Tell Your Story

A Hasidic story. It is among my favorites. When Rabbi Israel Baal Shem-Tov, the founder of Hasidism, saw that the Jewish people was threatened by tragedy he would go to a particular place in the forest where he lit a fire, recited a particular prayer, and a miracle was accomplished, averting the tragedy.

Later, when the Baal Shem Tov’s disciple, the Maggid of Mezrich, had to intervene with heaven for the same reason, he went to the same place in the forest where he told the Master of the Universe that while he did not know how to light the fire, he could still recite the prayer, and once again, a miracle was accomplished.

Later still, Rabbi Moshe Leib of Sasov, in turn a disciple of the Maggid of Mezrich, went into the forest to save his people. There he pleaded with God, saying, “I do not know how to light the fire and I do not know the prayer, but I can find the place and this must be sufficient.” Once again, a miracle was accomplished.

When it was the turn of Rabbi Yisrael of Rizhyn, the great-grandson of the Maggid of Mezrich who was named after the Baal Shem Tov, to avert the threat, he sat in his chair, holding his head in his hands, and said to God: “I am unable to light the fire, I do not know the prayer, and I cannot even find the place in the forest. All I can do is tell the story. That must be enough.”

And this too was sufficient.

Central to our Passover celebrations is the telling of the story of our going out from Egypt. Judaism believes in the power of the story. It is not mere entertainment. It is fundamental to instilling values. We tell and retell. We remember. And we are inspired to act.

We cast ourselves in the story. The Haggadah proclaims, “In every generation one is obligated to see oneself as one who personally went out from Egypt. Not only were our ancestors redeemed by the Holy One of Blessing but even we were redeemed with them.”

This year, tell another story as well. Tell your story. Tell the story of how you, your parents, your grandparents or even your great grandparents went out from wherever your family emigrated from and how they made it to this country. And then how you made this great country your home.

And perhaps this too will be sufficient.

The Moon's Pull

I am thinking about the moon.

It is because of the moon that we read about leprosy for two weeks rather than one. Most years this week’s portion, Metzora, is combined with last week’s, Tazria, in a double portion. Both are about leprosy. This year, however, is a leap year when we add an entire month. The month is added in the spring prior to Purim. Why?

The reason is simple. Our holidays are tied to the seasons of the 365 day solar calendar. Passover, for example, is the spring harvest festival. Sukkot marks the fall harvest. If we were only to follow the 354 day lunar calendar, as our Muslim neighbors do, the holidays would wander throughout the seasons. Then every year the holidays would be eleven days earlier than the previous year. And then, for example, Passover might occur during the winter.

Its connection to spring, our agricultural roots, and most importantly the earth would be lost. Therefore every two or three years we add a month. So Rosh Hashanah can wander between the start of September and the beginning of October but no further. Each holiday moves within a month’s window of the solar calendar.

During leap years, like this year, the double portions are separated into single portions. We therefore spend far more time reading Leviticus. So now we have to spend two weeks examining leprosy. And this is an unfortunate occurrence, to be honest.

But I am comforted by the moon.

The rabbis teach. The moon complained to God saying, “The sun is so much bigger than me. No one can even see me during the day.” God comforted the moon and said, “By you shall Israel reckon the days and years.” (Babylonian Talmud Hullin 60b)

Apparently we offer comfort to each other. Israel and the moon are joined. While the sun sustains life, the moon points to our celebrations.

The moon sustains our spirit.

Soon we will gather around our Passover seder tables. Take a moment to look outside. If it is a clear night, you will see a full moon. In fact, you will see a full moon on the first night of Passover, every year. The fourteenth of Nisan, and the fourteenth of every Hebrew month coincides with a full moon. So you will see a full moon on the first night of Sukkot and on Purim for that matter.

The moon marks our holidays. Without it we could not find our way. Without it we would be unable to wander through our celebrations.

This year especially look at the moon with a sense of pride. Although Israel’s unmanned rocket missed its lunar landing, it came very close. Some seventy years ago, when Israel’s existence seemed more hope than reality, more dream than achievement, when the state faced untold challenges, who could have even imagined that one day Israel would send a rocket into space? Who would have dared dream that in the week when Israelis once again exercised their democratic right to vote and yet again affirmed the vision of “to be a free people in our land, the land of Zion and Jerusalem” they would send a rocket to crash into the moon?

