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After Marriage Equality, What Then?

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on June 3, 2015| 8 Comments »

 

Several days ago I experienced a wonderful “first” as a rabbi. I officiated at my first legal same sex wedding in Florida. It was a marriage between two young women who joined my congregation about 4 years ago – when the idea of a legal wedding for them in Florida was unimaginable. One studied and converted to Judaism with me. A year and a half ago they had a beautiful baby girl. Among the photos displayed at their reception was one of me in the hospital holding their new baby. Of course I did the naming ceremony. This is a family I know well and care about deeply.

Our time under the chupah together was emotional and beautiful. They had circled each other before coming under the chupah. The usually more stoic one was in tears during the ceremony. The chupah itself was a symbol of family support and love as it was made from a tallit belonging to one of their fathers. I think my favorite moment was seeing their matching purple sneakers as each broke a glass at the end of the ceremony. As legalized same sex marriage is very new in Florida, you could feel the collective exhilaration of the wedding guests, almost like the entire room held its breath through the ceremony. In the aftermath, I am now wondering about what happens next.

Let me explain.

The first concern is whether this expression of equal rights is going to be short lived. The United States Supreme Court is about to issue a ruling that will either affirm or deny this right. I am not a student of the court, but from what I have read it will not be a shock if the court affirms and allows the continuation of marriage equality – which raises some new questions.

Let me explain.

A few days after the wedding I was at a meeting with 4 other clergy with whom I form a local “God Squad” that does monthly programs discussing civic issues from a faith perspective. This is under the umbrella of “The Village Square” an organization that promotes nonpartisan political dialogue. Besides me the group includes: a Catholic priest, a female Methodist minister, a Baptist minister, and an African American Christian minister (not sure of exact denomination name) . As we were wrapping up our planning session for the next season we shared news with each other. I mentioned that I had just performed the wedding. The Baptist pastor commented, “That is what I love about this group, we are all so different.”

The reactions of the other clergy were interesting. The priest smiled and said nothing. It is clear that he cannot support same sex marriage as it goes against the teachings and dictates of the Church. The Methodist smiled approvingly. The African American minister smiled in amusement (he does not support same sex marriage). Their reactions made me realize that same sex weddings do not conform to the beliefs and practices of a large swath of the American religious community. Now I must ask, what happens next? How, assuming the Supreme Court affirms the rights of same sex couples to marry, does the country proceed?

We have a glimpse of a possible future in the conflict between the Obama administration and the Catholic Church over health care provisions requiring Church institutions to provide coverage for birth control as part of their health care packages. Those supporting the government’s position see this as a right due the employees that overrides religious doctrine. Those opposed to the administration’s position see this is government overreach by intruding onto religious grounds. It is easy to wonder if there will be an attempt to require clergy to perform same sex weddings assuming the right is upheld by the court.

But I hope it does not come to that. I really do. As much as I support the right of couples to get married, I shudder when I think about government intrusion into religious areas. I know many rabbis who will not perform interfaith weddings.   If the right of a couple to get married trumps the right of the clergy to decide which weddings to perform, can these rabbis be forced to perform interfaith weddings?

What makes the question of intrusion into clergy decisions even more important is that we tend to reduce those with whom we disagree to caricatures. We mock them as “Neanderthals” or as “bigots.” Yet I will tell you that the other clergy who are part of my discussion group are all beautiful souls, deep thinkers, and very dedicated to the betterment of the greater Tallahassee community. They are deeply committed to their religious values. They are not condemning my officiating of a same sex wedding, but for each of their own reasons, they will not do it themselves. I, in turn, respect their positions.

Every religious group must find its own way through these issues. I cannot and will not endorse governmental interference in how any religious group decides what weddings to perform. We tread a fine line in finding the balance between personal rights and the right to religious convictions. In truth the affirming of the rights of same sex couples to marry is also an affirmation of my right as clergy to perform that wedding. It is an affirmation that it is up to each religious organization and their clergy to decide who they will or will not marry. I hope that is the status quo we can maintain.

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What I Remember on Memorial Day

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , on May 25, 2015| Leave a Comment »

I know. Memorial Day is our day to remember those who sacrificed their lives in the service of our country. It is a noble thing to serve in the armed forces. Facing the hardship of battle is something worthy of recognition if not praise. I know this because my dad, after fleeing Germany in 1939, served as an American GI in Europe after the United States entered WW II. I remember his stories about the horrors of war, what it was like to fear for your life in the middle of a battle. So I mean no disrespect to those who have fallen in the service of our country if, on this Memorial Day, I remember some other things as well.

I remember that my dad, despite his service for this country in the army, did NOT want me to be drafted and go to Vietnam. In a conversation that shocked me, as I approached my 18th birthday, Dad told me there was a huge difference between the Vietnam War and WW II. He saw no purpose to risking my life in Vietnam. He preferred that I immigrate to Israel and serve in her army or even flee to Canada. He told me specifically, that if I was in danger of being drafted and chose to go to Canada, he would understand that choice. I remember feeling how grateful I felt that my choices never came to that.

I remember when your choice of movies was not a measure of your patriotism. I have not yet seen “American Sniper.” It does not particularly appeal to me, although I know I will watch it when it hits HBO or another similar channel. I was appalled by the conversations I saw on Facebook, implying that if you did not go to see this movie and support it for best picture, you were being unpatriotic. I understand that the movie is an interesting psychological study in the unraveling of a soldier forced to kill. I do not understand how choosing not to see it was grounds for criticism.

I remember when my patriotism was actually measured by my idealism, by how much I dreamed and worked to make this country better. I remember wearing a black armband on Moratorium Day to protest the Vietnam War. I remember my synagogue youth group joined with other Christian youth groups to raise money in order to buy and renovate a house to give to a poor family, as our means of protesting the practices of a slum lord in Allentown. I remember the first earth days, and feeling our country was making real progress when the first major anti-pollution bills passed congress.

I remember working and voting for Republican candidates for office in Pennsylvania as much as I worked for and voted for Democrats. I remember in college, working on Richard Schweiker’s senate campaign in 1974 and having breakfast with him the day before election day, after working a campaign stop with him. I remember when Republican votes were necessary to pass much of the civil rights legislation in the 1960’s and how Senator Everett Dirksen (Republican Senate minority leader) was critical in helping President Johnson pass that legislation. I remember the intellectual prowess of William F. Buckley Jr. (although I often disagreed with him) and the diversity in the Republican party that included a range of politicians ranging from Barry Goldwater to Nelson Rockefeller.

