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Each Child Is One and Cannot Be Counted

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , on February 14, 2014| Leave a Comment »

            The birth of a child (or in my case last Saturday a grandchild) is a sobering moment, an event that spurs reflection and even, perhaps, a bit of revelation.  My granddaughter, Libby Mae, was born last Shabbat morning.  I got word of her arrival just before Shabbat morning services.  By mid morning Sunday we were in the hospital meeting her.  First impression – she looks a lot like our older granddaughter Amelia did as a baby.  Indeed, all three grandchildren share brown eyes, similar eyes, nose and mouth, and full heads of hair as newborns.  Same parentage seems to get similar results.  But as we spent the week with her, perhaps not really.

Already I can see significant differences in Libby, now only 6 days old, and her older siblings – even in personality.  There is no doubt about her relationship to them, but there is also no doubt that she is going to be her own, very individual person.  She will be nobody’s clone, unlike any other child.  She will be one of a kind and cannot be counted.

What do I mean by that?  Well, even though I am officially “off duty” from my congregation this week (on new grandparent duty), I know that this week’s Torah portion is Ki Tisa.  It begins with the call for a census of the children of Israel.  That process in Hebrew is described as tisa et rosh, a lifting of the head.  Each person being counted is given a half shekel, which in turn is given as an offering to God at the central sanctuary.  Then the half shekels are counted.  It is my teacher from HUC, Dr. Michael Chernick, who taught us that this was a way of recognizing that individual souls are different and cannot be counted.  Counting, i.e. numbering, can only be of objects, not of people.  He went on to say that the reason the tattooing of numbers on Jews at the concentration camps was so utterly debasing, is that it reduced them to things, as opposed to recognizing each as an individual.  Jewish tradition respects the individuality of each person.  Each child, each person, is one of a kind and cannot be counted.

In this way, at least according to classical Jewish mysticism, we are b’tzelem Elohim, in the image of God.  For God is described in texts by kabbalists such as Luria and Cordevero as “one that cannot be counted.”  Now we add to this the description of the process of the census as “the lifting of the head.”  The process of conducting the census should not just be a way to arrive at a number of people, but to do so in a way that elevates their individuality.  The Jewish lesson is simple and clear:  people are not commodities.

Which now brings me to a wider observation.  Despite a lot of professions of concern for the individual, or for individual rights, by any part of the political spectrum, the resulting rhetoric is often a reduction of individuals to statistics – a demeaning of the individual.  For example, candidate Mitt Romney’s infamous “47%” remark is a reflection of the wider oft stated conservative view (particularly on cable news and talk radio) that the country is divided into makers and takers.  This ignores the individual circumstances that lead any individual to “take” advantage of government support.  They include, those who actually are “takers,” hard working poor in jobs that do not pay enough to support their families, farmers taking government subsidies, rich corporations receiving special tax credits, single parents trying to get an education to lift themselves up while supporting a child, and many, many more individual stories.  We can agree or disagree with any of these stories, but to categorize large groups by statistics, while useful for understanding the makeup of a population, cannot be a basis for making moral judgments on ANY of the individuals involved.

The left is culpable as well, by making judgments on those who make up the “one percent” as greedy, narcissistic power grabbers.  While there are some who might be, each person has an individual story, many of them inspiring, some disturbing.  My point is that by characterizing an individual by the statistical group they fall into we are failing to honor and respect individuals.  Torah asserts, in the beginning of this week’s Torah portion as well as many other times (see parashot Kiddoshim and Shoftim as examples) that one should not show deference to either the rich or the poor.  People, regardless of where they fall on the statistical economic scale, are worthy of respect for their individuality.

What makes Ki Tisa a particularly poignant Torah portion, from my perspective, is that it begins with a way to carefully respect individual souls while undergoing a statistical measurement.  Following that is an example of what happens when individuals fail to think for themselves and take on a mob mentality – idolatry results (the worship of the Golden Calf) with disastrous results for the community.

There are many steps that need to be taken in order to create individuals who feel respected, but not entitled.  Proper education, access to well compensated jobs, a reduction of the rhetoric of hatred spewed by cable TV and talk radio – to name just a few.  But it all begins with how we view that new child.  So I say, each child is one that cannot be counted.

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An Angel (malach) in More Ways Than One

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , on January 24, 2014| 1 Comment »

m An Angel (malach) in More Ways Than One

            This week’s Torah portion, Mishpatim, is mostly an elaboration of the law code Moses receives on Israel’s behalf.  Then, after the litany of laws comes to an end, Torah gives us this passage, “Behold, I am sending an angel before you to guard you on the way and to bring you to the place which I have made ready.  Take heed of him and listen to his voice.  Do not rebel against him for he will not bear your transgressions as my name is within him.”  The angel (malach) is to guide the people’s way to the Promised Land.

In my first year of Rabbinic School in Jerusalem, one of my classmates gave a d’var Torah on that passage.  She proposed that the angel was, in fact, Moses, who while not a divine being, was the bearer of holiness on behalf of the people.  It was Moses who was the link between the Divine and the children of Israel, being a combination of guardian, leader, guide and teacher.  Indeed, this last role, that of teacher, is forever concretized by our referring to Moses as Moshe Rabbeinu – Moses our teacher.  She supported her argument by the fact that no where in either the torah portion or the rest of the book of Exodus does an angel appear.  She points to Nachmanides commentary that a divine being was not necessary while Moses was alive.  Moses was the bearer of God’s power on God’s behalf, indicated by the pharase, “my name is within him.”

My classmate made another great point in her sermon.  Each of us studying to be rabbis had the same potential as Moses to be a malach.  As we guide people in times of need, teach the mitzvoth, or lead in the acts of prayer – each of us has the potential to be the link between the human and the divine.  Each of us has the potential to lead those around us to a Promised Land – a place of deeper Jewish understanding, of spiritual and people connection.  It was a beautiful d’var Torah and I particularly liked the way she saw the angel as a teacher of Torah, facilitating Jewish learning on all levels.  I think, however, there is an application of the verse, of the concept of people as malachim that goes beyond being teachers within the Jewish world.

