soon after I graduated four years later.

Since that time, so many people have asked me – sometimes with total shock on their faces – why a nice Jewish girl would choose this path. My quick answer to this question is always the same: “To meet a nice Jewish boy, of course!”, for as many of you know, it was during my active duty years that Rob and I first met.

The honest reason, however, is more complex. I was raised by a family, a community, and a faith that believes in service and I was taught from a very young age that service – however you define this – was an obligation, perhaps even a requirement for being a citizen in this world. To me, military service was as much about good citizenship and representing our nation positively overseas as it was about our tactical mission. Although my unit’s role was to defend a border in Germany that doesn’t even exist anymore, I’m hopeful that the way in which I represented my country, and even more importantly my country’s ideals and values, made a positive impression on people in far-away places.

Judaism teaches us quite simply that being part of the community means working to better the community. We are taught to question injustice and act to eliminate it. Our most important mission is Tikkun Olam (repairing the world) and we are commanded to pursue Tzedakah (justice) and G’milut Chasadim (acts of loving kindness). Performing these mitzvot is fundamental to who we are, as individuals and as a people. Not only does this give us a stake in improving our environment, but it allows us to play a role in reducing injustice and evil in our world. Helping those in need in some capacity, no matter where they are or what they need, is crucial and, in my opinion at least, perhaps even sacred work.

So clearly one of the most fundamental Jewish commandments – if not the most critical one – is to be of service to others, in our own communities, in our cities, in our nation, and globally. But what exactly does service really mean… that everyone should join the Army as I did? Probably not, although I have some pretty strong opinions about the value of mandatory national service that we can discuss some other time. I think everyone needs to define service in a way that has meaning in their life. I understand service as freely sharing some combination of time, money and personal talents with the intention of helping others.

This is what Judaism has taught me and I’m proud that our synagogue incorporates these mitzvot into much of what we do. A key part of our recently-developed Vision statement reads: “Beth Emeth aspires to be a welcoming congregational family that supports and celebrates each other as we, among other things, lead and inspire the greater community through Tzedakah and Tikkun Olam.

Beth Emeth’s teachers incorporate these values into almost every class; we’re active participants in our community’s Mitzvah Day; we help to support a synagogue in Russia; we collect and serve food for our community’s hungry; and so, so much more. And I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention that we now have a volunteer coordinator at Beth Emeth – please let Van Olmstead know if you’re looking for service opportunities in our synagogue and I’m sure he’ll be happy to help you! Through all of these activities we’re teaching our community about caring and service here at Beth Emeth, and this is a very good thing.

But even more than teaching these obligations, it is important that we – each of us individually as well as communally – continue to “live” this message. For me, it has been the example of those I respect most that has inspired me to make the choices I’ve made. I can’t truthfully remember my parents ever lecturing me about the importance of volunteering. Instead, I’ve learned from how they live their lives. My father’s 30 years of military service, his commitment to improving the quality of life in my home town, and his involvement with programs such as Big Brothers. My mother’s community activism, advocacy for children in the foster care system, and other volunteer commitments too numerous to share. And especially the very humble example of my grandmother. When she passed away years ago, I saw the following words on her refrigerator:

Do all the good you can,

By all the means you can,

In all the ways you can,

In all the places you can,

At all the times you can,

To all the people you can,

As long as ever you can.

You see, serving others was how Gram chose to live her life. Even as the aging process took its toll, helping others is what inspired her to wake up and look forward to each day.

So let’s return now to my original question – what led a “nice Jewish girl down the path to military service”, and expanding on this, why do I continue to search for ways to serve others?

I take very seriously the fact that in our tradition, it is imperative to act out of concern for the greater good and do our part to make the world a better place. Helping others, locally and sometimes on a much more global scale, gives our lives value and meaning and, hopefully, inspires others to do the same. Each of us needs to define for ourselves how and where to make a difference – in our family, our community, for our country, our world – but serving others and making a piece of this world a better place is our obligation. And teaching this commitment to service through our example to the next generation is one of the most important things we can do.

SHABBAT SHALOM

Not Sure about Tisha Be'av?

2011-08-08T21:40:00.000-04:00

I've only ever fasted once for Tisha B'av: in Israel, when I was 16 on a NFTY trip. Probably not the healthiest thing in the world, as we were planting trees that day, but I wanted to experience it, get a sense of what it would mean to fast for a destroyed Israel and Jerusalem while literally standing in a reborn and renewed Israel and Jerusalem.

