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At The Crossroads

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on July 4, 2014| 2 Comments »

 

They are gone. We say Kaddish. We mourn. We are angry. We look for a response that will salve the wounds of their murder. We want to know why Gilad Shaar, Naftali Frenkel, and Eyal Yifrach, three Israeli teens, had to be kidnapped and murdered. We want to know how people, even those who see themselves oppressed by Israel, can rejoice at their murders. How can even a radical fringe rejoice over the deaths of three teenagers? How can any political organization, even a Hamas, just see three teens as pawns in a political game? We wonder how human life, even the life of your “opponent,” can be dismissed so casually? So we are lost in a swirl of emotions and look for a way to react.

He is also gone. Mohammed Abu Khdeir, a 16 year old from East Jerusalem has been kidnapped and murdered. Some initially thought this might be an honor killing, an act between rival Arab clans. But Israeli police are becoming convinced that his murder is a revenge killing by Jewish extremists: revenge for the murder of the three Israeli teens. If this is indeed a revenge killing, one has to wonder if the extremists will see the score as evened, or will they look to commit further acts of revenge? After all, the Torah does tell us “an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth,” (Exodus 21:24), right?

Is this the place we must stand? Is the road of alternating killings the path we must travel? I will express dismay that so much of the Israeli response has been a call for reprisal, not the extremist act of murdering Palestinian teens, but Netanyahu’s promise of action against Hamas. Please do not misunderstand me. If there were a military action that would neutralize Hamas, I would support it without hesitation. If striking Hamas outposts in Gaza was really something more than violent chest thumping, I could understand it. But no military action will eliminate Hamas. Hamas has become much more than a terrorist organization bent on Israel’s destruction. It is a political party that dispenses services and favors to the Palestinian population. Israeli strikes against Hamas has the same effect as cutting a branch off of a tree but ignoring the roots. The tree will simply grow a new branch.

So I must ask, what does continuing this cycle of violence achieve? What is its strategic purpose other than showing a population in mourning that the government is doing something? Is there another response? This is the crossroads at which we stand. I say “we” because all Jews, whether they acknowledge it or not, are connected. What happens in Israel affects all of us – profoundly.

I was moved by the reaction of one of the great Jewish sages of our time, Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz. Two of the murdered teens attended his Mekor Chaim high school. His former student, Pinchas Allouche, was in the car with Rabbi Steinsaltz when news of the murders spread and broke it to him. He wrote about the rabbi’s response. “People will light memorial candles, recite prayers, and attend vigils. Our boys were killed al Kiddush Hashem, (a sanctification of God’s name), because they were Jews. Therefore, to best honor their memories – indeed, to confront evil – we must act always as proud Jews, in our deeds and through our lives.” Allouche elaborates that while we cannot erase evil, we can create good. By living and acting as Jews through Torah and mitzvoth, we can create good.

That is the other path we can choose. Torah interprets “an eye for an eye” not as a dictum for revenge, but as a formula to provide just compensation to the victims, to provide as much healing as possible, even if the healing cannot be complete. Torah eschews revenge. Our tradition is one of law, justice, and healing. So interpretations of Torah, such as using the law of din rodef as justification for killing Palestinians, is a twisting of the intent of Torah. Any use of Torah to do anything other than create good, to create wholeness, is a misuse of the Divine message. Torah’s purpose is to effect tikkun (repair) to try to achieve sheleimut (wholeness).

I recognize that this Israeli government is not ready for the big gestures like halting expansion of settlements on the West Bank. I also recognize there is a pathological illness running through the Palestinian population, preventing acceptance of the Jewish state. My question is this; can we Jews recognize that we bear a part of the responsibility for this illness? Can we, as a first step towards bringing healing, do some honest teshuvah about the history of Israel that allows for some shared responsibility for the status quo? Or do we insist on a narrative that only casts Jews/Israelis as the good guys and Arabs/Palestinians as the bad guys?

However we answer that question, I do believe there is a small, tangible step that would demonstrate what Rabbi Steinsaltz means by being Jews who live by our Torah – a Torah that promotes healing. The family of Mohammed Abu Khdeir wants a statement by the Israeli government acknowledging his murder as a revenge killing. Grant them this. Even more, make a gesture of sorrow towards his family, an offer of something to promote healing. Provide appropriate compensation. This should be done without any expectation of a return gesture by any Palestinian towards the families of the murdered Israeli teens. It should be done as a simple human gesture, to demonstrate that as Jews, we understand senseless human loss. It will do more to heal the Palestinian illness than any reprisal.

I remember well the attack by a Jordanian soldier on March 13, 1997, on a group of Israeli school girls, killing seven. King Hussein of Jordan came to Israel to apologize personally to the victims’ families. He stated then, “Your daughter is like my daughter, your loss is my loss.” The power and sincerity of his gesture affected all Israel, indeed all Jews. King Hussein’s example is the one we need to follow.

Yes, we are angry at the murder of our innocent teens. Yes we are angry at the sick celebrations by segments of the Palestinian population. Yes, we are deep in grief over the perpetuation of conflict. But let us affirm the teaching of Rabbi Steinsaltz, live proudly as Jews and try to create goodness. Zichronam livracha, my the memories of three innocent Jews and one innocent Palestinian one day bring blessing. Amen.

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So You Think You Are Religious?

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

 

It is easy to get tripped up on the meanings of words. I have always loved this story as an illustration. Once an elementary school teacher asked the class to write a sentence about a public servant. The kids did a great job, but one response gave her pause. One little boy wrote, “The fireman came down the ladder pregnant.” The teacher questioned the young student if he knew the meaning of the word “pregnant.” “Sure,” he replied, “it means ‘carrying a child.’”