The rabbis teach: “By you shall Israel reckon the days and years.”

At this year’s seder, get up from your tables, and look up at the moon and say, “Next year in Jerusalem.”

Next year in Jerusalem—indeed!

(Re)Kindling the Spark

I just returned from the Reform rabbis’ annual convention. Imagine 600 rabbis in one room! Imagine the lengthy conversations. Imagine all the sermons and schmoozing. This year the convention was held in Cincinnati. It was wonderful to return to Hebrew Union College where Susie and I studied for four years. It was moving to return to the historic Plum Street Temple where we were ordained 28 years ago.

Plum Street Temple was completed in 1866. Its rabbi, Isaac Meyer Wise, founded America’s Reform movement. Isaac Meyer Wise Temple, as it is now called, is an extraordinarily beautiful sanctuary. Its architecture is a combination of Byzantine and Moorish styles that was then popular in Germany. It is meant to echo the golden age of Spanish Jewry. It was Rabbi Wise’s belief that America held a similar promise.

Will my grandchildren feel similarly?

We gathered for services on Monday morning. I was struck by countless incongruities. We sat in what was once the stronghold of classical Reform Judaism where English prayers (and German) were central, yet our prayers were marked by an abundance of Hebrew. Our singing was accompanied by guitar. We sang niggunim, wordless melodies developed by Hasidic rebbes who were an anathema to our founders. I stared at the gleaming pipe organs, whose voice once filled Reform synagogues but now stood silenced. Nineteenth century Reform leaders forbade tallis and kippah, yet virtually every rabbi wore these traditional garbs.

We read this week’s Torah reading, Tazria. It contains chapters and verses about leprosy. Leviticus is obsessed with rituals and in particular ritual cleanness. It enumerates countless details about what renders something unclean. Our movement’s first platform, written in 1885, wandered through my thoughts:

We hold that all such Mosaic and rabbinical laws as regulate diet, priestly purity, and dress originated in ages and under the influence of ideas entirely foreign to our present mental and spiritual state. They fail to impress the modern Jew with a spirit of priestly holiness; their observance in our days is apt rather to obstruct than to further modern spiritual elevation.

They believed the ethical should be elevated above the ritual.

I longed for new wisdom. Colleagues quoted Hasidic masters. Rabbis cited modern poets. We danced and clapped to our prayers. We often started our sessions late. The decorum and punctiliousness of our founders slipped away.

Would they recognize what they birthed?

I wish to bind the ritual to the ethical. I long for our prayers to feed our morals.

Every evening was marked by the testimony of remarkable and courageous leaders.

Roberta Kaplan, a civil rights lawyer and Amy Spitalnick, director of Integrity First for America, spoke about how they are using American law to go after the Nazis who organized the antisemitic violence in Charlottesville. Freedom of speech should not protect conspiring to do violence. We listened to Bryan Stevenson, the founder of the Equal Justice Initiative. He offered compelling words about the need for criminal justice reform. Is the measure of a nation’s greatness discovered in how it treats those accused of breaking its laws? Alabama’s prisons accuse us of falling short. Last night we were honored to meet Jim Obergefell, the plaintiff in the Supreme Court Case legalizing same-sex marriage. It is difficult to imagine the courage he must have summoned to allow a court to judge his love. Should anyone offer judgments about another’s love?

The prophetic spirit is alive. It is part of my prayers.

There is much to repair in our world. I pray for strength.

Would Isaac Meyer Wise recognize what he founded?

I am confident. He would recognize the spark.

And that is what we must kindle—in each and every generation, again and again.

I pray for courage.

The Ghost of Bipartisanship

What follows is this past week's sermon about what I learned and felt at the AIPAC Policy Conference.

This past week I traveled to Washington DC attend the AIPAC Policy Conference. AIPAC is America’s pro-Israel lobby. The American Israel Public Affairs Committee is steadfast in its bipartisanship as it lobbies in particular Congress about all manner of things beneficial to Israel. It has been crucial about gaining funding for Iron Dome. It support is critical for Israel’s defense needs. So let me offer some highlights from the conference, as well as some observations and of course a few my opinions.