This fall I began mentoring a little boy in an elementary school.  He is 6 years old – a first grader.  He is from a family that is clearly not well off and has trouble providing the learning support he will need to achieve any degree of success in this world.  He is struggling with math, not so unusual really.  My job as his mentor is to help him learn some basic math concepts so that he will not become another angry adolescent in 6 or 7 years – frustrated with a system he could not learn and ready to rebel against the institution that seemed to cause his frustration.  That would be such a shame, as he is a really sweet little kid, who is thrilled when he does well and gives the right answer.  But the point of this is not either me as mentor or the boy as student.

I had not set foot in an elementary school classroom since my own daughters were grade schoolers – over 20 years ago.  Even then, I was there for school conferences, a rather controlled environment.  I had no sense of what it was like to be a teacher, trying to bring a room full of students to greater understanding of the subjects and skills that will shape their ability to succeed.  I do now.

Over the last several weeks, I have gotten to know the little boy’s teacher (I will call her Ms. F) and to see the conditions in which she must teach.  Keep in mind, this school is not considered a deprived or troubled school, but an example of the average school in our district – which by the way is considered one of the better ones in Florida.  The room is an open classroom.  Ms. F must teach 20 first graders in one corner of the open classroom, with 3 other classes going on in the other corners.  If a child is not an exceptionally focused child, it seems impossible for them to concentrate on their work properly.  I know that the 6 year old version of myself could not.

This week the teacher expressed her frustration in her inability to keep all 20 of her charges progressing at the rate needed for them to pass to second grade.  She was distraught that the little boy I tutor was falling further behind.  I assured her it was not her fault.  Indeed, I am in awe that she is able to keep the vast majority of the students learning and progressing.  I thought of the verse I quoted from this week’s Torah portion and realized that she is a malach trying to lead this room full of children to the Promised Land of education – the doorway to having any quality of life.

But what happened next blew me away.  The children had just come in from the playground and were having their snacks – which are supposed to come from home.  My student had no snack and said he was hungry.  Ms. F took a box of wheat thins from a shelf, a box she brought from her own pantry, and gave the boy a snack.  As I related this, in amazement to others during the course of this week, I learned that most teachers do this.  In fact, most teachers pay for school supplies the district will not get for their classrooms as well as provide snacks for children who have none.  These teachers are malachim in many more ways than one.  Not only do they work to educate children against the odds of bad facilities, too many students in the classroom, uncooperative parents who blame the teacher for every mishap – but try to provide where all other supposed participants in the process fail to provide.

Now for the part that makes me angry.  No profession is more disrespected than teachers.   I am sure Ms. F makes no more than 37 K per year.  How can we, as a society allow children’s education to wallow in such mediocrity?  Why are we not honoring and paying teachers who give so much of themselves to the students?  Just as the Torah tells us God’s name is placed within the angel leading the Israelites, I believe God’s name rests within each teacher as well.  If we do right by them, we will take a great step towards not failing our children.

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Understanding the 70 Voices

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on January 16, 2014| 4 Comments »

This is the week of divine revelation.  Parashat Yitro describes the unveiling of God’s central charge to the children of Israel.  Jews understand that the 10 commandments revealed in this week’s parashah are just a preamble to a much larger law code.  But that preamble is important, even critical.  It sets parameters for the relationship between the people and God.  The magnificence of the scene, the display of lightening and thunder, commands the people’s attention.  As this part of divine revelation concludes, we get a rather mysterious sentence, “v’chol ha’am ro’im et hakolot.” Which we could translate as, “And all of the people saw the voices.”

The natural reaction is to ask how the people could “see” voices?  How does one see sound?  Midrash Exodus Rabbah provides this insight into the verse:  “Rabbi Jochanan said that God’s voice, as it was uttered, split up into 70 voices, in 70 languages, so that all nations should understand.”  This midrash has been read and taught numerous times to demonstrate how the Torah is meant for everyone.  It is not the exclusive property of the Jewish people.  Other midrashim affirm this.  For example, one teaches that the reason Torah was given in the wilderness and not in the land of Israel was that all would understand it as the property of everyone.

Too often we fail to read the next sentence of the midrash, “When each nation heard the Voice in their own language their souls departed, except for Israel who heard but were not hurt.”  Rabbi Tanhuma then adds to this explaining, “The word of God went out in two aspects, slaying the heathen who would not accept it but giving life to Israel who accepted the Torah.”  Are we to conclude from this midrash that only Israel was worthy of revelation?  Clearly, this teaching conveys, that for at least that initial moment of revelation, only Israel accepted Torah as their life’s guide –  the basis for life and community.  But is that the end of the story?  Is this hint at a universal message really just a way to highlight Israel’s exceptionalism?

I believe this slice of Torah gives us a chance to examine the unique Jewish perspective on the relationship of the individual to the community.  It is all of Israel that witnesses and receives revelation.  They are a corporate unit, not a collection of individuals.  Just before revelation begins Torah tells us, “vayichan sham Yisra’el neged hahar,” “Israel camped there in front of the mountain.”  (Exodus 19:2) The verb “camped” is in the third person singular – the implication being that Israel is one, unified entity.  Although there were hundreds of thousands in the camp, for this formative moment, they were united as one.  Thus is the prelude to the declaration of law.

The first four commandments establish a relationship between the people and God.  The last five lay out the bare rudiments of interactions between individuals.  The fifth commandment stands out as a transition, and too often we do not read the complete commandment; “Honor your father and mother, that you may long endure on the land which Adonai your God is giving you.”  By only looking at the first clause, we see this commandment simply as an individual’s obligation to respect their parents.  But there is so much more.  Maimonides, in his Mishneh Torah, outlines what this commandment means.  It is not just showing respect for those who bore and raised you, but the obligation to provide for them as they become aged and infirmed.  You might not be able to do this yourself for a variety of reasons, so, according to Maimonides, you can place them in the care of others better equipped to meet their needs.  Your obligation, in that case, is to be assiduous in assuring that the caregivers are giving the appropriate care.  However, if we see this only as an individual obligation, we are misreading the text and intent of the law, the 10 commandments; indeed the entirety of Torah.

Remember, this revelation is for all of Israel as one unit, one community.  The singular forms are not just directed to individuals within the camp, but to the entire nation of Israel.  All must honor and care for the elderly in the community.  And that brings us to the last part of the verse, “that you may long endure on the land that Adonai your God is giving you.”  Our ability to properly provide for our elderly is a test of our society, our community.  If we do so properly, our community will endure.  If we do not, it is then a sign of a sickness infesting our corporate body.  The current discussions concerning social security and Medicare now take on a different meaning, imply a different consequence.

