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It has been an interesting week. In the aftermath of a summer that began with the ill-timed and ill-begotten Presbyterian resolution to divest from some companies that invest in Israel, followed by the horrifying war between Israel and Hamas, I find I am spending more and more time speaking to non-Jewish groups about Israel. In addition, because of the editorial I co-wrote in July on the Gaza conflict with my friend, Dr. Parvez Ahmed, I find I am one of small group that actually interacts with Muslims. The editorial made first page of the Huffington Post. Parvez and I both lament the tensions and realize our responsibility to model a different way to engage in interaction. What made this week interesting is that in two speaking engagements, I saw the poles of the Israeli/Palestinian problems – one that was discouraging and one that was hopeful.

On Sunday morning I was asked to speak at First Presbyterian Church in Tallahassee. I was one of two speakers and my task was to present the Israeli perspective on both the most recent conflict as well as the overall issues with the Palestinians. The other speaker, presenting the Palestinian perspective, was a member of the “Students for Justice in Palestine,” a student group not only on the Florida State campus, but many campuses across the country. I had heard of the group but never interacted with it, as my only reason to go on campus is when I am a guest lecturer for a class. The speaker was a young woman, a Christian, whose grandparents lived in Palestine until 1948, when they were forced to leave.

I was asked to speak first. I said it was hard to give a single Israeli perspective for two reasons. First, there are a lot of opinions within Israel about the conflict and how it came to be. The official position of the Netanyahu government is different than the editorial pages of Ha’aretz, for example. Second, the problem is very complex, despite many people’s attempts to force it into simple axioms. Different people, depending on the narrative they wish to convey put the start of the problems at different times, 1967 (aftermath of the Six Day War), 1948 (Declaration of the State of Israel and the resulting war), 1916 (Balfour Declaration). I suggested that to understand the conflict one had to realize there have always been Jews living in Palestine, not a majority of the country, but they have always been there; and that the modern increase in Jewish presence leading to the eventual creation of Israel has its beginning in 1894 – when Herzl witnessed the Dreyfus trial.

To summarize the Israeli perspective I stressed three things. First, that one must not conflate the Palestinian people and Hamas. Hamas is a terrorist organization but the Palestinian people have legitimate needs and grievances. Second, that the death of civilians especially children, was deeply tragic; third, that I oppose attempts to delegitimize the State of Israel but I disagree with much of the policy of the current government. I ended my 15 minutes by saying once again it is a multi-layered problem that should not be reduced to simplistic statements.

Then it was the young woman’s turn from the SJP. She gave a moving account of her grandparents’ story, how they were forced to leave their home in Palestine in 1948. This clearly drove her emotions as she then proceeded to continually condemn the “Zionists” for taking Palestinian land, for driving out the people, for destroying what she described as a lovely kind of utopia where Jews, Christians and Muslims all got along. That was only one of her historical mistakes. She showed no real acquaintance with the history leading up to 1947. She stated that Jews were only 1 third of the population of Palestine in 1947 yet got 56 % of the land under the UN partition plan. While technically true, much of that land was the Negev desert. Most of the partition plan awarded each people the land where their population was the most concentrated.

During the question and answer period, it got worse. She stated that Hamas had the right to do whatever it wished as it was fighting for the liberation of an oppressed people. No acknowledgement of its anti-Semitism or its religiously radical agenda that brands it outside the pale. She advocated a one state solution, but offered no way how to get there.

I was faced with a choice. Do I go into direct debate with her, contradicting her “facts” and allegations? Or, do I just try to state very reasonable embracing positions, emphasizing my sympathy for the deprivations of the Palestinians. I chose the latter. I felt at that point I did not need to speak to the Presbyterians, but to her. She needed to see and hear a Jewish leader who was not a chest thumper, but who would give a reasonable, balanced presentation. To correct all of her facts (I did offer a couple of corrections) would have made it seem like the older man being condescending to a young woman. That was a no win path.

Yesterday, Thursday, I had a very different experience. The director of the interfaith office at North Florida University in Jacksonville, where Parvez teaches, asked if we would speak at a weekly gathering they have called “Difficult Conversations.” Having read our editorial, she felt we might be able to model how a Jew and Muslim can speak about the Israeli/Palestinian issue. She said usually 30 to 35 students and faculty attend and she thought that might go up to 40.

First, I met Parvez for lunch. We had our usual conversation about the latest in Philadelphia sports. This week we relished an Eagle victory to open the season. We then went to campus to attend the event. When we walked into the room it was already overflowing. In the end 65 attended, double what they usually have. The crowd was diverse racially and religiously. We spoke about our friendship, how that relationship allows us to speak honestly about issues. We stressed that we find much common ground as we are sensitive to the sufferings of each other’s people. We talked about not trying to prove a narrative, but to try to understand the other person’s perspective – why someone feels the way they do. We spoke about the uselessness of shouting at each other and chest thumping. Most of all we emphasized the need to form relationships, friendships.

