Hurricane Sandy + 2 Weeks

I am thankful that our home now has heat and power and that life is slowly returning to normal in our neighborhood, on Long Island's North Shore. Today our streets were finally cleared of trees and debris. But for far too many, such days are a long way away. We must not rest until all are healed!  "It is not up to you to finish the work, yet you are not free to avoid it." (Avot 2:21)

Chayei Sarah

This week we read about the death of Sarah.  The portion begins: “Sarah’s lifetime—the span of Sarah’s life—came to one hundred and twenty seven years.  Sarah died in Kiryat Arba—now Hebron—in the land of Canaan; and Abraham proceeded to mourn for Sarah and to bewail her.” (Genesis 23:1-2)  Abraham then proceeds to purchase a burial plot from the Hittites to bury Sarah.  It is this purchase that makes the Cave of Machpelah a holy site and Hebron the first Jewish city.  All the patriarchs and matriarchs are buried there except Rachel who is buried in Bethlehem.

Both of these cities are of course in the modern day West Bank and despite my Jewish history and commitments thus found in disputed territory.  I have visited Hebron a number of times and spoken with the Jews who live there, a small, zealous outpost of settlers among a multitude of Arabs.  I remember once asking, “Why would you want to raise your children in such a dangerous and life-threatening environment?”  Their answer was simple and direct, “Because this is our home!”

I have been reflecting on this sentiment during the past week as I first watched people refusing to leave their homes despite evacuation orders and then vowing to rebuild their homes despite the fact that their towns will be subject once again to devastating hurricanes and tidal surges.  (I believe this storm is only the beginning of the changes we might see because of the “weather weirding” brought on by climate change.) 

What makes so many refuse to let go of their homes?  What makes even rational people stay in their freezing homes despite the fact that they have plenty of invitations of warm beds elsewhere?  (I stand guilty!)  What makes us so attached to these mere physical structures?  What makes us cling to these places even when it might not serve our best interests or may even jeopardize our safety?

I have long believed that communities are defined not by the buildings they construct but instead by the people who inhabit them.  A family is more than the house in which they live.  A neighborhood and community, a family and nation, can then survive despite even the worst of devastations.  As much as we might invest in these buildings they are not what is most important or even what should be most lasting. 

Yet it took the temperatures to dip into the 30’s before my family and I finally decamped to another home.  Once it becomes a home it is hard, if not impossible, to imagine that our house might not be the protecting shelter it has always been.  But this is exactly what we must imagine.  In order to march forward we must time and again let loose of the grip of these buildings, and places, and even our very homes.  Holding on these we might never be able to change or carve a better path toward a brighter future. 

What will guarantee our future will never be our beautiful homes, or even our holiest of cities, but the people, and communities, with which we surround ourselves.

And finally we pray for President Obama and all of our newly elected leaders.  May they put aside partisan ideologies and instead look toward the work that can only be done together in order to better our great nation.  May compromise and the common good of all become the defining features of a shared and better future.

The Election

Tomorrow we vote.  I believe that elections are sacred occasions.  This day sanctifies our obligation to this nation.  It is a day that should renew our faith in America.  Sometimes however I find my faith waning.  At such times I reach for words from ages past.

Thus I recall those of the great American poet and playwright, Stephen Vincent Benet.  They were part of a radio broadcast following the election of 1940.

Let us say this much to ourselves, not only with our lips but in our hearts. Let us say this:

I myself am a part of democracy—I myself must accept responsibility. Democracy is not merely a privilege to be enjoyed—it is a trust to keep and maintain. When by idle word and vain prejudice, I create distrust of democracy itself, by so much do I diminish all democracy. When I tell my children that all politics is a rotten machine and all politicians thieves and liars, by so much do I shake their faith in the world that they too must build. When I let loose intolerance, whether it be of race, creed or class, I am letting loose a tiger. When I spend my time vilifying and abusing a duly-elected government of the people because I did not vote for it, by so much do I weaken confidence in government by the people itself. Rich or poor, young or old, Republican or Democrat, I cannot afford these things.  

I cannot afford them because there are forces loose in the world that would wipe all democracy out. They will take my idle words and make their own case with them.
They will take my halfhearted distrust, and with it sow, not merely distrust, but disunion. They will take my hate and make of it a consuming fire.

Let each one of us say: I am an American. I intend to stay an American. I will do my best to wipe from my heart hate, rancor and political prejudice. I will sustain my government. And, through good days or bad, I will try to serve my country.

Reaching back I hope to move forward with renewed confidence.

P.S. I want to thank my friend and colleague, Rabbi Lee Friedlander, for pointing me in the direction of Stephen Vincent Benet.

Vayera and Sandy

The following is the message I was able to get out to the congregation prior to Shabbat Vayera.  

I trust that you and your families are safe and that if you suffered any damage it was not catastrophic.  As long as the damage was only to property and each and every one of us is uninjured I will proclaim my thanks and sing our blessings.  My family and I were fortunate.  Our house was unscathed.  Our neighborhood suffered many downed trees and power lines.  As frustrating as our present circumstances might be, they are, compared to far too many, only an inconvenience, albeit a maddening one, given that we still have no power or heat or phones or the mighty Internet.  We are forced to walk a half-mile where we can receive cell phone reception.  Thus like our forebears we have to venture to this well in order to connect with others.

At such times it becomes apparent that as our lives become increasingly dependent on technology we become quickly crippled without it.  The World Wide Web is now reduced to our small neighborhood.  Today it is only those who we can see and converse with face to face.  It would seem that there is no global community when we are confronted by a hurricane.  Now our lives are once again local. Amazon and Google, Apple and Verizon, LIPA and Cablevision are no match for nature’s fury.  The wind and the waves, the ocean and the sea have won—again. 

And Job cried out to God.  And God answered out of the tempest saying, “Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundations?...Have you penetrated to the sources of the sea, or walked in the recesses of the deep?” (Job 38)  Our human ingenuity is in truth no match for nature.  We cannot tame the sea.  We can only stand in awe. Let us relearn that human beings have great limitations and that nature commands our utmost respect.  More often, I still recall, nature’s majesty asks me for admiration.  Today I stand in fear.

Hurricane Sandy was a devastating storm.  It will take us months and perhaps even years to recover.  So much was destroyed.  Far too many lives were lost. Yet in the midst of the whirlwind I discovered something anew.  I found again the meaning of the Jewish value of hachnasat orchim, hospitality.

In this week’s portion Abraham welcomes three visitors and prepares a meal for them.  They deliver news of the impending birth of Isaac.  (Genesis 18)  Once when hiking with Bedouin guides in Israel’s desert I learned of the importance of hospitality.  The Bedouin live far apart and are dependent on passers by for information.  Travelers shared know-how about the wilderness they traversed, whether the usual route was blocked or the path washed out by flash floods.  The Bedouin would loudly grind bitter coffee to announce that travelers were lodging in their tent.  When people heard the rhythmic pounding of the coffee beans they would come to gather in order to hear what news the travelers had to share.

Today the sound of chainsaws and generators call neighbors together.  We gather to see what news others have gleaned.  At first we asked each other if they were ok.  Then it turned to the questions of: How are the roads?  Where can you get cell phone reception?  Where is there Wi-Fi? (I am presently at the Huntington train station where there is Wi-Fi.)  Where can you buy gas?  Where did you see LIPA trucks?  What can we do to help? 

Of the many mitzvot, hospitality is among the most important.  We reach beyond the boundaries of our private homes and welcome others in.  We even welcome strangers into our lives.  “How can we help?” must become our new mantra.  The Talmud reports that Rav Judah once said that welcoming other people is even greater than greeting the Divine Presence.  (Shabbat 127)

There is a pressing need that even when the power is restored and the routers once again flicker green that we still walk through our neighborhoods and reach out to others offering more than a friendly wave.  We will offer them the comfort of our human presence.  Why must we wait for a hurricane to be neighborly?   The question must become what can we do for others.

Soon our power will be restored and we will be tempted to once again retreat to our virtual world.  Will we choose instead to look out at the pain that continues on our very own Long Island?  Some even in our own congregation may be hurting.  And so we must pledge to bring healing to others, to our neighbors, to our community.  Once we have tended to our own repairs this must become our focus.  

As always if you need any help or support please feel free to reach out to me.  I apologize that I have been difficult to reach during this hour of need.  I too am limited by technology.

We will be unable to gather for Shabbat Services this evening given that the synagogue building still does not have power.  I would have liked to be together at this moment, but it is impossible and perhaps even unwise given how many streets are still impassible.  We will join for Shabbat prayers next Friday when we will gather to sing prayers of thanks as a community.

Stay warm and stay safe.

Lech Lecha Sermon

Although much delayed because of Hurricane Sandy here is my sermon from Friday, October 26.