From the student’s perspective the meaning is absolutely clear. The teacher might know he misapplied the word, yet was the child wrong or just really clever in his usage? Is there anything wrong with expanding the definition of the word to include the student’s interpretation? I think we can ask all of the same questions when discussing a word that is “pregnant” with multiple interpretations – the word “religious.”

What does it mean to be religious? That is at the core of this week’s parashah, in which Korach and his followers question Moses’ somewhat exclusive relationship with God. They want to converse with God in the same manner as Moses. This leads to a showdown in which Korach and his followers, are swallowed by the earth, in a demonstration that seems to prove that God is backing the religious system administered by Moses (and Aaron). Yes, commentary criticizes Korach’s methods for questioning, his confrontational manner. Yes it criticizes his true motives – did he really want to engage in holiness or was this a rebellion born of ego needs? Whatever the answer, the solution, within our contemporary context, seems out of line with the problem.

Yet the question still stands today. Who is it that truly hears God’s voice? Which is just another way to ask what does it mean to be “religious?” It seems everyone has a different answer – and everyone’s answer is tinged with the bias of their religious background. Christians, Jews and Muslims all seem to have different answers. Indeed, within Christianity, Judaism, and Islam there are a variety of answers. Each group has a range from rigid fundamentalism to expansively liberal interpretations of sacred text and approaches to God.

For some, being religious is following a very strict set of regulations, meant to demonstrate holiness. These can include the mitzvoth of the Torah (for Jews), celibacy, seclusion, and frequent fasting, and/or strict rules regarding the relationships between men and women as well as sexual matters. These rules are meant to limit the amount of focus on extraneous matters so the individual can focus on God. The problem with this approach (at least for those of us not in these groups) is that these regulations seem to apply unequally, creating oppressive circumstances for those not accepted into the group. They create a hierarchy, which often creates inequality for women, gays, or those who do not share that approach to being religious. Indeed, the Hebrew word for “holy,” kadosh, means “separate” or “set apart.” There is a built in elitism to this theology. Does God really want women to be subservient? Does using a special dish towel to dry dishes holding meat or dairy bring one closer to God?

Others define religious by a strict form of faith. One must believe a certain doctrine, that is, think correct ideas, about God. The result is that those with the correct belief will gain entrance into a very exclusive country club when they die – called heaven. For people of this perspective, often what you do matters little. You must believe – and that belief can go against the observations of science, history, and plain old common sense. Defining “religious” by mandated faith or deeds creates a hierarchy that is exclusionary. Is being religious inherently a form of elitism? Does religiosity have to create theological “haves” and “have nots?”

All of this leads to a question. Is there really a set of actions or a set of beliefs that sets one apart as truly religious? My only answer is born of personal experience.

When I was a teenager and part of our synagogue’s youth group we undertook a special project – to read to a blind man. We knew him as Mr. Albright. 3 or 4 afternoons a week, one or two of us would go to his house and read to him. In the beginning it was books or articles that he selected. But over the years, as he got to know us, he catered his reading to our interests. Mr. Albright was a really interesting fellow and we all speculated about his background. He seemed to have a lot of inside information about World War II and some of us were convinced he had been a spy or in some intelligence agency. He was an expansive thinker who pushed us to question and to think. I am not sure who gained more out of this relationship – Mr. Albright through our reading to him, or us through the subtle way he taught us.

In any case, the day I got true insight into the word “religious” was the day I was at his place alone and without a car. I asked him if I could use the phone to call my mom to pick me up (this was long before cell phones). He responded that he would be glad to drive me home! “But Mr. Albright,” I said, “how can you drive? Aren’t you blind?” “I am only legally blind,” he responded. “I can still drive.” So being driven home in a car by a legally blind man, I suddenly understood what “religious” meant.

I am still not truly sure what it means to be religious. But I am sure of this – one does not define the self as religious. It is others who determine, in the end, if you are religious. There is some combination of faith, actions, and attitude that orient you towards God. I do not think one has to be a tzaddik (perfectly righteous person) to be religious, but it is a label given by those who know you, not self -proclaimed. I do not believe everyone is religious in the same way. I do not believe that any one group has cornered the market on what “religious” is. I only know that when my time in this world has ended, I hope I will merit the label of religious. If not, then just call me “pregnant.”

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Reflections About a 60th Birthday

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on June 1, 2014| 1 Comment »

 

I have no problems with the idea of turning 60. What seemed like such a large number when I was 30 was not scary at all. Just the opposite; I enjoy being at an age where I actually understand a few things – and I also know what I don’t know. I am in awe of the things I have witnessed in my lifetime, both historical and personal. It is actually fun to be able to look back and remember where I was for certain events, or my reactions to landmark movies, shows, music. It is fun to think of life in terms of the cultural contexts I have witnessed and now outlived. I have children, grandchildren, friends, and I do meaningful work in a wonderful community. When I left high school, I had the sense that the very best things in life were in front of me, not behind me. I was so right. I still feel the same way. Some of the best things are in front of me.

Nor was I upset that the actual day of my birthday would not be one of celebrating. I was fine with working that day and leading Shabbat services that night. I had been able to celebrate in NYC earlier in the week with my wife, one daughter and 3 grandchildren. I saw two great shows and spent time with friends. Even more, next weekend a lot of family and friends will be gathered at our home as we celebrate the Hebrew naming of my newest grand daughter. So the fact that my actual birthday was just another work day was no problem. I could not be prepared for what the day actually brought.