I remember a time when political correctness did not inhibit the range of acceptable ideas on a college campus. I remember vigorous discussions in college, from a wide range of speakers representing a huge diversity of perspectives. I remember when it would be unthinkable to ban a speaker from appearing on a college campus because they were too conservative, or did not conform to any prevailing “groupthink.” I remember when the point of being in college was to hear and consider the whole range of ideas and opinions, and then choose what you believe.

And I remember a time when political correctness was really just known as common courtesy. It was not polite or appropriate to use certain words to refer to certain ethnic groups. I remember a time there were no “word police” who chastised you every time you uttered a phrase that might offend some one. I remember a time when people were just less sensitive about being offended.

I remember when all the amendments to the U.S. Constitution were of equal importance, and not just the gun rights of the second amendment. I remember when the NRA was just an organization for hunters and sports shooters, stressing gun safety and not a lobbying organization for the gun manufacturing industry. I remember never even thinking that gun ownership was an issue – my dad had hunting rifles and taught me to shoot when I was young.

I remember when we all felt proud about our country’s scientific achievements. I remember listening and watching with baited breath to the Apollo 11 moon landing. I remember when Republicans actually accepted science as reality instead of dissing science to court the votes of Christians who believe the Bible is an actual description of our origins.

I remember when baseball was really our national pastime, when we did not wonder if the achievements of the players were due to drugs. I remember when pitchers pitched 300 innings a season, and the best ones routinely won 20 games. I remember how the Amazing Mets took the world by storm by winning the 1969 World Series.

I remember when Memorial Day was May 30 – my birthday. I remember the time before it was moved to be the 4th Monday of May in order to create better commercial opportunities. I was excited my birthday was a holiday.

Finally, I remember listening to my parents remember their younger years, and lament for the values of their youth. I remember thinking that I would not become my parents. But of course, I have.

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Bread and Torah or Bread and Circuses

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on May 15, 2015| 1 Comment »

Right around 100 CE, the Roman satirical poet Juvenal wrote this critique of Roman society, “Already long ago, from when we sold our vote to no man, the people have abdicated our duties; for the people who once upon a time handed out military command, high civil offices, legions – everything, now restrains itself and anxiously hopes for just two things: bread and circuses.” Bread and circuses is a standard metaphor for superficial means of buying political support. The society that operates on feeding the populace a steady diet of “bread and circuses” is hollow, corrupt, devoid of any true concern for the plight of its citizens, most particularly the poorest members.

At almost the exact same moment in time, the great rabbinic sage, Elazar ben Azaryah, gave his own quote concerning bread, now found in Pirkei Avot 3:17, Ein kemach, ein Torah, “If there is no bread, there is no Torah.” If one cannot meet their needs for basic sustenance, then study of Torah cannot occur. Rabbi Yitzchak Arama takes this even a step further when he adds, “Torah and all that it stands for cannot flourish without a sound economic foundation.” Any synagogue board struggling to balance a budget knows this. Without income, the institution cannot fulfill its missions of being a center of prayer, study and community. It is hard to feed the soul on an empty belly.

However, in our focus on the common sense aspect of Rabbi Elazar’s quote, we often overlook his very next words, Ein Torah, ein kemach, “If there is no Torah, there is no bread.” At first glance one says “really?” What is there in Torah that makes it essential to the production of food? Is this truly implying that without Torah one cannot have a sound economic foundation?

All of this brings us to the first part of this week’s double Torah portion, Behar/Bechukotai. Here we learn a set of commandments that seem arcane to some. Indeed, we do not know how much these instructions were truly, historically observed. I am talking about the command for the sabbatical year (in Hebrew called shmitah). The land is to be given a yearlong rest. Nothing is to be planted or cultivated. One can eat of the natural growth, but the land is to be given a rest, a Shabbat. But there is more. The sabbatical year is discussed in parashat R’ei as well, giving it major Torah “face time.” Additional instructions include the remission of all debts as well as the liberation of all put into indentured servitude – slavery. Contemporary Judaism has read a lot of environmental lessons in the command to give the land a rest. But that does not hue to the original intent of the text. If ancient Israelites followed this at all, it was not for environmental reasons. Crop rotation is certainly practical, but this is a complete letting the land go untended for a year. Remitting debts every 7 years and freeing servants are nice, but do they make any economic sense? We are justified in asking; if they even did these commandments, how could they have benefited the economy? How can any of this “Torah” actually put its followers on a better economic footing as implied by both Pirkei Avot and Rabbi Arama?

Rabbi Arama comments that these commandments remind us of a couple of key elements. First, ultimate ownership does not rest with us. We are only caretakers of the land or whatever property we own for a very brief stretch of time. Second, and I think more poignantly, all of this is meant to give us a better perspective on the accumulation of wealth – that it can never become an end to itself. That is not to say Judaism discourages someone from becoming rich. It emphatically does not. A lot of Talmud, particularly in Baba Metziah assumes a very capitalistic economic system. In Maimonides’ 8 degrees of tzedakah (charity or righteousness), the enabling of someone to become self sufficient, i.e. not dependent on charity or welfare, is the most praiseworthy level. No, Judaism embraces economic success but uses Torah to qualify its limitations and direct how the accumulation of resources should be used – for the benefit of the whole community.

The sabbatical year is a reminder that the material side of life must be balanced by the spiritual – that we have obligations beyond ourselves. The laws regarding debts and slaves are meant to curb our greediest instincts. Finally, we are not to accept a society based solely on the accumulation of wealth. The land given to Abraham is abundant and rich. Our covenant, as proscribed by Torah, wants us to use it to provide for ALL members of the community. Indeed, in Deuteronomy 15, while discussing the sabbatical year, we are told not to allow poverty to exist in our communities.

All of this comes into a sharper focus when considering recent research outlining which communities in the country have the most disparity between the richest and poorest, as well as those whose poorest members have the least path to raising themselves out of poverty(see recent Brookings report and Harvard studies on this).   If we are true to Torah, we understand that the situation of the least among us affects all of us. Wealth built on the backs of the despair of the permanently poor is not healthy for many reasons – beginning with the unrest that occurs when those with the least demand more resources.

But it is not revolution that is the real problem. When the working poor do not have proper health care, their condition affects the productivity of their employers. Those without health coverage raise the costs for everyone as they use the emergency room, the most expensive way to receive treatment, as their health care system. Those in the work force but whose coverage is not adequate, the debts piled up can throw them into bankruptcy. When workers have no shot at a livable wage, they cannot become consumers beyond trying to maintain the bare necessities to live. None of this is healthy for the economy even setting aside the moral and social dilemmas. The American dream is one based on the availability of an upward path out of poverty.

