#BlogElul Day 7: Be

Who do you truly want to be? Who is the essential you?

(image from Ms. Marvel #1). 

Parashat Shoftim: Who's It For?

Back in the old country, a notorious miser was castigated by members of his community, for his lack of involvement in charitable endeavors. He was urged to begin inviting the poor to his home. He was even advised of how good the mitzvah would make him feel.

Reluctantly, the next Friday afternoon he gave his son a few coins and told him to buy the cheapest piece of fish. He warned him not to spend more than an amount that would buy the lowest quality fish. He also cautioned him to buy it just before the shop was to close for the Sabbath when the price was sure to be at it's lowest. He was not to worry about freshness or appearance, just size and price. The son did exactly as he was told and brought back an excellent bargain: a large fish, thoroughly rancid.

Pleased with his purchase, the miser went to synagogue that evening and was proud to invite a pauper to his home. For the first time in memory he had a stranger actually eat with him. True to what he had been told, he really did feel wonderful. The beggar didn't. His weak stomach could not take the putrid fish and he became seriously ill.

That Monday, the miser went with his son to visit the ailing beggar in the community ward of the local hospital. When the poor soul died of food poisoning, he proudly attended the funeral. He even paid his respects to the relatives who sat shiva at their hovel.

Upon leaving the home of the mourners, the miser remarked proudly to his son, "Isn't it wonderful that we got involved with this beggar? Look how many mitzvahs we have already performed. And it didn't even cost us more than a few pennies!"

What does it mean for us to do the right thing? Truly, authentically do what is right in the community? I ask this because, so frequently, what is meant to be an act of tzedek becomes an act of ego, or even worse, an act that is truly thoughtless, where the giver didn’t really think about the needs of the recipient. I think, for example, of how often the wrong materials get donated in a crisis, like when communities sent peanut butter to Indonesia after the tsunami, which they fed their cattle. Or how often all of us do what is convenient when it comes to helping others, not necessarily what is right, or right for them. What’s worst is when we’re called upon to confront someone in person about their inappropriate behavior: perhaps they made an off-color joke or chided someone publically in a way that was humiliating. Then we’re on the spot: do we confront them, or let the issue go? And if we do confront them, how?

This week we read parashat Shoftim—the word means ‘judges’—and we focus right in on the most famous words: tzedek, tzedek tirdof: Justice, justice you shall pursue. In Reform Judaism they are probably as important as the shema as biblical texts go. A simple phrase, one we know so well it feels self-evident, but there is so much packed into it. Abraham Joshua Heschel taught that ‘pursue’ means that this requires active engagement, not merely respect for justice but the active, eager pursuit of it. It is not enough to let someone else do it; we have to do it ourselves. Likewise, Simcha Bunem taught that we must pursue justice through just means; two wrongs do not make a right, the ends do not justify the means and, in the case of our miser and pauper, the intention behind our actions is as important as the actions themselves. They can’t be mere mechanical fulfilment of abstract ideas.

All this means, in the work we do, our kavannah, our spiritual directiveness, must meet with our keva, our actions. It means that, when we see a wrong in our midst we actively try to change it; we don’t wait for someone else to rebuke the inappropriate person, we do it ourselves. It means the actions—and ourselves—must be whole.

This is the first Shabbat of the month of Elul, the month leading up to Rosh Hashanah. And while most clergy do not like this month, we are taught that this is a time of favor before God. A time to reflect on how and why we do what we do. Each of us strives to do good; sometimes for the right reasons and in the right way, and sometimes not. But strive we must, that we can be, as Harold Kushner writes:  “Know what is good and what is evil, and when you do wrong, realize that that was not the essential you. It was because the challenge of being human is so great that no one gets it right every time. God asks no more of us than that (Harold S. Kushner, How Good Do We Have to Be? p. 180).”

God asks no more of us than that; so let’s pursue justice justly, ego-lessly, inconveniently, eagerly, so that we can reach our essential, and sacred, selves.

#BlogElul Day 6: Understand

I know I've linked to Educator and Humorist Pamela Schuller's presentation "I am Here; Hear Me Bark" on her Tourrettes and inclusion in Jewish life. I think it's worth posting it here again because it says something very important about the work we do and what it means to live a meaningful Jewish life.

So go ahead and  watch. I'll wait.

Schuller's experiences remind us of how hard we try to understand someone else. But all too often, our quest for understanding becomes more about judgment, about diagnosis, about telling others about what we think they should do. We become armchair quarterbacks (or doctors, or parents...those are my favorite) who use our newfound understanding to make ourselves experts.

The truth is, often, we don't need to understand. We need to be present. To accept. To include (making a song out of a nervous tic; yelling out '...is a bad word!' whenever an "F-Bomb" is dropped). To remember that our job is not to fix the symptom but to be supportive of the whole human being.

It's not all about understanding. It's about being and doing.

(Hat tip to Rachel Ackerman and Lisa Friedman for introducing the video to me).