How can I describe it? I did nothing unusual, yet it was a day filled with joy and blessing – all because of technologies that did not exist when I was born or for most of my life. I woke up to texts on my phone and a bunch of Facebook messages wishing me a “happy birthday.” Many of them were just the quick 2 word greeting, but many, far more than I would have thought, were much more. I was the recipient of lovely messages from people who I never thought would know it was my birthday (I often don’t see the birthday reminders that Facebook provides). Friends from all over sent their love in special messages. Colleagues took time to wish me a special “Shabbat shalom” along with a “happy birthday.” I spoke to my two oldest friends – a set of twins I met when I was 9 – as they share my same birthday. This being a supposed “big one” we tracked each other down to exchange news and greetings. I finally caught up with them by cell phone as they were in a restaurant having a late dinner. I had calls, messages and texts from friends covering all the stages of my life – from high school, the years of raising our family, my business years and my career change to the rabbinate. These greetings were like a quick summary of the many connections I have made in my life.

So what I anticipated would be just another day – my celebrations were scheduled for other times – turned out to be a day filled with amazing blessing. I loved going on Facebook every few hours to see the lineup of messages. I loved the phone call from a congregant who, for a long time, was not very connected to the congregation, but called to tell me how much he appreciates the friendship we have been forming over the past year. I loved that every time my cell phone buzzed it was exciting and fun. So an ordinary day became special because people reached out through the various media and connected to me.

Of course there is a Torah message in all of this, because Torah works that way. This past Shabbat’s Torah portion was Naso, which includes the priestly benediction used so often by clergy of many faiths to offer blessing. As I prepared for Friday night’s d’var Torah, I had a little bit of a revelation. This blessing, like so many of the blessings in the Tanach, are not offeredby God. Rather, God instructs Moses to tell Aaron this will be the way the priesthood is to bless the people of Israel. And that is the real nature of blessings, they are the gifts that people convey to other people. We often say that God has blessed us, but really, it is the actions and words of the people in our lives who have blessed us. They, we, are God’s agents in this world. For blessings establish a kind of covenant between us. They bind us in a link forged for common goodness, common enjoyment. On my 60th birthday, I finally understood the power of those blessings.

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Familiarity Breeds – Well, Familiarity

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on May 22, 2014| Leave a Comment »

 

Funny how seemingly unrelated incidents can be very connected. I was watching Bill Maher and the discussion was about the terrorist group Boko Harem, kidnappers of 200 girls in Nigeria. Maher went on one of his rants condemning religion, which included an indictment of Islam as particularly violent, saying that Muslim violence was not limited to “a few bad apples.” Maher is witty and is often on point, but he has a blind spot when it comes to religion in general and Islam in particular. His words echo what I know to be a general attitude the public holds about Islam: there are too many incidents of terror and violence done by Muslims to believe that Islam is a religion of peace.

Within a couple of days of watching this episode of Bill Maher, I received emails from congregants with a link to an article in the Jewish Telegraphic Agency regarding a survey conducted by the Anti-Defamation League measuring anti-Semitism around the world. The headlines screamed, “More than a quarter of the world is anti-Semitic.” Of course that sets off panic in the Jewish world. I think it is important to understand what the results of the ADL survey really mean. I also think there are connections (not direct parallels but connections) between attitudes towards Jews and towards Muslims.

It should come as no surprise that the highest levels of anti-Semitism are in Middle Eastern countries, many of whom are still at some level of conflict with Israel, with the highest level in the West Bank and Gaza at 93%. The LOWEST level of anti-Semitism for any Arab country is Morocco at 80%, still a ridiculously high level. Of course global figures are skewed by the extremely high levels of anti-Semitism concentrated in these areas. More disturbing, however, is the level of anti-Semitism among certain European countries, with Greece leading the way at 69% and France second at 37%. Spain is also considered one of the most anti-Semitic western European countries as witnessed by the aftermath of the recent European basketball championships, which was won by an Israeli team. Thousands of anti-Semitic tweets were sent in Spain including references to sending Jews to the ovens and the showers. Clearly there are areas that still truly hate Jews.

Why?

Well, consider the remark by Ruben Noboa, a leader of the Jewish community in Catalonia, Spain, who is leading a lawsuit over the anti-Semitic tweets in a Spanish courts, “Hardly anyone here knows any Jews, but the clichés and stereotypes persist…” Noboa was trying to express irony- how can people hate Jews when they don’t even know us? But what he really expressed was truth. People hate what they do not know. Familiarity breeds tolerance. When you can eliminate conflict you have acceptance. A look at the areas with the smallest level of anti-Semitism bears this out.

Start with the United States. The ADL survey measured anti-Semitism here at 9%, one of the smallest numbers globally. I even think that might be overstated, as I doubt close to 1 in 10 Americans hate Jews. Our national numbers are most likely skewed by areas having little exposure to Jews or where fringe hate groups are present. There will always be a measure of prejudice but the story of the acceptance of Jews in America is one of great success. Just 80 years ago there were Jewish quotas in the great universities. Jews were seen as part of the seedy immigrant newcomers whose strange, non-Christian religion added to the natural human mistrust of outsiders. Figures like Father Coughlan could fill the radio airwaves with blatant anti-Jewish venom with few consequences. None of that happens now or could happen now. Why? As Americans became exposed to Jews, to Jewish culture, to Jewish thought, familiarity gave way to comfort. I remember growing up in West Virginian and having my parents’ Christian friends at our holiday tables, celebrating with us. It is easy to hate a stranger. It is hard to hate a friend, a neighbor, or even just someone you see all the time in the course of doing daily activities. None of this happens in the countries with the highest rates of anti-Semitism.