I recently attended a program by The Village Square that discussed our country’s budget deficits as well as the run away costs of these two programs.  The discussion was disturbing.   There was a lot of offering critique but not of offering solutions; encapsulating the political system’s inability to address real problems.  The fixes to social security are fairly obvious.  It must be a combination of adjusting the benefits to current actuarial facts, raising the income limit that can be taxed, and means testing.  Some combination of these will ensure that those of our elderly and disabled who need the program will get it.  The economist on the panel blamed Medicare for much of the budget deficit, calling for “market based” solutions to health care issues.  Yet, Medicare is the hero of the health care system when allowed to function properly.  For example, Medicare puts many services and health care supplies out for competitive bidding, which ensures the lowest prices – a market based solution.  However, it is not allowed to do so for drugs, as congress is lobbied by the giant pharmaceutical firms to prevent Medicare from subjecting drugs to competitive bidding.  Medicare spends only 2% of the money it takes in on administrative costs, with 98% of its dollars going for patient care.  Few private insurance companies even come close to that percentage.  Clearly, if Medicare were allowed to operate at its greatest efficiency, its available dollars would be stretched much further – again helping to provide care to those who need it while saving costs.

This one example, taken from the commandment to care for our parents, illustrates the illness infecting our country.  We see too many of our rights as individual without any communal obligation.  We see the singular language of revelation as directed only to the individual and not to the communal whole.  Which brings us back to the question of what Israel saw when they “saw the voices.”  Naftali Tzvi Horowitz in his Zera Kodesh says that the people saw the very first letter of divine revelation, the alef from the opening words anochi Adonai Elohecha, “I am Adonai your God.”  Why is this significant?  If you look carefully at an alef, you will see the bare outline of a human face, two eyebrows and a nose in the middle.  By only hinting at the shape of a face, the alef could be anyone’s and every person’s face.  At that moment Israel saw the face of others, and that each face of each other was reflected in God.  It was the beginning of understanding revelation not as for the self, but for the whole.  When we recognize the humanity in others, and their Godly connection, we begin to consider each other, not just ourselves, in our actions and calculations.

And what about the 70 voices?   What is it that made the other nations afraid and give up their souls despite hearing revelation?   Perhaps they were not ready to lessen the natural human obsession with the self and personal gain.  Perhaps they were not ready to accept a system which commands a real caring for others.   Israel, being forged in the furnace of slavery, of oppression, understood the consequences of the lesson.  They were ready to give their souls life by bonding as a community to the moral code God was sharing.  Perhaps this midrash is just a way of teaching that if we are not willing to stop focusing on the self, if we live only by the mantra of personal gain, we do indeed lose our souls.

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Navigating the Relationship Between Jews and Christmas

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , on December 26, 2013| 1 Comment »

The angst was palpable.  A question on the CCAR Facebook page asked if we rabbis were disturbed by the posting of pictures showing members of our congregations with Christmas trees or Santa Clause.  I was guilty of the knee jerk reaction “yes, it bothers me.”  Over the next few days there were dozens of responses exploring various aspects of the reality of Jews celebrating Christmas, a look at the hows and whys.  Theories abounded about what we could/should do, and about what it all means.  The only clear conclusion is how much we do not know about the motives of Jews appearing in Christmas related photos and whether it is a marker of their true Jewish commitment.

In truth, I am not sure why I had that immediate negative knee jerk reaction.  It might be related to Christmas as the yearly focal point of Christian hubris in America.  I, like many Jews, am tired of the annual complaints by some Christians about the “War on Christmas.”  I am tired of the assumption by most Americans that everyone celebrates Christmas.  I am tired of the tokenism shown in public schools by the inclusion of one lame Chanukah song along with all of the beautiful Christmas music.  Which leads to another reason I might resent Christmas.  As a music lover, I have to admit that Christmas music is generally lovely, while most of the music created for Chanukah is, to put it bluntly, awful.  Perhaps most of all, I am tired of explaining that Chanukah is a minor holiday that represents no core theological value of Judaism.  Teaching about Chanukah teaches very little about the beauty of Jewish thought, texts, spiritual practice or the power of the Biblically mandated chagim.  The proximity to Christmas elevates the importance of Chanukah and I do resent that.

But, if I am honest with myself, I have had a perfectly pleasurable personal relationship with Christmas my entire life.  As a little boy spending much of my childhood in Fairmont, W. VA, I learned every Christmas carol and enjoyed singing them.  I was cast as Joseph in my Kindergarten Christmas play because I was the only student who could sing a Hebrew song to Mary on the way to Bethlehem.  My parents were close friends with a Baptist minister.  We would go trim their tree every year.  I sat on Santa’s lap in the local department store.  I went caroling with my Christian friends.  As an adult I dressed up as Santa Clause for my wife’s pre-school.  Indeed, I remember having a rather clever answer when one 4 year old asked why they could not hear my reindeer on the roof of the school.  I said it was because they were all wearing socks.  During the years my children were in grade school I went to our neighbor’s Christmas party and caroled with them.  Everyone got a kick out of the fact I knew the words to all the songs better than any of the Christians.

My parents, however, provided a very committed Jewish home.  My dad was a survivor and there was little doubt about our involvement in synagogue or any doubt at all about our Jewish identity.  Christmas did not enter our home.  Celebrating Christmas was what we did to share a fun time with non Jewish friends at their homes.  It had zero religious meaning for us.

A few years ago, my daughter Carrie, who is married to a non-Jew, demonstrated an updated version of this.  She hosted a Christmas gathering for her husband’s family.  His family is not religious.  Christmas for them is all about getting together as a family.  The reason my daughter hosted was hat her husband’s parents live in Cape Cod and his brother’s family live in West Virginia.  Living in Philadelphia at the time, Carrie realized her house was the mid point.  She made a point of telling me, “Don’t worry Dad, we are not having a Christmas tree or anything.  I kind of think this is doing a mitzvah so no one is burdened by too much driving.”  I had to agree with her.  Her husband is completely supportive of raising a Jewish family.  He has taken an Intro to Judaism class with Carrie, been to Israel with her and only celebrates the Jewish holidays.  His brother’s wife had just had a new baby and their hosting Christmas was out of consideration for the rest of his family.