#BlogElul Day 5: Accept

Yesterday I had the opportunity to host a meeting for several colleagues to meet with Adm. Ami Ayalon, former head of Israel's navy, Shin Bet Director and Labor MK. It was a briefing, facilitated by J-Street, not to convince us that the Iran Deal is a good deal, but that it is a done deal, and it is better than the alternative, which is violence and chaos.

This morning I attended a briefing by Senator Chris Coons, a staunch ally and friend of Israel, and a very smart and articulate man. He preached at Shabbat Shuvah from my bimah last year and spoke meaningfully, and as I speak, is responding to questions (and ad hoc sermons) ably.

I have read our movement's position, which is one of intense and passionate desire for Shalom bayit rather than tearing the Jewish community asunder and making Israel a wedge issue in our country.  And I have also read a powerful article by colleague and friend Norman Lipson, who writes articulately about the dangers of rabbis advocating one way or the other when we are not experts.

Much of the conversation about this deal has been a conversation about perfection. It is not a perfect deal; it is, without a doubt, deeply flawed. But whenever we talk about perfection we allow ourselves to live in a fantasy, that we could do or get better. I'm not so sure. It feels too much to me like tilting at windmills.

Much of the conversation has also been reflective of a profound divide between the leadership and community on this issue. As so many Jewish organizations take a stand in opposition, most of the Jewish population of the United States favors the deal.

We want certainty. We want to know exactly how things should be. More than that, we want to be right. The truth is, we don't know. We can't know. We are not prophets. We can make assumptions, we can hope. We can argue history, but we need to learn to accept reality and plan accordingly (not a dissimilar position from Rabbi Eric Yoffie).

Acceptance isn't surrender; it is acknowledging how things are so we can, clear eyed, do what must be done to move toward where we must go.

Acceptance isn't failure; it's the opportunity to reassess and reimagine.

Acceptance--be it on Israel, or our own lives--clears away our biases so we can do the hard work fully and whole-heartedly.

Acceptance is humility.

#BlogElul Day 4: Know

"The wise man conceals his intelligence; the fool displays his foolishness."- Yiddish Proverb

What does it really mean to know something? We are always looking for more data, more information. And how often it seems like we cling to our assumptions as if they are Torah from Sinai, when really we're exercising our own egos (this happens a lot on the internet).

Rabbi Ed Friedman wrote that, "The great lesson... for all imaginatively gridlocked systems is that the acceptance and even cherishing of uncertainty is critical to keeping the human mind from voyaging into the delusion of omniscience." Ambiguity, uncertainty, and humility should guide and inform our behavior, rather than false knowing. In this way may we he wise rather than foolish.

#Blogelul day 3: Search

I hate not being able to find things.

When I'm looking for something, no matter how unessential or mundane--a pen, a particular flyer--I go a little nuts. I tear the house apart. I feel like my world is turned upside down even as I upend pillows and turn out pockets looking for whatever thing is missing. Failing to find something feels like a betrayal (by whom, don't ask), and when I eventually do find whatever went missing, I feel both relieved and sheepish, embarrassed, even, that I spent so much energy trying to find some momentarily essential object.

Is it the same with us? Do we upend our world looking for spiritual wholeness, absolution, or real connection? Do we spend our lives feeling turned inside out as we search for deeper meaning, only to be embarrassed as what we find turns out to be lacking? What would it look like to search deeply, truly: would we find what is missing, or decide we didn't need it, not really, in the first place?

#BloggingElul Day Two: Act

When I was in Rabbinic School I had the opportunity to meet poet and activist Danny Siegel. Danny (at the time) spoke a great deal about what he called "mitzvah heroes", people who devoted themselves to a cause selflessly, because it spoke to them and they felt it was necessary.

Sadly, we lost a mitzvah hero this week. Lenny Robinson, aka the Baltimore (or Rt. 29) Batman, died when he was struck on the side of the road.  A millionaire, he spent a good part of his fortune dressing as Batman and visiting sick children in costume, sometimes for hours. Not an actor (though he rarely broke character) he would bring toys and paraphernalia and spend a significant amount of time making these kids feel special and loved, going so far as to driving to the hospital in his own Batmobile. No one asked him to do this; he did it because he had enough, and wanted to care for others. He didn't ask for permission or wait for someone to create a program; he just did it.

Yes, he could afford to drop the cost of a family car every year on Batman stuff (and really, if you could, you would) and take the time to do this. But that isn't what made him a mitzvah hero. What made him a mitzvah hero was his willingness to act, without hesitation.

Most of the time, we don't act; we think, we wrestle, we weigh our options. And truth be told, Action alone is not always the best choice. But I can't help, when thinking about Lenny, that I'm thinking about Danny Siegel as well, and how much better the world would be if we all stepped forward and acted--without waiting, weighing the options or getting approval-- even just a little more often, the world would be a better place.

Zichrono Livracha.