A country’s history and general culture also provide a clue as to whether anti-Semitism will flourish or not. Spain has a terrible history regarding Jews, whereas Holland, a country with little anti-Semitism, was the only western European country NOT to expel its Jews, indeed providing a haven for Jewish refugees. Great Britain is the source of great anti-Semitic canards such as the blood libel, yet as England underwent a transformation into a democratic society, Jews were invited back in and have flourished there for over 300 years.

Now, what does any of this have to do with Bill Maher’s attitude towards Muslims? I see the Muslim community in America as filling the same role that Jews did 80 years or so ago. They are largely immigrants therefore outsiders, strangers. Their religion is not Christian ergo a mystery to most Americans. They are not familiar so they are feared and mistrusted. The past 30 years or so have seen many terrorist acts carried out by those who claim to represent Islam. So we draw a conclusion that Islam is a violent religion bent on conquest. I would just ask my Christian friends to consider this: do you think during the age of the Crusades the Muslim inhabitants of the Holy Land could have been convinced that Christianity is a religion of peace?

There are indeed problems in the Islamic world. As often happens the radical elements are using religion to justify horrible acts. Many Muslim countries are way behind in all the measurements of what constitutes a modern, democratic society. We need to recognize that these national struggles are reflections of poverty, outdated feudal systems, and the natural evolutionary pains that many developing nations experience. Studying these nations is not a great way to understand people who practice Islam.

For that I recommend getting to know people in your community who actually do practice Islam. You will find they have the same hopes and fears as we do. They love the opportunity that America represents and push their children to succeed. They struggle, just like Jews have struggled, with how much to assimilate and how much to preserve of their traditional life. The acceptance that Jews have gotten in American life is what the Islamic community desires.

Yes, the ADL survey reminds us once again that prejudice against Jews still exists, but it is good to understand where and why. People are just people. We all fear that which we do not know. The best counter to any prejudice is simply to breed familiarity. You will be surprised by the results.

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Why Remember?

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on May 2, 2014| Leave a Comment »

 

Earlier this week we commemorated Yom Hashoah – Holocaust Remembrance Day. In our community, there was the requisite lighting of the memorial candles in memory of the 6 million lost, a bit of poetry from Holocaust victims, the chanting of Ani Ma’amim and Eil Malei Rachamim. A speaker talked about anti-Semitism, how it still exists (see recent events in Overland Park, KS and the Ukraine). It is, appropriately, a day of sadness.

I feel the sadness as well. Yes, I am the child of a survivor (not of the camps but of Nazi oppression) and yes we lost a lot of family in the Shoah. But the real, deep sadness I feel at these events is not so much about the Jews that have been lost, but about the Jews who are living today, and the kind of Judaism they seem to be embracing. I find it sad that too many Jews base their entire Jewish identity on the Holocaust. American Jews are obsessed with the Holocaust. They are obsessed with anti-Semitism. Most American Jews will exclaim “Never again” with more religious fervor than Sh’ma Yisra’el. The Holocaust has become a central element of being an American Jew – even for those who have no connection to family lost in that time.

This is born out by the results in the Pew survey on American Jewish life released last October. When asked the question “What is essential to being Jewish?” the number one response, by 73% of all Jews was, “Remembering the Holocaust.” This came before “Leading an ethical and moral life” (69%) and well above “Working for justice and equality” (56%). Way, way down on the list were “Being part of a Jewish community” (28%) and “Observing Jewish law” (19%). Forgive me this piece of blasphemy, but from my perspective that list is pretty much upside down – although if I could use my own wording I would place “embracing life by repairing the world” as the most essential piece of being Jewish closely followed by morality, learning and observing some Jewish tradition and law, and being part of a community. Of all these values, “Remembering the Holocaust” would be last.

Of course you will ask me, “Isn’t remembering the Holocaust important?” To which I would reply – absolutely – just not as important as engaging in those Jewish activities that build a vibrant Jewish life. While we engage in our mourning over the victims, we too often forget that the Shoah is not just an individual tragedy. It is not just the end of 6 million lives because they were Jewish. It is also, equally, the loss of so many vibrant Jewish communities and institutions throughout Europe. It is the destruction of Jewish spiritual and intellectual life. Despite the return of some Jews to Europe, the richness of Jewish life will never be anything close to what was lost. So the sad words we speak on Yom HaShoah are nice, and appropriate. But they are almost meaningless if not followed by something much more – and different.

The best response to the losses incurred by our people during the Shoah, whether it is the loss of people or communities, is to build vibrant, joyful, meaningful Jewish communities here – in America, in Florida, in Tallahassee. It is NOT enough to mourn and remember. We must live as Jews, spiritually, intellectually, morally. That means being engaged in living Jewish life as well as translating Jewish values into how we conduct our everyday lives. It means building vibrant Jewish institutions that serve as centers of kedushah (holiness), Torah (learning), and ma’asim tovim (good works).   It means infusing Judaism into our lives every day, every week. It means not letting morbid fascination oppression define our Jewishness.

This week’s Torah portion gives us a basic outline on how to do that through the description of the sacred times we are to mark throughout the year. Shabbat, of course, is every week. The festivals dot 3 key moments in the agricultural cycle of the year and we are told in the Talmud to celebrate them with joy. Yes, Yom Kippur is a time of serious work on atonement and forgiveness, but it is not morose, just a recognition that the work to repair human relations is important and must include both individual and communal elements. We are to note the new moons each month and from Pesach to Shavuot we countdown the journey from freedom to a covenant of responsibility by the counting of the Omer. To these Torah mandated times we add Purim, Chanukah, and Tu b’Shevat, just to name a few.