All of this brings me to two observations.  First, for much of our country, Christmas is part of the emerging American civil religion.  Similar to Thanksgiving, Christmas is more about family and promoting general good will.  For years I have argued with congregants over the various Christmas symbols.   I do not agree that they are just pagan icons adapted into Christianity.  Symbols such as the tree, lights, wreaths, luminaries, Santa, and even the giving of gifts all have deep Christian symbolism.  For years I have urged people to reject these Christmas trappings as they DO reflect a religious perspective.  No one cares.  To the consternation of Christian clergy, all of these symbols are losing or have lost their Christian meanings.  They are just part of the general civil celebration of a happy winter solstice holiday.  Indeed, if there is any religion being celebrated by all Christmas participants, it is the religion of capitalism.  All of this is not what I am used to, but it is the reality.

The second lesson is probably more important.  As Jewish ethnicity melts away in America, Jews become more comfortable with all things Christmas.  The increase of interfaith families means that children being raised Jewish participate in family Christmas celebrations.  The boundaries keeping Jews and Christians separate are fast disappearing.  But, here is the important part, none of this prevents someone from being a committed Jew – if that is what they wish to do.  I have many congregants who, for a variety of reasons participate in Christmas celebrations.  I also see how most of these are deeply committed to our Jewish community, supporting it on many levels.  I have seen their children become far more Jewishly literate than the parents – while the parents (many of them not even Jewish) take pride in their children’s Jewish accomplishments and commitments.  These families are able to compartmentalize very differently than I do.

The problem is not that Christmas is ruining the Jewish commitment of Jews.  The problem is that Jewish institutions are not providing enough meaningful Jewish content to help Jews keep Christmas in its proper perspective.  Just because the world is shifting in the way boundaries are drawn does not mean Jews are turning away from Judaism.  It just means they see the relationship of their Judaism to American culture differently than me.  Those of us in positions to teach and lead have to articulate and demonstrate the beauty and power of Judaism.  Then we have to let go of our angst and trust that our people, if properly inspired, will find their way.

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Who Is Worthy of Our Pride?

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on December 19, 2013| Leave a Comment »

Those who know me know I am an inveterate sports fan.  Specifically I am a great football fan, being very loyal to the Philadelphia Eagles as well as my alma mater, the Pitt Panthers.  It was with chagrin but real admiration that I watched Jameis Winston take Pitt apart in the first game of this season.  It was clear that he is a player of great talent, truly a first rate quarterback.  As is often said in sports, Winston is the “real deal.”

But, this fall has been a football season in which I am rethinking my devotion to football.  On the pro level, there have been revelations about the long term effects of football on pro players.  With sadness I learned how former Pitt player and Dallas Cowboy Tony Dorsett is suffering permanent brain damage marked by memory loss, from the years of taking a constant pounding in the NFL.  The league is not adequately addressing either this or the frequency of players suffering concussions.  I am left wondering if football is really just as bad as boxing – nothing but gratuitous violence.

As to high school football, I have been reading some articles showing that high school education would benefit if varsity sports, especially football, were removed from school culture.  We are one of the few countries that connect competitive sports to our public education system.  All of the benefits of competitive sports could be had through participation in club sports.  The presence of varsity sports in high schools is appearing to be detrimental to creating a positive learning environment in high schools.  School districts that have eliminated varsity sports, particularly football (admittedly a small sample) have seen an increase in their students academic scores.

The grossest expressions of football culture, however, occur on the college level.  There are multiple problems: the inferior education given black players compared to white players, the veracity of the athletes truly being students, grade fixing…the list seems endless.  But perhaps the worst part of football in colleges is idol worship of the players, i.e. the elevation of players to hero status and subsequently forgiving the awful behavior of players needed to keep the team winning.  I saw this with Dorsett at Pitt in the 1970’s.  We are seeing it again with Jameis Winston at FSU right now.  This has become most apparent now that Winston has won the Heisman Trophy – college football’s highest award – last Saturday.  Look at the Facebook postings regarding Winston.  Countless posted how proud they were of Winston.  All of this was accompanied by the requisite “Go Noles!” along with the wish he leads the team to a national championship.  He is garnering accolades as a leader.  His success on the field, coupled with the award and all of the accolades declaring how proud people are of him, make Winston an example to young men all over the country.  He is now showered with fame and praise.

I have to ask if this is appropriate.  Why?  Well consider Winston’s escape from prosecution for a sexual abuse charge.  The whole affair is sordid no matter what the outcome.  The worst case scenario is this:  Winston escaped prosecution because State Attorney Willie Megg’s office could not or would not piece together enough of a case to charge him.  Once Meggs announced there would be no case brought against Winston. His exoneration caused a palpable sigh of relief in the football world.  That freed Heisman voters to cast their ballots for him (although there were 113 voters who did not even list him, which means they had moral difficulties with even considering him).  This leads us to the best case scenario surrounding Winston’s sexual episode.  He and the young woman had consensual sex, both of them as part of serial sexual behavior with multiple partners. Winston’s roommates watched them have sex through the open door to his bedroom because that is “what football players do.”  This is whom we wish to laud?

Do not get me wrong.  I am not a prude nor do I blame Winston.  He is merely the product of a culture that empowers those participating in football to play by different rules because of their contribution to the team’s success.  Absent such an obvious crime that conviction is inescapable, there are few moral consequences for football players.  All college players have to do is see the list of NFL players who get passes for behavior which would result in real punishment for the rest of us.  Few people really cared if the woman in the incident was truly abused.  Some even saw this as a plot to sabotage Winston’s Heisman hopes and FSU’s quest for a national title.  In addition, there were those who immediately vilified the young woman.

Most of all, I just cannot be proud of someone whose most noteworthy trait is the ability to throw and run with a football – no matter what kind of a fan I am.  I cannot be proud of someone who operates under this moral cloud.  Football would just be a trivial game if not for the dollars it generates.  The elevation of its players to hero status is a form of idolatry of the worse kind when it happens in the absence of admirable moral behavior.

All of this brings me to another point – who do I really admire?  Who is worthy of our pride?  Who should we look to for providing leadership?