For too many Americans, there is no path. We have not yet broken the cyclical combination of racism, favoritism, cronyism that prevents most from having the opportunity to become successful. Too often we provide “bread and circuses” – just enough to eat and wonderful entertainment – to dull the minds of the populace. Too often we condemn the poor as “lazy” thus deserving of their plight, instead of seeing the despair that exists within the poorest communities. As David Brooks pointed out in a recent editorial for the NY Times, we have not yet come to understand the psycho-social underpinnings of the cycle of poverty.

Torah reminds us that we must keep trying. It begins by adjusting our personal attitudes. The parashah begins by telling us to observe a Shabbat for Adonai. By doing this for the land, we come to understand how all of us exist on a razor’s edge, our success due to part chance and circumstance as well as our hard work. The commands to remit debts and free our servants are to foster awareness, if not empathy for those stuck in a cycle of despair. Ein Torah ein kemach, if there is no Torah there is no bread. The wisdom and demands of Torah for fairness, for caring point us to healthier communities.

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Woman in Gold/Man in Black

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on May 8, 2015| 1 Comment »

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I have seen many movies that have drawn their stories out of the Holocaust. I am the child of two German/Jewish immigrants, one of whom is classified, at least by Spielberg, as a survivor. I have grown up living and reliving, telling and retelling the stories. It is deep in my DNA. Often, I no longer want to go to Holocaust inspired movies. When I do go, I can appreciate them intellectually, I can appreciate good story telling. But other than “Schindler’s List” I cannot remember the last time I had an emotional reaction to a Holocaust related film. Often I feel detached. Often I am numb to yet one more rehashing of Jewish tragedy. I always say the best way to counter the Nazi attempt to destroy us is to build vibrant Jewish life – whenever and wherever we can.

I just saw “Woman in Gold.” Fifteen minutes into the movie I knew something was different. I felt a different reaction to this film than to almost any other film drawn from the legacy of the Holocaust. I can identify the minute the movie changed for me – when Maria Altmann engaged Randol Schoenberg to be her lawyer. She knew his family. She remembered him as a little boy. His family was part of her family’s extended circle. She even made him a strudel. At the scene when Schoenberg and Altmann were about to leave Vienna and stopped and the Holocaust memorial, I knew the movie was touching a deep emotional chord in me. When the decision was announced that the paintings were hers, I began to feel myself breaking down. In the last scenes, as she walks through her old home, now converted into offices, she sees scenes of her childhood, her family gathered in these rooms – I was sobbing like a baby.

Why? It does not seem logical. The depictions of Nazi oppression were very mild compared to so many other Holocaust movies. This was a story about recovered art, not saved lives. It was a story about an elite Jewish family in Vienna many of whom escaped. They had their own SS officer, a man in black, assigned to them to prevent their escape. As stories of Holocaust suffering go, theirs was much less tragic than many I have seen. Yet I felt this movie so deeply.

In my office is a photograph of a stairway in Brooklyn leading to a store of Jewish sacred books and ritual objects. The title given the photograph is “Stairway to Heaven?” The photographer is Teddy Tobar, who was my father’s close friend, dating to their childhood in Cologne, Germany. Teddy, like a good number of dad’s Jewish community in Cologne, found a way to make it to America. I remember him as a funny, engaging man who everyone in the German Jewish community in New York seemed to know. His apartment, in the late 1940’s, was a center of social gatherings for German Jews. In fact, at one party, my dad almost ran into a cousin he did not even know existed. She and I put this fact together when I first met her years after dad died.

I used to spend a lot of time with my mom’s parents in the Bronx, my Oma and Opa. They were also part of a German Jewish community that was deeply interconnected. People knew each other, often from their years in Germany. If they did not know each other in Germany, they had common friends or even cousins that formed a connection. We often kid about Jewish geography, but German Jewish geography was intimate in a way not found in most of the Jewish world. As a child I went to Chanukah parties – gatherings of the German Jewish cohort. I knew the grandchildren of Oma’s and Opa’s friends. Some of their friends had children in America after the war. They were my sitters during the stretches I lived with my grandparents. In a few weeks we will gather to celebrate my mom’s 85th birthday. My parent’s longest and closest friends will be there. The husband was my dad’s friend in Cologne as children. Their daughter has been my friend since I was 4 years old. If I were to meet someone whose parents or grandparents were German Jews, we would quickly be able to find family connections. We would be tied together as no other Jews are tied together.

All of this sense of community – and community lost by the way – I felt in the movie the moment Maria served Randol a piece of strudel. It all came flooding back. I imagine the survivors of the Viennese Jewish community had the same kinds of connections as my family’s German Jewish community did. As Randol discovered why this case was about so much more than money, as he felt the deep connection to his own family’s history, I relived my own journey with my family history. When Maria looked at the portrait of her aunt for the first time since before the war, but in a museum in Vienna; I relived the moment I found the photograph of my Uncle Richard, standing in the doorway of his bedding store, defying the Nazis, hanging in the Jewish museum in Berlin. It is a moment filled with the flooding of memories – of love, of celebrations and even of sickness and death.

Finally, as she won the arbitration case, wiping the smarmy, smug smiles off the faces of the Austrian officials, I felt the same pride in triumph that I felt when I remember Uncle Richard’s war heroics against the Nazis in World War II. Then, as she visits her old home, reliving her last moment with her father, who asks of her one thing – to remember him – my memory leaps not just to Uncle Richard, but to my Oma and Opa, and all of their friends, to Teddy Tobar and all of Dad’s friends from Cologne. I become connected to a chain of moments reaching all the way to the 1930’s, well before I was born. Because just like I was at Sinai with all Jews, I was also at that doorway in Cologne, protesting with Uncle Richard. So I wept.

From our parashah, Leviticus, 23:15, “You shall count for yourselves, from the day after the Sabbath, from the day that you brought the sheaf of the wave offering; seven Sabbaths shall be complete.” The Hebrew is profound, usfartem lachem, “you will count for yourselves.” This is the period of the Omer, which we are counting right now. It runs from Pesach to Shavuot. It connects the holiday of liberation to the holiday of covenant. The Omer is a reminder that all of time is connected. We tend to see each holiday in its own moment, distinct and unique. But we are wrong. Every moment on our calendar is deeply connected to what has come before it as well as to what comes after it. We live in a Jewish cycle of time that spirals back into ancient times. We often forget our place in the chain. We often forget our connection to all that was before and will be after.

And why are the words “you shall count for yourselves” so important? Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev taught that the beginning of the Omer marks the time that the creation of independent, thinking beings, who could serve God, was complete. Pesach, the moment of liberation, humans who would eventually learn teshuvah, who could work to improve the world, began their journey. Their instruction manual for doing that would be received on Shavuot. The command to count for themselves was a demonstration of their ability to be thinking, reasoning beings. The accounting for life was no longer in God’s hands, it was in theirs. Now it is in ours.