The point is, it is just as important to enjoy the silliness of a Purim schpiel as it is to mourn the losses of the Shoah. It is just as important to celebrate with friends and family at a Passover seder as it is to attend a Yom Hashaoah service. It is just as important to dance with the Torah on Simchat Torah as it is to watch any Holocaust inspired movie. Indeed, all of these things are more important than any Holocaust related activity. All are joyful expressions of our Judaism. Yet, sadly, they are ignored by too many Jews. Which means that the Judaism being passed to the next generation is about victimhood, death, and remembering the suffering. Is that really the only Judaism we want our children to receive? Can anyone believe that is a Judaism that can survive?

Yet, I am not without hope. On Wednesday night I had my usual session with this year’s Confirmation students – all 15 and 16 years old. It was our wrap up discussion for the year, as now we will organize their service that occurs in a few weeks. I asked them to share the most significant Jewish lesson they had learned over the course of their years in Hebrew school. I loved their answers. One said it was how Judaism encourages questioning everything – even God. One said it was about working for justice. But my favorite, the one which gave me real hope about the young Jews in our community was this: the value of forgiveness and repentance. This came from a young woman I have known since she was two. She said that in 5th grade they learned how important it is to go to people you might have hurt to admit you were wrong and apologize. She said that she and her friend, ever since they learned that Yom Kippur lesson, sit down with each other every year right before Yom Kippur, and talk about any problems they had with each other the previous year. She said this process has made them closer friends.

When I heard how this young woman and her friend (also in our congregation) had integrated a piece of Jewish observance into their lives, I left class that night smiling and filled with hope. For theirs will be a Judaism of life, not of death.

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Why IS This Night Different from all Other Nights?

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on April 18, 2014| Leave a Comment »

 

I would guess pretty much everyone who spent their childhood in a Jewish household has memories of Passover seders. Almost all of us took our turns as the youngest child at seder reciting the “Four Questions.” They are really not four questions, but one question with four answers, Ma nishtana halailah hazeh mikol halailot? “Why is this night different from all other nights?” This is immediately followed by another “child” oriented piece – the 4 sons (or children) and the different ways each is taught about the story of Passover.

There is a lot in the seder that revolves around children. Children are an intrinsic part of the ritual. Children are sent to find the Afikomen, a child is usually given the task of opening the door for Elijah. Further, think about the different pedagogical tools in the seder. There is the telling of the story (maggid). There are teaching songs (Dayenu is a song about not expecting too much from God, Echad Mi Yodei’a is a song that teaches some basic Jewish literacy), there are experiential pieces (think the drops of blood for each plague). Even the food provides lessons about aspects of the story as well as how Passover is connected to recognizing the agricultural cycle. The entire seder, really, is a tool to teach children about the basic Jewish story of the move from slavery to freedom, covenant with God, our commitment to justice for all, and some basic Jewish ritual.

All of this is a way to carry out the instructions in the fourth Mishnah of tractate Pesachim. “If the child has insufficient understanding, his father instructs him…” What follows is pretty much the exact wording of the “Four Questions” segment from the Haggadah. Finally the Mishnah tells us, “according to the knowledge of the child the father instructs him.” That is exactly what happens during the seder. By using the various teaching methods described above, methods that utilize the senses, reading, listening, singing – different kinds of children can each carry away central lessons from the seder. Children of different learning styles are given the opportunity to learn. The section about the 4 sons is just a reminder that there are different kinds of children with their own needs and ways of learning. The seder, with its variety of experiences, becomes a model Jewish classroom. The seder is a critical educational part of creating the next generation of caring Jews.

The Talmud is very clear about the value of children and the obligation to tailor teaching methods to the needs of the child. The Talmud teaches, for example, that a lesson should be repeated even a hundred times if there is one child in a class that is having difficulty learning it. Think of this as kind of a Jewish version of “no child left behind” many centuries before the phrase became popular in America. And that is the truly sad thing – only the phrase is popular in America, not actually converting the concept into reality.

Politicians pay lip service to education. It is a popular issue to support. But the reality of our schools is in stark contrast to the rhetoric offered. Here, I think, is where our country could learn something absolutely critical from Jewish tradition. If we fail in the task of instructing our children, we fail in creating the next educated generation that can advance our society. I am seeing this as a sad, stark reality every week when I go to an elementary school to tutor a little first grader in math.

His classroom is an impossible environment in which to teach or learn. It is an old style “open” classroom, which contains 4 classes in each corner, with open common area in the center. The buzz from around the room is constant, and the teacher struggles to keep the attention of her students. In the first grade corner are 19 students and 1 teacher with no aid. The curriculum demands things that first graders are not developmentally ready to do. For example, in January the teacher was attempting to teach the concept of “carrying” in addition. The little boy I tutor was so frustrated by his math worksheet, he just scribbled on it. The children are expected to read and comprehend word problems, which would be great if all of them had the sufficient reading skills. When I questioned the teacher, she said the curriculum assumes all the children learned to read in Kindergarten.

Therein is the real tragedy in all of this. No one cares about the individual needs of the students. Well, actually, the teacher does. She expresses her frustration to me every time I am in the classroom. I consider her a saint. She feels a personal responsibility for the success of each child. She brings in snacks from her own home for children whose parents do not send snacks to school for them. I have never seen her lose patience with a child. But the system is rigged for her to fail, not to succeed. Between a curriculum divorced from the reality of child development, too many students with no aid, and a classroom detrimental to controlling the class let alone teaching, many of these children will just not learn. Their needs, their learning styles are ignored.