On the first day, President Trump recognized Israel’s sovereignty over the Golan Heights. This was hailed by Prime Minister Netanyahu. Let’s unpack this decision. Israel captured the Golan from Syria in the 1967 Six Day War. Prior to the war its heights served as a nemesis to Israel given that Syrian soldiers shelled Israeli kibbutzim from there. In addition it served as a buffer to absorb Syria’s attack during the 1973 Yom Kippur War. In an age of missiles some have argued that the heights are no longer important as a strategic asset. And there were occasional discussions about trading the territory for peace with Syria. Nonetheless the vast majority of Israelis never favored such an idea.

The Golan is some of the best, and most beautiful, hiking in all of Israel. There water flows from the heights, sometimes cascading down waterfalls, which are extraordinary to swim in. The water eventually makes its way to the Kinneret—the Sea of Galilee. Water that is needed for much of Israel’s population starts its journey in the Golan. For decades Israel has been sovereign over the territory. The world of course did not recognize this but Israel’s sovereignty was long an established fact. Especially in recent years, after the collapse of Syria and given the ongoing civil war there, no one entertained the idea of relinquishing control over the Golan Heights.

President Trump’s decision was a recognition of what was in fact the case. Some might argue that it was ill-timed or that its only purpose was to help Bibi win the election, and while this may be true, the decision was rather inconsequential. Perhaps you can argue that it emboldened Israel’s right wingers who see in this the beginnings of their desire to annex the West Bank. Maybe. But Israelis don’t lump these territories together. The Golan and the West Bank are not the same. Perhaps the decision was a finger in the eye of Arab states, like Saudi Arabia, who are drawing closer to Israel. Again maybe. Don’t read too much into this decision. There are far greater things to get worked up about.

AIPAC also advocated for the US to move its embassy to Jerusalem. Again the Trump administration obliged. This decision was far more consequential. There is good and bad about the embassy move. First the good. Israel should get to decide where its capital is. It has always been in Jerusalem. It’s not in East Jerusalem, the territory captured from the Jordanians in 1967. It’s in West Jerusalem. That’s where the Knesset is. Too many, most especially Palestinian leaders, deny the historic connection of the Jewish people to the land of Israel. Jerusalem is not just any city for us. Too many speak about Zionism and the State of Israel as if it is some European colonial implant in the Arab Middle East. It is not. Jerusalem exemplifies our return to Zion. For years US presidents refused to officially recognize Jerusalem as Israel’s capital and move our embassy there. President Trump finally did this and he received a lot of adulation and praise from the 18,000 AIPAC attendees for this decision. Again the vast majority of Israelis are also grateful. Most Israelis just want to live in a state like all other states with a capital city that is not deemed illegitimate by world leaders.

Still there are worries about the embassy move. Palestinians hope for the capital of their state to be in Jerusalem as well. They also claim this city as their own. For those who favor the two state solution and for those who believe that a Palestinian state living in peace alongside the State of Israel is the best thing for Israel, and this is by the way AIPAC’s official position, Trump’s decision seemed to push this reality farther away. You can argue that moving the embassy to Jerusalem will force Palestinian leaders to come to terms with the reality of Israel and that this reality is here to stay and not going anywhere. That is now my hope. My fear however is that this decision, as much as I loved it in my Jewish kishkes, will cause those on both sides who say this place is only mine to become even more intransigent. We have to figure out how to share parts of the land with our Palestinian brethren so that we can find some measure of peace.

I admit that seems like a far off dream. Given that this week Hamas fired rockets from Gaza into Tel Aviv peace seems more like a delusion. Then again Gaza is not the West Bank and Hamas is not the Palestinian Authority. Israelis understand these distinctions. Hamas aims to destroy Israel. It rules over Gaza with an iron hand. It kills its own people when they protest, a recent fact that went largely unreported. A rocket fell on a family’s home. Children were injured. Children were targeted. Netanyahu hurried back to Jerusalem and gave instead a video address to the conference attendees. The IDF called up reserves. The air force struck at Hamas leaders. Why? What was different this time? Hamas has fired rockets before. It was because the rocket traveled farther and this may be the more important point, it somehow evaded Iron Dome. The worry is that this could represent a technological breakthrough.

