Hadn't done any maintenance in a while (not that this little corner of the interwebs requires much maintenance), but I noticed that the Co-Stars blog had been essentially turned off, its content removed. I'm really sorry to see it go; STAR was an amazing organization filled with really committed people and while the programs they ran (Synaplex, PEER, Good to Great) are either gone or transformed, I suspect what they were promoting will have long lasting influences on my generation of rabbis and volunteers.
In the meantime, I've added a new blog, my friend Ilan Emmanuel as the Sci-Fi Rabbi. As a pretty hardcore sci-fi nerd (friend 1: "Kirk was the first captain of the Enterprise, right?" Friend 2: "no, it was Christopher Pike." Me:"...actually, it was Robert April." Yes, I know these things.) and as someone interested in how good science fiction intersects with Jewish tradition viz. storytelling, I'm curious to see how this all unfolds.
On a totally different note, I shlepped back up to Shir Ami in Newtown today to bring a convert to Mikveh. It's one of my favorite rituals and it's always a joy to welcome someone into Jewish tradition (he had already completed beit din and hatafat dam brit, or the drop of blood required for those who are already circumcised) but it was an added bonus to be able to say hello and catch up, even briefly, with the people I worked with--and still consider my friends. I was glad to see what was the same and glad to see what was different (I still can't get over the new carpet in the religious school wing, though. Nice), and just left happy (albeit rushed to make my next appointment) and with a sense of really being blessed to do amazing work with such amazing people. And then I hit Philadelphia traffic. Sigh.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Tweet the Exodus
Okay, so my friends Rabbi Phyllis Sommer, Rabbi Jon Blake and Rabbi Oren Hayon (among others) are Tweeting the Exodus. About a month late, but really, would you rather they tweet Leviticus? ("#getthisbloodoffmyrobe") You should be checking it out. So there.
Monday, March 15, 2010
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.
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.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Been a long time since I rock & rolled
Sorry for the delay in posting. I've had a lot on my mind, and while I know the whole point behind these intranets-type things is to just SAY what's on my mind, I wanted to kind of chew on it for a while.
One of the things that's been on my mind lately is last Tuesday's adventure. Last week, Rabbi Beals from Beth Shalom and I hopped in his car and took a spin down to Dover, along with most of the other rabbis and lay-leaders of the Jewish community of Delaware. Why? Because Jack Markell, the first Jewish governor of the First State, was hanging a mezuzah at Woodburn (see the press release here). I've been trying to process the experience ever since.
First, let me explain that, as official state events go, this was pretty low-key, even intimate. Woodburn is a lovely colonial home right on the King's Highway, and while I'm sure there was security present, we basically parked the car on the street and walked right in. It feels as historical as you might imagine, with the official silver on display, portraits of all the first ladies of the state, a fire burning in the fireplace, and most everything having some kind of plaque on it. And despite that fact, the space itself was really quite warm. It helped that we all knew each other (more on that in a minute) but there really was this sense that we were hanging a mezuzah at someone's home, not at an official event.
Of course, part of that was because this was meant to be a low-key, quasi-official event. Governor Markell is as authentic a person as you can have, an appropriate governor for a state where, as Delaware magazine put it, you don't have six degrees of separation, but more like two or three. He's thoughtful, friendly, at ease and really very much himself. Though some of that might have been from being in a room full of friends (he and his family have been active in the Jewish community in Wilmington for decades) I'd like to think that's really just who he is. He talked about what it meant for the people's house to become a home for him and his family, what it meant to hang a mezuzah on the door (and an outside door to boot), and how he wished his dad were there to share in the achievement (he had passed away in recent memory).
For me, what really contributed to that sense of intimacy was the fact that the ENTIRE Jewish community of the state was represented. Not just the rabbi from Dover, or Governor Markell's rabbi (though it was Rabbi Grumbacher's privilege to officiate) or the head of Federation or of the Rabbinic Association; nearly every rabbi was present, as well as most of the lay leadership of the whole state. It is truly an amazing thing to be able to stand in a room with the entirety of a community represented, and know (with a great deal of pride) that we all get along. Certainly, we have our differences, but we really have none of the strive or divisiveness that can come from being in such close quarters. The rabbis get along, the synagogues get along, and we talk to each other. The fact that all the shuls in Delaware go dark so we can worship together in one place once a year speaks volumes of the values of this community, as did our being there in Woodburn last week on a rainy afternoon.
