A Letter to Oberlin College Over the ASA Boycott

Below you'll find the letter I sent to Marvin Krislov, President of Oberlin College, my alma mater. I encourage you to send similar letters to your academic institutions to encourage their withdrawal from the American Studies Association over their Academic Boycott of Israel

Dr. Krislov:
 I am writing you to ask that Oberlin leave the American Studies Association over its boycott of Israel, just voted on this past week.
 I am a graduate of Oberlin College (class of 1998). I came to Oberlin because of its devotion to Social Justice, and have long been proud of its progressive history.
 This boycott, ostensibly to protest the treatment of Palestinians, in fact rejects the legitimacy of the State of Israel.  Diverse publications such as The New Republic (http://www.newrepublic.com/article/115961/american-studies-association-boycott-israel-travesty), Tablet Magazine (http://www.tabletmag.com/scroll/155127/having-boycotted-israel-american-academics-must-now-boycott-themselves), Peter Beinart in the Daily Beast (http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2013/12/17/the-american-studies-association-is-really-boycotting-israel-s-existence.html) and HaAretz (via Alan Dershowitz, http://www.haaretz.com/opinion/.premium-1.563920) have railed against the boycott as an act of anti-Semitism at worst, a rejection of the legitimacy of the State of Israel, and at best an assault on academic freedom. . As argued by Brandeis University in their withdrawal: “We remain committed to the discipline of American Studies but we can no longer support an organization that has rejected two of the core principles of American culture–freedom of association and expression.” In addition to Brandeis, Penn State University (Harrisburg) has also withdrawn from the ASA. I’m sure more universities will do the same.
 Even the Palestinian Leadership, including Mahmoud Abbas, reject the idea of a boycott against Israel proper in their pursuit of a Palestinian State.
 As an Alumnus, a Jew, a rabbi, an American devoted to academic freedom, and a progressive devoted to the Peace Process and a Two-State solution, I urge Oberlin College and its faculty withdraw (temporarily) from the ASA until such time when the boycott is lifted. It flies in the face of all Oberlin represents.
 Thank you for your time. 

The Word of God: A Prayer

And The ETERNAL said: “Who gives man speech? Who makes him dumb or deaf, seeing or blind? Is it not I, the ETERNAL? Now go, and I will be with you as you speak and will instruct you what to say.” (Exodus 4:11-12)

Moses, called by God to action, begs God to find another.
He gives all the usual excuses:
He lacks credibility, the right words to say.
He doesn't know how to act.
He doesn't know God.


Moses' words are ours. 

We give all the usual excuses.
The moment comes when we turn
And see the bush burning, endlessly burning
with injustice, with poverty, with pain,
and we hide our face.

To whom are we blind, and deaf?
Whose cry for help do we ignore, embarrassed and afraid?  

What word goes unsaid,
sticking dry in our throats,
unconvincing, uncomfortable, unloving?

We think the word needs to be ours. 

We think the word needs to be correct. 

We think the word needs to be original, 

perfect, exactly right, 

and we break our hearts and our teeth

and we fail. 

O God, fill my mouth with Your words. 

Be with me as I speak.

Teach me.

Make every word a prayer, a blessing,

Imperfect and broken.

Make every word Yours. 

 

Hearing. Remembering. Knowing.

"And God heard their groaning, and God remembered... God looked at the Israelites, and God knew." -Exodus 2:24-25

He was supposed to grow old.

He was supposed to bicker with his siblings, struggle through puberty, wrestle with his bar mitzvah portion, and struggle, as we all do, to make meaning of our lives.

He was supposed to go to the movies with his friends, and stay out too late and get in trouble, and crash his dad's car and worry about the trouble he'd be in when all his parents would care about was that he was safe.

He was supposed to be invincible, convinced of his own youth and vibrance, and embrace the world as his own.

He should have found a partner in life, a calling that gave him joy. There should have been children and grandchildren.