This Shabbat we read Lech Lecha.  It begins with the story of Abraham’s call.  It is unclear why Abraham is called and so the rabbis spin midrashim to explain God’s decision.  In essence they say he is called because he is the first monotheist.  Lost in these commentaries is the meaning of lech lecha.  It means go for your own sake.  Go so that you might discover your true self.  The portion also describes the birth of Ishmael, born to Abraham and Sarah’s servant Hagar.  Because she is barren Sarah instructs her husband to sleep with Hagar so that he might father a child.  Muslims trace their lineage to Abraham through Ishmael.  His name means God will hear.  In the final chapter is the covenant of circumcision.  Both Abraham and Sarah then take on new names.  They are no longer called Abram and Sarai but Abraham and Sarah.  The Hebrew letter hay is added to their names symbolizing God.

This evening I would like to dwell on a rather bizarre episode.  It is what is called the wife-sister motif.  This episode is repeated when we read about Isaac and Rebekah.  Here is that story (Genesis 12:10-20).

There was a famine in the land, and Abram went down to Egypt to sojourn there, for the famine was severe in the land. As he was about to enter Egypt, he said to his wife Sarai, “I know what a beautiful woman you are.  If the Egyptians see you, and think, ‘She is his wife,’ they will kill me and let you live. Please say that you are my sister, that it may go well with me because of you, and that I may remain alive thanks to you.”  When Abram entered Egypt, the Egyptians saw how very beautiful the woman was.  Pharaoh’s courtiers saw her and praised her to Pharaoh, and the woman was taken into Pharaoh’s palace. And because of her, it went well with Abram; he acquired sheep, oxen, asses, male and female slaves, she-asses, and camels.  But the Lord afflicted Pharaoh and his household with mighty plagues on account of Sarai, the wife of Abram. Pharaoh sent for Abram and said, “What is this you have done to me! Why did you not tell me that she was your wife?  Why did you say, ‘She is my sister,’ so that I took her as my wife? Now, here is your wife; take her and begone!” And Pharaoh put men in charge of him, and they sent him off with his wife and all that he possessed.

Here is our hero Abraham, immediately following the call, saying, “I’m really afraid.  Sarah, go lie to Pharaoh so that I am protected.”  Is it possible that there is a strange parallelism with Sarah’s later command to Abraham that he sleep with Hagar?  Note that Abraham gains wealth and riches because of what he forces Sarah to do.  The text implies that she sleeps with Pharaoh.  All of this makes me think about the treatment of women today.  Recently we have heard many discussions and debates about this.  There are still too many failures found in contemporary world.  It calls to mind as well the biblical episode when Dinah, the daughter of Jacob, is raped and the men, her father and brothers, are more concerned about their honor and station than her welfare.

Today there are some very heated debates about abortion rights, most especially following rape.  A number of politicians have said outrageous things.  A number have made pronouncements based on pseudo-science.  I cannot even begin to fathom what medical literature they are reading.  Still I respect the view of those who hold that the life of the fetus is the same as the mother’s.  I allow that the faith of some, and even of many, will hold differently than mine.  My faith, my tradition, teaches that the life of the mother takes precedence when the mother’s life is endangered.  There is debate of course about what constitutes a danger.  Nonetheless I hold firmly to this hierarchy.  The fetus is a sacred potential life.  The mother is a sacred living life.  Her life is more important.  When such an excruciating choice must be made between mother and child, she takes precedence.  I also hold that ideally mother, father, doctor and perhaps even clergy are best equipped to make that decision together.  In the absence of such an ideal however the mother has the last say because it is her very life and her health that might be compromised.  I do not understand how to view this issue otherwise.  Don’t tell the women I love what choices they must make.  Such views seem to me a diminishment of women.  They belong to the biblical era.  I wish that Abraham, Isaac and Jacob spoke to Sarah, Rebekah and Dinah and asked their opinions and listened to their feelings.  (I agree with Tom Friedman’s recent column.  And for more on the issue of rape read Nick Kristof.)

To add more fuel to this discussion, there was the outrageous attack in Pakistan on a young girl.  All she wanted was a better education.  Actually all she wanted was an education.  In that world teaching a girl, or a woman, is blasphemy.  The Taliban were quoted as saying as much.  This is simply outrageous and disgusting.  I subscribe to the view that progress, and a country’s progress, is tied to women’s empowerment.

We have problems in our own Jewish world as well.  Recently, in Israel, Rabbi Anat Hoffman was arrested at the Kotel for saying the Shema.  Again, outrageous!  Now I certainly understand the arguments of my tradition.  There are issues of kol isha, the voice of a woman and maybe even beged ish, that a woman should not wear man’s clothing.  To be honest I have little patience with these arguments.  I find a woman’s voice beautiful and deeply spiritual.  Our cantor’s voice can help lift our prayers to heaven and our celebration of Shabbat.  It does not interfere with my devotion.  It enhances it.  Any beautiful voice, whether a man’s or woman’s, can help us pray!  There are as well issues of being counted in a minyan, serving as the shaliach tzibbur (prayer leader) or serving as a witness.  I appreciate these concerns only slightly better.  Here the tradition’s view is in essence that only someone who is obligated can help others with their obligation.  A man is commanded to pray.  A woman is permitted and perhaps even encouraged.  For a man it is a mitzvah.  It is not a woman’s.  Therefore how can she help a man fulfill his mitzvah?  I believe otherwise.  I certainly agree with the tradition that men and women are different.  I reject however the view that excludes women from Judaism’s holiest of obligations.  There must be equal obligations and equal responsibilities.  Judaism will only progress and move forward with the empowerment of women.

I am willing to allow that some will want to pray in synagogues with mechitzahs, that some will insist that their Judaism separates the sexes and will see meaning in only different obligations.  Men pray.  Women care for children.  My pluralism allows for these differences.  The central dilemma then is about the public square.  We can hold different views about abortion and women praying.  But the Kotel belongs to all.  The public square belongs to everyone.  That place must remain forever open.  That is the only solution.  Our ancient Jewish tradition might not allow for this.  It might insist that the public square must be controlled and guided by Jewish tradition.  This is unacceptable.  Our times desperately require such openness.  In our own homes and synagogues we can do and observe differently but in the public square all must be permitted to pray as they find meaningful.

The great irony of our Torah portion is that Abraham also did not understand this.  He acted as though his wife was his property to be bartered.  Instead it was Pharaoh who heeded God’s word.  It was he who sent Sarah back to Abraham.  Perhaps we should keep this in mind when we look to our tradition for answers.

The only solution is a greater openness and pluralism.  We must remain forever open to a diversity of views.  We must protect the public square as a place of discussion and debate, a place where all are comfortable with their own views, and where no one person’s or religion’s or tradition’s view holds sway over another’s.  All this we learn not from our tradition but from outside of it. 

For a different view read the Shalem Center's Yoram Hazony recent Jerusalem Letter.

Lech Lecha

Rabbi ben Zoma taught: Who is rich?  Those who are happy with their portion; as it is written (Psalm 128:2): “You shall enjoy the fruit of your labors; you shall be happy and you shall prosper.” (Pirke Avot 4:1)  For the ancient rabbis wealth and riches are about perspective.  Happiness is not a matter of winning the lottery.  It is instead about being content with one’s lot.  It is about not pining after what others have.

This week we see that Abraham is described as wealthy.  “Now Abram was very rich in cattle, silver and gold.” (Genesis 13:2)  The Hebrew uses a curious phrase.  “Avram kaved maod…” A literal rendition might thus read: Abram was very heavy with cattle, silver and gold.  The Hebrew suggests that he was weighed down by his riches.

The plain meaning is clear.  The journey on which God sends Abraham is difficult not only because he must leave his ancestral home but also because of all the riches he must carry with him.  It is not easy to travel across the desert with so many belongings.  It is not easy to shepherd a flock across the wilderness.  Better to travel light.  Abraham is unable to do so.  And thus he travels in stages. “And he proceeded by stages from the Negev as far as Bethel…” (13:3)

Perhaps there is an even greater truth in the turning of this phrase.  How do our riches weigh us down?  How do they prevent us from seeing beyond ourselves?  For Abraham the Torah suggests that his accumulated wealth could have prevented him from leaving his home and answering God’s call, from setting out on the journey that forever defines the Jewish people. 

I once learned that Holocaust survivors tend to accumulate portable wealth.  They do not purchase valuable paintings and sculptures, but instead jewelry and watches.  Such items can be easily carried on a person if one is forced to flee.  Jewels can even be sewed into jacket liners if one needs to secret a family across borders.  Such are the scars that survivors continue to carry.  They are always ready to escape. 

For others wealth is often a stumbling block to change.  We do no march forward for fear that we might lose our precious possessions.  But have we not learned?  Wealth is a matter of a perspective.  Who is rich?  Those who are happy with their portion.  We must remain on guard and not allow our riches to prevent us from setting out on new journeys.

There are many reasons why Abraham is called righteous.  One reason is suggested by this new reading and the Etz Hayim Commentary.  Righteousness is when wealth is transformed into obligation.  For the righteous, wealth is weighty because it is a burden.  It is call to use it for others and not just for ourselves. 