The second time I experienced Tisha B'av in a meaningful way was again in Israel, my first year of rabbinic school. Hearing the chanting of Eicha done by fellow students (it's still my favorite trope) and going down to the kotel to witness throngs of people, cheek-to-jowl, weeping real tears at midnight for a destroyed city that we were now, in that moment, standing within, was powerful. (Hilariously, we also ran into some EIE high school exchange students who wanted to check it out and had broken curfew as a result.).

Since then, I've moved away from the practice, and have rarely been in communities that observed the day. I'd like to think it was because, as Reform Jews, many decided that it no longer made sense. Sadly, I'm pretty sure it's mostly because it's in the summer, there's no food, and no fun family activity to go with it.

Truth be told, it's not that I'm against the holiday, but rather that I'm ambivalent. I think there's a lot of important teaching to be done at Tisha B'av that directly relates to our lives today. The rabbis teach that Jerusalem fell because of sinat chinam, or senseless hatred, between fellow Jews. Well, one doesn't have to look too far to see sinat chinam. We look to Washington DC and the political chasm that grows ever wider and more treacherous. We look in Israel and see young Israelis rallying for their financial future, hostility upon hostility heaped upon anyone who dares challenge the hegemony of the Orthodox, or for Women's rights, or equal rights for all citizens under the law (and who speaks of peace now, without being called a traitor?), and cynical politicians who have forgotten what it means for Am Yisrael to chai, all this happening while we fear for Israel's continued safety and security, and while we anticipate Gilad Shalit's 25th birthday.

So Menachem Creditor's post Not Sure about Tisha Be'av? Hit home for me (yes, even the parts relevant only to his congregation--having been part of a campaign for a synagogue's financial survival, I know how that goes). There is a lot that's wrong in the world, in the Jewish world, in Israel. We have seen the State of Israel rise miraculously, but have watched Am Yisrael deteriorate. And yet, and yet, as Menachem points out, there is laughter and joy. I'm gearing up for a wedding and a baby naming and a slew of b'nai mitzvah. I'm working on an Israel trip for the congregation. I see Jews in this community gather regularly--regardless of affiliation--to support each other, the community (however you define that word) and Israel, as well as the world. I get to make Shabbat with my family every week, and watch my son's face as Silly Joe (the JCC camp songleader) plays Hinei Mah Tov on the guitar (it does help that he does an Elmo impersonation as he sings it, but hey).

The last words of Eicha say: Chadeish Yameinu Mikedem--renew our days as of old (they're also the last words of the Torah Service). That word renew has a great deal of power and potential (there's a reason Arthur Waskow etc. co-opted the term), and I believe there's a reason we end the chanting of Lamentations with it (it was a later emendation, according to some scholars). Because we can't end with sadness, with mourning. We have to have hope, a nechemta, a word of comfort. We have to believe that there is a future, a better world, a better me and a better you, that we can celebrate together. So we move from Lamentation to comfort, literally in the haftarah for this week (nachamu, nachamu, comfort O comfort ye, says Adonai), and spiritually as we pivot from the this day and move toward Rosh Hashanah, the ultimate renewal.

I don't know what you're doing for Tisha B'av--perhaps nothing. But I hope you'll use it as a time for reflection and introspection, and to begin the process of renewal. Chadeish Yameinu Mikedem...

Op-Ed: Judaism is always ‘tikkun olam’—and more | JTA - Jewish & Israel News

2011-08-02T20:31:00.000-04:00

THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!!!

While written as an op-ed, this piece by Rabbi Eric Yoffie (outgoing head of the URJ) ends up being one of the best high holiday sermons ever. I've quoted the whole thing below, but put my own italics on the parts that are just made of TRUTH.

