Yom HaZikaron

Remembering the 22,993 fallen defending the State of Israel today, and a reminder at what cost our Jewish State exists at all, not just in terms of our own blood spilled, but in terms of the blood of our 'enemies' as well.

“When peace comes we will perhaps in time be able to forgive the Arabs for killing our sons, but it will be harder for us to forgive them for having forced us to kill their sons.” Golda Meir

I give up (which is to say, I'm on Twitter)

hit me up at #ravyair. https://twitter.com/#!/ravyair

What does it mean to be Jewish, in Israel and abroad? - Haaretz Daily Newspaper | Israel News

What does it mean to be Jewish, in Israel and abroad? - Haaretz Daily Newspaper | Israel News

The answer of how we are to be Jewish is different for many people, irrespective of a person’s other national identities. For some, the answer is obvious: being Jewish means being faithful to mitzvot, God’s commandments, as understood in the codification of Jewish law. For others, being Jewish is about cultural expressions, perhaps in terms of certain foods eaten at certain times of the year. What is important, however, is that one’s Jewishness is expressed in some way. While I will not deny that a Jew-by-genes is a Jew, as a Jewish educator I strive to instill something stronger than that in my students.

The spoiled leftist radical - Israel Opinion, Ynetnews

The spoiled leftist radical - Israel Opinion, Ynetnews

That's when I realized that for many of those foreign peace activists, this is all just a game. And in this game we, the Israelis and Palestinians, are the pieces. They come from all corners of the world to a faraway country they have never been to before. They confront soldiers and policemen, blocking roads and holding signs. Moreover – as long as they have their cold beer by the end of the evening, as long as they lay their heads in a comfy and friendly hostel – they will continue to arrive.
They take advantage of what we're most proud of: Our freedom, democracy and the tolerance that we're so afraid to lose. They take advantage of the strange system we have developed, the one that lets us disconnect ourselves from reality and continue with our lives even when real fighting takes place so close to us.

Justice or Vengeance?

So the other night, at our congregational Seder, I was talking with a congregant who told me about an upsetting incident the previous night at his home. He had invited a non-Jew, a friend to the seder, which is a good thing. But when they got to the part about the plagues, this friend completely freaked out. How can you imagine such a punishing, such a vengeful and hateful God?! He asked. And so the rest of the seder was spent dealing with this one issue: how could God be so vengeful, so mean, and how could we find inspiration in such an angry deity?

It’s an issue that seems to come up in every crisis, and is great fodder for the likes of the late Christopher Hitchens and Richard Dawkins among others, and it’s the issue of one of this week’s Holiday portions. The song at the sea and the destruction that builds up to it are recounted, and the song itself is triumphant and joyful. But is it vengeful? Indeed, one could see the plagues not as vengeance but as punishment: it was the soldiers of Egypt who drowned Israel’s boys, so now they themselves are drowned as an act of judgment. The plagues punishment for those Egyptians who accepted the status quo of Israel’s suffering rather than strive to alleviate it in some way. But our tradition does not celebrate the plagues, the death of the firstborn, or the drowning of Egypt in the Sea. Rather that celebration is deflected, mitigated. We pour out our wine and offer libation—libation!—to those who died in tormenting us. We read the Midrash and God’s rebuke of the heavenly court: “My children are drowning in the sea, and you sing praises?”  Our tradition, unique in the world, does not celebrate the destruction of our enemies; we mourn their deaths, even today.

So let me ask this in a different way: what if God had intervened directly after the Holocaust? What if God smote 6 million, or even 11 million Germans, Austrians, French and Poles: those who perpetrated violence on Israel—as well as Gypsies, Gays, and other so-called ‘undesireables’—as well as those who were silent in the face of destruction. How would we feel today? Would we see that as an act of Divine Justice? Would we see it as vengeance, retribution, wrath poured out onto the charnel-houses of Europe? Is this a far-fetched question? Look at the way we respond to the Bombing of Dresden in World War II. If anything could be called an act of retribution, that would be it, but we tend not to take solace in that other conflagration. Rather, for the most part, we see it as a tragedy, more death and killing. We recognize the divinity of the victims. Yes, we sing praises of the liberators and the Righteous Gentiles, but we also pause and recognize the burning of God’s children.

We are unique of all Creation in that we strive for Justice. In calling for George Zimmerman’s arrest, the parents of Trayvon Martin were not asking for vengeance: they were seeking justice, for the case to be brought before the law. Heschel writes: Man is born to be concerned with ultimate issues. The Haggadah and these verses of Torah stand, as all prayer stands, to (again, quoting Heschel) overthrow and to ruin the pyramids of callousness, hatred, opportunism, falsehoods. When we sing, “Mi Chamocha Ba’elim Adonai”—Who is like you among the Gods? We remind ourselves that divine justice—indeed, comprehension of God at all—is beyond any of us, and to ferret out God’s intent or reduce our own free will is to give in to the anguish within our own hearts. And while we desire justice and strive for justice—for it is through justice that peace is truly achieved—we still mourn the loss of life and the potential holiness of those lives, in our seders, in our Torah teaching and in our lives. To do otherwise is to fail to accept God’s challenge: to choose life.

