Reflections on CCAR

Okay, I'm back from NOLA. I've been mostly blogging at the official blog site, but for those who didn't keep up. I'll post what little I did this week. Then I'll be catching up on sleep and gearing up for Shabbat! I've added a little bit of video to what I posted before but the images are 'native' to the blog posts.

3/26

Just got into the hotel, sadly too late to register. Got to fly down with a ‘certainty’ of rabbis (as Peter Sagal insisted was the technical term for a plurality of rabbis), including William Kuhn, Peter Rigler, Eric Wisnia, Carolyn Bricklin and Andrea Weiss. Looking forward to catching up with more colleagues tomorrow!

3/27

I first read Roger Kamnetz’s The Jew in The Lotus around the same time as I was studying Kafka and Nachman of Bratzlav (separately) so it was bashert (or at least wonderful luck) that his new book, Burnt Books, converges on these very different yet similar topics. The book, which he discussed today in a pre-convention study session, is an intellectual biography (of sorts) of two wildly different individuals: the tormented hasidic master (to use Art Green’s turn of phrase) who may have been a tzaddik ha-dor and the tormented secular writer of the twenties, both of whom were consumed with the fire of their ‘torah’.

I’ve been reading the book with great interest; both are some of the great storytellers of ‘modernity’ (though Nachman would not have appreciated that term) and both deal with the very profound issues of spiritual alienation in their writing. And both burned their books. As Kamenetz writes: “The gesture suggests that the act of writing in itself is profoundly important, even if no one ever reads it, a prospect most writers today would find difficult.” And in fact, for both writers, it was the act of writing that was sacred; the fear, of course, was that the wrong readership would somehow malign their texts, reduce them and reimagine them inappropriately (which to some degree has come to pass: as Kamenetz points out, most scholars think Nachman was insane, and everyone has claimed Kafka as their own to the point that there are thousands of Kafkas running amok in bibliographies).

The discussion itself wasn’t so much about Kamenetz’s book (although it was about that) but about the nature of the spiritual discourse we engage in as rabbis. At least, that was my question. For many of us, to talk about God is to encounter a gatekeeper, much like the one in Kafka’s parable of the Law, or any number of Bratzlaver tales. We face obstacles to God encounters again and again, and the question becomes, what then are our spiritual values? Like the young Jews of Kafka’s era, we have become disillusioned with Modernity and are trying to reclaim something of the ascension of the soul, even while we face the twin atheisms (as Nachman put it) of critical thinking and the emptiness of the soul that happens when we descend to nothing. So what are we then left with? Secular values. To quote: “Chutzpah is not a jewish spiritual value. If you want to claim that it is a spiritual value, you’re going to have to do a lot of work. It is certainly a post-modern secular jewish value supreme. is chutzpah what the soul wants? Is it about the soul? That’s the question.”

So how do we answer the question? For Kamenetz, we must engage the soul through our feelings, and overcome the obstacles, work our way deeper into the pain we feel in order to approach God. For us, the question might be: how are we the Gatekeepers, and how are we the ones at the Gate? How do we remove obstacles and how do we help guide our congregants through their own spiritual obstacles? What can we do to help those around us encounter and engage their souls, and bring their souls back from the brink?

Like a Bratzlaver tale of a lost princess, the ending is not clear, except that we do overcome the obstacles. And we do so, at least from the vantage point of Kamenetz, by going to those places of hurt ourselves, and running the risk that we ourselves may not escape the descent.

Hope others who were at the session will chime in with their thoughts and observations…

3/28

There is something really wonderful about seeing a classmate in action. One of my friends (Rabbi Dan Fellman) observed today that we so rarely get to see each other ‘doing our thing’; that once we’re out of school we get together to study or for conventions, but most of us don’t get the chance to see how we’ve grown and developed as rabbis and who we’ve become since ordination.

For me and many of my classmates, today was one of those days, as Dr. Joshua Garroway, my classmate and friend, presented on the other side of the Prophetic voice. it was classic Josh: with great thoughtfulness and careful analysis of the text (with heaping servings of humor) we looked at the dark, disturbing side to the Prophetic Vision of the end of history; that is, for all the world to be one and God’s name to be one (as we read in Aleinu, quoting Zechariah) we must first encounter catastrophe, disaster, and destruction. Again and again the prophets put forward not just images of peace and justice and redemption but also suffering and turmoil, as a necessary precursor to the age of redemption. As Josh said: “Our prophets speak of war, devestation and destruction as inevitable forerunners of peace, justice and harmony at the end of history.”