Wealth is not a privilege.  It is instead a challenge.  It is a call.  “Lech lecha—Go forth!”

Newsletter Article

My most recent article from our congregation's November-December 2012 newsletter.

Years ago I participated in an Outward Bound survival course in coastal Maine.  Part of the program was a three-day solo.  Each participant was dropped off on an island.  My island was called “Little Thoroughfare.”  Little was an accurate description.  I could walk the circumference of the island in a mere 10 minutes.  I was expected to build my own shelter using only a plastic tarp and whatever other supplies I could find.  I was also expected to forage for food.  Fresh water would be resupplied every day when the instructors checked on me.  A tiny granola bar was provided as a treat.   I spent my days eating dandelions and wild peas.

My grandfather, who survived the depression and eked out a successful living despite the fact that did not graduate from high school, thought my adventure was among the craziest of my ideas.  (My daughter who is named for him agrees with this assessment.)  It was equivalent to prizing jeans that had holes in them and spending several months allowance on new wheels for a skateboard.  “You are going to pay money so that you can be cold and wet, tired and hungry?” he asked.  He vowed to rent a helicopter to drop food to me on the island.  He spent a lifetime working so that his grandson might never know hunger that he might have educational opportunities about which he only dreamed.  Now I was choosing the very fate from which he escaped, if only for a few days.

I still remember those discussions.  I remember then discovering two certainties about my grandfather.  He would always love me no matter how crazy my ideas.  And my Papa would never pay for me to go hungry.  I could always ask him to treat for dinner but not so that I could go without food.  Nothing gave him greater pleasure than treating me to a fine meal and then watching me enjoy it.  If I wanted an adventure that would not feed me enough food, then I was going to have to pay for that out of my own savings.  Anyone who knew hunger as intimately as he once did could never bless such a choice. 

I have been thinking about my grandfather, and that little island, as I near the week that I pledged to live by the Jewish Community Food Stamp Challenge.   For the week of November 11-18 I will eat only what I can purchase with $4.50 per day ($31.50 for the week).  This is the equivalent to what a person living on food stamps is provided.  I hope to discover what it means to live on such meager rations.  Given my many dietary restrictions (kosher and gluten free) I am unsure that I will be able to live up to the challenge.  Given that my average bike ride burns 2,000 calories I wonder how I will be sated following such a workout.  But that is the point.

45 million Americans are forced to live on this allowance.   How can they exercise if they can’t eat properly before, during and after a work out?  If they have dietary restrictions because of their health or religion how can they buy alternative foods?  Is it even possible to eat enough fresh fruits and vegetables on such a diet?  I wonder, will I always feel pangs of hunger during the week?  I hope to learn more by living according to this challenge, to discover more about those whose food choices are beyond their control.  Theirs are dictated by unfortunate circumstances.

Years ago my grandfather came to this country as a young boy.  He survived days and weeks and even years of hunger and discomfort so that his grandson would have to choose to go hungry so that he might better understand the troubles that surround him.  This is a choice that a life of privilege allows.  His sacrifices helped pave the way for my fortunes.  And I in turn must forgo such fortunes in order to better appreciate the troubles that ail our nation.

My hope is that my small sacrifices might make a difference.  Perhaps, I pray, it will serve to raise awareness.  In this great land, in which my family found success, far too many go hungry.  Their pain must become my pain. 

Until all are sated my bounty will remain unfulfilled, my hunger must know no end.  And I must still wander an island searching for food.    

If you wish to learn more about the Jewish Community Food Stamp Challenge, visit its website.

Mekor Chaim Lech Lecha

The following commentary was distributed by the Jewish Federations of North America.  I continue to participate in its Rabbinic Cabinet.

Seemingly out of nowhere God calls Abraham, “The Lord said to Abram, ‘Go forth from your native land and from your father’s house to the land that I will show you…’” We are left to wonder why Abraham?  What was it about his character that made God choose him?

The rabbis of course spin many midrashim to explain this.  The most famous of which is the story about the time young Abraham was working in his father idol shop.  Abraham smashes all the idols except one and then when his father confronts him, he blames the single idol.  His father screams, “That is ridiculous!  An idol can’t destroy other idols.”  And Abraham says, “Exactly!”  A statue of wood and stone cannot be responsible for our lives.  In that moment Abraham begins to realize that there is only one God who moves heaven and earth.

Moses Maimonides as well offers a similar insight.   He suggests that Abraham looks to the stars and realizes that they should not be objects of our worship.  He understands that there is an invisible force who instead moves the stars and orders the heavens.  Aristotle, whose thinking greatly influenced Maimonides, called this force the Prime Mover.  Maimonides saw this as synonymous with God.  Abraham understood that only this force is worthy of our devotion.

The particulars of these different stories are somewhat immaterial.  All the commentators agree that there was something remarkable in Abraham’s character.  There was something unique in his insights.  He must have been called by God because he was in essence the first to understand the power of monotheism.  Perhaps the commentators are wrong.  Perhaps the Oral Torah is mistaken.  Is it blasphemous to suggest such an idea? 

Is it instead possible that there was nothing special in Abraham’s character?  Is it imaginable that God decided to pick an ordinary, everyday man?  Perhaps the power of the story is what Abraham accomplished after the call.  That in truth is the more important Torah.  Abraham’s character is inconsequential until he is called.

We spend so much of our lives devoted to establishing our credentials.  Here are my accomplishments we say over and over again. Here is what I can bring to your university is what my son is presently toiling over.  We then imagine that we are only chosen if we are fit for the position or task, if our experiences merit our selection.  This suggests that we are truly masters of our own fate and that we are picked for our demonstrated abilities.  Yet there are often times when we are called for no other reason than we are present to be chosen.  We are standing there and so we are picked.

The notion that we are only chosen because of our own merits is a myth.  There are times when the choice is indeed random.  Our character does not always dictate the selection.  Our past experiences cannot always shape the future.

Instead our character is determined by how we respond to the choice. Our destiny is shaped by how we respond to the call. Then the only question is, do we respond like Abraham. Do we say, “Hineni—here I am?”

Lance, Minus Seven

We just finished reading Noah and its story of the flood.  The portion begins: "Noah was a righteous man; he was blameless in his age..."  The central, and unanswerable, question about Noah is: was he righteous just in comparison to his terrible generation or would he have been called righteous in any generation?

Yesterday we learned that Lance Armstrong will be stripped of his seven Tour de France victories.  No one will be awarded the victories in his place.  Too many others were implicated in the doping scandals.  All potential victors are tainted.

My children know that it is never justification that everyone is doing it.  If it is wrong, it is wrong. If it is right, it is right.  Right and wrong must stand on their own, not on the shoulders of others.  Our actions must stand for all generations.  The fact that so many other cyclists were doping is no justification for Lance's actions.  Doping provides an unfair advantage.  Worse might be Lance's self righteous denials.  "What am I on?  I'm on my bike, busting my ass six hours a day.  What are you on?" he said in Nike commercials.  Now we find out that such statements were false.  The evidence against Lance appears overwhelming.  He cheated!  He bullied!  All for the sake of winning.  He was indeed on more than his bike.

Still he inspired so many, especially cancer survivors.  Robert Lipsyte, for instance, writes in The New Republic: "Don’t cry for Lance Armstrong. That bully can take care of himself. Watch out for the righteous, wrong-headed anti-dopers, distracting us from the more immediate and perilous concerns of orchestrated violence. And follow instructions: Pedal hard. Take responsibility for yourself and be brave."  I still like that advice.  I wish however that Lance really led, even if it would have been from the rear of the peloton, and that he actually lived by his own words that he was only pedaling really hard.  

Will the greatest lessons of the Tour be these races that now have no victors, that ended up actually being about the thrill of cycling and what the Tour's founders believed all along, the superiority of two wheels over four.  Winning really isn't everything.  Going faster is not always the best medicine.

Note to self: try remembering that when you want to take the lead on the next group ride.  Instead just enjoy the ride and the company and perhaps even the scenery.

My Food Stamp Challenge

For the week of November 11-17 I will be participating in the Jewish Community Food Stamp Challenge.  I  am going to spend only $31.50 on food for the week.  That is $4.50 per day.  This is amount those who live on food stamps are provided with.  I am unsure that I will be able to succeed given all of my dietary restrictions (kosher and gluten free) as well as some of my more expensive tastes (blackberries and yellow peppers) , but I do plan on learning a great deal about the challenges far too many Americans face.  45 million Americans receive food stamp benefits!  I will post my thoughts and experiences during the week.  If you would like to support the organization sponsoring the challenge follow this link.

It was not so long ago that we read the words of Isaiah:

No, this is the fast I desire:
To unlock fetters of wickedness,
And until the cords of the yoke
To let the oppressed go free;
to break off every yoke.
It is to share your bread with the hungry,
And to take the wretch poor into your home;
When you see the naked, to clothe him,
And not to ignore  your own kin. (58:6-7)

Perhaps my one week can make a difference.