And this cannot stand. There should be no debate about this fact. Israelis should be free to live in safety and security. And their state has every right to safeguard its citizens’ safety and security.

Benny Gantz, Netanyahu’s main rival in the coming elections, began his speech by praising Bibi’s decision to return to Israel. It is true that the poverty and despair in Gaza is overwhelming. It is also true that Hamas is largely responsible for perpetuating these conditions. Still I continue to say, something has to be done for ordinary Gazans if for no other reason than to bring some measure of quiet along Israel’s southern border.

Gantz also spoke to diaspora Jews. He spoke about the rights of Reform and Conservative Jews in Israel. He said the Western Wall is big enough for all of us. This is something where Netanyahu has abandoned us. The lack of recognition of other streams of Judaism in the Jewish state is a tragic injustice. Too many Reform Jews like ourselves are made to feel second class in Israel. Why should we not be able to pray exactly as we do here in the Jewish state? It makes no sense. Politics should no longer upend making progress towards a greater sense of Jewish pluralism in the State of Israel.

I thought Gantz’s speech was the best of the conference. His most powerful point was one about unity. He spoke about that being our secret weapon. This is what he argued has enabled Israel to survive. Unity is also what drives AIPAC. Democrats and Republicans are meant to be united in their support for Israel. And this brings me to my greatest worry and fear. Our unity is unraveling. This was by far the most troubling and upsetting take away from the conference. The Democrats who spoke appeared to be playing defense and said in effect, don’t worry, we still love Israel. Republicans were on offense, saying those guys don’t really love Israel. We love Israel the best. Whether you are a Republican or a Democrat this development should be extraordinarily troubling.

The bipartisanship that is the cornerstone of AIPAC’s mission is slipping away. This was so evident when Meghan McCain, Senator John McCains’ daughter, and Senator Joe Lieberman took the stage. This is where we are at? I thought. We have to conjure up the ghost of John McCain to demonstrate bipartisanship. We have to bring out his good friend and Democrat, and who also should have been his running mate, to say look how bipartisan we are. This is the best, and perhaps only way we say, look a Republican and Democrat can stand on the stage together and profess their love and commitment to Israel. Our unity is slipping away.

So let me say this in closing. To Democrats I say loving Israel and making excuses for antisemites cannot go hand in hand. To Republicans I say loving Israel is not necessarily the same as loving Bibi and his vision for Israel. We better figure out how to hold on to all of these things at the same time because what has served the alliance between the United States and Israel so well for so long is that it has always transcended Republican and Democrat. Let’s figure out some measure of unity for Israel’s sake and perhaps for ours as well.

Spiritual Cravings

Why should we observe the commandments? Because God says so. This is the wisdom of the Hasidic sages.

In this week’s portion Aaron’s sons, Nadav and Avihu, are killed because they offer a strange fire. Why is it called strange? Because God did not command it. The Sefat Emet, Yehudah Leib Alter of Ger, comments:

The most important component in the performance of commandments is the fact that one performs them because he was commanded to, rather than any lofty intentions he has in performing them. The proof is here, in that we see Nadav and Avihu, who were great sages, surely had the most lofty of intentions, yet they were punished for doing something they had not been commanded to do. How much more, then, is the reward of a person who fulfills a commandment solely because it was commanded by God, even though he knows nothing about the hidden intentions involved.

Such wisdom contradicts our modern sensibilities. We want to uncover the reasons for the commandments. We wish to unravel God’s intentions.

Why keep kosher?

Because unkosher animals are not healthy. Pigs carry trichinosis. Lobsters are bottom feeders. Owls eat rats. Such are the explanations we offer to justify these ancient laws.

This week the Torah also reveals the lists of permitted and forbidden animals. Nowhere does it say anything about the character of these animals. There is a list of permitted animals: “These are the creatures that you may eat from among all the land animals: any animal that has true hoofs, with clefts through the hoofs, and that chews the cud—such you may eat.” (Leviticus 11) And then there is a list of forbidden animals.

Nowhere does the Torah offer an explanation. Nowhere do we gain a glimmer of why.