Well, the same day Winston won the Heisman Trophy, a little 8 year old boy died after a long fight with leukemia – Sam Sommer – known to many as “Superman Sam.”  His parents are two rabbis, Phyllis and Michael Sommer.  I do not know them, but all you have to do is read Phyllis’s blog about their journey with Sam to share their grief, to have empathy with them as parents and to admire Sam’s courage as he faced death as well as their courage as they wrestled with their loss and shared this pain with the world.  You can read Phyllis’s entry the day of Sam’s death here:  http://supermansamuel.blogspot.com/2013/12/what-im-missing.html

Needless to say I am proud of my colleagues Phyllis and Michael Sommer even though I have never met them.  Needless to say I am proud of Sam for demonstrating the beautiful lessons a child can teach us in the face of the harshest of tragedies.  And I am also quite proud of 36 of my rabbinic colleagues, many of whom I do know, for taking part in a special event at the upcoming rabbinic convention in March.  They will shave their heads as part of a fundraiser for battling childhood cancer.  See the details at this link:  http://www.stbaldricks.org/events/mypage/10921/2014

Who is it that makes me proud?  Yes, it is a little boy who taught us with his courage as he lost his struggle with death.  Yes, it is his parents whose words will help other parents cope with their grief.  Yes, it is 36 rabbis who demonstrate real leadership by rallying around the Sommer family to tangibly contribute to a cure for children’s cancer.  I hope you will join me in supporting their cause.

As to Jameis Winston, the Heisman Trophy, and football in general, none of it has ever seemed more trivial than now.

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Joseph and Bibi’s Booboo

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , on December 12, 2013| Leave a Comment »

As the book of Genesis winds down, Jacob dies.  Joseph and all of his brothers take Jacob back to Canaan to bury him in the family’s burial plots Abraham had purchased 2 generations earlier at Machpelah.  The burial of Jacob rekindles a fear in Joseph’s brothers.  Now that their father is gone, will Joseph finally take vengeance for their selling him into slavery so many years earlier?  That fear compels them to approach Joseph, telling him their father urged them to be sure to ask Joseph’s forgiveness for their offenses after Jacob had died.

Why were they so fearful of revenge after living in Egypt for many years under Joseph’s protection?  Malbim raises two interesting possibilities.  First, while Jacob was alive the presence of their father encouraged mutual brotherly affection and served as a physical reminder of their connection to each other.  Jacob’s death removed that tie.  Second, Malbim states that the most poignant kind of revenge on someone is to mercifully provide their needs.  Then, every crust of bread, every little thing provided serves to remind the perpetrator of the wrong they did.  The constant multiplying and carrying around of that guilt creates the internal tension of waiting for the former victim to exact his revenge.  So it was with Joseph’s brothers.

Ba’al Haturim, however, gives a simpler reason for the brother’s sudden fear of revenge.  On the way back from the burial of Jacob, the procession finds itself at the pit into which Joseph’s brother’s cast him before selling him into slavery in Egypt.  There the brothers hear Joseph recite this blessing, “Blessed is the One who performed a miracle for me in this place.”  The brothers, seemingly incapable of understanding that Joseph could eschew revenge, take his blessing to mean that the matter still weighed on his mind.  So they are shocked when he responds to their plea for forgiveness with the words, “hatachat Elohim ani?” “Am I in place of God?”

Joseph explains to them that God intended their actions for a better, larger purpose.  He was placed in a position to save not only his family, but many people.  Malbim explains that Joseph’s response is not just a simple accepting of fatalism, but an understanding that he dare not exact a revenge under the guise that he is doing God’s will – i.e. that the result will turn out for good not evil as his brothers’ actions did.  Joseph does not presume to understand what God will do in the future.  He is content to know that his current situation is the way God intended and all turned out well.  He has enough strength of faith to not try to be the controlling agent, to accept what has already passed.  Joseph is truly interested in healing, not in revenge.  Rashi adds a more practical reason for Joseph’s refusal to take revenge on his brothers.  They were living proof to the Egyptian people that he was indeed born a free man and not born a slave.  This was important in maintaining his stature as vizier of Egypt.

Malbim and Rashi’s explanations are not mutually exclusive.  Instead, they give us a holistic picture of a leader who blends high minded attitude along with practical considerations for his positions and actions.

Events of this past week show us examples of two men who stand as polar opposites.  One exemplifies Joseph’s combination of the ethical blended with the practical, while the other exemplifies wallowing in pettiness and meanness.  I am referring to the late Nelson Mandela and Bibi Netanyahu.  They are now tied together by Netanyahu’s canceling his attendance at Mandela’s funeral using the expenses of the trip for his excuse.

Mandela’s history has been well reviewed by many sources over the past week.  The overarching story of his life is of a man unjustly imprisoned for 27 years, who refuses to take vengeance upon his release.  Just as Joseph recites a blessing upon visiting the pit of his prison, Mandela invites his former jailers to attend his inauguration as President of South Africa in 1994.  He turns the curese of his imprisonment into blessing.  Mandela’s approach to politics epitomizes the combination of high minded ideals with pragmatism.  He knew that the prosperity of his country took precedence over the emotionalism coming from the end of apartheid.  He did many things to show white South Africa he intended to work for everyone’s best interest.  One example of this is depicted in the movie “Invictus” which tells the story of his garnering support for South Africa’s rugby team – a team that symbolized former white oppression of blacks.

It was the Israeli newspaper Ha’Aretz that broke the story of Netanyahu’s cancellation of his attending the funeral.  It was very interesting to note comments on the article posted on the CCAR Facebook page as this was discussed.  Most telling were those who argued that Netanyahu was justified in not attending the funeral as Mandela had ties with Arafat, was critical of Israeli policy regarding the West Bank and the building of settlements there.  Indeed, a 2001 letter penned to American columnist Thomas Friedman bearing Mandela’s name issues criticism of Israel in the harshest of terms, calling the separation of Israelis and Palestinians “apartheid.”  The language is confrontational, saying that if Friedman is not truly supportive of justice for the Palestinians, including the right of return, that he would “oppose” him.  This letter makes anyone who supports Israel cringe.  This letter is often used to characterize Mandela’s relationship with Israel, especially considering Israel was one of the last countries to maintain diplomatic and economic ties with apartheid South Africa.

However, there is one problem with this letter.  It is a total fake.  It was written by a Palestinian who claimed to be able to speak for Mandela.