Noah Sermon

This week’s Torah portion describes Noah and the flood.  Everyone is familiar with the story.  Noah is described as a righteous man in his generation.  One of the questions is: was he righteous just in comparison to his own lawless generation or would history judge him as righteous for all time?  I wonder why he did not argue with God.  The rabbis suggest that he took his time building the ark so that others might ask questions about his project.  His grand building project was meant to prod others.  It was meant as prompt for their repentance.  It of course failed in this endeavor.   And we are left wondering about his righteousness.  All the inhabitants of the world were destroyed save Noah and those he rescued on the ark.  After the floodwaters recede a rainbow appears and a covenant is sealed.  God looks at the rainbow and promises never again to destroy the world.

A rainbow is the gift following a storm.  But almost immediately the people stray.  They try to build a tower reaching to heaven, the tower of Babel.  God does not like this and scatters the people throughout the world confounding their speech, producing all of our many human languages.  Biblical scholars suggest that the tower comes to explain why there are so many languages if all descend from the same Adam and Eve.  The rabbis suggest that the sin was not the construction of the tower but instead that the builders were more concerned whether or not the building project stayed on schedule rather than the rights of their workers.  They cried when a brick fell but not when a worker fell to his death. 

Others have suggested that the story is a polemic against what is called tower culture.  There is the theory that there are tower cultures and mountain cultures.  The biblical tradition favors mountain.  Think about it.  The entire Torah occurs in the wilderness.  The Torah is given on Mount Sinai.  The Torah concludes before we ever even reach the land of Israel and the building of settlements there.  There are no towns and villages in the Torah.  The ideal holiday of the Torah is Sukkot.  This holiday celebrates our wandering in the wilderness.  It rejoices in our wandering.  It elevates a place that belongs to no one into our ideal state.

Along come the rabbis who then adapt this wandering mountain culture to their towers in which they live.  In a sense you can take the wilderness with you.  Our prayers keep our attention on the mountain and the wilderness wherever we might find ourselves.  Our siddur speaks of nature even though we are separate from nature.  We recite Maariv Aravim, God You bring on the evenings, You arrange the stars in the sky.  In our cities we strain to see the stars.  In the wilderness, the sky is awash with heavenly lights.  After Sukkot we add the prayer Mashiv HaRuach, God You make the winds blow and the rains to fall.  We add the prayer for rain when it is supposed to rain not here but in the land of Israel.  Our prayers force our connection to our ideal land.  It is not a city.  It is not a tower.

The question is: what do we lose of our Judaism now that we are a tower culture?  Do we lose something?  True, there are gains.  Our faith does become less dependent on where we are, where we sit.  We can offer our prayers anywhere.  It does not matter which tower we might find ourselves in.   Then again do we lose our connection to nature and in particular to God’s creation?  This is the great worry of the tower of Babel episode.  Outside of the pristine state of wandering in the wilderness we lose hold on God’s creation.

There is nothing wrong of course with nice buildings or homes.  I don’t think the ideal is living in a tent, although for one week a year the ideal is a sukkah.  There is the danger however that our buildings make us focus too much on what we build.  We lose sight of God’s nature. We lose touch with God’s creation.  Towers are the products of human hands.  And these are limited.  When we make the works of our hands the sole focus of our lives we lose perspective.  We then lose hold of what is most important.  It is never the works of our hands.  It is instead the divine tapestry.  The message of the tower of Babel is the same as the story of Noah and the flood.

Only God can make a rainbow.

Noah

The concluding chapter of this week’s portion describes the first real estate development project, the construction of the Tower of Babel.

Here is that episode.  Humanity bands together to build a tower that reaches to heaven.  They say, “Come, let us build us a city, and a tower with its top in the sky, to make a name for ourselves; else we shall be scattered all over the world.” (Genesis 11:4)  God is not pleased with their efforts and says, “If, as one people with one language for all, this is how they have begun to act, then nothing that they may propose to do will be out of their reach.  Let us, then, go down and confound their speech there, so that they shall not understand one another’s speech.” (11:6-7)

Thus the first building project does not go so well.  The people want to build the tallest building possible. God apparently sees this as an offense or perhaps even a threat.  Only God dwells in the heavens.  And so the tower remains unfinished.  We remain human.  We are left babbling.  We are cursed to speak different languages.

According to the rabbis the people’s great sin was not so much their goal of building the tallest tower but instead their lack of concern for the workers.  In Pirke d’Rabbi Eliezer it is related that if a worker fell from the tower to his death, the people were indifferent, but when just even one brick fell, they lamented the construction delays.  It is for this reason, the legend suggests that God punished them, scattering them throughout the world and confounding their speech, producing the myriad of human languages that we still confront.

Biblical scholars suggest that this story was authored to explain the existence of languages.  How could the descendants of one family, namely Adam and Eve, give rise to these different languages?  The answer is of course that this was something that we brought upon ourselves.  Our desire to reach the heavens was our undoing.  There was once an idyllic state when all spoke the same language, when language did not create additional borders, when communication was easy and not confused by misunderstandings. 

We used this single language to our own ends.  Rather than uniting for good, we combined to become too much like God.  Thus we were dispersed.  Interestingly while the flood has parallels in ancient Near Eastern literature this episode has no parallel.  Only the biblical authors viewed the existence of different languages as a dilemma that required further explanation.

I refuse to believe that the richness of languages is a calamity.  So much is discovered by languages and their differences.  Every language has its own nuances and offers its own secrets to the human condition. 

One of my favorite poets, Edmond Jabes, an Egyptian Jew who immigrated to France, writes of the power of language and the book.   He writes in French. I read him in English.  He writes in “And You Shall be in the Book”:   

When, as a child, I wrote my name for the first time, I knew I was beginning a book.—Reb Stein
(“What is light?” one of his disciples asked Reb Abbani.
“In the book,” replied Reb Abbani, “There are unsuspected large blank spaces.  Words go there in couples, with one single exception: the name of the Lord.  Light is in these lovers’ strength of desire.
“Consider the marvelous feat of the storyteller, to bring them from so far away to give our eyes a chance.”
And Reb Hati: “The pages of the book are doors.  Words go through them, driven by their impatience to regroup, to reach the end of the work, to be again transparent.
“Ink fixes the memory of words to the paper.
“Light is their absence, which you read.”)

The pages of the book are indeed doors!  Open them and discover new worlds!

High Holiday Sermons

You can listen to my High Holiday sermons below.  You can read and download the written texts here.

Rosh Hashanah Morning


Yom Kippur Evening


Yom Kippur Morning



As well as this year's discussions.

Rosh Hashanah Evening


Rosh Hashanah Second Day

Bereshit Sermon

This week’s portion begins the Torah. It is filled with many different stories. There is the creation of the world and of Adam and Eve, and then of course their eating of the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden and finally the first murder, that of Cain killing Abel.

There are many interesting questions about this portion. Here is just one.  Why does the Torah begin with the Hebrew letter bet? This may not be your question or even mine, but it is one of the rabbis. One would think that our most important book would begin with an alef. Why would the Torah begin with the second letter of alphabet?

The rabbis ask and answer: “Why was the world created with the letter bet? Just as the bet is closed on three sides and open only in front, so you are not permitted to investigate what is above the heavens, and what is below the deep, what is before the six days of creation and what is to happen after the world’s existence. You are permitted to explore only from the time the world was created and thereafter, namely the world we live in.” (Bereshit Rabbah 1:10)

The bet is open. The alef is silent. The bet is open to possibilities, to the future, to the world we live in. We must be forever open to the possibilities that surround us, to the potential that stands before us. We must be open to discovery and even open to change.

All of this is signified in a single letter. The alef in contrast stands silent. The bet is open to the world. That as well must be our posture. We must remain awed by creation. We must remain forever open to the world’s inspiration.

According to the Torah the world was created in six days. Often we question the accuracy of such words. How can the world be created in a mere six days? Sure some say a day was a million years. But science teaches wisdom contrary to the Torah’s literal words.

Then again there are days when the world appears as if it was created in a single moment. There are moments when its awesomeness moves us to song and prayer. That is what we must remain open to. Rather than becoming bogged down by the scientific details or questions such as “Did it really happen this way?” we must remain open to its relevancy. We must remain as open as that first bet. The world is open to discovery. It is waiting to be revealed. All that remains is for us to be as open as the single, beginning letter of the Torah.

It is a simple message, but a mighty task.

Bereshit

The Torah is excessive in its prohibition of idolatry.  In fact there is no prohibition repeated more frequently in the Torah.  In the Ten Commandments, for example, we read, “You shall not make for yourself a sculptured image, or any likeness of what is in the heavens above, or on the earth below, or in the waters under the earth.” (Exodus 20:4)  Why is idolatry so terrible?  If God is infinite why would fashioning a sculptured image be so harmful?  God cannot be contained by a statue or figurine.  How could the creation of such an image be damaging to God?