Our Haggadahs are back on the shelf, the pesadik utensils back in the basement. But If we did our seders right, those conversations—especially those of controversy and those that challenge our relationship with God—still resonate, still haunt, still force us back again and again to revisit the argument, still drive us to tears. We must continue to ask the question that the child asks in Torah and our Seder: “why?” And continue to answer with patience, with understanding, and a healthy sense of our own limitations. When we do that, we become God’s witnesses, as Shimon Bar Yochai meant it: you are my witnesses, I am God; if you are not my witnesses, I am not God.“… In this world God is not God unless we are His witnesses, and without God, there is no Justice, nor compassion. Let us bear witness and bring Justice into the world,  and mercy, and pour out our cups and hearts. Amen. 

America's Real Top Rabbis - My Jewish Learning

Well, this is interesting. A 'nominate your own top rabbi' effort. Not sure if this is any better (or worse) than Newsweek's efforts, but it does keep people talking about what makes a person a 'good' or 'effective' rabbi. And that's always good! Link and quote are below. 

America's Real Top Rabbis - My Jewish Learning

Who's the top rabbi in America?

Newsweek and the Daily Beast just released a list of, ostensibly, the best rabbis in America. But are those really THE top rabbis? "We...admire rabbis who keep their heads down and do their pastoral, spiritual or organizational work year after year," the Beast noted. "But if we only rewarded consistency, the list would be unwieldy, fixed, and dull."
We'd like to respectfully disagree. Our top rabbis are the ones we call when we don't understand something about Judaism, or when we don't agree with Judaism. Our top rabbis teach classes, pull us aside, help us through the joyous parts of our lives (births, bar/bat mitzvahs, weddings), the difficult parts (divorce, mourning)--and the everyday stuff, too.
Send us your pick! Nominate your favorite rabbi. Tell us in four or five sentences why he or she is a credit to the clergy. Why do they inspire you? What's one way that he or she helped you, or someone you know? We'll feature the most compelling entries on MyJewishLearning.com.
And then we'll turn it over to you to vote. The top vote-getting rabbi will receive dinner for two and a massage, and we'll foot the bill. Being a rabbi is hard work, and God knows they deserve a little thank-you.
So, go ahead! Nominate your favorite rabbi -- fill in these short answers and email us a photo!

Well, okay then...

So my colleague Jeff Goldwasser posted this experience from 2nd Night Pesach at the CCAR group (I really wanted to write message board, which shows what kind of grognard I am): 

After leading the congregational seder tonight, I listened to a message on my voicemail at the synagogue (big mistake). It was a three-minute speech from an 81-year-old Christian woman who did not give her name (of course), telling me about how she is so angry at rabbis because they were the ones who told the Romans to crucify Jesus. She also explained that she has nothing against Jews in general because she has a son-in-law who is a "nice Jewish gentleman." (Poor fellow.) She just felt like she had to get this long-held, bitter complaint off of her chest. ("I just had to say that, and now I have.") 

I am dumbstruck. What, if anything, do I do about this? Just ignore it as the rantings of a crazy person? (But, I'm afraid, that there are so many others.) Do I take it to the newspapers or to my Christian colleagues? (But, I'm afraid, that this would only confirm negative assumptions about "pushy Jews" among the very people I want to reach). Are there any colleagues with advice on how to deal with such a thing?

Consensus among colleagues was that this should go into the mental 'circular' file or equivalent, maybe process it with some colleagues (Jewish or non-Jewish) that could help him process (not to point fingers or the like).

In addition, however, it seemed like everyone had a similar story, mostly taking place around Passover. It seems like the Easter-Pesach continuum brings out all kinds of responses, from anonymous phone calls like this to people asking if they could come see a real Pesach sacrifice to dressing up like Jesus and coming to the synagogue to accuse the folks inside of Deicicde and the like.

It occurred to me that this isn't the purview of clergy alone. I've heard from congregants who've had similar experiences, as I did when I was growing up--when I was in kindergarten or first grade I actually had a whole conversation about why I didn't celebrate Christmas because I was Jewish, at which point the other kid asked if I killed Jesus, to which I responded by asking who this Jesus fellow was 'cause I never met the guy.

So, what kind of experiences have you had? Non-Jewish friends--have you ever seen anything like this or do you have equivalents? What do you think one should do with something like this?