What was Mandela’s relationship with Israel and moreover with Jews?  Remember that Jews were economically very successful and very supportive of the white regime in South Africa.  I know this from personal anecdote.  All of my mother’s family is from Germany.  Her father, my grandfather, had 4 brothers.  He was the only one to come to America in the 1930’s.  The rest went to South Africa, becoming quite successful.  When I was 11 years old, some of them were visiting our family in America.  This was at a time when the US had experienced a number of summers filled with race riots in major cities.  I remember very clearly these relatives sitting in our living room telling my parents that Americans did not know how to handle their “coloreds.”  Even at 11 I knew something was wrong about that statement, mostly because our rabbi had been relating to us his experiences marching with Dr. King in various freedom marches.  My point of all this is that would have been understandable if Mandela harbored resentment against Jews and Israel.

Yet he did not.  Indeed, he formed very good relations with the Jewish community in South Africa, appreciating their history of suffering in Europe as well as their economic contributions to the country.  He supported Israel’s right to exist even stating that the Arab countries could not expect Israel to make concessions without recognition and guarantees of security.  He met with former Soviet Jewish refuseniks, swapping prison stories with them.  While he certainly had criticisms of Israeli policies, he understood and sympathized with the history of the Jewish people.  This is attested to by Abraham Foxman of the ADL among other Jewish leaders.

And Netanyahu?  He has a history of obstruction, of torpedoing peace deals even boasting of his ability to kill the original Oslo accords the beginning of his first term as Prime Minister (for complete description of Netanyahu as obstructionist see Michael Hirsh’s article of November 27 in “The National Journal”).  Netanyahu is a leader with little vision and who demonstrates little ability to do anything other than fight to preserve Israel’s status quo.  Unlike Yitzchak Rabin or Ariel Sharon, former military leaders and hawks who evolved to a place of being willing to take risks for peace, Netanyahu has proven to be at best a petty care taker, who uses his background of being raised in America and fluency in English to maintain popularity here.  Even though Israel ended up sending Knesset speaker Yuli Edelstein and a group of Knesset members as a delegation, this episode only serves to contrast Netanyahu’s small mindedness with Mandela’s expansive thinking.

Whether in America, Israel or anyplace in this world, we need leaders who demonstrate Mandela’s combination of high minded ideals with practicality – which results in the ability to compromise and build consensus.  We do not need the pettiness and rigidity that marks so many politicians attempts to do nothing but cling to their positions.  I think we need for all of us to adopt Joseph’s attitude when he responds, “Am I in place of God?’  Perhaps then we can begin to replace hubris with humility.

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Joseph, Judah, and Nelson

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on December 6, 2013| Leave a Comment »

It is a moment of truth, literally and figuratively.  After years of separation, Joseph is confronted by the presence of his brothers; who are in Egypt begging for food to relieve their starving family back in Canaan.  Joseph, having ascended to the pinnacle of power in Egypt, is unrecognizable to his brothers.  He, of course, recognizes them instantly.  And he has played them like a cat plays with a helpless mouse.  He has doled out food to them.  He has inquired about their family.  He sets a trap in which he has taken Benjamin, the youngest brother into custody for the false crime of stealing a cup.  He is threatening to permanently hold him prisoner, which would cause a heartbreak for their father, Jacob.  Only Joseph knows the truth of the situation.  He is using that truth to play with his brothers, to see their reactions.  It has been left to Judah to plead for Benjamin.

That is where this week’s Torah portion begins.  It is a moment pregnant with possibilities.  “Vayigash eilav Yehudah, vayomer, ‘Bi adoni yedabeir na avdecha davar b’oznei.’” “And Judah drew near to him (Joseph) saying, ‘my lord, please, let your sevant speak a word in your ear.’”  Judah is indeed brave to draw near to Joseph.  Joseph holds power.  He holds their fate in his hands.  And as I said, he is the only one who holds the truth.  What indeed is Judah thinking?  Midrash Rabbah gives three perspectives, all based on meanings of the Hebrew word vayigash.  Rabbi Judah says he was drawing near to do battle.  Rabbi Nechemya says he was drawing near for reconciliation.  Some anonymous sages say he was drawing near for prayer.  Certainly the moment contains the potential for each of these, although a battle would be useless as well as hopeless.  As for reconciliation and prayer, they cannot happen in the absence of something else – a relationship.

That is what I think Judah is attempting as he draws near to Joseph – to establish a basis for relationship.  He does so with no facts in hand other than his youngest brother is in danger and the possible result would devastate their father.  He holds no power – only the faith that by taking this risk he will break down a barrier between Joseph and himself.  I base this on some insights by the Sefas Emes, who examines the Hebrew words bi adoni.  Instead of translating these as “my lord,” he translates them as “God is within me.”  Indeed, if one looks at Judah’s name, yod, hey, vav, daled, hey, you can see that the name for God, yod, hey, vav, hey is contained within the letters of Judah’s name.  The presence of God lives within Judah, and Judah is opening his heart to reveal that divine presence.  This is accompanied and affirmed by his willingness to substitute himself as a prisoner for Benjamin.  His acknowledgement that he is already a servant to God gives him the strength to submit to physical servitude to Joseph.  He is taking a tremendous leap of faith.

On some levels this sounds so un-Jewish.  We tend to pride ourselves on the quest for truth, for facts.  We Jews are the rationalists in the religious world.  We stress deeds over faith.  We believe in action before worrying about feeling.  I would argue that Judah’s action is a paradigm for what Jews often forget – a dose of faith can provide the strength for bold action.  At his most vulnerable moment, Judah becomes incredibly strong.  By revealing the God within, he forces Joseph’s hand.  Indeed, Torah tells us that Joseph “could no longer hold back.”  He breaks down sobbing and orders all Egyptians to leave the room and then reveals himself to his brothers.  Judah’s leap of faith sparks Joseph’s revelation of truth.  The movement to create relationship facilitates something quite beautiful.

Now we are mourning the passing of perhaps the last of the great political leaders of the 20th century – Nelson Mandela.  Mandela and Judah have much in common.  Both are very flawed human beings, both having made numerous personal mistakes through their lives.  Both grow from their difficulties, each becoming a person who is able to reach unexpected heights.  Mandela, like Judah, faced overwhelming power.  Sentenced to life imprisonment on charges to overthrow a South African government that supported apartheid in 1964, Mandela never gave up his political principles to purchase freedom from prison.  Rather than shrink, becoming less of a person by his mistakes and his years in prison, he exceeds personal limitations.