As these children begin to fail, they will be labeled, much like the way we label the children in the seder. Some will be called “wicked” because of their resistance to teaching methods that do not help them. Some will be called “simple” because they are just not understanding the material. What I have come to realize is that these labels are really the indicators of our own failures in educating them. I have to wonder about the little boy I tutor. If he is not able to grasp basic math, the frustrated scribbling on his math worksheet will turn into graffiti on walls as a teenager. Right now he really wants to learn, but the day will come when his sweetness will fade, when his desire to please will turn to anger. We will have lost this child.

Why is this night of seder really different from all other nights? It is the yearly reminder that all children are valuable; all are teachable. We have only to exert the effort to help them learn.

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Your Brother Pats Birds on the Head

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on April 3, 2014| Leave a Comment »

 

For a long time I have been a huge fan of the cartoon “Peanuts.” I used to own a bunch of collections of cartoon strips run in the 1960’s and 1970’s, but they have long been lost. Around my 13th birthday in 1967 (May 29, 30, and 31), a series of strips ran that has always stuck with me; probably because I first read them at a very impressionable age.

In the first strip Charlie Brown sees Linus patting birds on the head. The birds love this. Charlie Brown goes up to Lucy and says, “Your brother pats birds on the head.” POW! Lucy levels Charlie Brown. In the last frame of that strip he says, “Some people are pretty sensitive about their relatives.”

The next day’s strip opens with Linus patting a bird on the head. The bird is sighing with contentment. Lucy comes up to Linus screaming, “What are you doing!” She tells him people are coming up to her saying “Your brother pats birds on the head.” She yells at him to stop doing it. She walks away from Linus in anger. In the last frame a bird sticks out his foot and trips her.

The last strip in the sequence has Linus talking to Charlie Brown. “What’s wrong with patting birds on the head?” he asks. “It humiliates your sister,” responds Charlie Brown. “I can understand that,” says Linus, “but what’s WRONG with it. It makes the birds happy and it makes ME happy…so what’s really wrong with it?” Charlie Brown stares at Linus for a panel then responds, “No one else does it.”

I love the layers of meaning in this series of simple comic strips. Here is what I think is the p’shat or plain sense meaning of the series. Linus is going to be Linus no matter what anyone thinks about him. My friend and colleague Rabbi Brian Michelson says that Linus is not afraid to take off the mask most of us wear to the outside world and just be himself. He questions why others can’t see things as simply as he does.

The remez, or hint of something a little bit more is this: Altruistic Linus just wants to make others feel good. He does not discriminate against anyone – be they person or animal. He just wants to bring them a little happiness. Doing those simple deeds is fulfilling to him. I love it when I am Linus. Lucy is a control freak who gets upset when people do not conform to her standards of behavior. She places herself as judge and arbiter of what is appropriate. I sometimes behave like Lucy without even thinking about it. I then have to question the Lucy in me. Why am I reacting that way? What is it I think I am trying to control? Why am I not more accepting, go with the flow? Charlie Brown is the innocent messenger. He tells people what they sometimes do not want to hear. Often he gets slammed for it. We often look at Charlie Brown as a bit of a schlemiel, the hapless person who cannot keep from stepping into the mud. But I think Charlie Brown is admirable. He will say the truth even if he suffers for it. To be Charlie Brown is often very hard and I have to really motivate myself when it is time to be him.

The drash, or explanation of all of this is a question. How often are we Linus, Lucy, or Charlie Brown? All three exist within each of us. How do we balance these different personality traits? Where ever we fit in this comic strip says much about who we are and how we relate to others.

Now for the sod, the hidden meaning to all of this. There is Torah everywhere. It is all around us. Even in the comics.

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Understanding Leviticus from the Steps of the Capital

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on March 6, 2014| 1 Comment »

            It was surreal; waiting with some pillars of the budding Moral Monday movement, inside the old Florida capital building.  The old capital was the staging area, with the speeches presented from its steps facing the new capital building.  The crowd gathered in the courtyard between the two capital buildings.  Waiting with me were Rev. William Barber, the North Carolina pastor from the NAACP, who has been a key mover in establishing the Moral Monday movement. He was in town to teach, to inspire, to help cobble together a coalition clergy who would embrace a range of issues affecting the poor and minorities; not on a partisan basis, but on a moral basis.  He would go on to give a thundering speech calling upon Floridians to dare to reach higher.  Along side Rev. Barber was the Rev. Russell Meyer, head of the Florida council of churches.  Rev. Meyer has been a prophetic voice on many moral issues in Florida.  I had most recently met him while lobbying against an Arizona style immigration bill about 3 years ago.  Rev. Barber and Rev. Meyer were only two of the many impressive prophetic voices to mount the steps that day.

Across from us was the current capital building.  Inside, staffers and legislators were preparing to open session – which officially started on Tuesday.  I have been part of that numerous times as well.  I know the ritual.  Prayer is given to invoke the presence of God.  There is a roll call and a welcoming by House and Senate leadership in a symbolic joint session.  Homage is paid to bi partisanship.  Everyone extols the virtues of Florida, democracy, the sacred privilege of serving the people.  By the next day the ritual will revert to business as usual; which means that the priests of state government will respond not to the people but professional lobbyists, work to consolidate their own power, vote on strict partisan lines, and entertain a host of bills that do little to further the prosperity of the state, often giving a platform to politicians hubristic preening – all preparing their path to a higher political office (a promotion in civil priesthood).  The form, i.e. the ritual of government is maintained.  The content seems empty.

That is how I have come to view our state politicians:  as the priests of the political system.  So here is the scene Monday.  On the steps of one capital is an array of clergy.  They are a prophetic voice, exhorting the moral necessity of proper education of our youth, the need for medical care extended to the poor, the preservation of voting rights for the disenfranchised, and the need to end the culture of violence that pervades our state.  Across from them in the other capital, are the priests of state government, who are neither connected to, nor caring about the message being delivered and cheered outside their office windows.