Abraham Joshua Heschel answers this question.  It is forbidden because the only acceptable image of God is a human being.  Idolatry is not damaging to God.  It is that there is only one possible image of the divine.  And that is the one we fashion by living our lives.  Our lives are a reflection of the divine.  We cannot construct a figurine.  Instead we must live our lives, each and every day, each and every moment, as if we are fashioning an image of God.

We learn in this week’s Torah portion that human beings are created in God’s image.  “And God created human beings in His image, in the image of God, God created them.” (Genesis 1:27)  The only acceptable image of God is therefore each and every one of us.  Arthur Green, with whom I studied this past summer, elaborates on Heschel’s insight.  “You may not make an image of God because you are the image of God.  The only medium in which you can make God’s image is the medium of your entire life.”

No sooner do we learn this insight do we read that the first human beings stray from God’s command.  The lives of Adam and Eve therefore appear a betrayal of God’s image.  As soon as God created them and placed them in the Garden of Eden they are given one instruction, “Of every tree of the garden you are free to eat; but as for the tree of knowledge of good and evil, you must not eat of it…”  (Genesis 2:16-17)  They immediately stray and eat of the fruit.  They are given one prohibition and they ignore it.

Adam and Eve saw that the fruit was “good for eating and a delight to the eyes” and so they ate.  How could they resist?  It was so tempting.  Temptation bedevils our best of intentions.  They are given one command.  They make one mistake.  How often do our wants, too often disguised as needs, interfere with what we are truly destined to do?  Our task is not to satisfy our desires but instead to live according to the divine image found within every one of us.    

Each and every day we are fashioning an image of God with our lives.  Our actions, our decisions, craft this image in the world around us.  This is what Adam and Eve missed almost immediately.  Our task is not to follow their example but instead lead our lives as if we are the embodiment of God’s image.   

Simhat Torah

Yehuda Amichai, the great Israeli poet, writes:

The precision of pain and the blurriness of joy. I’m thinking
how precise people are when they describe their pain in a doctor’s office.
Even those who haven’t learned to read or write are precise:
“This one’s a throbbing pain, that one’s a wrenching pain,
this one gnaws, that one burns, this is a sharp pain
and that—a dull one. Right here. Precisely here,
yes, yes.” Joy blurs everything. I’ve heard people say
after nights of love and feasting, “It was great,
I was in seventh heaven.” Even the spaceman who floated
in outer space, tethered to a spaceship, could say only, “Great,
wonderful, I have no words.”
The blurriness of joy and the precision of pain—
I want to describe, with a sharp pain’s precision, happiness
and blurry joy. I learned to speak among the pains.

It occurs to me that the Jewish tradition attempts exactly this, it strives to be exacting about joy. It provides us with precise days for our rejoicing.

This week we are in the midst of Sukkot, z’man simchateinu, a time of our rejoicing. Nothing is greater than the rejoicing of these precise days. Sukkot comes to a rising conclusion with the holiday of Simhat Torah, the day we are privileged to begin the Torah reading cycle again. (According to tradition Simhat Torah falls on Monday evening.) There is no greater blessing than to be able to begin the Torah again with the words, “In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth…” It is therefore a day of great singing and dancing.

There are so many days in our calendar when we are commanded to rejoice. Our happiness is mandated. In the tradition’s eyes, our joy is made precise. Even when mourning brushes up against a festival, shiva is abbreviated. Communal joy supersedes personal tragedy. This is the tradition’s view. It is not to say of course that this is how people might feel. Yet Judaism insists, again and again, joy is required, celebration mandated, dancing commanded.

Nowhere is this more evident than at a wedding. There it is a mitzvah to dance! The sheva brachot echo Amichai’s words: “Blessed are You Adonai our God, Ruler of the universe, who created joy and gladness, bride and groom, pleasure, song, delight, laughter, love and harmony, peace and companionship…” And then we wrap our arms around each other, circling in a hora until we finally leave the party saying, “It was a great evening. I have no words.”

Is it such a blur? Or can our joy indeed be made precise?

Asking the Clergy

Here is my printed response from today's "Ask the Clergy" column in Newsday.  The question was: How would you comfort someone facing a medical challenge?

In Judaism, we believe in doctors. We don't ascribe to a faith that is without science and modern medicine. So, the first order of business is to make sure the person is getting the right medicine and science.

Then, we would deal with the practical. Can I help them in any way to find the right doctors? Do they need assistance with transportation to medical appointments? Do they need someone to sit with them in their home? Do they need someone to sit with them at a doctor's appointment?

Sometimes, people think going to the rabbi or other clergy is the last resort. We can be supportive throughout the person's illness, even for practical assistance. And the things I mentioned earlier can be done by any individual, not just a member of the clergy.

Yes, we can pray with them, and our hope is that prayer offers strength and comfort. Judaism certainly has prayers for the sick, but I strongly believe that every situation is unique, and we shouldn't try to find prayers or words that fit a formula. Each person is different. Each illness is different. I have to listen to the person about what he or she needs. Don't rush in thinking you can solve their problems. Don't assume you know how someone feels. Avoid the cliches, such as "I know how you feel" or "All things happen for a reason."

Sukkot

The Hebrew month of Tishrei offers quite the set list!  Immediately following Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur is Sukkot.  This holiday begins on Sunday evening and marks the Israelites wandering through the wilderness and living in these temporary shelters.

This month provides us with a record setting concert.  Year after year it is the same.  Rosh Hashanah.  Yom Kippur.  Sukkot.  Simhat Torah.  There is an interesting tradition that even before breaking Yom Kippur’s fast, one is supposed to place the first board on the sukkah.  Like the best of concerts there is no pause between songs.  We move from the introspection of Yom Kippur to the rejoicing of Sukkot.  The two holidays are bound to each other.  The joy of Sukkot takes over.    

The inwardness of Yom Kippur is transformed by the earthiness of Sukkot.  We let go of our sins and wrongdoings.  We turn to the world.  Whereas Yom Kippur is all about prayer and repentance, Sukkot is about our everyday world.  Its mandate is to celebrate our everyday blessings. 

What is its most important mitzvah?  Leishev basukkah—to live in the sukkah.  We are commanded to eat our meals in the sukkah and even sleep in the sukkah.  For one week our lives move from our beautiful homes to these temporary shelters.  The sukkah must be temporary in its character.  If it is too comfortable then it is not a sukkah.  If it provides too much shelter then it defeats the meaning of Sukkot.

Central to this definition of the sukkah is the schach, the roof.  One must be able to see the stars through its lattice.  So what does one do if it rains?  What happens to living in the sukkah if the weather is uncomfortable?  The rabbis are clear in their answer.  Go inside!  A temporary shelter cannot protect us from the rains.  A temporary shelter should not protect us.  Its fragility is part of its message.

Even more important than the sukkah’s temporary quality is the joy of the holiday.  It is no fun to sleep outside in the rain.  It is no fun to be eating outside during a late fall sukkot.  One’s joy would be diminished.   First and foremost this day is about rejoicing.  We rejoice in the gifts of this world.  We celebrate the bounty of creation. 

Living in these temporary shelters helps to remind us of these blessings.  After a long day of fasting and praying, Sukkot comes to remind us of the blessings that surround us each and every day.  Sitting outside in our sukkot, we look at the blessings of our homes.  We relish the blessings of nature.  We rejoice in fall breezes, the changing of the leaves and the full moon that will peer through the lattice on Sunday evening.

We breathe a sigh of relief after the exhaustion of beating our chests and examining our ways.  The moon brightens the evening.  We sing and laugh as we gather around the table in our sukkah.  We rejoice!

The set list continues next week with Simhat Torah…

Why!?: A Meditation on the Meaning of Religion

Yom Kippur Morning Sermon

I was recently reading the Iceland Times.  Or is it the Times of Iceland?  (Ok I just had to begin with that.)  My Icelandic is of course very rusty.  Still I was able to make out the following.  Thank you Google Translate.  Thank you Facebook friends for sharing.  The story began on Saturday, August 25^th, when a woman who was described as "Asian, about 160 cm (5 ft-3), wearing dark clothing and speaking English well" was declared missing somewhere in the vicinity of southern Iceland.  The search went on throughout the better part of the weekend, with no sign of the woman to be found. However, on Sunday evening, she was reported alive and well.  In fact she had no idea she was missing in the first place.  This was apparently the result of a misunderstanding regarding her appearance. While it was initially reported that she had stepped off her tour bus and never returned, in fact she had changed clothing before getting back on the bus, hence the confusion.  To make matters even more unbelievable, given the good-natured person that she is, she had joined the weekend search party.  She had spent 24 hours searching for herself.  Eventually, it occurred to her that she could very well be the "missing person" and reported the matter to the police. The search was called off.  Much to her delight, she was declared found.  Can you imagine this?  She spent a full day looking for herself.  I imagine her talking with her fellow searchers as they walked through southern Iceland.  I imagine her saying things like, “I hope the poor woman is ok.  I really hope we find her.”