The students were wonderful in their responses and their questions. It was clear they heard and appreciated the message. What moved me the most was that the presidents of the Muslim Student Association, and the Jewish Student Association, both came. Neither had been to this forum before. Neither had met the other before. When the session was done I found the two of them exchanging phone numbers and deciding to have lunch together. Parvez and I both encouraged them to seek a better path. They agreed. As we left the event Parvez said to me, “Jack, today we had a victory.” I agreed.

This week’s Torah portion, Ki Tavo tells of the declaration of blessings and curses from the tops of two mountains. The blessings are to come from the top of Mt. Gerizim, the curses from the top of Mt. Ebal. The tribes are divided into two groups, with one on each mountain. A valley yawns as a gulf between them. This week I took a turn on the top of each mountain, one of curse and one of blessing. I pray that one day, if more of us can spend time on the mountain of blessing, we can bridge the gulf.

 

Some day it will end. The horrifying bloodshed of this Gaza war will end. The rocket fire will cease. Israeli strikes will stop. Israelis will heave a collective sigh of relief for the respite – whatever length it turns out to be. There will be appropriate congratulations over the discovery and destruction of the tunnels that very well could have led to indiscriminate slaughter of Israeli civilians. There will be the declarations of triumph by both sides. Netanyahu will declare that Hamas was dealt a crippling blow. Hamas will crow about its bravery in standing up to Israeli military might. After 5 or 6 weeks of brutal war, the springs that had been so tightly wound will be released. Then, they will begin to rewind once more; tightening ever so relentlessly to the point when violence will inexorably spring forth yet again. It is inevitable. Or is it?

Watching the deadly dance between Israel and Hamas is like watching a bloody version of the movie “Groundhog Day.” The day keeps repeating itself again and again. In the movie, the cycle does not end until Bill Murray’s character learns enough about itself to change his outlook and behavior. That is a great metaphor for what has to happen for both Israel and the Palestinians. They are doomed to repeating the same sequence again and again unless someone learns enough to change their outlook and behavior. What are the possibilities for change? What needs to be learned?

Israelis need to do an honest assessment of how they arrived in a situation of a Gaza being dominated by Hamas. It is a convenient narrative (and not without a measure of justification) to lay the full blame on Hamas. Hamas is a terrorist organization masquerading as a liberation movement. It has radical religious goals that reach far beyond the political goals of freedom for Palestinians. Hamas uses absolutely brutal methods, from employing children to dig the invasive tunnels into Israel (some reports indicate 200 children died doing this) to placing weapon sites in the midst of civilian populations, banking on high casualties from Israeli strikes; to its readiness to just kill Jews. Israelis, however, have to ask themselves: to what degree have their own policies fostered the growth of Hamas?

The blockade of Gaza was seen as a necessary measure to keep weapons out of Hamas’s hands – yet clearly it has failed. Hamas has all the weapons it needs and ever more sophisticated rockets. Instead, the blockade has impoverished the civilian Palestinian population, creating in essence a large, restricted refugee camp, while at the same time providing fuel for Hamas to garner Palestinian support. Further, by not working seriously for a two state solution, Israel has undercut the one Palestinian leader – Abbas – who has shown some willingness to come to the table. Israelis must ask themselves this question. Would a better strategy be to help facilitate a stable Palestinian state that would share an economic future with Israel?   Would it not be better to create some prosperity among Palestinians making it more profitable to focus on peace and growth rather than fostering the despair that leads to support for Hamas? Gideon Levy raises these and many more questions Israelis must face in this editorial in Ha’aretz http://www.haaretz.com/opinion/.premium-1.608118

As hard as it will be for Israelis to break their “Groundhog Day” tendencies, it will be even harder for the Palestinians, who must come to realize exactly what Hamas represents – death, destruction, and radical religious theocracy. However, at the very core of changing Palestinian attitudes is a turning away from the rampant anti Semitism embraced by so many in the Arab world. Arab anti-Judaism is so bad that it is spilling rapidly into Europe, where in France, Jewish stores are being vandalized and the Jewish population intimidated. I must ask the Arab and Muslim communities how Israel can be expected to act with more restraint in the face of such obvious hatred of Jews? The blatant anti-Semitism in the Arab world creates heightened fear not just in Israel, but among all Jews. We have no choice but to support Israel as a rampart against what seems to our community, a continuation of centuries of scapegoating of Jews for the world’s wrongs.

My friend, Dr. Parvez Ahmed has told me that the path for Palestinian freedom lies in the formation of a non-violent peace movement that aligns itself with like-minded Israelis. I totally agree. But in order for this to happen, the Arab world has to confront its anti-Semitism. This would result in a rejection of the radicalism of Hamas and give hope that there might be a path to a peaceful, more prosperous, and most importantly – a shared future.