The Hebrew word for counting is the same root as for story, and telling a story. How profound. The beginning of accounting for our responsibilities in life, for understanding who we are and how we fit into the flow of the world begins with the accounting of our stories. Our memories, our stories, can inspire deeds of bravery, deeds of intelligence, deeds of caring, deeds of holiness. Each of us tries to retrieve our “Woman in Gold” while defying the “man in black.” May we recover our treasures of the past. May our counting and our story telling be filled with holiness, for now, for always. Amen.

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Faith Versus Science

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , on April 24, 2015| 1 Comment »

Is this truly an accurate assumption?  Do faith (or religion) and science have to be pursuits that are in opposition to each other?  In 2009 Pope Benedict XVI gave an address at the University of Regensburg.  This speech tried to give a perspective on the intersection of faith and reason, and subsequently religion and science.  It was a brilliantly conceived and written speech.  Unfortunately, the world focused on a quote the Pope used from a dialogue between a Byzantine emperor and a Persian intellect that reflected badly on Islam.  The press about the address centered on support for or opposition to Benedict’s statement about Islam.  His quite cogent statements about faith and reason got buried in the storm.

What did Pope Benedict say?  He began with reminiscences of his days teaching at the university, noting how, with apparent pleasure, reasonable people could disagree on such fundamental issues as religion and God.  He recalled a colleague commenting how odd it was to have two faculties at the university devoted to something that did not exist – God.  Perhaps my favorite quote from his speech is this, “The scientific ethos…is the will to be obedient to the truth, and as such, it embodies an attitude which reflects one of the basic tenets of Christianity.”  Think about this.  By seeking truth, science is reflecting a core religious value.  Science searches for the truth about the mechanics and the Church reveals truths about the “why” of the existence of the mechanics.  Rather than seeing these as incompatible, Benedict saw them as reflections of two needed basic values – faith and reason.  At the very core of his message was a plea for people to be reasonable.  People of opposing views must at least share a commitment to “reason.”  One cannot be so anchored in faith as to reject what is reasonable.

But is the reconciliation of science and faith a reasonable expectation?  When one reads the critiques of religion by Oxford professor Richard Dawkins – then probably not.  Dawkins, in an article commenting on the relative contributions of science and theology to the origins of the universe and humanity writes, “It is science and science alone that has given us this knowledge and given it, moreover, in fascinating, overwhelmingly, mutually confirming detail.  On every one of these questions, theology has held a view that has been conclusively proved wrong.”  Proceeding with even harsher words he adds, “What has theology ever said that is of the smallest use to anybody?”

Religious institutions will take varying degrees of umbrage at Dawkins’ comments.  The Catholic Church, which is the source and supporter of many distinguished institutions of higher learning, cannot give up the totally improvable concept of the resurrection.   To do so would destroy a basic underpinning of the Church.  Further, segments of the Church believe in the existence of Satan, an additional irrationality. In the larger Christian world (at least in America) a majority do not accept the science of evolution, taking the first chapters of Genesis to be literal truth.  Religious Americans who believe in the literal truth of Genesis and anyone embracing the scientific discoveries regarding the origins of the universe do not even consider the possibility that the other side is, as Pope Benedict would have said, “reasonable.”

Indeed, the word reasonable might not even be relevant when considering the human characteristic of “believing.”  We all have articles of faith on which we build our lives.  Many seem completely unreasonable to our neighbor.  Trying to understand creation, from either the science or religious perspective, is a prime battle ground for this conflict.  Yet, out of the ashes of this battle are some embers of possibility.

Recently I moderated a panel for The Village Square on issues of faith and science.  Featured on the panel was the noted physicist, Dr. Harrison Prosper.  Dr. Prosper is part of the team at CERN that discovered the Higgs boson, the particle that explains much towards how our universe actually holds together.  If you want a sample of his brilliance, please listen to this TEDX talk:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aCUitYdA0xU

Dr. Prosper is not a religious person in any way, yet acknowledges that when looking at the complicated set of equations involved in the creation and order of the universe, one can wonder if intelligence was indeed behind it all.  Indeed there are scientists who see an intelligent hand in the structure of the universe, in both what is physically observable as well as in the math necessary to explain its structure.  For example, the value of pi (3.14…) is present in many of the equations that explain our surroundings.  Is that a calculated marker left by intelligence?

Further, the belief in scientific theory can at times be another form of faith.  All you have to do is read Thomas Kuhn’s book “Structure of Scientific Revolutions.”  Kuhn shows that stubborn belief is what happens when one scientific paradigm is about to give way to a new one.  Scientists have a history of holding onto a theory, often in the face of mounting evidence that disproves the theory.  Sometimes society will have shifted to the new change before the scientific community.  This is simply faith, but under a different guise.  While there are certainly areas of science considered universally to be true, our scientific understanding of the universe often undergoes radical revision.  During the program I moderated, I found Dr. Prosper’s most interesting statement to be his wish that everything his team had discovered would be overturned by a whole new discovery.  What makes the process exciting for human inquiry is the disproving of a theory by new, amazing evidence.  Where religion becomes “unreasonable” is when it tries to discount scientific theory without evidence, only faith that the words of the Bible are incontrovertibly true.

Judaism has little conflict with science.  We can point to numerous examples in rabbinic teaching that affirm and support scientific truth.  The model of creation proposed by the 16th century mystic, Rabbi Isaac Luria, is eerily similar to the “big bang” theory of creation, complete with a miniscule singularity point out of which all of creation explodes.  Perhaps most impressive is the work of the 13th century rabbi Maimonides, who posits that the language about God in the Torah is metaphorical, as our ability to articulate anything about God is so limited.  He goes on to teach that in order to better understand God, one must develop their intellect, and study science, philosophy and math.  Some more contemporary Jewish thought posits God not as an object, but as verb – the process of continuing existence.  Our prayers are an attempt to relate to this process, to sensitize us to the process and to find our place in it.

The scientific community need not see religion as opposition.  Rather, just as science is an attempt to explore truth, religion does the same.  But I believe the truth religion is exploring is much more and much deeper than the “why” to the mechanics of the universe.  All of us have our non-rational sides.  They are moved in different ways, music, art, spiritual wonder, and the search for meaning.   Prayer is an emotive experience, that can deeply move our souls.  Prayer can sensitize us to human suffering in ways very different than fact and research.  I do not claim everyone needs religion, just that it can provide as much as a path to meaning, to managing life as science.  In addition, religion is the primary arena in which morality and ethics evolves.  Deeply religions people can be at odds over profound moral dilemmas (see abortion, same sex marriage as examples).  Science can give us some facts to frame issues, but it is religion that leads the struggle over what our moral boundaries should be.