It is here I gain insight into Leviticus.  It sets the stage for the conflict between priest and prophet that will underscore the history of ancient Israel.  Leviticus, you see, presents the system as it SHOULD be.  It presents a system in its ideal.  The goal of the system is very clear.  In order to thrive, the Israelites believed everyone must participate in promoting the presence of God in the community.  Jacob Milgrom, in his commentary on Leviticus, explains this theology.  The Israelites believed there were only 2 acting agents in the world, God and humanity.  There were no demons, no demi-gods.  The wellbeing of the world depended on the interplay between God and humanity.  Humanity had the ability to promote or expel God’s presence in a number of ways.  There were impurities that could cause it to retreat, disease, uncontrolled blood flow, molds – a great number of things that are now easily explained and controlled.   But to the Israelites these were mysteries that repelled God’s presence.  After an appropriate treatment for the condition, a sacrifice was offered.  The pleasing odor sent up to God was a smoke signal, if you will, that humans had rectified the condition and done the appropriate ritual act to punctuate the remedy.

The same process applied to moral and ethical situations.  The chatat offering (misunderstood when translated as “sin” offering) was the ritual that signaled a moral transgression had been corrected.  If a person transgressed and caused harm to another person or to the community, they did the proper correction and offered a sacrifice to signal that fact.  Even if the transgression was not intentional, the Levitical system mandated that there was a responsibility to correct the wrong.  Lack of culpability did not absolve from the responsibility of the remedy.  Further, if someone experienced the blessing of good fortune, they offered a special sacrifice to signal their gratitude.   All of this (and much more) created a complex system in which individuals participated in the maintenance of God’s presence in the community.  Every Jew had a stake in this outcome.

The role of the priest was to facilitate the participation of the people.  When a sacrificial remedy needed to be offered, the person brought the animal to the priest, who received it on their behalf through a ceremony in which hands were laid on the animal to transfer the authority over it for sacrifice.  The individual might indeed do the slaughter (or the priest could as well), but Nachmanides teaches that only the priest could bring the blood necessary for the ritual from the animal into the altar area.  Unlike the Catholic priesthood of the past 2 millennia, Israelite priests were not God’s representatives to the people, but the people’s agents in dealing with God.

But we know that the system went awry.  The priesthood became too enamored with its own power, seeing the offerings as a collection of material for the maintenance of their power and not as part of their function as agents for the community in maintaining the presence of God.  This is a central message of the Hebrew prophets of the 8th and 7th centuries BCE.  This famous passage from Amos 5:22 – 24 typifies the message of the prophets:

“Though you offer me burnt offerings and meal offerings, I will not accept

them; nor will I regard the peace offerings of your fat beasts.

Take away from me the noise of your songs; for I will not listen to the

melody of your lutes.

But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream.”

Repetitions of that message occur in Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Hosea.

The core of prophetic criticisms includes the following.  First, the ritual of sacrifice is NOT God’s central concern.  Rather, God wants us to care for the well being of ALL people in the community.  The Hebrew prophets emphasized enforcement of the moral laws of Leviticus (see Chapter 19 as a great example) over the ritual of the sacrificial system.  As a corollary, the priesthood is indicted as a power hungry, corrupt institution not serving the needs of the community.   This is emphasized by the Talmud in tractate Yoma by the criticisms leveled against the priesthood of the second Temple.

Thus we have the summary of a central battle in the history of the development of Judaism, indeed all religion.  Of what use is ritual, and the institutions and offices that support ritual, if it is devoid of a tie to moral purpose?  In other words, priest versus prophet.  Of what use is the form of religious observance without moral content?  Let me make this real and relevant to the now.

As we light our Shabbat candles, and celebrate services, there are layers of purpose, of meaning.  Yes, the music is beautiful, and there is joy and meaning in praying and singing together.  Yet, there is also a call to something deeper, something that should stir in the souls of all Jews.  Let me make this real by sharing the issues from Moral Monday:

1)   Medical coverage for the poor.  Allowing emergency rooms be the ad hoc medical providers for the uninsured costs the system money.  Far more efficient is to extend Medicaid to more people.  Florida is rejecting this money.  This not only makes no sense from a financial perspective, but more importantly from a moral perspective

2)   Florida has had a rash of violent incidents arising from angry people with easy access to guns.  Whether you believe the guns are to blame or the people are to blame, we must address this culture of violence.  Current Stand Your Ground laws might be partly to blame.

3)   Our educational system is failing too many students.  This feeds the school to prison pipeline.  It is a waste of human capital.  Education is a key to raising people out of poverty.

4)   If we are truly a democracy, then laws that encourage voting are a must.  Attempts to limit voter participation through the red herring of voter fraud is just immoral.

Do you see the same connection to the conflict between priest and prophet in the Hebrew Bible that I do?  We observe the rituals of government, but without a content that serves the people with the least.  We invoke the name of God to bless these rituals.  But do we really believe the presence of God is invited to our community when a representative declares, as I heard at a committee hearing last year, that he would be honored to be the person to execute a convicted criminal.  Is expressing glee over the prospect of killing someone, even a criminal really promoting the presence of God?

Leviticus teaches that there is a way to marry ritual and morality, institution and community ethic in ways that create a place for the Divine.  If we blissfully celebrate Shabbat without feeling a sense of the moral call of Jewish tradition, we are repeating the failings of our ancestors when they focused on the form of the sacrificial system instead of the motive behind it.  The ideal expressed in the opening chapters of Leviticus, that ritual can be married to ethic and that the divine presence is in the hands of everyone in the community from priest (leader) to citizen, is achievable; but only if we demand it to be so.