I know I keep harping on that sense of intimacy, but it really was striking, especially considering where we were. Delaware's anti-semitic history isn't so far in the past as to be forgotten; plenty of people remember the days when Jews weren't allowed in the country clubs, to hold high positions either in government or at the more prestigious places of employment. I've been shown deeds to homes (built in the 20th century mind you) that explicitly state that no Jews should ever own them. Even when we were house hunting, we came upon an older ranch that I was sure had been owned by Jews. Sure enough, we found the mezuzah--on the back door, hidden from view. So to be standing there in a house where, not too long ago, the idea of a Jew occupying it (never mind both the governorship and the lieutenant-governorship) was beyond imagination, and watch as that governor affixes a mezuzah to his own front doorpost was truly an awesome moment, in the literal sense of the word.
Rabbi Steve Saks from Adas Kodesh said it best when he remarked that to hang a mezuzah on one's door was an act of courage; it is a sign to other Jews that this is a place of familiarity and safety, but also exposes the Jew to whatever bigotry might be present in that community. To hang such an object on the People's House one week before Purim, a holiday where we commemorate our triumph over ancient hatreds and suspicions, is an act of audacity and courage. What's more it makes this mansion for the Governor truly a home, and a House for ALL the people. I'm still amazed and in wonder that I got to be present for this piece of history.
One of the things that's been on my mind lately is last Tuesday's adventure. Last week, Rabbi Beals from Beth Shalom and I hopped in his car and took a spin down to Dover, along with most of the other rabbis and lay-leaders of the Jewish community of Delaware. Why? Because Jack Markell, the first Jewish governor of the First State, was hanging a mezuzah at Woodburn (see the press release here). I've been trying to process the experience ever since.
First, let me explain that, as official state events go, this was pretty low-key, even intimate. Woodburn is a lovely colonial home right on the King's Highway, and while I'm sure there was security present, we basically parked the car on the street and walked right in. It feels as historical as you might imagine, with the official silver on display, portraits of all the first ladies of the state, a fire burning in the fireplace, and most everything having some kind of plaque on it. And despite that fact, the space itself was really quite warm. It helped that we all knew each other (more on that in a minute) but there really was this sense that we were hanging a mezuzah at someone's home, not at an official event.
Of course, part of that was because this was meant to be a low-key, quasi-official event. Governor Markell is as authentic a person as you can have, an appropriate governor for a state where, as Delaware magazine put it, you don't have six degrees of separation, but more like two or three. He's thoughtful, friendly, at ease and really very much himself. Though some of that might have been from being in a room full of friends (he and his family have been active in the Jewish community in Wilmington for decades) I'd like to think that's really just who he is. He talked about what it meant for the people's house to become a home for him and his family, what it meant to hang a mezuzah on the door (and an outside door to boot), and how he wished his dad were there to share in the achievement (he had passed away in recent memory).
For me, what really contributed to that sense of intimacy was the fact that the ENTIRE Jewish community of the state was represented. Not just the rabbi from Dover, or Governor Markell's rabbi (though it was Rabbi Grumbacher's privilege to officiate) or the head of Federation or of the Rabbinic Association; nearly every rabbi was present, as well as most of the lay leadership of the whole state. It is truly an amazing thing to be able to stand in a room with the entirety of a community represented, and know (with a great deal of pride) that we all get along. Certainly, we have our differences, but we really have none of the strive or divisiveness that can come from being in such close quarters. The rabbis get along, the synagogues get along, and we talk to each other. The fact that all the shuls in Delaware go dark so we can worship together in one place once a year speaks volumes of the values of this community, as did our being there in Woodburn last week on a rainy afternoon.