I have no patience for survival Judaism. Whenever I hear someone talk about what Jews must do in order to “survive,” I head for the door.
Joel Alperson has joined the long list of Jewish communal leaders offering a formula for Jewish survival. Along the way, he informs us that Modern Orthodoxy has all the answers and Reform and Conservative Judaism are on the road to extinction -- a point with which I strongly disagree but that I will not argue here. What does need to be said, however, is that he shows a total misunderstanding of what Judaism is about and fails to comprehend that a Judaism obsessed with survival is a Judaism that will not survive.
Anyone who has urged college students to care about Jewish survival knows that they will respond with indifference, incomprehension and contempt. They are not interested in being Jewish so that we can survive. They need to hear the opposite message: Jews do not observe Torah in order to survive; they survive in order to observe Torah. And -- this is the key for such students, and for most North American Jews -- observing Torah means much more than worrying only about our own souls.
Observing Torah involves fulfilling a grander purpose. It means taking to heart the words of R. Hayyim of Brisk, the greatest Talmudist of the late 19th century, who defined the rabbi’s task as follows: “To redress the grievances of those who are abandoned and alone, to protect the dignity of the poor, and to save the oppressed from the hands of the oppressor.”
Social justice, in short, is required by our religious texts and is inseparable from our religious mission. There is no such thing as a morality that is selectively indignant -- that looks within but fails to look without. And Judaism without ethics, both personal and societal, is a contradiction in terms.
Do we need to study Torah, embrace Jewish ritual and observe Shabbat? Absolutely, although Reform, Conservative and Orthodox Jews will interpret these obligations differently. The work of social justice, absent text study and ritual practice as a foundation, is inauthentic and will not sustain itself. Indeed, I have found that the work of "tikkun olam," for all its rewards, is lonely and discouraging work, and only by absorbing the light of the Shabbat candles and by studying and worshiping with a strong, dynamic Jewish community can I immunize myself against the cynicism and alienation that surround me.
But the point that Mr. Alperson misses is that social justice is not, as he claims, a secular pursuit meant to compensate for the absence of “God-based” Jewish experience. Social justice is God-mandated in precisely the same way that Shabbat observance and Torah study are God-mandated. In the book of Jeremiah (9:24), we find these words: “I am the Eternal, who exercises kindness, justice and righteousness on earth, for in these I delight.” Serious Jews know that in the Jewish tradition, healing the sick, clothing the naked, helping the poor, pursuing peace, loving my people and my neighbors -- these are the attributes of God, and we testify to God’s existence by emulating God behavior.
And in fact, Mr. Alperson can’t seem to decide if Jewish education and Jewish practice are “God-based” or are instruments of survival. Ultimately he appears to choose the latter, referring to them as “the water pumps and sandbags employed by the Orthodox movement against the rising tides of assimilation.” Orthodox leaders can speak for themselves on this point, but I will share with you the reaction of my daughter Adina, who is a social activist, belongs to an Orthodox congregation and was incensed by this article.
“We don’t observe Shabbat because it is a sandbag against assimilation," she said, "but because it is part of the eternal covenant between God and the Jews that evokes the miracle of Creation and the Exodus from Egypt and links me to Jews throughout the centuries.” Exactly so.
The essence of Mr. Alperson’s argument, and the height of his folly, is that “we can’t have it both ways”; we cannot, he says, both insist that tikkun olam and social justice are central and also embrace serious Jewish education and Jewish practice. But we can, and in fact, we must. To do one without the other is to retreat from the world and distort Judaism’s very essence.

Op-Ed: Judaism is always ‘tikkun olam’—and more | JTA - Jewish & Israel News

Judge’s ruling strikes circumcision ban from San Francisco ballot | j. the Jewish news weekly of Northern California

2011-07-28T22:12:00.000-04:00

Huzzah!

Judge’s ruling strikes circumcision ban from San Francisco ballot | j. the Jewish news weekly of Northern California

Tefillah in the Synagogue

2011-07-26T20:20:00.000-04:00

Swap out the word "Conservative" for the word "Reform" (or any other form of Judaism. Or religiosity for that matter) and you get an article that speaks to the heart of what ails us and our ability to pray meaningfully as a community. Or at least, it well identifies the questions. What, then are the answers? How do we ensure that the synagogue is not (to quote Heschel and this article) a graveyard where prayer is buried?

Tefillah in the Synagogue

High Holiday sermon question

2011-07-20T17:54:00.000-04:00

So I'm working on sermons for this High Holidays, and based on a great conversation with Geri Newburge, I'm thinking of doing something interactive with the congregation--really hard to do with a HHD crowd I know, but any thoughts on what might work or make sense? I was thinking of asking people to break into smaller discussion groups...or a guided meditation? Thoughts?

Judaism not Twitterable?

2011-07-19T16:27:00.003-04:00

So I have confession to make. While I love social media (from discussion forums to Livejournal to Myspace to Facebook to this blog to Google+) I don't like Twitter.* It just never felt like the right medium for me. Don't get me wrong, I think there are some colleagues out there that are doing some amazing things with 140 characters (Tweeting the Exodus comes to mind), but I think it's far, far too easy as a medium to lead one down to the dark places of online culture: snark, sarcasm, the lunge-parry-reposte that in many ways is coarsening our dialogue.

So I was happy to see Donniel Hartman's blog post on the subject, and I totally get where he's coming from. As a small and 'ever dying' people (to use one of the far-too popular perceptions about us), we freak out about numbers and so we try (as Hartman puts it) "something, anything" to boost numbers. And we've been increasingly successful, but at a price.