He should have closed his parents' eyes, supported and been supported by his brothers and sisters as they said kaddish, many years from now.

He was surrounded with love. He was laid to rest in the snow, his family encircled by friends, family, teachers and students, colleagues and dear ones, each crying out with a voice loud enough for God to hear. He was remembered with tears and laughter. He was remembered as a special, wise, loving little boy.

I don't know how to comfort his parents, whom I love. I don't know how to help them grieve any more than my brief, inadequate trip to Chicago, a glance, an embrace, standing together in the snow.

But this I know. It shouldn't have happened that way. We shouldn't have been there.

He was supposed to grow old.

It Always Seems Impossible Until It Is Done

Those words were spoken by Nelson Mandela, who departed this earth yesterday. There are many who are trying to christen him a saint, try to remove him from his context of political and humanitarian struggle, and as Delaware native David Weigel points out in his regular blog on Slate, that would be a mistake.

I remember when Mandela was freed. More than that, I remember when Apartheid, like the issue of Soviet Jews and peace in Ireland, was a cause celebre, something the so-called apolitical/entertainment class as well as social justice activists alike rallied to oppose (and too many supported under the guise of fighting Communism). Seriously, I remember mediocre sitcoms like 227 and forgotten hip-hop artists like The Jungle Brothers, to say nothing of folks like Bruce Springsteen and Paul Simon, addressing Apartheid alongside student activists at universities nationwide. Could you imagine Big Bang Theory or Pitbull raising issues of consequence like that? 

I make the comparison because I imagine that, for many younger than me, Apartheid is as distant a memory as the issue of Refusniks, The Troubles, or even the fall of the Soviet Bloc. That was another epoch, a time of great darkness giving way to profound hope.

How could someone who has grown up in the last twenty years understand that time period, when the Berlin Wall fell, when peace seemed possible, when Communist China looked on the edge, and when Mandela emerged from his prison, and as the poet wrote, returned to his battle, handsome as a lion in the noonday sun?

Mandela is an icon, and taken out of context, we forget his real impact. We live in an era of profound cynicism, where Orange Revolutions and Arab Springs have seemingly turned to dust, when the words of Jeremiah seem to ring most true: "They offer healing offhand for the wounds of my people, saying 'peace! Peace!' But there is no peace." (6:14). We live in an era where everything seems impossible. So to it must have been for Mandela as a prisoner in Robbin Prison. It always seems impossible until it is done--may his words and memory give us the courage and the strength to continue until the work truly is done.

I'll Take The Challenge.

So I'm not preaching a traditional sermon tomorrow, it being New Member Shabbat, but in the course of preparing to bless those who commit to synagogue life, I've been thinking a lot about what it means to commit to Jewish communal life. Of course, there's a lot of stuff out there to encourage thinking on that subject. The Pew Report, which has caused much gnashing of teeth. The study I do with a few non-Jewish clergy, who have been helping me understand the question of where we locate authority, and the sacred. The book The Righteous Mind by Jonathan Haidt, which I highly recommend, which talks about people as social beings, and most recently Donna Schwartz's excellent blog (and not only excellent because she cites my sermon!). Each one of these pieces deserves more than a sentence or two devoted to them, and I believe each helps us answer the question of why we seek out and join spiritual communities, but I want to reflect on one piece: the idea of challenge.

We don't like to be challenged. Oh, sure, every self-help book and leadership guide talks about growth and development, but the reality is, we like to feel good. We're designed, environmentally and evolutionarily, to respond to positive, not negative, reinforcement. We want to protect ourselves and our loved ones from difficulty and hardship. Indeed, it can be one of our nobler impulses. But it is ONLY through challenge that growth can occur. One of my favorite Chasidic stories is one told of the Kotzker Rebbe that, when he was a student, he answered a question correctly, his teacher rewarded him with a kiss on the head, whereupon he left his study. When asked why, he said, "I need a teacher who will rend the flesh from my bones, not kiss me on the head." It's a dramatic image, and it's true. I learned more from the teachers who challenged me, pushed me, cornered me and stripped me of my armor and dragged me, kicking and screaming, out of my safe zone, than the teachers who coddled and protected me. We rise to the occasion, but only when given the opportunity.