I know I keep harping on that sense of intimacy, but it really was striking, especially considering where we were. Delaware's anti-semitic history isn't so far in the past as to be forgotten; plenty of people remember the days when Jews weren't allowed in the country clubs, to hold high positions either in government or at the more prestigious places of employment. I've been shown deeds to homes (built in the 20th century mind you) that explicitly state that no Jews should ever own them. Even when we were house hunting, we came upon an older ranch that I was sure had been owned by Jews. Sure enough, we found the mezuzah--on the back door, hidden from view. So to be standing there in a house where, not too long ago, the idea of a Jew occupying it (never mind both the governorship and the lieutenant-governorship) was beyond imagination, and watch as that governor affixes a mezuzah to his own front doorpost was truly an awesome moment, in the literal sense of the word.
Rabbi Steve Saks from Adas Kodesh said it best when he remarked that to hang a mezuzah on one's door was an act of courage; it is a sign to other Jews that this is a place of familiarity and safety, but also exposes the Jew to whatever bigotry might be present in that community. To hang such an object on the People's House one week before Purim, a holiday where we commemorate our triumph over ancient hatreds and suspicions, is an act of audacity and courage. What's more it makes this mansion for the Governor truly a home, and a House for ALL the people. I'm still amazed and in wonder that I got to be present for this piece of history.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Who Decides?
"Who Decides?"
"Decides? It is written!"
-Guildenstern and Lead Player, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead
There seem to be a lot of questions on the notion of Authority this week. The President's authority viz-a-viz congress and the Supreme Court, for example (a discussion for another time, perhaps). This week's portion, which explores Moses' authority and the delegation thereof at Jethro's behest. And in our own congregation, as we begin to settle into our relationship with each other.
It's been a little over a year since I was elected rabbi of my House of Truth. Since I've come I've made mistakes and missteps (for which I've hopefully made teshuvah), brought some innovation and new ideas, and asked for a lot of advice and suggestions. I've also experimented with different service leading styles and approaches, including different books, times, venues, and aesthetics.
Recently the question has come up as to whether these are the rabbi's decision to make, or whether these are congregational decisions. If I'm soliciting feedback, then clearly that means I'm going to implement said feedback, right? And if I'm going to change something, why don't I just change it already--why do I keep bouncing between different ways of doing things?
These are all questions of authority and role; who's job is it to determine how the service is led and in what venue? Who decides whether the board room is a viable worship space, or whether all services should be held in the main sanctuary? Likewise, who decides what the dues policy of a congregation will be, what the policies regarding safety and security will be, what are the rights and responsibilities individual congregants, and what is the overarching vision of the congregation?
As we see in our Torah portion this week, Moses is suffering from role confusion. As the leader of the people Israel, he feels it's his job to spend every day, all day, settling every issue that any individual Israelite might have. "But Moses' father-in-law said to him, 'the thing you are doing is not right; you will surely wear yourself out, and these people as well For the task is too heavy .'" (Ex. 18:17-18) While he may have been placed as God to Pharaoh, Moses has gotten lost as to what his ultimate responsibility is; to be rabbeinu, the spiritual and visionary leader for the community. Others, Jethro reminds him, are better able to deal with the 'minor' disputes and to inform the community of the practices, laws and teachings.
Likewise in congregational life; some roles are clearly defined, and some individuals have clearly deliniated authority. The board decides the fiscal policy of the congregation. The rabbi is the head of the staff, the spiritual leader of the kehillahand her representative in the greater community. Various staff members, committee chairs and members, volunteers, and individual congregants have their roles and responsibilities as well. Just as we wouldn't want the rabbi to (necessarily) make the decision of how much the dues should be, likewise the board doesn't get to decide how the service will be lead, how I'll wear my tallit, or where I enter the sanctuary from. But as with all things, there is conversation, soliciting of feedback and the giving of feedback (positive and negative), there is dialogue.