His faith grows.  Like Judah he draws near to his opposition, forming a relationship with someone many would have thought impossible.  For after his release from prison in 1991, Mandela entered into a prolonged period of negotiation with South African president Willem De Klerk.  General elections open to all South Africans, regardless of color finally occurred in 1994, resulting in Mandela being elected President.  De Klerk served as his first deputy.

Like Judah, Mandela revealed the power of the Divine that lay within him.  He worked during his term as President to effect reconciliation between blacks and whites in South Africa.  This man who was held in prison for 26 years for daring to oppose apartheid did not allow himself to show malice.  Consider these words from his book, “Long Walk to Freedom.”  “No one is born hating another person because of the color of his skin, or his background, or his religion.  People must learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite.”  The man who entered prison in 1964 could not have written these words.  But the man who emerged in 1991 had come to a different, deeper understanding of the world and lived what he wrote.

Finally, what made Nelson Mandela a great leader was not just his struggle for basic freedoms, but his willingness to take a great leap of faith; to believe that the divine spark, a bit of God, was alive in others, even in his enemies.  He believed that by embracing the presence of God in himself, it would release that presence in others.

The name Joseph (Yoseif)  means “something additional.”  Perhaps that something additional is the God potential in each of us.  Sometimes we need to be able to approach the one who seems like the enemy in order to find that God potential.  Judah’s faith enabled him to find a spark of the divine in Joseph.  He had the courage to act on that faith.  His combination of faith and courage allowed the divine presence to be revealed in Joseph.  Divine light cannot be revealed by staying hidden in the dark.  One has to be willing to step into the light to effect change.  This is exactly how Nelson Mandela believed life was as attested to in his inaugural speech of 1994:

“Perhaps it is not our darkness, but our light that most frightens us.  We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous?  Actually, who are you not to be?  You are a child of God.  Your playing small doesn’t serve the world.  There’s nothing enlightened about your shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you.  We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us.  It’s not just in some of us, it’s in everyone!  And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.”

Zichrono livracha.    May we take inspiration from the life and memory of this great man.  Amen

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Kindling the Lights of Memory (or Thanks for the Memories)

Posted in Uncategorized on November 26, 2013| Leave a Comment »

Kindling the Lights of Memory (or Thanks for the Memories).

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Kindling the Lights of Memory (or Thanks for the Memories)

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on November 26, 2013| Leave a Comment »

 

            The confluence of Chanukah and Thanksgiving brings a flood of wonderful memories.  A lot of my favorite childhood memories come from different Chanukah experiences.  This year as we think about the things for which we are thankful, I realize how rich my childhood was and how important these memories are for my sense of self as an adult.  These are Chanukah lights that flicker in my soul, my inner being.

            Although we lived in West Virginia from the time I was 1 until I was 9, we often spent Chanukah in the Bronx with my Oma and Opa – my grandparents.  Each year the German Jewish community put on a Chanukah party for us kids and that party was highlighted by he appearance of the Chanukah man.  You have not heard of the Chanukah man?  Well he was a kind of pseudo Santa Clause, but dressed up in Tevya style clothes complete with peasant cap, carried a staff with a Jewish star on top and had a long white beard.  When I was 4 I attended one of the parties and was told the Chanukah man would be coming to speak with each of us.  Sure enough, he appeared after we had eaten out latkes to put each of us on his lap and ask if we had been good.  What I did not know was that the Chanukah man was my dad in disguise.  When it was my turn to sit on his lap, I glanced down at his shoes.  Now my dad had to wear special orthopedic shoes, so after looking at the Chanukah mensch’s shoes I said, “Gee Chanukah man, my dad has shoes just like those.”  To which the Chanukah man replied without missing a beat, “Well, we use the same shoemaker.  I see him there all of the time.” 

            Perhaps you think the whole idea of a Chanukah man is just silly – and in truth it is.  Yes it is a kind of cheesy rip off of Santa, but that never mattered to me.  I was 7 when I finally figured out that the Chanukah man did not really exist

            So it might be odd that my favorite Chanukah man story comes from when I was 11 and my mom was pregnant with my youngest brother.  That year my middle brother and I received a letter from the Chanukah man.  We were living in Allentown, PA by then, where my great Uncle Richard lived.  Uncle Richard was the man who raised my father, and was truly like my grandfather.  In Allentown, it was Uncle Richard who took on the role of the Chanukah man.  Here is the letter we received, complete with spelling and grammar mistakes:

“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 business this year and come to visit Allentown.  Sorry I can’t make it because this year I have to go to Russia and Siberia to bring the poor Yewish children some goodies.  Enclosed I send you some money and your Mami can buy something at Hesses Bargain Basement.  Also I heard the good news that your Daddy and Mamy ordered a custom built brand ne 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 later celebrate what ever comes out.  With best wishes to all of you and a good Chanukah yours,

Eliezer ben Morechai, Chief Chanukah man”

            I still have that letter.  Other than the framed picture and Silver Star that hangs in my study, it is the only physical reminder I have left of Uncle Richard, German Jewish immigrant and one of the few true heroes I have known.  But he lies rich in my memory and whenever I read that letter, I am comforted by the memories of the light that was his life.

            Chanukah also causes me to remember one of my dad’s closest friends while we were living in West Virginia, a Baptist minister – Dr. Edward Dreisinger.  Dad met Dr. Dreisinger when we first moved to West Virginia.  They became fast friends.  He was a liberal Baptist who had even studied Hebrew in seminary.  His experiences as a chaplain in World War II led him to feel that Jews needed to be affirmed, not evangelized.  Dad invited him to be a guest speaker at our small synagogue and Dr. Dreisinger had dad speak to his congregation about his experiences as a Jew growing up in Nazi Germany.  Dr. Dreisinger’s family would join us for certain Jewish holidays, Rosh Hashanah, Pesach, or Chanukah.  We would go over to their house each year to watch them light their Christmas tree.  Mrs. Dreisinger played piano and dad would sing the Christmas carols in German.  The Dreisingers really liked that.  He always shared some Chanukah songs as well.  Mrs. Dreisinger never touched alcohol  except some wine when celebrating a holiday at our house as she felt it honored our holiday.  Dad had an honest, easy relationship with Dr. Dreisinger, because Dr. Dreisinger accepted dad on my dad’s terms.  Their model of an interfaith friendship has been my lifelong model.  They were close and could joke with each other.