Finally, both religion and science must grow and evolve to remain vibrant and relevant.  Both find strength when finding a proper path that holds onto tradition and history yet changes as humans change.  At their best, religion and science travel parallel roads on their search for respective truths.

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Anti-Semitism Gets Personal

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , on April 5, 2015| Leave a Comment »

Anti-Semitism Gets Personal

It had been many years since I had experienced any direct anti-Semitism – all the way back to high school in fact. But on the way home from sitting shiva with Audrey’s family after her father’s funeral, it became very real once again. Our flight into Atlanta was very delayed because of cross winds shutting down the runway in Providence, where our flight originated. Once we took off I realized making the connecting flight in Atlanta would be a very tight squeeze, no more than a 20 minute window. Fortunately, our gate at landing was in the same concourse that our flight to Tallahassee was to leave from, albeit at the complete opposite end of the concourse. My Delta app on my phone would not bring up the boarding pass, as it listed our next flight as already boarding. When we got off the plane it was 15 minutes until the next flight was scheduled to leave.

So I ran ahead of Audrey to get to the desk at the departure gate and have our boarding passes printed. Approaching the desk I saw boarding was just about to begin, so I thought we would be OK. I went to the desk, started to explain to the attendant about our late flight and having to print the boarding passes. He motioned me to the end of the desk, where the boarding passes are scanned as you get on the plane. There, a sweet looking young African American woman was waving to me to come over, flashing a big, warm smile. I went up to her station. There was a young man, perhaps in his late 20’s. The Delta attendant asked me my name. As I gave it, standing next to the young man, he turned to me and said, “I know you are a Jew, but take a deep breath man.” I was stunned. Thinking the young woman might have been asking his name and I had butted in front of him I asked her, “Were you asking for MY name?” She said yes, she was. I turned to the young man and said, “You better think about what you are saying.” That set off a stream of invectives laced with the constant phrase, “You’re a Jew.” Finally, out of anger I yelled back at him a very non-rabbinic reply, “You’re an a__hole!”

The young Delta attendant was clearly distressed. She printed our boarding passes and sweetly told me not to worry. As Audrey and I boarded the plane, we saw what we thought was a plain clothes agent taking the young man aside to talk to him. When we were in our seats we were dumfounded by the incident. A number of thoughts went through my head. First, I was embarrassed over losing my cool and yelling back at the young man. Second, I thought about the young African American Delta attendant who was trying so hard to make things right. I realized that she, as well as so many of my African American friends, must face circumstances that can make them angry almost every day.

Prejudice is still very real, constantly burning. I live in a bubble mostly protected from it. But there are many who live with it as a constant reality. They must be unbelievably skilled at anger management. I could not control myself over one small incident. How do others handle constant prejudice? The only conclusion is to resolve never to lose our vigilance in trying to educate to prevent prejudice. We must never stop opposing it in all its forms – racism, anti-Semitism, homophobia, Islamophobia – the list seems endless.

On April 16 the Jewish community will note Yom Hashoah, the commemoration of the Holocaust, the most horrifying result of anti-Semitism in world history. More than ever it must stand as a reminder that the work of combating prejudice is far from over.

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The Netanyahu Conundrum

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , on March 5, 2015| Leave a Comment »

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My first reaction was emotional – I could not help feeling a thrill that a Prime Minister of Israel stood before a joint session of Congress and received a standing ovation. Israel has been part of my life since I was a child. My first trip there was the summer of 1971. I lived there for a year, the summer of 1996 to 1997. I have watched it grow from a fragile state too small to support a viable economy, to one of the most innovative and prosperous of modern states. I have seen it suffer through wars and know the desire of my friends there for a time of peace. Putting it simply, non-Jews just do not understand the importance of Israel to the Jewish people. It goes beyond religion to our history and peoplehood. Seeing an Israeli Prime Minister stand before congress represents a culmination of all of those emotions.

Yet, the particulars are troubling. I start with the figure of Netanyahu himself. I know his history. It is fraught with political and personal scandals. His election as Prime Minister is less about citizen approval of him than the intricacies of the Israeli political system. He has been the beneficiary of being in the right place at the right time politically. His party ekes out just enough seats in elections to be the broker in forming a government. Mostly, though, I see Netanyahu as a great showman who has pulled the wool over the eyes of the right wing of American politics. He grew up in Cheltenham, PA, so he learned perfect, idiomatic Americanized English. He talks tough. He has a deep resonant voice. He puts on a great show – for Americans.

So I resent that Netanyahu has used the American political system to stage a first rate re-election ploy. Israeli elections are a week away. His party, Likud, is in a tough fight for Knesset seats. Coming to Congress at this juncture plays to a political base in Israel that responds to the concept of tough talk standing up to an American president – especially a liberal Democrat.

The ostensible reason for his talk is fear over Iran obtaining nuclear weapons. If we are to speak truth, then we must admit that the possibility of a nuclear armed Iran IS the one real existential threat to Israel. The reality of that threat is acknowledged by Israelis from all ends of the political spectrum. And, Netanyahu has been speaking about this threat for years. But his words delivered in congress Tuesday will have no effect, and in fact might have a deleterious effect. I like this analysis by Ari Shavit posted in Ha’aretz, http://www.haaretz.com/opinion/.premium-1.645349

Rather than having the air of an important policy talk given by the leader of a key nation in the Middle East, Netanyahu’s speech in Congress had the feel of political manipulation – by Netanyahu for his own election purposes in Israel and by the Republican Party here, as they mount opposition to President Obama on pretty much everything. As an American I resent the feeling of being manipulated, for the purposes of those whose chief concern is seeking political power within their own systems. So the central truth of Netanyahu’s message was lost in all of the political gamesmanship. And the reality is, there was truth.

I am not a policy expert on Iran. I frankly do not know if the Obama administration’s approach is or is not the best way to prevent Iran from developing nuclear weapons. However, no one should be fooled by the agenda of the leadership in Iran, which has been consistent over he past 25 years. It presides over a state that oppresses individual freedom. It supports multiple terrorist organizations in the region. It wishes to impose its particular brand of Islam while ruling over more of the region and eventually beyond. Most frightening for Israel, it is blunt in its hatred of Jews and Israel, calling for Israel’s “annihilation.”

What would be most useful is an open frank discussion over what are the realistic options in dealing with Iran. This requires experts in the development of nuclear weapons along with those who actually have studied Iran and understand its culture and people. Tuesday’s speech created a sideshow that has now spawned other disturbing sideshows.