A healthy congregation is one where everyone knows the role and who has the authority in a given moment. I can't change the dues structure; congregants don't get to decide what room the service is in. However, I can (and should!) be part of the discussion over dues and provide (hopefully useful) feedback, and laypeople can provide me feedback as well. The trick with feedback is to provide it clearly and directly; otherwise, as my teachers Terry Bookman and Bill Kahn point out in their book This House We Build, all one is generating is 'noise': gossip, triangulation, useless complaints (the color of the cantor's tie, the sound of the rabbi's voice, etc.). Feedback is best given clearly and directly (not necessarily loudly or insistently!), and with a sense of ownership for both the problem and the solution. Likewise, Feedback is best heard when the rabbi (or board member, or layperson) takes a position of curiosity, rather than defensiveness.
When I experiment--with leading in a particular space, having services at a different time, entering in a different way--it is often because I'm responding to feedback, listening to what people are saying to me. It's just as often that I listen very carefully to the feedback but don't necessarily agree with it, but respond and 'chew on it', allowing it to be part of my own internal conversation. And there are some decisions that I make that are personal and are simply mine to make, entrusted to me as the rabbi. Of course, if the leadership feels the rabbi isn't responding to their spiritual needs, of course they can provide that feedback or, if the relationship is clearly not working, part ways, God-willing in a graceful way. But when there is confusion over role and authority, we should be able to come to some clarification, so that we, like Moses' Israelites, "will be able to go home unwearied" (Ex. 18:23).
"Decides? It is written!"
-Guildenstern and Lead Player, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead
There seem to be a lot of questions on the notion of Authority this week. The President's authority viz-a-viz congress and the Supreme Court, for example (a discussion for another time, perhaps). This week's portion, which explores Moses' authority and the delegation thereof at Jethro's behest. And in our own congregation, as we begin to settle into our relationship with each other.
It's been a little over a year since I was elected rabbi of my House of Truth. Since I've come I've made mistakes and missteps (for which I've hopefully made teshuvah), brought some innovation and new ideas, and asked for a lot of advice and suggestions. I've also experimented with different service leading styles and approaches, including different books, times, venues, and aesthetics.
Recently the question has come up as to whether these are the rabbi's decision to make, or whether these are congregational decisions. If I'm soliciting feedback, then clearly that means I'm going to implement said feedback, right? And if I'm going to change something, why don't I just change it already--why do I keep bouncing between different ways of doing things?
These are all questions of authority and role; who's job is it to determine how the service is led and in what venue? Who decides whether the board room is a viable worship space, or whether all services should be held in the main sanctuary? Likewise, who decides what the dues policy of a congregation will be, what the policies regarding safety and security will be, what are the rights and responsibilities individual congregants, and what is the overarching vision of the congregation?
As we see in our Torah portion this week, Moses is suffering from role confusion. As the leader of the people Israel, he feels it's his job to spend every day, all day, settling every issue that any individual Israelite might have. "But Moses' father-in-law said to him, 'the thing you are doing is not right; you will surely wear yourself out, and these people as well For the task is too heavy .'" (Ex. 18:17-18) While he may have been placed as God to Pharaoh, Moses has gotten lost as to what his ultimate responsibility is; to be rabbeinu, the spiritual and visionary leader for the community. Others, Jethro reminds him, are better able to deal with the 'minor' disputes and to inform the community of the practices, laws and teachings.
Likewise in congregational life; some roles are clearly defined, and some individuals have clearly deliniated authority. The board decides the fiscal policy of the congregation. The rabbi is the head of the staff, the spiritual leader of the kehillahand her representative in the greater community. Various staff members, committee chairs and members, volunteers, and individual congregants have their roles and responsibilities as well. Just as we wouldn't want the rabbi to (necessarily) make the decision of how much the dues should be, likewise the board doesn't get to decide how the service will be lead, how I'll wear my tallit, or where I enter the sanctuary from. But as with all things, there is conversation, soliciting of feedback and the giving of feedback (positive and negative), there is dialogue.