            For example, when I was in kindergarten I was cast as Joseph in the Christmas play.  I was cast because I knew how to sing a song in Hebrew and the teacher thought it would be more “authentic” if I sang the song to Mary on the way to Bethlehem.  I felt like a star, even if they gave top billing to a baby Jesus who was played by a plastic baby doll.  My dad felt like I was a star too and invited Dr. Dreisinger to watch me in the play.  When it was over Dr. Dreisinger told dad, “Jackie was so cute I could just adopt him.”  To which my dad replied, “and make a Baptist out of him, over my dead body!”

            I love these memories.  They remind me how lucky I was to have parents, grandparents, family and friends who provided me with a beautiful, secure childhood.  As I light my Chanukiah Wednesday and Thursday nights, these are the memories that will be kindled in my soul.  It is my hope and prayer that everyone lighting their Chanukiah this Thanksgivingkah can have the same experience.

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Jacob Wrestles with the Pew Report

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on November 15, 2013| 1 Comment »

The journey that makes Jacob into Jacob comes to a full circle in this week’s parashah.  It starts at the beginning of last week’s portion, when Jacob, while sleeping, has a vision of angels and of God.  God assures Jacob of God’s continuing presence, no matter where Jacob travels.  Jacob, equal parts believer and skeptic, gives the schizophrenic response: “How awesome is this place,” along with striking a bargain with God – food and clothing in exchange for Jacob’s fealty.  He builds a matzeivah to mark that spot and renames the place Beit-El – “house of God.”

His return to Beit-El this week to get confirmation of the new name received while wrestling with God/divine being/self can be seen as a profound moment of self-assessment.  Look at what he has experienced: being tricked by Laban, years of chafing under Laban, the intricacies of balancing the personal dynamics of his two wives, the fear of facing his past through his reunification with Esau, his daughter taken forcibly and then the violent revenge exacted by his sons Simeon and Levi.  In a few short decades Jacob has acquired quite a history – a history befitting the trials of an entire people, really.  Indeed, his new name will become just that – the moniker of a people.

As God declares that Jacob will become Yisra’el, the one who struggles with God, what is he thinking?  What pieces of his past, his experience does he see as the formational parts of his identity?  What does Jacob feel is his very essence?  Is he Jacob the successful sheep breeder?  Is he Jacob the one who confronts God and holds his own?  Is he Jacob the onetime trickster restored finally to his brother?  Is he victim or is he hero?  Is he father or still a struggling child?  We do not know.  The response that Torah records is that Jacob, upon officially receiving the name Yisra’el builds another matzeivah.

We, Jacob’s descendants known as Yisra’el, have been pushed to a moment of self-assessment.  The Pew report titled “A Portrait of Jewish Americans” is causing a lot of angst over the data it contains.  We Jews are being forced to answer Jacob’s question – who are we?  Everyone who reads the report focuses on a different aspect of all this data that seems to define who American Jews are right now.  For most, probably the most eyebrow raising statistics have to do with the results of interfaith marriage.  Putting aside the question of what the actual inter-marriage rate is, only 20% of all interfaith couples are raising their children “fully Jewish.”  A companion statistic shows only 14% of interfaith couples join a synagogue.  Understandably many Jewish professionals see these figures as disastrous.  For them it is the most telling statistic in the entire Pew report.  But not for me.

No, I am far more disturbed by a different statistic.  In response to the question, “What is essential to being Jewish?” the number one answer, with 73%, was “Remembering the Holocaust.”  Wow!  This placed ahead of “leading an ethical life,” and “working for justice/equality.”  Far, far down the list were “Being part of a Jewish community” and “observing Jewish law,” with 28% and 19% respectively.

Allow me to state the obvious interpretations of these figures.  For the overwhelming majority of American Jews, remembering the Jewish victimhood of the Holocaust is more essential to their Jewish identity than any lesson on morality, justice, ethics, God or obligations to the community.  In other words, being a living memorial to Jewish tragedy strikes a deeper chord with American Jews than any Jewish call for positive living, than the call for a relationship with God, or for positive action through our mitzvoth – be they ritual or ethical.  How ironic that a religion that focuses so much on life, on our obligation to build better lives; to live full meaningful lives, has most of its adherents focused on an identity through the tragedy of death.

I understand how important the Holocaust is in Jewish history.  I am the child of a survivor.  I am in the process of researching a book that will give the account of my family’s journey through the war years and the Holocaust.  But for me the real lesson I have come to appreciate in meeting and interviewing my family’s survivors is the rich, meaningful JEWISH lives so many have built in the aftermath of tragedy.  How have we Jewish professionals allowed the richness and beauty of Judaism to be overshadowed by an obsession with Jewish victimhood?

The answer, of course, is multi layered.  It contains the use of the Holocaust to spur Jewish fundraising.  It includes the use of victimhood to justify the existence Israel (which needs no such justification).  It includes religious school teachers who were moved to teach nothing but the Holocaust. (I recall that when I arrived in Tallahassee the Holocaust was being taught in 4 separate religious school grades.  Why? Because the teachers wanted to).  And of course it includes the depth of the tragedy.

So now we wrestle.  Those of us who work in places we wish to refer to as a “Beit El,” “house of God,” have to wrestle with this.  How do we offer/teach/lead a Judaism that is spiritually rich, intellectually honest, emotionally inspiring and uplifting – to offer an essence to Jewishness that builds pillars for a rich Jewish future instead of simply monuments to the tragedy of death?  And yes, this really is wrestling with God and humans.  In what way will we prevail?

Remember that Jacob builds a matzeivah at Beit El, once when he leaves and again when he returns.  What is a matzeivah?  It can be either a pillar or a monument.  Each is a very different thing.  A pillar is an active part of a living structure.  A monument is a memorial to that which is gone, that which is past.  Each Jewish congregation, indeed each individual Jew is a matzeivah.  We just have to make the choice as to which definition we will be.

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