And isn’t that really the central point? If there is to be any kind of decent, prosperous future, it must be a shared future. There is grand potential in a region that harvests the already successful economic and technical advances of Israel when paired with the creative potential of the Palestinians – one of the most educated groups in the Arab world. The aftermath of the Gaza war is not fated to be a continuation of “Groundhog Day.” Palestinians and Israelis can choose to accept each other –and the world would then indeed wake to a new day.

 

 

 

 

 

There is a country much criticized in the news today, whose history is checkered with less than savory incidents. Its founding is the result of European colonial activity. Initially, land was purchased from the native population of the country. There were also some great examples of cooperation between the early settlers and local population. But as history unfolded and became more violent, land was appropriated by other means. Unfortunately this included expulsions from native villages, consignment to restricted territories, and even, sadly, tragically – some massacres. Nevertheless, this country has overcome these incidents and is regarded as a center of democracy that tries to achieve the best it can for its citizens.

The country I am describing is the United States of America.

The Dutch bought Manhattan for 60 Guilders (680 in today’s dollars). Much of America, however, was purchased by spilling the blood of native Americans. The documentation of broken treaties and even massacres of Indian villages is an indictment of the 19th century doctrine of “Manifest Destiny.” Native Americans were consigned to reservations, stripping them of their ancient culture by denying free access to the land. The United States has this abuse in its history, in addition to others (such as the incarceration of Japanese Americans during World War II). The United States certainly comes under much criticism on the world scene.

Much in the history of Israel parallels the above synopsis of the history of the United States. There is one great exception, however. Israel was settled, built, and birthed while surrounded by other nations that not only opposed the formation of the state, but clearly wanted its Jewish population dead. Despite being surrounded by enemies and sometimes engaging in terrible actions, frequently Israel has risen above the conflict and engaged in humanitarian acts. Israeli hospitals treat Palestinians as well as Israelis. The IDF has often, in the midst of conflicts, tried to warn civilian populations of incoming fire. In short, Israel’s history is made up of the same mix of laudatory and lamentable acts as that of the United States – or any country for that matter. No one questions the legitimacy of the United States (or any other country with a far darker history) yet Israel’s very legitimacy is under attack – even from elements right here in America – from those we deemed to be our friends.

I refer in particular to the recent general assembly of the Presbyterian Church USA, in which a motion to divest from 3 companies who invest in Israel was barely passed. The final resolution, frankly, is not the real problem. It includes language that recognizes Israel’s right to exist. No, the real problem was the circulation and prominence of a document entitled “Zionism Unsettled,” published by a very pro-Palestinian group within the church that was the driving force behind the divestment movement. While it was not officially endorsed by the PCUSA, it was widely read, used as an “educational resource,” and was posted on the PCUSA website as such.

What makes “Zionism Unsettled” so awful? It does a great job of criticizing Israeli abuses of Palestinians. Most of those abuses are real. BUT, and this is important, there is no historical context given which frames the equally, and in many cases more atrocious acts committed by Arabs against Jews. In particular it ignores most of the history of Zionism in the years leading up to the declaration of Israeli statehood in 1948. Even worse, it changes or ignores facts to conveniently serve its narrative. For example, in relating the Six Day War and the consequences of its aftermath, “Zionism Unsettled” only states that Israel was the first aggressor. There is no mention of the blockade of the Gulf of Aqaba, effectively cutting off Israel from the rest of the world. There is no mention of the failed attempt by the Johnson administration to create an international merchant fleet to break the blockade. And there is no mention of the president of Egypt’s blatant calls to push the Jews into the sea – a call for outright slaughter of the civilian population. In discussing the aftermath of the war (1967 through 1973) there is no mention of the Israeli offers to exchange all of the captured territory (including the West Bank) for peace with its neighbors, and the rejection of that offer by the Arab nations.

Most perfidious of all, however, is there is no indication anywhere in “Zionism Unsettled” that Israel has any legitimate right to exist. Zionism, indeed all national aspirations of the Jewish people are depicted as a twisted belief, and a corruption of Judaism. The role of messianism in the formation of Zionism is greatly exaggerated. There is more than a touch of Christian superiority in the discussion of a Jewish theology that leads to the creation of Israel. A false choice is implied, Christians who support Israel are fundamental, evangelical dispensationalists. Those embracing true Christian values do not support the idea of a Jewish state. Jews are praised for their contributions to the many diaspora societies in which they live. Yet this is a kind of “Pyrrhic” praise. We Jews should be happy living in and contributing to Christian dominated societies (or Muslim), yet any national aspirations based on the traditional Jewish tie to the homeland is a perversion of Judaism. We do not need such friends.

All of this is important as we watch events unfolding in Gaza. There is indeed much about Israeli policy that can be criticized. One only has to read the Israel paper Ha’aretz, for example, to read how Israelis engage in serious self-criticism. We can question if the current government has any real interest in a two state solution. We can criticize and lament the heavy civilian losses of the Palestinians, especially the children. However, we cannot accept a conclusion that denies Israel’s right to exist and to defend itself. That is my line in the sand.

 

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.

 

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.”

 

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.

 

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.

 

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.

 

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.

 

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.