A healthy congregation is one where everyone knows the role and who has the authority in a given moment. I can't change the dues structure; congregants don't get to decide what room the service is in. However, I can (and should!) be part of the discussion over dues and provide (hopefully useful) feedback, and laypeople can provide me feedback as well. The trick with feedback is to provide it clearly and directly; otherwise, as my teachers Terry Bookman and Bill Kahn point out in their book This House We Build, all one is generating is 'noise': gossip, triangulation, useless complaints (the color of the cantor's tie, the sound of the rabbi's voice, etc.). Feedback is best given clearly and directly (not necessarily loudly or insistently!), and with a sense of ownership for both the problem and the solution. Likewise, Feedback is best heard when the rabbi (or board member, or layperson) takes a position of curiosity, rather than defensiveness.
When I experiment--with leading in a particular space, having services at a different time, entering in a different way--it is often because I'm responding to feedback, listening to what people are saying to me. It's just as often that I listen very carefully to the feedback but don't necessarily agree with it, but respond and 'chew on it', allowing it to be part of my own internal conversation. And there are some decisions that I make that are personal and are simply mine to make, entrusted to me as the rabbi. Of course, if the leadership feels the rabbi isn't responding to their spiritual needs, of course they can provide that feedback or, if the relationship is clearly not working, part ways, God-willing in a graceful way. But when there is confusion over role and authority, we should be able to come to some clarification, so that we, like Moses' Israelites, "will be able to go home unwearied" (Ex. 18:23).
Friday, January 29, 2010
Still feeling political
Many of us were horrified when George Tiller was gunned down in his own church by an anti-abortion activist. Rabbi Dennis Ross put out a response to the killer's conviction here at Concerned Clergy for Choice. I'll paste the statement in full below. While justice was served, it still had its chilling effect; an act of terror that took a person's life in front of his own sacred community, family and friends. Whatever our feelings are about Abortion, I hope we can all agree that this grisly act does nothing to solve the issues we're all grappling with; it just makes that sense of justice even more remote.
On a happier note, tonight is Federation Shabbat. There is something really wonderful about the fact that the Jews of Wilmington all daven in one synagogue once a year, regardless of movement, tradition or relationship with the halacha. I don't know of any other community that does this across all the denominational streams(though I'm sure they exist) and it really speaks to this community and our ability to look past both personal and institutional differences and come together as God's own children. We would all be better off if we had more opportunities like this, to engage the Sacred Together.
Concerned Clergy for Choice issued the following statement on the conviction of Scott Roeder for first-degree murder in the death of Dr. George Tiller in Kansas last May:
"As clergy, we are mindful that Dr. Tiller was slain at his church sanctuary entrance, as a worship service was about to begin," said Rabbi Dennis S. Ross, director of Concerned Clergy for Choice. "Dr. Tiller was a person of faith and we recognize that many medical providers are motivated by their religious beliefs to bring healing and comfort to those in need. We are relieved to learn that Dr. Tiller's murder has been brought to justice."
Concerned Clergy affirms that people of good faith and conscience can disagree, and insists that violence is not the answer, nor is it a suitable replacement for honest conversation, and the recognition that reasonable people can hold differing opinions on complex social issues.
"Let this verdict serve as a warning to those who might consider harming someone like Dr. Tiller, who summoned compassion and faith to provide for women in need: The message is clear: You must not resort to violence. You must not interfere with any woman's access to health care, and, if you do, you will be called to account for it. The safety of patients and their providers must come first."
On a happier note, tonight is Federation Shabbat. There is something really wonderful about the fact that the Jews of Wilmington all daven in one synagogue once a year, regardless of movement, tradition or relationship with the halacha. I don't know of any other community that does this across all the denominational streams(though I'm sure they exist) and it really speaks to this community and our ability to look past both personal and institutional differences and come together as God's own children. We would all be better off if we had more opportunities like this, to engage the Sacred Together.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Haiti
I'm not going to go into details of the situation in Haiti--by now pretty much everyone knows. I am going to link to ways you can be supportive.
Here is a way you can donate and advocate through the URJ (Reform Movement).
This is what American Jewish World Service is doing.
And here's some news about Israel and the Jewish community's response.
Here is a way you can donate and advocate through the URJ (Reform Movement).
This is what American Jewish World Service is doing.
And here's some news about Israel and the Jewish community's response.
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