In synagogue life, we've been told that belonging should be easy, that being Jewish should be easy--even converting to Judaism should be easy! I have been told that we shouldn't ask too much of laypeople, either in terms of time, expertise, or finances; because we don't want to scare them off, because we don't want them to do it 'wrong', because we are afraid they won't follow through or truly engage. I believe it should be challenging. I believe that through the challenge comes engagement, ownership, and transformation; that is, when we know the stakes are high, when we're being counted on, when the task requires real spiritual and intellectual effort on our part, the experience is much more meaningful, and much more beneficial to the community and ourselves. As I remind the b'nai mitzvah , becoming part of the minyan (the quorum of prayer) means that you may not only participate, but lead. Not only study Torah, but lead the study of Torah. That in performing mitzvot--commands--we are living up to the expectations of our Divine Commander. Or, if you prefer, by fulfilling our mitzvot--Sacred Obligations--we are reminding ourselves of our commitments and meeting them.

We've been told that joining a spiritual community is about meeting our needs; I believe more and more each day that this is true, partially. But it's also about connecting ourselves to something greater, and through that connection seeing ourselves differently, perhaps even as God intends us to be.

I close with one of my favorite prayers from Mishkan T'fillah, adapted from Rabbi Mitchell Salem Fisher (z'l). May our challenges lead us ever higher, and into deeper and richer connections to one another. And may this Shabbat be a call to action.

Disturb Us, Adonai, ruffle us from our complacency;

Make us dissatisfied. Dissatisfied with the peace of ignorance,

The quietude which arises from a shunning of the horror, the defeat,

The bitterness and the poverty, physical and spiritual, of humans.

Shock us, Adonai, deny to us the false Shabbat which gives us

The delusions of satisfaction amid a world of war and hatred;

Wake us, O God, and shake us

From the sweet and sad poignancies rendered by

Half-forgotten`` melodies and rubric prayers of yesteryears;

Make us know that the border of the sanctuary

Is not the border of the living

And the walls of Your temples are not shelters

From the winds of truth, justice and reality.

Disturb us, O God, and vex us;

Let not your Shabbat be a day of torpor and slumber;

Let it be a time to be stirred and spurred to action.

Genius Bars or Maker Spaces?

For years I’ve been hearing people wishing that Judaism in general—and synagogues in particular—were more like the Apple store. It’s a lovely metaphor; apple products are beautiful and easy to use. When you go to the store everything is laid out so you can explore. The staff are courteous and trained to focus specifically on your needs. And if your device is acting up, you can take it to the ‘genius bar’ to be repaired. Wouldn’t it be nice if our religious experience resembled that? Customized, specific, courteous, with someone who can guide you when you’re stuck.

I’ve never liked this metaphor. For one, it’s a consumerist model—you’re not in the Apple store to build community, despite appearances. You’re there to buy a widget. And, Apple isn’t especially interested in you getting into your device—it’s ‘locked’ both programmatically (which phone network it works on) and literally (you can’t open one or take it apart).

Lately, I’ve preferred the idea of synagogue as maker/fixer space. What is a maker or a fixer? You may have run into the word reading Farhad Manjoo in the Wall Street Journal or Wired magazine. The word describes itself—it’s the person who makes or fixes things (years ago we would have called that person the ‘hobbyist’). The woman with the lathe or soldiering iron, or the man with the knitting needles or sewing machine. Whether they’re making art, jewelry, or furniture, or repairing furniture or cars, makers and fixers experience the world in a different way.