Nowhere is there a discussion of the many reasons people so frequently offer. Eat these animals. Don’t eat those animals. That’s it. That’s all the Torah offers.

Why keep kosher? Because God says so.

Then again there is nothing like the taste of crispy bacon. And lobster is so wonderfully delicious.

Why then not eat it? Because God says so.

And so we must now decide. We must ask ourselves, “Do I wish for God to gain some rule over my daily life?”

It is a wonderful, and then again strange, or perhaps mysterious idea to ponder. Saying no to something we love might be the beginning of letting God into our lives.

Why keep kosher? Because God says so.

Is that really enough? Some rabbis suggest that is the only reason that matters.

Then again why does God even care about what we eat?

Because God says so.

Decide if that is the sustenance you seek. Decide if that is the food your soul craves.

Shouting Out Kindness

Today is the holiday of Purim. It is a day that is marked by revelry. And yet the costumes and masks we wear obscure a darker theme.

A quick reminder. A long time ago in the land of Persia a wicked man named Haman wanted to kill all the Jews, but Queen Esther, through courage and wit, as well as the persistence of her uncle Mordecai, saved the Jewish people and killed Haman and all of his followers. The end. Let’s party.

The Torah reading for this day recalls the story of Amalek who attacked the Israelites during their journey through the wilderness. The Amalekites killed the weak, the elderly and the children, who walked in the back of the Israelites. What kind of person attacks the infirm? What kind of person kills the stragglers? And so Amalek has become synonymous with all evil-doers.

In fact the Jewish tradition draws a line from Amalek to everyone, and anyone, who sought to kill the Jewish people. It sees history’s worst and most despicable genocidal killers as Amalekites. It sees Haman as his descendant. How curious then that we don’t drown out Amalek’s name. And yet every time we hear Haman’s name we shake our groggers. Let no one even hear the name of the man who tried to kill us.

Likewise New Zealand’s Prime Minister, Jacinda Ardern, refuses to utter the name of the man who murdered 50 Muslim worshippers during their Friday prayers. He attacked people while they were bowed in prayer. Like Amalek he attacked people from behind. And just as we drown out Haman’s name so must we drown out the name of every evil doers. It is what we should do whenever someone guns down others, wherever that might be, whether it be in church, synagogue, mosque or temple. Too many know the names of the murderers who killed at a Sikh Temple in Milwaukee, a church in Charleston, a synagogue in Pittsburgh and now a mosque in Christchurch.

Just as we must drown out the evil-doers’ names we must embrace those who now feel victimized and hurt. I still recall the outpouring of love and support for our community after the attack at Pittsburgh’s Tree of Life synagogue. Likewise we must now reach out to our Muslim neighbors and friends. Recall the sympathetic words we received. Recall the words of our local church leaders. Remember especially how those words eased our pain. Embrace our Muslim neighbors who are now touched by an extra measure of grief.

We are so quick to condemn hate. It is so easy to call out antisemitism. Let it be just as simple to shower our brothers and sisters with love and support. Tomorrow afternoon the Jewish Community Relations Council of Long Island is organizing a show of solidarity and support outside local mosques. I will join them at the Islamic Center of Long Island. Regardless of our differences, at this moment and at this hour, I plan to stand with neighbors during their time of grief. I plan to offer my support when they feel so vulnerable. We are bound together by a shared commitment to faith. We are drawn together by a shared attachment to our local community.

Not so long ago people of other faiths offered me their support. Their presence aided my prayers. Their solidarity lifted my spirits. How can I not offer similar support?

Let the names of these evil-doers be erased.

Let our kindness never be blotted out.

It's Because of the Mountain

This week we begin reading the Book of Leviticus, called in Hebrew Vayikra.  The opening words are: “Vayikra el Moshe—And God called to Moses.”  Curiously the last letter, alef, of the first word, vayikra, is calligraphed smaller in the Torah scroll.  Why is the alef smaller?

There are no good explanations for this tradition.  There are however plenty of sermons and interpretations.    