All kidding aside, this true story, at least as much as my limited Icelandic is able to verify, serves as a metaphor for our own search.  People often come to me with painful stories.  They ask me, “Why?”  They ask me why is this happening?  Why did my mother die so young?  Why did my father suffer for so long?  They come with questions of pain.  They come searching for answers.  These questions are unanswerable.  I do not have answers.  I refuse to offer clichés.  I refuse to offer theologies that suggest concise answers to life’s most vexing and troubling questions.   People think that religion is about answers.  It is not.  Perhaps the fundamentalist varieties are.  Perhaps they offer exactitudes.  But they also require suspending all doubt and complexities.  They require the rejection of independent thought.  One’s own thinking becomes a slave to that of a master.  Want to know what to do, what to believe?  Ask your rebbe.  Ask your imam.  Ask your minister.   Google it. I come offering no simple answers.  I am on the same search as everyone else.  I ask the same questions.  I arrive at partial answers, temporary consolations.  Spend a day searching for yourself!  I try to spend many such days. 

The Torah of course offers the greatest lesson.  Here is our greatest book yet it concludes unfulfilled, with our dream unrealized and our questions unanswered.  Here are the Five Books of Moses yet Moses dies at its conclusion.  His dream of leading the people into the Promised Land is unfulfilled.  That is left to his successor Joshua.   We are left to wonder why God would be so harsh to the most trusted servant.  Why would God not allow Moses to take the people that final mile across the Jordan?  He had faithfully spoken to Pharaoh demanding that God’s people be set free.  He had led the people through the wilderness for forty years.  He had spent sleepless days and nights, without food and drink, communing with God on Mount Sinai and then delivering the Torah to the people.  All because of one moment of anger he is punished.  That is what we are left to believe.  Here is that instance.  The people were grumbling and complaining yet one more time.  There was not enough water in the wilderness, they cried to Moses.  God instructs Moses to command the rock to give water.  Instead Moses hits the rock and screams at the people.  Ok, so he gets angry.  He yells at the rock. He yells at the people.  Maybe he even gives too little credit to God for the miracle.  It was hot.  He was tired.  He was maybe even hungry.  He was certainly thirsty.  He probably needed a new pair of sandals.  But God says, “Now you can’t go into the land with the people.”  Why? 

Moses’s life is filled with questions.  When God first calls him, he asks, “Why me?”  He does not want the job.  Who would?  One of the common threads that unite all prophets is that they don’t want the job.  Look at Jonah, this afternoon’s Haftarah reading.  God says, “Go to Nineveh.”  And he runs.  God has to send a big fish to swallow him.  It is as if to say, “Beware of those who want to be great leaders, who want to stand in front of large groups of people and command them their words.”  That is what makes Harry Truman so compelling.  He was called to greatness, an ordinary man who did not want the job but who rose to the occasion and led a nation through crisis and war.  He was a hat salesman who led a nation.  God does not call Moses until he becomes an ordinary shepherd.  A prince of Egypt was not good enough!  He was an ordinary man, tending to his father in law’s flock.  That is when he was called.  He achieved greatness.  History forever remembers the name Moses.  But he died with questions on his lips.  He begs God, “Let me, I pray, cross over and see the good land on the other side of the Jordan…” (Deuteronomy 6:25)  God will not relent.

And we are left wondering.  We are left asking, “Does not a life of virtue merit reward?  Does not a life lived in obedience to God’s will deserve blessing?”  Moses gets many years but not his greatest dream.  The Torah offers only partial answers.  And we are left forever asking.  Why? 

We learn that the written Torah is completed in the oral Torah.  The discussion continues.  Although the oral Torah is now found in books such as the Mishnah, Talmud and Midrash, it is never completed.  When God gave the Torah on Mount Sinai, the rabbis teach us, God also provided us with the means of interpreting these stories and laws and even the very crowns adorning the letters.  We continue to ask.  We continue to argue.  We continue to search for answers.  The oral Torah is never completed.  Each generation adds its questions.  Each generation contributes its search for answers. 

According to the Torah we are commanded to say a blessing after eating each and every meal.  After eating our fill we are to give thanks.  The rabbis then ask, but what constitutes a meal?  How much food makes a meal?  How many courses? For one person it might need to include steak.  For another it could be tofu stir-fry.  For me there is nothing quite like a veggie burger with soy cheese on gluten free bread.  Yum.  For others if there is no dessert it cannot be called a meal.  So what is the rabbis’ answer?   How much food must we eat before we are required to say a blessing?  K’zayit is the answer.  An olive’s size.  An olive?  Who in the world is satisfied after eating an olive?  Or even a handful of olives?  Is there anyone for whom an olive would constitute a meal?  The answer is of course no.   No one is sated after eating an olive.  Even though the Torah says, “When you have eaten and are satisfied give thanks to the Lord…” (Deuteronomy 8:10) our tradition has decided that we give thanks even when we have not really had a meal.   We say a blessing even though we are not satisfied.  Here is the theory.  It is one that I learned from my rabbi, David Hartman.

Judaism is about how to live with imperfections, how to live with questions, how to live when dreams and desires go unfulfilled.  We say a blessing even when it is an imperfect meal.   We don’t say, “You’re chopped.”  Instead we say, “Thank you.  Thank you God.  Baruch HaShem.”  Granted the saying of blessings, or any religious ritual, can become obsessive.  You could be running around saying blessings after eating every morsel and crumb.  Nonetheless the overall point is the same.  We say a blessing.  This is Judaism’s most important response to life’s difficulties and imperfections. 

Say a blessing.  Sing a song.  Rebbe Nachman said: “Even if you can’t sing well, sing.  Sing to yourself.  Or sing in the privacy of your own home.  But sing.”  Nachman of Bratslav was fond of singing and dancing.  “Get into the habit of singing a tune,” he said.  “It will give you new life and fill you with joy.  Get into the habit of dancing.  It will displace depression and dispel hardship.”  He is known for such statements.  His Judaism was particularly infused with joy.  His dancing surpassed my own.

Say a blessing.  Sing a song.  What are we required to say when staring at death?  “Baruch dayan ha-emet.   Blessed is the judge of truth.”  Is this a theological statement?  Do we believe that this death is a righteous judgment?  Do we not grieve for our loss?  Who would not want more time with their loved one?  Even given 120 years who would not want one more moment with their mother or father, husband or wife, brother or sister or even child?  All would say that 120 years is more than a full life, but still we want more.  Even with so many years would we be satisfied?  Of course not.  Yet we say, Baruch dayan ha-emet.  Blessed is the judge of truth.  Shout blessings at imperfections.  Shout songs at too few years.  But sing.  That is our secret.  It is not so much about the theology or our acceptance of divine judgment.  It is instead about the music. 

The strangest and most wonderful lesson about the kaddish is that very few if any understand the meaning of its words.  Perhaps that is because it is written in Aramaic, the language of the Talmud, and not even Hebrew, the language of most of our other prayers.  It is even unclear when the prayer became associated with mourning.  The legend is that when Rabbi Akiva died his students were grappling with how best to mark their teacher’s death.  They decided to recite the prayer that he taught them to say when they gathered to study.  During those years the kaddish marked the completion of study.  It was a song of praise to God.  “Yitgadal v’yitkadash… Magnified and sanctified is His great name….   Blessed, praised, glorified, raised, exalted, honored, uplifted and lauded be the Name of the Holy One Blessed above He, above all blessings and songs, praises and consolations that could be uttered in this world.”  This is what they said when they sat at the table learning with their teacher.  This is what they began to slowly utter following his death.  And thus our custom was born.  Is it theology?  Is it a remembrance of a great teacher?  Or is it the music of its words? 

Life is imperfect.  Life is filled with questions and uncertainties.  Accidents happen.  Tragedies occur.  We sing.  We bless.  These acts allow us to live with imperfections.  There are no answers.  There is only one response.  Stand in awe before the majesty, and mystery, of creation.  We find a morsel for which to give thanks.  We wrest this from among the questions.  We pull this from the fire and say, “Baruch Ata Adonai…”  We add music and song.  We dance.  That is all we can do at times.  It is less well known that Nachman of Bratslav battled depression and despair.  He was at times given to dark thoughts.  What was the medicine he prescribed?  Sing.  Dance.  Pray.  Say blessings.  Shout with joy, even at the imperfections of the world.  Don’t get me wrong.  I am not suggesting that we throw our hands up to destiny.  I am not suggesting that when you are sick you should not go to a doctor.  I have little patience for religious leaders who suggest that faith must replace science.  Find the best doctor. 

Still, now matter how well you eat and exercise it is not entirely in our hands.  Does that mean, Well then give up.  Eat whatever you want.  Feast on Big Macs everyday.  Shmirat haguf, the care of our bodies is not simply about prolonging our lives but the responsibility to care for the divine image shrouded in the body’s vessel.  That is Judaism’s second response to the imperfections that surround us.   There are responsibilities that go beyond our own needs and desires.  Each of us is created in God’s image.  We care for ourselves as if our bodies are holy.  It is not the same as the Greek vision that our bodies are temples.  It is not the worship of body.  It is instead that the bodies are vessels of the holy.  We care for ourselves not so much out of fear, and especially the fear of illness and death, but out of a sense of responsibility and awe.