So what do we do with that voice? Our first instinct is to disregard it (apparently the RAMBAM agrees), or to leave that aspect of the prophetic vision to those nonliberal religious traditions that are focused on some vision of victory born from misery. Or, we could recapture the text, and here is where the innovation happens: that perhaps these texts could be reimagined. Not merely as descriptions of God’s wrath against Israel and the world, but also of the universal empathy that emerges after a crisis. That we, when faced with the horrifying (the tsunami in Japan, or the earthquakes in Haiti), reveal a profound universalist and compassionate streak as evoked in the Aleinu. For the Prophets, that crisis is necessary to create redemption; but what would it mean to capture that sense of care for all without the crisis? And how do we challenge our congregations (and ourselves) to engage in that kind of love in a meaningful way?

Needless to say, it was a marvelous chance to study, and a great opportunity to see a colleague and friend put forward his best self.

Finally (and self-indulgently) an apology for so late a report. One of the wonderful things about CCAR is all of the unplanned or semi-planned stuff: the conversations in the hotel lobby or walking down the street, dinner with classmates, late-night sessions talking about some project or another. Tonight had all of those wonderful encounters, so I find myself delayed, but rejoicing in the sacredness of each opportunity.

3/30

When I was asked to blog the convention, I found it really, really funny. Frankly, I still do. Sure, I Facebook, I blog, but those just feel like digital versions of what I do already. The blog is a bulletin article–a more interactive one to be sure, but similar in nature. Facebook is a 24/7 Oneg conversation: “Rabbi, there’s this article I saw…” “did you know so-and-so is in the hospital?” “Did you hear this joke?”

So the Freehof Institute seminar on Halacha and the Internet was of great interest to me, especially because of the eagerness on the part of rabbis and our congregants to use technology and the questions they raise. Does someone watching a live-stream service count in the minyan? And is it ethical or appropriate to even have a live-streamed service? How does our connectivity effect or ability to observe Shabbat or make sacred time for ourselves? Does that technology enhance or detract from the Shabbat experience.

Sadly, I was only able to hear the first two papers, but they raised great questions and important nuances. For the live-streaming of services, for example, there are compelling reasons to broadcast the worship of a congregation, not the least of which is bikkur cholim: a homebound congregant, the ill grandmother of a bar mitzvah who can’t travel. And, there is precedent in the tradition for the online viewer to be consideredyotzei through their participation (though they wouldn’t count as a 10th member of the minyan). However, what questions does it raise about copyright permission with regards to the liturgies and music being used? What about the permission of the worshippers (or lack thereof) to be photographed? And how does the presence of the camera change the service? Does tech support impugn the ability to lead a meaningful service for the congregation? And what happens if the service ends up on YouTube, especially if there’s something on the video embarrassing to one of the participants? All of these questions need to be tackled before just jumping at the chance to broadcast to the world.

The second part of the seminar–on connectivity and Shabbat–requires an equally nuanced view. Does technology add oneg and kedusha? For some, perhaps: the use of Skype to talk to grandma, or the ability for a worshiper to share his inspired feelings from a service on Facebook (at NFTY convention this year the participants were encouraged to tweet services, for example). But what if it’s the inability to put down Angry Birds at the cost of time spent with family. And of course, what about us, for whom Shabbat is already a ‘busman’s holiday’: does our need (real or imagined) to be on and available all the time make technology and even greater temptation to work when we should be enjoying some much-needed menucha?

As the presenters left the questions unanswered so shall I, but it’s worth asking the questions as we move toward ‘teching’ up our Jewish experiences more and more...

Off To New Orleans

In case I don't get to post again until motzei Shabbat, I'm on my way to New Orleans for the CCAR conference (hashtag #ccar11). Somehow I got asked to blog the convention with some much smarter, more technologically savvy people than me, so you'll be able to follow along here starting on Sunday (it's not really live yet, so no peeking!).