The Hasidic rebbe, Simcha Bunim of Peshischa, offers an answer. He discovers a beautiful lesson in the small letter alef.  He teaches:

The letter alef is small just like Moses made himself small.  Even though Moses attained the greatest heights ever reached by man, he was unmoved by that fact and remained as humble as ever. When a person stands at the top of a mountain, he does not boast about how tall he is, because it is the mountain that makes him so tall.  By the same token, Moses felt that whatever he had accomplished was due to God, and he had no reason to feel proud of his achievements.

Imagine if the world had more people like Moses.  Imagine if most people believed that all of their achievements were because of others.  Imagine if we believed that our accomplishments and successes were because we are standing on a mountain top fashioned by God?

It’s an image worth pondering.  It’s a world worth working towards.

It’s only because of others.  It’s really only because of the mountain.  Our achievements are because others lifted us.

On whose shoulders do we stand?  To whom should we offer thanks?

Antisemitism is a Sin: That's All There is to It

What follows is this week's sermon about antisemitism.

Typically I make every effort to be even handed when discussing contemporary controversies. But when it comes to antisemitism I do not think we should make any such attempt. And so I wish this evening to speak about Representative Ihlan Omar who continues to rely on antisemitic tropes when talking about Israel. She accuses Jews of dual loyalties and suggests that support for Israel is only, for example, about the Benjamins. She has offered apologies, but I think there is something more problematic at work. Representative Omar does not criticize Israel’s policies. For her Israel is more a myth than a reality, more a caricature than a living democratic state struggling with its many challenges.

Bret Stephens writes: 

For those who don’t get it, claims that Israel "hypnotizes" the world, or that it uses money to bend others to its will, or that its American supporters "push for allegiance to a foreign country," repackage falsehoods commonly used against Jews for centuries. People can debate the case for Israel on the merits, but those who support the state should not have to face allegations that their sympathies have been purchased, or their brains hijacked, or their loyalties divided.” (The New York Times)

If Representative Omar had visited Israel and even if she had come back with critical reports we might be understanding, although of course stung by her criticism. She has not. Instead she speaks about Israel as if it’s a cartoon where the good guy and bad are all-too obvious. It is a sad thing to say, and many scholars have noted, but Israel has become the Jew among nations. Antisemitism is now disguised as anti-Israel sentiment. We hear, “I am not antisemitic. “I am anti-Israel. I stand against Zionism.” But Zionism, and Israel, is the belief that the Jewish people have a right to a homeland of their own and that the place where our people exercises that right is in our ancestral land.

Such Zionist commitments are not statements about what may or may not constitute Palestinian rights. One can affirm the right of Palestinians for a state and also be supportive of the Jewish people’s right. The notion that they are mutually exclusive is false. The idea that to support Palestinian rights must mean that the Jewish people’s right must therefore be negated is wrong. And the corollary that to affirm our people’s right to self-determination must mean that Palestinian rights must then be denied is also wrong. People mistakenly think they cannot champion both Jewish and Palestinian rights. But that is not of course the larger problem. Then again perhaps it is part of the problem. People think, I have to choose sides. I am either for the Palestinians or for the State of Israel.

A growing number on the left, both here and now in England, think however that the real conflict is that Zionism is a distortion of Judaism. This could not be farther from the truth. Moreover such an idea is antisemitic. And antisemitism must be called out. Whether it is an offensive carnival float in Belgium in which Hasidic Jews are depicted with money and a rat or words by a representative from the political party you call your own, it must be called out. In fact if you call yourself a Democrat then you have even more responsibility to call out such antisemitism within your own ranks. It’s easy, and perhaps gratifying or at the very least affirming, when it is found on the other side of the aisle, but it’s even more important when it comes from the side for whom you voted. You cannot look the other way most especially when it comes from within your own ranks.

On the left there is this growing tendency to separate the Jewish people from one of our chief commitments and devotions, namely Israel. And I will have none of this. It is antisemitic to say Israel does not belong in the Middle East. It is antisemitc to say our devotion to Israel makes our commitment to this country suspect. It is antisemitic to say that Judaism has little do with the land of Israel or Jerusalem or Zion.