Science and medicine are therefore sacred pursuits.  It was once that rabbi and doctor were often combined in the same person.  Maimonides was such a person.  There was not then the division between faith and science, medicine and religion.  The two served each other.  Their goal was the same.  Refuat haguf and refuat hanefesh, healing of the body and healing of the soul, were not opposite pursuits.  They were both spiritual pursuits.  Today we appear to say, See the best doctor first.  If that fails, pray.  It is as if prayer is a last resort.  It is as if faith is the final measure.  Is it only when there is a mere morsel of life that we turn to the words of our tradition?  It should never be faith instead of medicine.  It should never be just have some chicken soup and say some psalms. Nourish the body and the soul.  They are one. 

Then again there will be times when science becomes stumped.  There will be moments when medicines cannot cure.  That is especially when we reach for the olive’s worth.  That is when we say, “K’zayit can sustain me.”  Baruch. Here is the secret.  Most refuse to say it out loud.  Faith is stumped as well.  It is filled with questions.  It too does not have answers to all of life’s questions.  It is instead an attitude.  It is a perspective of yirah, of awe.  It is about looking at the world for that sliver of a blessing, a song, a prayer.  Even now?  Rabbi Akiva’s students asked their teacher at the moment he was martyred by the Romans.  Yes, especially now, he answered.

Faith is not simply about prayer.  It is also about what we do, how we behave.  On these days especially we affirm that we can change.  We have the chutzpah to believe that we can fix the world.  We do not accept judgments as fated.  We work to right them.  We work to repair them.  We proclaim the power of repentance.  We can turn.  We can make amends.  We can change ourselves and our world.  People sometimes, and perhaps too often, make terrible choices.  They cause pain to others.  Need we recite examples?  They are too many to enumerate.  This is our faith as well.  We believe in the capacity for human beings to do better, to rescue the glimmer of good that is within each and every soul.  We refuse to accept pronouncements, “He will never change.  She will never say she is sorry.”  This is our response when people say, “Look at all the problems religion causes.  Look at the terrorism.  Take note of the millions of lives slaughtered in God’s name.”  We stand in defiance of such pronouncements.  We declare that our faith demands of us to do better, to repair this broken the world.  We do not deny the pain and sorrow.  We also do not look away from it.  We say that it can be fixed, and that we are the ones who can do so.  We refuse to give up. We challenge those who speak of destiny and fate.

We come not offering answers.  Those are for fundamentalists.  We come to repair, to care and to bless.  We come to journey together.  We come to search. When we search we discover new truths.

Recently in Israel they made an astonishing discovery.  It was not as one might expect a great archaeological find.  It was instead a discovery found in an elderly woman’s drawer.  There her daughter discovered a poem by Hannah Senesh.  Hannah Senesh was of course the extraordinarily brave Hungarian Jew who parachuted behind enemy lines to help rescue her fellow Jews from the Nazis before being executed.  She was a fervent Zionist and her poems, especially Eli Eli, my God my God, are sung to this day.  She was captured and we now know tortured mercilessly by the Nazis.  From her British training base in Cairo she wrote letters to friends.  To her friend Miriam Yasur, living at Kibbutz Hatzor, she sent a poem.  This poem was only discovered a few months ago by Miriam’s daughter, Hannah, who I suspect was named for her mother’s cherished friend.  Sometimes the greatest of discoveries are found in the ordinary.  We need not unearth mountains of dirt.  We need not summit Everest.  We need only look with new eyes.  Here in a drawer, a truth was uncovered.  Hannah Senesh wrote:  

A hora, roaring, tempestuous, blazes around me
With the mystery of rhythm, gladdening and forging,
It tugs at my body and heart
The foot marches, the back quivers, the song is ignited, a searing chorus
Dance and song, a wordless prayer,
Hail to the future, hail to creation…

Hail to the future, indeed!  The funny thing about that 160 cm tall woman who we laughed at in the beginning, the woman who wandered through southern Iceland searching for herself is that she actually had it right.  We are supposed to search for ourselves.  That is the quest.  It is not about the answers.  It is not about what Google tells us.  It is instead about the search and the unintended discoveries.  It is all about the questions.  That is the essence of our faith.

Religion is not about answers.  It is instead how to live with these troubling questions, how to live with the litany of imperfections that are our world and our bodies.  It is how to live with uncertainty.  The answer is not the answers.  The answer is keep looking.  The answer is walk together.  Keep singing and blessing, even if it is only a morsel.  Work to fix the world and care for the spark of the divine in each of us.  Most of all walk with others.  Religion is about summoning the strength to live with such unresolved questions, imperfections and inconsistencies.

Eventually the meandering search will become a wordless prayer.  Eventually the questioning will form a hora.  The questions, the uncertainties, the imperfections never disappear.  They don’t feel as burdensome when you are singing and dancing, arm in arm.

Don't Separate Yourself

Yom Kippur Evening Sermon

On the plane home from Israel I met a man from Louisiana who had just finished working on an oilrig off the cost of Haifa.  He was returning home after spending six months working on the rig.  He told me of the Leviathan gas field which as the name suggests is immense in its proportions and almost messianic in its promise of natural gas riches.  When the messiah arrives, the rabbis teach us, we will eat the flesh of a roasted Leviathan.  I am not sure if that sounds like it will taste good, but such is the legend.  I was saddened to learn that he never once visited Israel’s shores except to travel to and from Ben Gurion airport.  He did promise that he would visit Jerusalem on his next trip.

It saddened me that he was so close to Israel and yet did not take the opportunity to experience the country.  But what made me even more disheartened was the distance he expressed to our own, shared country.  Somehow we started talking about politics, the upcoming elections and President Obama.  This was probably not my wisest decision.   Let’s debate politics with a tobacco chewing, large oilrig worker from Louisiana who you can’t run away from.  But I was jet lagged and tired.  It was 330 in the morning and our flight had arrived before the JFK workers were even ready to usher us off the plane.  Somewhere in the course of the conversation he said, “Obama is your president.  He ain’t mine.”  I don’t know why he thought he could pigeon hole me.  Maybe it was because I spoke about my worries about the environment and climate change in response to his accusation that Obama is killing the oil companies.  Still I could not let the “He ain’t my president” go.  I said, “I understand that you did not vote for him.  It should not matter who you voted for or who I voted for.  He is still our president.”  Maybe I should have realized that rabbi does not carry so much authority among Louisiana oilrig workers.  He turned to me and said, “No. He ain’t.  He’s a communist. He closed down the oil industry and eliminated jobs.  He ain’t my president!”  To be honest, I cleaned up the story a little bit and edited out some of his more colorful adjectives.  I said, “I don’t want to argue about the specifics.  You know the oil industry much better than I ever could.  He is still our president.”  “No he ain’t.  He is yours, not mine.”  I then said, “What’s the weather supposed to be like?  What are your plans for when you get home?”  There we were: two Americans standing next to each other, both anxious to exit the plan.  And yet we stood oceans apart. 

This evening I wish to reflect on this encounter (it was certainly not the experience I expected from my annual trip to Israel) and offer some observations about the upcoming elections and American democracy.  Come November many of us will be disappointed and maybe even angry.  I don’t know how many of us will be upset.  Maybe it will be 50% or 60% or even 70%.  Not everyone is going to have the guy they voted for in the White House come January. Here is my belief.  The greatest moment of American democracy is not the celebrations by the winner and his victory speech but the concession speech by the loser.  He speaks of ideals.  The loser inevitably speaks about American values.  I am most comfortable and at ease in that place, not with losers per say but with values and ideals.  The winner speaks of grand promises, promises that will inevitably disappoint.  No one can live up to all that he promises.  Looking back on recent history some of our greatest moments were Bush vs. Gore, not necessarily the Supreme Court decision, but Gore bowing to the Court’s authority and reminding us of the meaning of American democracy.  Or perhaps you prefer John McCain’s concession speech.  I remember in particular him quieting those who heckled at Obama’s name.  In their losses they reminded us of what is truly important.  I wish McCain was on that plane with me.  We should hold on to those moments.  We tend to forget such matters in the months preceding elections.  We yell at friends.  We change the subject to the weather.

My objective is not to suggest who we should vote for.  To advocate for one candidate over another would be a betrayal of the trust you place in me.  That is not the rabbi’s job. I disagree with my many friends who have signed on to “Rabbis for Obama.” My great worry is what happens on November 7^th and even more important how everyone feels on January 20^th.  On that day there should be no winners and losers.  Once the election is over, once the inauguration occurs, all should say “Our president is…”  We disenfranchise ourselves from the very democracy that granted us so many freedoms and opportunities when we say, “He ain’t my president.”  That is my chief worry.   I am not 100% sure if this trend has grown larger since Obama became president, if he is even more polarizing than his predecessors.  Sometimes it appears so but I recall the left casting themselves aside during the Reagan years.  I am certain however that we should be united in battling this trend.  You can have your issues with Obama’s positions and policies.  You can have your debates with Romney’s ideology and promises.  But come January 20^th one of them is going to be our president.  He is not just ours if we voted for him.  He is ours because we are Americans.  It seems so basic.  It also seems far too fleeting.