Our culture has become consumerist to the point where we buy things we might be able to make, and we throw away instead of trying to fix the toaster, chair or computer. Not only that but they form communities around the work they do—asking questions, sharing tools and sometimes even sharing space (hence ‘maker space’).

Synagogues need to be maker and fixer spaces. Rather than experience Judaism as consumers—waiting for someone to create the perfect version for us to acquire—we need to roll our sleeves up and get dirty. Rather than disposing with prayers or rituals when they fail us or seem out of date, we should work to ‘fix’ them or create new ones. We should feel empowered to make our experiences work for us, and create community sharing tips, tools and space with one another.

Now, that metaphor may not work for everyone. Some of us might be worried that, should we take it apart, once the parts are spread around, we may not be able to put it back correctly (as someone who took  his toys apart as a kid, I can relate). Without a doubt, it can be challenging, requiring study and engagement. But, speaking as one who’s repaired his own computers (and his kids’ toys) it can also be deeply satisfying and empowering. Yes, if we take the Torah apart we may find it doesn’t go back together exactly the same way, but we may also find that we can relate to it better, and find that we have ownership over our experience.

Perhaps the answer is that we need both—genius bars for those who need help accessing their worship experience, and maker spaces for when people are ready to roll their sleeves up. But I’d rather see community created around people making their own experiences than waiting for someone to make it for them.

Parashat Toledot: What's It Worth To You? A Modern Midrash

Once when Jacob was cooking a stew, Esau came in from the open, famished. And Esau said to Jacob, “Give me some of that red stuff to gulp down, for I am famished”... Jacob said, “First sell me your birthright.”

And Esau thought to himself: “my birthright? Why my birthright? What is my birthright? What’s so special about it?” 

And Adonai spoke to Esau and said, “I am the Eternal, the God of your father Abraham and the God of Isaac: All the families of the earth shall bless themselves by you and your descendants. Remember, I am with you: I will protect you wherever you go and will bring you back to this land. I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.”

And Esau replied: “well, that sounds wonderful! Why would I want to give that up?” 

And God said, “I the Eternal call you to righteousness, and take you by the hand, and keep you. I will make you a covenant people, a light to the nations.” 

And Esau said, “Righteousness? You mean strength, right? By the sword I shall live.”

God said further: “This is the covenant I make: I will place my Torah in your midst, and write it upon your heart. Hate evil and love what is good, let justice well up as waters and righteousness as a mighty stream.”

Esau replied: “well, isn’t evil kind of a relative concept? And what is Justice, after all? Sounds like a whole bunch of rules to me. “

God then said, “you shall not oppress your neighbors nor rob them. You shall not stand idle while your neighbor bleeds. Rather, you shall beat your swords into ploughshares, seek peace and pursue it.” 

Esau touched the hilt of his sword, his brow wrinkling. 

And God said, “You shall be my witness, and my servant whom I have chosen. Know me, therefore, and put your trust in me.” 

Esau’s brow furrowed. “I will serve no one, man or God.” He said. “Peace is weakness, and justice an illusion. The only blessing comes from power. The only evil is lack of strength, lack of wealth. I have seen my father pursue peace; he has had nothing but strife and conflict, he appears weak to the others around him. They cast him out for not following their ways. If my brother wants this burden of light to the nations, of witness to God, to be forever obligated, so be it. It’s not worth it to me.” 

And Esau spoke to Jacob, saying, “of what use is my birthright to me?” Thus did Esau spurn the birthright.

We are Israel, O God. “Witnesses of your love; messengers of Your Truth.” We know what it means to be Israel: to fulfill Your sacred obligations, to teach those around us, to be a blessing, to carry and share your Torah. And we wouldn’t have it any other way. 

*God's quotes are based on an arrangement of Scriptural verses from Gates of Prayer, including Isaiah 43:6; Jeremiah 31:33; Isaiah 45:20-21, Amos 5:15, 24; Lev. 19:13, 16; Isa. 60:18, 54:13, 40:10, as well as the Torah portion itself.