We have begun to master the art of condensing the Jewish message, so that it is communicable through a narrow bandwidth, short-term experiences, and brief social media exposures. The problem, however, is that the message, even if received, is not significant enough and compelling enough to attract ongoing interest and generate long-term commitment.

Herein lays the new Catch-22 of contemporary Jewish life: In order to reach the numbers we need, we have to dumb down our message and water down the experience. A dumbed-down and watered-down Judaism, however, cannot compete in an open marketplace of ideas. Therefore, our successes lay the foundation for our failure. At the same time, when one deepens the message and intensifies the experience, one seemingly loses the numbers game.

The Jewish people have, since our inception, been the carriers of ideas. We changed history, not as a result of our economic or military power, nor by the enormity of our numbers. It was by the depth and significance of what we stood for – a way of life permeated by important ideas and values held together and conveyed through powerful and meaningful experiences – which placed Jews and Judaism as a transformational force in human culture.

This content is not Twitter-able. The journey of a meaningful Jewish life needs a wide bandwidth. It requires knowledge, time, and commitment. If we want Judaism to have a great future, and not merely a great past, we need to set our sights higher and deeper.

I truly believe this is the greatest challenge facing the Reform Movement and Judaism as a whole, as well as every individual synagogue and community. You open your doors wide to welcome everyone, but in our fear of scaring people away, refrain from challenging them with deeper ideas, with more study, with greater commitment. Twitter in many ways is just part of a larger trend on instant gratification that's served as fodder for high holiday sermons since Sinai so I won't delve that deeply in, but he raises a great question, arguably the question of the 58th century: we got them to follow our tweets, to read our blogs; how do we get them to engage in meaningful Jewish experiences for themselves instead of living through them vicariously. Or to put it another way: we got them in the door, now what do we do with them? Projects like Tweet the Exodus, which uses the best of the internet--multiple sources and media, collaboration--suggests a model for Twitter engagement that can be both broad AND deep; more like a Talmudic discussion than Milton Berle rattling off one-liners. So how do we modulate the tweet-voice toward that model?

I get a little nervous about his conclusions: what it means to 'demand more' of an individual in the Progressive Jewish world is very different from what it means in the Orthodox world, and I'd have loved for him to have acknowledged that nuance. Indeed, even getting more specific, like 'demanding more study' can mean very different things and lead to very different outcomes depending on the community and that community's Narrative. However, I think the basic premise is a good one. We got them to follow: how do we get them to lead, if not the community, then themselves.

*At some point in the blog post, you should have made some kind of joke about rabbis' sermons and length. You know, like "if you can say it in five minutes (or 140 characters) then why use 20 (or 1400)?" Go ahead. I think it's joke 42, if you're looking it up.

Home from camp

2011-07-19T16:11:00.003-04:00

Sorry I didn't get to post more from my camp experiences. Needless to say, I was spending a lot of time with the kids (and foolishly took no photos, in part because Harlam has a 'no cellphones' rule that I was already breaking like Chuck Norris breaks ninjas).

It was a fantastic experience. The staff is amazingly professional (especially considering we're talking about mostly 18-21 year olds). As important is the love they clearly have for their kids and for Judaism, as well as for camp itself.

And that's reflected in the kids themselves. These kids are passionate about their Judaism and their camp experience. No one grumbled, no one felt the programming was a waste of time (even among the 14-year olds!). Whether they started out this way or not, every single kid I talked to was enthusiastic about being Jewish and being part of a Jewish community.

My shiurim went very well--well, the first time it went great, and the second time (I repeated the class) so-so, but considering past years where I was sure kids only signed up because a counselor made them, I'll take so-so. Shabbat was, of course, incredible, with the Machon/CITs leading a pretty amazing service. Of course, I got to embarrass myself talking to a CIT (going into senior year of high school) who I didn't recognize, not realizing he was a Shir Ami kid I had worked with for bar mitzvah four years earlier. Hey, the last time I saw him he hadn't hit puberty!

None of this is to say that camp is perfect: there needs to be more leadership and programming training for the staff, the dining hall remains an issue, and the way Jewish values are taught and expressed don't always line up with day-to-day reality at camp (one small example: the youngest kids did an Alex's Lemonade Stand on Shabbat. Great value in terms of tzedakah, but not exactly shabbesdik). the new director, Aaron, went even further to say that some things need real improvement, but it's getting there, and there's a real sense of vision and mission.

So I'm now home, getting over the camp cruds, sore, lightly sunburned (despite SPF 45), and basically ready to go back. Can't wait 'till next year!