If you watch the video of the speech or read articles about it take some time to read the comments below. You will be horrified and offended (I hope). One trend is outright hatred of Jews – not just Israel but Jews. Old canards like the Jews control the American media are casually tossed about as truth. Normally it is easy to dismiss these comments as the work of kooks. But we have a current backdrop of rising anti-Semitism in Europe as well as on a number of American college campuses so the hatred hits home much harder.

Many of the responses are disturbing as well. Often the argument against the anti-Semite in these online comment threads is to condemn Islam, call it the religion of Satan. Is this really the level to which our public conversation must descend, the exchange of hate speech? Is it possible to respond to disagreement with thoughtful questions and discussion? My fear is that the discussion thread is starting to represent the reality of American political discussion – verbal bomb throwing.

Thus we come to the conundrum of Netanyahu’s speech. The truth in its content is overwhelmed by the problems of context, motive, and climate. If the hate speech in the comments moves beyond the lunatic fringe, then the result will be more negative than positive. These are serious problems and as Americans as well as Jews we need better ways to advance the discussion.  The Prime Minister’s appearance before congress did not provide one.

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The Plague of Darkness

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on January 23, 2015| 1 Comment »

 

Nobody noticed when the plague of darkness descended.  Some say that the world was too distracted.  Some say it was already too dark – who could really tell the difference?  Some news commentators refused to believe in the darkness.  They switched on the electric lights in their news studios and broadcast reports about how the darkness was not real.  “How can you say there is darkness,” they stated, “when all you have to do is turn on a light?”  Some columnists wrote editorials saying that the alleged darkness was just another invention of those perpetrating the myth of climate change.  Indeed, many saw no change in the world.  All seemed to go on as usual, so why all the fuss about darkness?  Yet, others insisted the darkness was real, that it was pervasive; that it was the largest tragedy humanity had ever suffered.

Some argued over the cause of the darkness.  Why did it happen?  Was it some kind of punishment?  When did it begin?  Republicans said it was when President Obama was elected. They claimed the darkness was a Muslim socialist plot to deceive the country, cloaking it in darkness to mask a government takeover by a Sharia dominated cabal.  Democrats said it was when Ronald Reagan was elected.  They claimed that the elevation of a “B” grade actor to the presidency degraded the office.  “How can the former star of ‘Bedtime for Bonzo’ be qualified to lead the country?” they asked.  Democrats believed the country was lulled to sleep by a theatrical presidency only to wake up in a darkness of corporate dominance.  The only interchange between Republicans and Democrats was to call each other blithering idiots.

Then there were religious leaders.  Many, from all denominations, became very introspective, wondering if they had contributed to the darkness.  Some believed they had not spoken out enough about issues of injustice or of racism.  Some felt they might have misrepresented the word of God.  Some wondered if they had worried too much about the finances of their church or synagogue and not enough about the soul of their congregation.  There were other clergy, however, who saw the darkness as God’s wrath, brought upon people because of false beliefs.  Some believed the darkness started because too much of the world had come to accept same sex marriage.  Others believed it was God’s revenge for those scientists who taught evolution, casting doubt on the creation of the world as depicted in the first chapter of Genesis.  Televangelists used the darkness to raise even more money, convincing their viewers that contributions to their ministry was the only way to lift the darkness.  Even though it wasn’t, people believed and sent money anyway.

In Europe, radical Muslims attacked newspapers and magazines, proclaiming that these publications’ insults to the prophet had ignited God’s anger.  They trumpeted their actions as carrying out the will of Allah against infidels.  Other Muslims blamed the darkness on their terrorist co-religionists; crying out against the coopting of Islam for violent ends.  European government officials were divided on the darkness.  Some thought the darkness came from allowing too many immigrants not from Europe.  Some thought the darkness came from the degraded conditions many immigrants had to endure.  Some blamed the darkness on the economic problems of the European Union.  Dozens of theories were debated, but everyone agreed on one thing – that at least some of the blame for the darkness must be the Jews.  As a result, synagogues were attacked, Jewish owned stores were looted.  Governments issued condemnations but few people cared or listened.  The victims were, after all, only Jews.

Palestinian Arabs blamed the darkness on the Israeli occupation of the West Bank.  Israelis blamed the darkness on Arab anti-Semitism.  Terrorist attacks were launched.  Reprisals were made.  Israelis and Palestinians died.  Leaders on each side kept asserting that their reason for the darkness was the only one that was correct and there could be no peace until the other side accepted their version as fact.  The only result was more death.

African Americans blamed the darkness on police brutality.  Police blamed it on the increased risk to their lives demonstrated by targeted killings of police officers.  Tensions increased.  Civil rights spokesmen and police advocates yelled in protest.  No one listened.  Nothing changed.

The NRA said the darkness occurred because people were being prevented from purchasing more guns.  Gun control advocates said the darkness came because there were too many guns.  School shootings happened.  Anyone expressing sadness over the victims was condemned by the NRA as using the shooting for political purposes.  Liberals pushed for more gun control.  Despite the fact that more of the shooters were disturbed students, no one bothered to do anything to improve the schools, to help the students.  The only real concern about schools was to increase test scores.

Blogs were posted.  Editorials were written.   The more thoughtful the piece, the more vile the comments posted by the readers, who only wanted to see who agreed with their own perspective.  Anyone disagreeing was called a liberal fool or a redneck yokel.

While here and there were some glimmers of light, the darkness did not lift.

We learn in Exodus chapter 10, vayahi choshech afeilah bechol eretz Mitzraim.  There are a number of ways to translate choshech afeilah.  One is a “thick darkness.”  Another is a “dark misery.”  Whichever way we translate it, we then learn lo ra’u ish et achiv v’lo kamu ish mitachtav, “no man could see his brother and no man could rise from his place.”  Where did this darkness come from?  Rabbi Yehuda said from the secret places in heaven.  Rabbi Nechemia said from the depths of hell.  Cassuto points out that this plague came without any warning.  Moses just lifted his staff and it happened.

What exactly was this dark misery?  Perhaps we might understand it best if we make a slight adjustment to the Hebrew.  Instead of reading lo ra’u ish et achiv, “no man could see his brother,” perhaps we should read as lo ra’u ish k’ achiv, “no man could see AS a brother.”  The darkness might be each person’s inability to see the person across from him as a brother or sister.  We default to seeing them through a label, liberal or conservative, gay or straight, black or white – the number of labels is infinite.  Instead we sit in our own place, unable to move – unable to rise up and see the light of God in the person across from us.

We are also told that the Israelites had light in their settlements.  What kind of light was that?  Psalm 97 says, Or zarua latzadik ulyishrei lev simcha, “Light is sown for the righteous and gladness for the upright of heart.” Mystics teach this light is the light created at the beginning of creation.  It has been sown throughout creation for us to find, so that we can rise up in the time of darkness.  If we can find the light of the righteous, and lift ourselves out of blindness, perhaps we can then end the plague of darkness.