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The End Is Just a Beginning

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , on February 27, 2014| 1 Comment »

If nothing else, the Torah teaches that the moment we think something is complete, our work is really just beginning.  That paradigm is present in the very beginning of Genesis, after the work of creation is described in chapter 1, chapter 2 begins with the words, vayachulu hashamayim v’ha’aretz.  We usually translate this as, “the heavens and the earth were completed.”  But, as Hebrew grammarians know, the verb form is in the future tense with a conversive letter vav in front that converts the word from future to past.  So we could translate the phrase as “and the heavens and the earth WILL be completed.”  The implication being that we will complete the work God began at some point in the future.  More than an implication, much of Jewish tradition poses that as human responsibility.

One aspect of that completion occurs in this week’s Torah portion, Pikudei.  Under Moses’ direction, the Israelites complete the work on the mishkan, the portable sanctuary that will rest in the center of their camp in which God’s presence settles.  Indeed, the very end of the Torah portion, the closing in fact, to the whole Book of Exodus, is the settling of God’s presence into the completed mishkan.  This is a powerful moment, one which punctuates what I see as the theme for the entire Book of Exodus – the process by which a distant, disconnected God, becomes the center for the community.

Yes, Exodus is the story of an enslaved people gaining freedom and then responsibility.  But think of the relationship between the Israelites and God, and how it progresses throughout the book.  The first two chapters are devoted to the plight of the Children of Israel in Egypt.  It is only at the end of the 2nd chapter that God even takes notice of them.  A hero/leader (Moses) is selected by God, in a distant location.  For most of Exodus, communication between Moses and God is on a mountain top, eventually within sight of the people, but decidedly separate from the community.  The first attempt to place God in the center is misguided, even idolatrous.  The episode of the Golden Calf is highlighted by violence, failed leadership, and the narcissism of the worship (the Hebrew word letzachek which describes the worship carries connotations of immoral sexual behavior).  The creating of the Golden Calf is born out of fear.  Everything about it is wrong and goes wrong.

The completion of the mishkan in this week’s Torah portion is the community’s remedy to the false start of the Golden Calf.  The contributions are not violently taken, they are freely offered from the heart.  Further, it is not just material contributions, but contributions of artistry and skill as well.  Leaders for the project are put forth to the people for their endorsement.  Ba’al Haturim comments that leaders cannot function without the consent of the community.  It is well organized communal work, with a purpose – to construct a place that is fitting for the presence of God in the absolute center of the community.   As the work is completed, Moses blesses them.  At this point midrash detects connections to creation.

Moses’ blessing over the people is seen as a parallel to God’s blessing over the first humans per Genesis1:28.  God blesses them and tells them to fill the earth – God’s creation.  After Moses’ blessing God will fill the people’s creation – the mishkan, in a wonderful piece of circularity that teaches us something about the interconnection of the human and the divine.  This moment gives the rabbinic sages a chance to ask another question about the first chapter in Genesis, that details the week of creation.

The description of the first day ends with vayahi erev, vayahi boker, yom echad, “there was evening, there was morning, day one.”  The use of the Hebrew echad, one, is different from the words used for the other days of creation.  The rest of the days end with a number adjective, such as “second,” “third,” etc.  Why does Torah use the number “one” instead of saying “a first day?”  One answer provided by midrash is that the word rishon or “first” is reserved for the first day of the new relationship between God and the children of Israel – the day in which their work is completed so that God can be present within the community.  Now comes the complication.

Just as the beginning of Genesis tells us that the work of creation will be completed, so too does the work of maintaining God’s presence within the community need to be completed.  Yes, the stage of the physical labor, of building the sanctuary is complete.  However, the history of Israel, the history of Jews, is one in which we are constantly laboring, with moments of success and moments of failure, to keep God’s presence in our community.  We can never stop the work of keeping God present in our center.  It is hard work to prevent God from becoming distant, disconnected.  The end of one kind of work only leads to the beginning of the next round of necessary work.  And this kind of work is not about building projects, but infusing the divine qualities of morality and justice into our communities.

Which brings me to the needed work of the moment.  The state of Florida, much like North Carolina, has taken a hard right turn that is to the detriment of underserved populations.  The most outrageous is the limiting of voter rights by attempts to purge voter roles of supposedly illegitimate voters.  The targets of these purges are overwhelmingly minorities, and pretty much every case has been dismissed.  These voters are proven to be legitimate.  Florida, like North Carolina is focusing on a statistically nonexistent issue (voter fraud) that feels very much like an attempt to limit minority voting.  Florida, like North Carolina, is failing in its attempts to educate its students.  The result is the tragic school to prison pipeline that is bolstered by the prison system (both private and state run prisons).  In addition, Florida has a real problem with gun violence resulting from rage, as recent cases in Jacksonville and Tampa illustrate.  Finally, Florida, like North Carolina, refuses to use available federal funds for Medicaid which would extend coverage to thousands of underserved Florida families.

The Moral Monday movement started in North Carolina.  It brings together religious leaders to advocate for solutions to the above problems.  On Monday, March 3, Moral Monday will come to Florida as we gather at the capital to express our concern on these issues.  Not everyone there will agree on all of the solutions proposed.  But we are united by our recognition that these problems are real, and must be addressed.  We are once again trying to build a mishkan, a space for God’s presence to dwell.  But instead of building a physical structure, we hope to create a communal structure of morality and justice that will foster the presence of divinity at the center of our community.

Please join me between 10 AM and 2 PM, Monday, March 3 at the Florida capital in Tallahassee, as we begin our work anew.

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