This is why I am so proud that the Muslim leaders who participated in the Shalom Hartman Institute’s Muslim Leadership Initiative came to Jerusalem to learn about why Israel—that is the modern and the ancient Israel—is so important and so integral to the Jewish people. And this is exactly what Representative Omar does not seem to get. She should similarly go to Israel and see it for herself. And she could then even come back and say, “The US gives too much aid to Israel.” Or, “I don’t want US dollars to be used at West Bank checkpoints.” Or, “I disagree with what the AIPAC lobbyists who met with me this afternoon said.” I might argue with her if she said such things—and I imagine such arguments would be quite heated, but that would be within her rights as a representative. That would even be in keeping with her responsibilities. She is not however doing anything even approaching this.

Her words are antisemitic. Moreover her antisemitism cannot be excused because she has suffered anti-Muslim attacks as for example what happened in West Virginia where she was likened to Islamist extremists who perpetrated 9-11. She should also not get a pass because she is a freshman in Congress. Antisemitism is antisemitism. It is the same whether it’s a Republican or Democrat, a liberal or conservative, the old or the young.

I don’t know what is in Representative Omar’s heart. I can never know that. I do not know what motives her. I can certainly judge her words and her actions. And on that count she comes ups woefully lacking. And that brings me to this week’s Torah portion. We read that the Israelites finished building the tabernacle, the portable sanctuary that accompanied them on their wanderings. The Israelites gladly donate to this project, giving of themselves in order to complete the project. The problem is that they had the exact same intention when they gave beforehand to another project. That time it was to build the golden calf. And that was of course the greatest sin the Israelites ever committed.

The Talmud comments: “One cannot understand the nature of this people. If they are appealed to for a calf, they give. If appealed to for the Tabernacle, they give.” (Jerusalem Talmud Shekalim) Both acts are motivated by the people’s desire to give. If we were to judge these acts by their motivations we might claim they were both good. They are of course not in any way the same. One is entirely sinful and the other entirely good.

People say that politicians on the left, such as Representative Omar, are motivated by their desire to seek justice for the Palestinians. And alleviating the suffering of Palestinians—the Gaza strip is for example becoming increasingly uninhabitable— is a noble goal. Alleviating suffering is always of course an unqualified good. This may or not be what is motivating Representative Omar. The larger issue is that this is entirely beside the point. Antisemitism is a sin and that’s all there is to it.

I pray. May we find the strength to say antisemitism is a sin in a loud and clear voice. May we find the courage to say this whether it is directed at our friends or neighbors, whether it is directed at leaders who agree with us on all other matters or leaders who disagree with us on every manner of thing. Antisemitism is a sin and that’s all there is to it. This is something that must never be papered over by high minded intentions.

Antisemitism is a sin and that’s all there is to it. Say this loudly. Say this clearly.    

Finishing the World

The ancient rabbis taught that God intentionally left creation incomplete. On most days I find this teaching inspiring and even comforting.

God granted us free will. God left creation unfinished, leaving room in the world for us to act. God in effect bowed out of each and every detail in this world so that our actions might be our own and so that we might enhance creation. The Kabbalists added to this notion when they argued that God withdrew from the world. Otherwise, they reasoned, God’s presence would overwhelm us. If God did not withdraw, there would be no room for anything but God.

God made this imperfect world so that there would be the necessity for us to get involved, a call for us to improve ourselves and better the world. God wants us to do more.

But after weeks and months of reading the news, of poring over the details about antisemitism, terror attacks, gun violence and climate change, I find myself wishing, and praying, that God would just fix this mess and repair creation. I find myself wanting to retreat into the poetry of prayer.

At this moment I feel willing to forgo a measure of free will if God were to reorder things, right such terrible wrongs, heal the many injustices we see about us and mend this broken world. How nice that would be. How soothing.

But prayer cannot fix the brokenness between us. Perhaps it can mend an individual soul but never a nation. It cannot repair hatred. Prayer cannot rebuild the glaciers. Instead it offers a respite. Prayer provides a goad to action. It must inspire us to act.

This week we read about the completion of the Tabernacle: “When Moses had finished the work, the cloud covered the Tent of Meeting, and the Presence of the Lord filled the Tabernacle…” (Exodus 40)

The tabernacle was the vehicle by which God led the people on their journeys. It became synonymous with our house of prayer. In fact the Hebrew word for tabernacle, mishkan, is related to the Hebrew “to dwell” which is connected to one of our tradition’s names for God, Shechinah. This is the name that we use when we want to suggest God’s presence is near and felt. And all of this is tied to the building of the mishkan, tabernacle. All of this is tied to the work that we do.