CCAR is one of those things I look forward to every year, and not only because it's a chance to explore a new city and do a little networking (though that happens as well). It's a chance for me to recharge my spiritual and theological batteries. I get to gather with colleagues and longtime friends, people I respect tremendously, and catch up with them, study with them, commiserate with them, learn what's going on in their lives, daven with them. We share old jokes that still somehow manage to be fresh, trade 'war stories', and learn best practices. We get ideas for what to study or read next, sermon ideas, thoughts on adult ed courses to teach and programs to initiate. And for 'political' junkies like me there's opportunity aplenty to sit down and discuss the fate and direction of the movement and where we should go. It's more than a school reunion, more than camp for Jews. For me, it's a pilgrimage.

So, hope to see many of you there, and for those I don't, keep checking in!

The end of the tour

So last week I was at the CCAR conference in San Francisco. I LOVE these things (I've only missed one--last year's--since my ordination in 2003, and that was because of my transition and my senior rabbi's sabbatical. And laziness). I love the study, the camaraderie of being with colleagues, catching up with friends, and seeing the city (it helped that my wife was able to come to this one--thank God for inlaws!).

It was neat meeting the new ordainees (last year's class) and spending some time with them. The new colleagues I met had a very positive vibe and terrific energy, and there were probably as many of them as my class. It was wonderful being with classmates (both from the Israel year and who were ordained with me), especially with many of us either in our first year in a new place or about to transition to one. I even enjoy the plenaries (I know, right?). And, frankly, it was great seeing colleagues I don't necessarily plan on connecting with. First day of a conference is a lot like Trafalgar Square; stand in one place long enough and you'll see EVERYONE.

Not much of this conference was particularly controversial. Study, obviously (or maybe not). We rewrote our governance rules and revised our ethics code (which either will make a difference or was the rearranging of the deck chairs, depending on who you talked to), talked about the future of placement and the conference within the larger context of the Reform Movement. Oh, and we talked a little about intermarriage.

The report from the Taskforce on Intermarriage was a long time coming. A little history; while the conference essentially discouraged the practice of reform rabbis officiating at a ceremony of a Jew and a non-Jew in 1973, there have been voices to mitigate that stricture, including a reaffirmation in the 1980s that still put out guidelines for those rabbis who would choose to officiate, resolutions embracing converts, non-Jews, the children of 'mixed' marriages (to use the old term) etc. When the Taskforce was formed, there was a concern in the Conference that its mission was to rescind the previous resolutions and open up the possibility for (or even require) officiation.

Instead, recognizing that to decide such a personal choice so aggressively would alienate one or the other half the Conference, they chose to build consensus. For some, that means they didn't go far enough. For others, I'm sure, there is a sense that they went too far. In my case, they were just right.

I'm not going to discuss the issue of officiation now (yeah, I know, I'm chicken). Suffice to say in this moment that it's something I'm always struggling with and I have enormous respect both for colleagues who don't and colleagues who do under certain circumstances, and have come to their positions with thoughtfulness and a sense of kedusha. What's more important, for me, is the sense of creating a welcoming atmosphere. To embrace and bless couples on the bimah regardless of religious orientation (or any kind of orientation, for that matter), to open up the possibility for conversion at any time for those who would choose to affiliate, creating opportunities to celebrate those non-Jews who raise their children in Jewish community and create Jewish households, providing programming and education for those who would want it, both for those in so-called 'interfaith' relationships and those whose children are in those relationships, are not only paramount and critical for a congregation, to me at least, they're no brainers. Not because they'll boost membership, but because ethically and spiritually they're the right thing to do.

This past week we celebrated a bat mitzvah of a girl who's great-grandmother (thank God, still living), grandmother, and father all grew up at Beth Emeth. Four generations of this family stood on the bimah together, passing the Torah from generation to generation. But something else happened as well; the mother of this girl, herself not Jewish but active in the Jewish upbringing of both her daughters, who knows the service probably as well as anyone in the congregation, stood on that bimah as well. She participated in that ritual of passing the Torah to her daughter. She read the parents' prayer that she and her husband had written. She stood proudly next to her daughter as she read from Torah, a smile full of pride and emotion beaming from her face. Perhaps those are controversial choices, to have her participate in this service. For me as a rabbi, as a Jew, as a parent, it was a no-brainer.