Kein yehi ratzon – may it be God’s will.

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Hiding Our Faces

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , on January 9, 2015| 2 Comments »

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How do we fare when called upon to face unpleasant truths? How do we manage that call to take on a difficult task that seems to have no end? How do we rate on the empathy scale? This is the essence of what Moses is facing at the theophany at the burning bush in this week’s Torah portion.

Exodus 3:6 says, “Moses hid his face, for he was afraid to look at God.” That raises a theological question. If Judaism teaches God has no physical form, what was Moses afraid to look at? Cassuto points out that the Torah is careful not to imply a physical form, just that Moses knew God was presenting some kind of vision, and Moses was afraid to look at it. However, Moses does listen very attentively. So he is receptive to hearing God’s message, but is clearly missing something. Moses will accept the mission, but we can say he does so somewhat “blindly.”

Malbim takes the analysis of Moses hiding his face a bit further. By hiding his face, Moses shows he is not ready for a complete relationship with God. Malbim says that the Hebrew verb meihabit is not seeing so much as giving full concentration on something. Hiding his face is really Moses retreating into the material world, not able to spiritually and intellectually comprehend God. The material world is kind of his safety net. He hears God’s commands. On some levels he understands what is being demanded of him. But he is not ready for what eventually will be “knowing God panim el panim (face to face).” It is very important to note the intellectual component of the human/God relationship implied by Malbim. Meeting God “face to face” is intellectually as well as spiritually demanding.

Did Moses act properly by hiding his face? Sages who argue he did not say God would have shown him what was above and what was below – the secrets of existence (see Exodus Rabbah). Malbim’s commentary seems to agree with this by adding Moses was not ready for ultimate truth. Ba’al Haturim, however, takes a slightly different tack. He says that had Moses looked into God’s presence at the bush and asked for relief of the Israelites’ suffering, the exile would have been ended right then. Israel would have been freed. Thus we can ask, what is it Ba’al Haturim thinks Moses would have seen had he not hidden his face, that is, if he had tried to look at God face to face?

If we extend Ba’al Haturim’s reasoning, God would have shown Moses the full extent of Israel’s suffering in Egypt. If we combine the comments of Cassuto, Malbim and Ba’al Haturim, we might construct this scenario. Moses had seen the suffering of an individual Israelite, which led him to kill an Egyptian taskmaster. Moses is listening to what God is trying to convey, but is not yet ready to grasp the enormity of Israel’s suffering. Moses is not yet ready to perceive truth from God’s perspective – an intellectual and spiritual experience that is beyond him at the time of the call to his mission. Moses is just human. Trying to understand the full scale of human suffering and ultimate truth is a tall order. But Moses DOES listen, so he begins a path to lead the Israelites and finally know God “face to face.”

Now we consider this week’s tragedy in Paris, the murders of the staff of Charlie Hebdo by Muslim terrorists. Are we going to turn our faces from truths, about humanity, about suffering, about the perversion of religion, and even about relationship to God? Are we going to retreat into our material world and hide from truth? Are we going to take the hard road of even trying to understand how and why what happens in Paris affects all of us? I love this analysis in the New Yorker: http://www.newyorker.com/news/news-desk/blame-for-charlie-hebdo-murders

The writer (George Packer) identifies some important questions. First, how much are these murders based in the tenets of Islam? It is silly to deny that the Muslim world is going through a very dangerous time of increased radicalism, resulting in violent acts. It is also silly to deny that too many Muslims have some degree of sympathy with the motives behind these attacks, along with the violence perpetrated by ISIS and by organizations such as Hamas against Israel. All religious groups have abhorrent members.

For Jews, an example is Baruch Goldstein, who massacred Muslims during prayer in 1994.   How do Jews react to violence like Goldstein’s by other Jews? Even most Jews who take a hardline view of Israel/Palestinian issues condemned Goldstein’s violence. The Jewish community is so small (13 million worldwide) that we are sensitive to the repercussions of Jewish violence. Every military action by Israel spawns intense debate in the Jewish world over its appropriateness. The sheer size of the Muslim world (1.5 billion) creates the probability of more violent perpetrators as well as sympathizers. Unfortunately these voices get the dominant attention.

Yet, it would be a grave mistake to characterize all of Islam by the murders in Paris. Many, many Muslims feel revulsion over murders done in the name of Islam. Their sympathies are completely with the families of the victims. So the truth about the Muslim world is complex and hard for people to grasp, because it requires holding seemingly conflicting ideas at the same time. It is true that Islam is experiencing troubling convulsions. The existence of Muslim groups obsessed with violence is a reality. Muslim anti-Semitism is also very real. These are the same kinds of convulsions experienced at points in Christian history – say during the Crusades, the times of the Inquisition, or when some Christians gave religious justifications for the existence of the KKK. It seems to be Islam’s turn in history to wrestle with with excessively violent trends and radicalism. At the same time we have to realize that hundreds of millions of Muslims want nothing to do with these violent movements. They DO speak out, but often the media ignores th0se voices who do not fit the preferred narrative of the moment. I, for one, admire my Muslim friends who are speaking out, and I sympathize with their frustration over what they see as a hijacking of their religion for nefarious purposes.

A second problem is in understanding what is at stake by attacks on journalists. It is completely wrong to blame the victim by saying Charlie Hebdo was stupid for printing offensive materials. The attack on Charlie Hebdo is an attack on freedom of expression. The inability of any religious group to accept satire or criticism shows a lack of maturity by that group – witness the annual nonsense about the “war on Christmas” by some Christian groups in the United States. Perpetrating murder in response to satire, however, is beyond immaturity. It is inhumane and criminal. Whatever one might think of Charlie Hebdo, all of us are victims of the crime because it is an attack on the basic principle of freedom of expression.

We need to see ourselves potentially on both sides of this equation. The potential for violence exists in all humans. It might be Muslims perpetrating today, but they are not the first religion to take their turn at inhumanity, at murder in reaction to a perceived wrong. No one’s history is untainted. In addition, we need to see ourselves in the victims. No one lives in a vacuum. The world today is small. We need to understand that an attack on freedom in France is an attack on our freedom

God’s call to Moses at the bush is not about forcing a religious ideology upon the Egyptians. It is not about violent coercion of any kind. It is a call to lead a group of people to freedom, to alleviate suffering. When we hear the pain and suffering of others, we are starting to perceive God’s voice. If we look at the truth of how humans act – the good and the bad – we have taken a step on the path to know God. Ultimately there can be no hiding of our faces. If we look into the vision God provides, if we really understand what we are being shown, then, when we dare to look at God face to face – we will find our own face staring back at us.