God only dwells when we do the hard work. God is only felt when we do the mending with our own hands.

The Torah also suggests an additional meaning by its choice of words for Moses finishing the work. The Hebrew, “vay’khal,” means to complete or even to perfect. By this word choice it draws our attention to the creation account when God finished that first, although imperfect, building project: “…the heaven and the earth were finished.” There is of course meaning to be found in this comparison.

When we build and create, as Moses and the people did with the mishkan, we imitate God and God’s creation. Part of our creative efforts must be to complete and perfect creation, to bring a measure of holiness into our lives and a measure of goodness to the world.

Making or dreaming up something new is the greatest of human achievements. It is what makes us uniquely human—and perhaps most like God. It is how we achieve repair. We reach for perfection. Albert Einstein said, “If at first, the idea is not absurd, then there is no hope for it.”

I pray that God will fix our world. And yet, I cannot rely on prayer alone.

We must work to fix our world.

Do Not Kindle Anger

Following the detailed instructions for building the tabernacle we find the command not to work on Shabbat. We are forbidden from performing creative labors. Just as we built the tabernacle so too do we build what Abraham Joshua Heschel calls a “palace in time.” We accomplish this by refraining from work. The rabbis in fact derive the list of forbidden Shabbat labors based on what was done to build the tabernacle.

It is a curious notion. We fashion a holy day by not doing. Sure, there is much that we are commanded to do on Shabbat: recite the kiddush, sing our prayers, read Torah, eat a grand meal to name a few, but the day’s spirit is created by saying no to a long list of labors. It is an exhaustive, and perhaps even tiresome, list of prohibitions.

Among these is the command: “You shall kindle no fire throughout your settlements on the sabbath day.” (Exodus 35) This is among the more confusing commandments. People will often say, “Driving my car is not work. Turning on my lights is not a labor. Heating up soup on my stove top takes little effort. These are silly prohibitions.” The tradition, however, never defined these actions as work but instead as lighting a fire.

This is why we light the Shabbat candles eighteen minutes before sunset. If we were to do otherwise we would be lighting a fire on the sabbath day. Tomorrow night, for example, the candles are to be lit at 5:27 pm (in Oyster Bay, Long Island).

And yet these are not the rules that govern my Jewish life. We will light the candles at the beginning of our Shabbat services around 7 pm. Better to wait until the congregation is sits together in the sanctuary. Better to gather the family, if even for a brief moment, before everyone goes off to their myriad of activities, and light the candles together. Perhaps this occurs at 6:25 pm. Perhaps in the long months of June this moment is at 5:15 pm (well before the prescribed candle lighting time of 8:11 pm). Better not to worry about exactitudes. Better to gather together.

Shabbat is about bringing us together.

Then again if we say yes to everything and say no to little if anything, can we really build a palace in time?

The rabbis being rabbis of course did not limit their interpretations to fires and flames. They also understood fire to mean anger. I welcome their wisdom.

I imagine a day without anger.

Sometimes we get angry with those we love. Our families can be frustrating, but—I hope—never angering. Too often we allow frustrations to grow into anger. Banish those as well on Shabbat. One day a week—at the very least—command such emotions: you are not welcome at our Shabbat table.

Fashion a sanctuary.

There is plenty to be angry with these days. The news provides us with a multitude of examples. Can we find one day without heaving the remote control at the TV (and the Jets are not even playing during these weeks!) or throwing the newspaper on the floor in disgust or screaming at another email from a friend who sees the world’s events through different eyes? Is this possible? Can we fashion a day without the incessant barrage of notifications and alerts? Can the week’s outrage, and disgust, be forbidden? Is a day of Shabbat menuchah—a day of rest—within our reach?

Can our anger be banished for at least one day?

It is within our hands.

“You shall kindle no fire on the sabbath day.”

No fires of anger shall be kindled on this day.

And then perhaps all days. And then, our tradition dreams, the world.