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The Lights of Chanukah

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on December 19, 2014| Leave a Comment »

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We call Chanukah the Festival of Lights. Each of us has a personal sense of what the lights symbolize. Each of us finds personal meaning in Chanukah. I have met Jews who try to make the Chanukah lights compete with Christmas lights. One former congregant described how he would decorate his lawn and house with an illuminated display that outshone all the houses around him. I know other Jews who do not want their children to be deprived, so the “eight nights of gifts” becomes their real Chanukah lights. Jewish musicians I know try to create Chanukah light through their art. Yes, music can provide a very powerful light. It is emotive. It sparks the light of imagination.

I see the Chanukah light differently. I see it in a very personal way – a way that relates to aspects of my life.

The Light of Memory

I love my Chanukah memories from childhood. When I was young I often spent Chanukah at my Oma and Opa’s house in the Bronx. All of my family was from Germany, and my grandparents lived in an area of the Bronx where many German Jewish families had settled. These families would throw Chanukah parties and I would attend. One feature of them would be the appearance of the “Chanukah Man.” I know this seems kitschy and yes the Chanukah Man was a kind of rip off of Santa Clause, but apparently it was a big German/Jewish thing.

When I was four I remember attending a party and the Chanukah Man’s appearance was much anticipated by us children. Sure enough, the door to the family room opened and in he came, white beard, pseudo Tevya like clothes, peasant’s hat, and a long staff with a Jewish star on top. He sat down and began to have each child sit on his lap and ask if they had been a good boy or girl. What I did not know was this Chanukah Man was my dad – in disguise. When it was my turn I sat on his lap and looked down at his shoes. My dad wore special orthopedic shoes, so they were pretty identifiable. When I saw the shoes I said, “Gee Chanukah Man, my dad has shoes just like those.” Without missing a beat the Chanukah Man/Dad replied, “Well, we use the same shoemaker. I see him there all of the time.” I did not know it was my dad until a few years later when I had figured out there was no such thing as a Chanukah Man, and I guessed the one at the party must have been Dad.

My dad’s uncle Richard was like his father – he raised him. Uncle Richard was like a grandfather to my brothers and me. He loved to play the Chanukah Man. He lived in Allentown, PA and we moved there when I was nine. I knew, of course there was no Chanukah Man, but my younger brother still believed. So Uncle Richard dressed up like the Chanukah Man and came to our house with gifts. My brother, however, was scared out of his mind, ran upstairs and hid in his room.

My favorite Uncle Richard/Chanukah Man story, however, is this letter my brother and I received one year. Please note the spelling.

Dear Romberg Brothers,

Your Uncle Richard, may God bless him a other 25 years wrote a letter several weeks ago to me and was telling me about you two boys. You both was during the last year fairly good, and I should make it my bussiness this year and come to visit Allentown. Sorry I can’t make it because this year I have to go to Russian and Sibiran to bring the poor Yewish children some goodies. Enclosed I send you some money and your Mami can buy something in Hesses Bargain Basement. Also I heard the good news that your Daddy and Mamy ordered a custom build brand new baby girl, but your Daddy put in the order too late, and the delivery cannot be before the end of January, 1966. Let’s be with Massel Tow, and we will celebrate later whatever comes out. With best wishes to all of you and a good Chanukah yours,

Eliezer ben Mordechai, Chief Chanukah man

I still have that letter. The return address on the envelope reads: 18 Matzoh Ball Street, Tel Aviv, Israel. That letter is one of the few physical reminders I have of him. He was one of the few true heroes I have personally known.

The Light of Hope

This begins with the lessons I learned from Uncle Richard’s life. Here was a person who saw his world shattered. He lived in Germany – a decorated German soldier in World War I. He took in his sister and her son (my grandmother and my father) after my grandmother’s divorce in 1926. As the Nazi oppression of Jews began in 1933 he distributed anti-Nazi leaflets, wore his Iron Cross in protest and was arrested. He spent the 1930’s trying to get the family to a safe place, finally getting to America in 1939 just as the war was breaking out. He voluntarily returned to Europe as an American GI, winning the Silver Star but also seeing the destruction wrought by the Nazis on Jews first hand. Yet, Uncle Richard was a person who never lost hope. I believe he had the courage to do the things he did because he always had great hopes for the future. A collage of his pictures and his medal hang in my office – an inspiration of hope to me.

Uncle Richard passed his hopeful outlook on to my dad. Dad also lived through some terrible times. He also fought in World War II. He could have easily felt bitterness towards the Christian world, given his experiences in Germany. Yet, Dad was not afraid to move his family to a small town in West Virginia. There, he taught me by being an integral part of the tiny Jewish community. He also taught me through his friendships with non-Jews. His attorney, my “Uncle” Harry was not Jewish. Among his closest friends was a Baptist minister, whose son found me a few years back and with whom I am still friends. We would go to the minister’s house to trim their Christmas tree. Dad knew every Christmas carol in German, and would sing them. So he taught me one could celebrate with Christians without compromising your Jewish identity. Dad could do all of this because he was a person of hope. He hoped the world could get better after the horrors of the Holocaust.

I see hope every day, through my work. It is the hope inspired by teaching children, seeing them learn and achieve a level of Jewish literacy. I see hope by the bridges built throughout the Tallahassee community. I see Jews and non-Jews who really understand that we are in this adventure called life together. I see hope in the Christian clergy I interact with, the respect they have for the Jewish community and their dedication to the overall welfare of the greater Tallahassee community. I see hope in the cooperative interfaith work our congregation does with a number of local Christian churches. I see hope in the way people of all stripes work together to improve our town. Yes, we have problems. We are not perfect. But I believe our town is a model for how people of different backgrounds can come together for the common good. So I see a light of hope.

The Light of Judaism

It begins with our holiday cycle. Chanukah is only one stop in the yearly journey through the calendar. Note that candles are lit for every major holiday, beginning weekly with Shabbat. Light is not exclusive to Chanukah. It is ever present on the Jewish calendar. And, most of our holidays express hope – even the serious ones. The High Holidays give us the light and hope of repentance – that we can improve our lives and relationships. Sukkot fosters an appreciation for the bounty of life. Simchat Torah the joy and light of engaging in Torah. Purim is just pure fun. Pesach reminds us of the hope for redemption, even in the worst of times. The lights of Judaism shine throughout the year. They inspire.

Most of all, the Jewish light is one which teaches us how make our lives be a light unto the world. Our cycle of holidays, each year of Jewish celebration teach us that our lives do not revolve around the celebration of any particular holiday, but whether our whole lives are a celebration – of something greater than ourselves.

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