Why do we count things in terms of winners and losers?  When did we begin to measure everything, even our elected leaders, in terms of winners and losers, in terms of you are only mine if I chose you?  Perhaps this is the latest realization of the primacy we place in individual choice and how we overly indulge personal preference.  If my guy doesn’t win then he ain’t mine anymore.  Then this country is not ours?  This view seems particularly acute regarding Israel and most importantly Iran.  So let me offer some observations about the Iran crisis, its march toward nuclear weapons and how Israel and the United States is addressing this problem.  There are three points about which we should agree.

#1. Iran represents an existential threat to Israel and a danger to the United States.  To say otherwise is to misread history and especially modern Jewish history.  We must never attempt to explain away antisemites, most especially dictators with genocidal aims.  Bill Keller wrote the following in last week’s Times: “Despite the incendiary rhetoric, it is hard to believe the aim of an Iranian nuclear program is the extermination of Israel.” (The New York Times, September 9, 2012)  Such an evaluation is dangerous and naïve.  Such assumptions are a luxury we can ill afford.  We must always take antisemites at their word.  When they say they want to kill us, we believe them.  I wish I could believe otherwise, but we cannot, we must not.  The lessons of history are etched on the millions of graves we can no longer even find.  When it comes to antisemites with dangerous weapons, there is no other way of reading our history.  When someone rises up to say he wants to destroy the Jewish people and its nation, and when he rushes to acquire the means to do so, believe him. 

#2. This does not mean that a pre-emptive strike or an Israeli or American attack is the right response.  Have we not learned that war is messy and unpredictable?  Had we not gone to war in Iraq Saddam Hussein might have provided the needed deterrent against Iran’s desire to rule the Middle East.  Surgical strikes like those done recently in Syria and many years ago in Iraq no longer appear possible.  I do not believe that there are easy answers to this question.  How to prevent Iran from acquiring nuclear weapons defies simple answers.  Clearly there are disagreements between the Obama administration and Netanyahu’s government regarding these answers.  I do not believe however that there is disagreement about the question.  I continue to believe that the United States and Israel share an unbreakable friendship and partnership.  It will continue regardless of who our next president is.

Let us admit.  It is possible that US and Israeli interests might diverge.  The judgments of these two nations and its leaders may differ.  This is not to say that Iran and its desire to build nuclear weapons is not a threat to the United States and its interests.  Have we not learned that oceans can no longer protect us from terror and attack?  Iran and its proxies have attacked the United States before.  Have we already forgotten the embassy hostage crisis or the bombing of the marine barracks by Hezbullah?  Make no mistake. Iran represents a threat not only to Israel, not only to the United States but to the world.

#3.  We depend on no one but ourselves.  This is the most basic definition of Zionism. Zionism is about an independent Jewish nation that defends its own interests and secures the Jewish future through strength.  Perhaps this is naïve, especially in our interconnected, or hyper-connected, world.  I recall recent history.  During the first Gulf War, Israel and in particular Tel Aviv, suffered Scud attacks from Iraq.  Had Israel responded militarily to these attacks, the fragile coalition that Bush Senior had brokered would have unraveled.  Israel restrained itself.  Was this a good decision?  Clearly it kept the coalition from fraying.  The limited objectives of the war were achieved and the Powell doctrine affirmed.  Saddam’s army was pushed out of Kuwait.  Yet Israel’s failure to respond was a mistake of Zionism.  Its decision was a psychological blow to the country’s psyche.  It was attacked without provocation and did nothing but huddle in bomb shelters and safe rooms.  I do not pretend to think that such decisions are easy, that the agonizing choices leaders face especially in war rooms are simple, but I can say with certainty that Israel’s restraint in the face of attack undermined one of its core principles and its very identity.  While Israel may not be able to go it alone militarily it needs to psychologically.  It must do so because this is the very essence of Zionism.  

Only Israel and its leaders can determine which actions will best protect its citizens.  This is not because we don’t know enough or we don’t care enough.  It is not because the US is untrustworthy.  It is instead because Israel and the US see the world through different lenses. The nature of having a Jewish state is that we cannot depend on the world—even our greatest ally. We will write Jewish history ourselves—for better or worse. It will no longer be done to us.  We will never again be victims. Israel must defend itself.  Israel will defend itself.  The Jewish people will remain strong.  Chazak v’amatz.  Be strong and resolute, the Torah demands.

I have an unshakable faith in friendship and the friendship between Israel and the United States.  It is a friendship that transcends particular presidents and their parties.  I resent being tugged between opposing sides, as if my commitment and love for Israel is a punching bag.  The tradition argues, “Imo anochi b’tzara—we stand together in trying times.”  It does not mean that we always agree, but we stand together especially when there is a crisis, especially when we are tested, most especially when in sorrow or under duress. 

Let me be clear.  If Israel attacks Iran, which is its right, if that is what its leadership deems is the best way to protect the Jewish nation from Iran’s genocidal aims then the debate ends.  We stand with our people.  Some might say that the time to stand together is when the threat is raised.  Indeed we should be united in recognizing this threat.  We must vigorously fight those who dismiss Iran as a real threat to the world.  There remains however an open question of how best to fight this.  That is the only question currently open for debate.  If Israel attacks, if the United States attacks, or if God forbid, Iran attacks us, then “Imo anochi b’tzara…we stand together and united.”

Our views, our opinions, can be divided but we must remain one.  Still we continue to hear, “He ain’t my president.  He did not say what I wanted.  He stands for everything I am not.  He does not have Israel’s back.”  But he is, no matter who he is, no matter what his decisions might be.  I can disagree with him.  I can advocate for different positions.  I will certainly shout for all to hear that Iran represents a threat not only to my people but to the world as well. In the end the man in the White House is mine whether I voted for him or not.  And come January, he will be my president, whether I chose him or not. 

There are many issues that divide us. I am sure there are differences of opinion regarding taxes and immigration, the environment and unemployment.  I am certain that there are many opinions sitting in this room.  There is only one community.  There is only one country.  And we have only one president.  All of us. 

When we disenfranchise ourselves by drawing a line between ourselves and our leaders, we cut ourselves off from the community.  Is not this what we criticize the Haredi, the ultra-Orthodox, for, separating themselves from the society that sustains them?  Are we then any better?  I have always believed that elections are about the ideas and person who might make our country better.  I have always felt that we are at least supposed to try to improve our nation, our world and our lives.  It is supposed to be about our community not simply our individual lot.  I see taxes for example as part of my obligation to others.  Sure I don’t want to pay any more and I make every legal effort to pay as little as possible, but taxes are one way I participate in this community, in this country.  They are my obligation just as tzedakah is my mitzvah.  We cannot afford to draw ourselves outside of the circle of obligation.  We must redouble our efforts to draw ourselves in.  We must relearn the meaning of sacrifice.  I wish both candidates spoke more about obligations instead of what I might personally gain by their election.

Perhaps we should even reinstate the draft.  Dare I say such things?  My children’s grandparents might certainly take issue.  We need it.  We require what it nurtures for the community.  When American Jews served in the US armed forces in appreciable numbers, we understood better the meaning of democracy and the import of sacrifice.  Then our lives were defined not by opportunity and privilege but instead by duty and obligation.

My friend and student, Charlie, the US marine, who is serving in Afghanistan with a defense contractor reminds us of what this means.  His fiancee Ali teaches us as well about the meaning of sacrifice.  They are only together for these few weeks because he managed to grab a precious break for the holidays.  There is not of course a universal draft or even anything approaching national service. Imagine what it would teach us, and our children.  I could speak as well about Chris Stephens, the American diplomat, who gave his life serving our country.  Here was a man who gave his life so that democracy might flourish, however tentatively in the Arab Middle East. 

How are we not any better than the Haredi if we fail to pledge ourselves to the betterment of our world and most especially our nation?  If we do not sacrifice for others then how are we any different?  Don’t say we are better because we live in the modern world, because we participate in a modern economy, because we hold jobs and don’t just study all day and night.  We must give back.  We must serve—not just our small communities, not just our people but also the country and world.  The United States is not just a place to live and work.  It is an idea that must be served and protected.  This country is not just a collection of diverse towns and peoples.  The United States is a community.   It must forever remain so.  I remain deeply concerned that when we withdraw into our hamlets, when we stop speaking about the common good and the needs of all, we lose sight of what is supposed to be our impact.  “All the nations of the world shall bless themselves by your descendants,” God tells Abraham.  (Genesis 22:18)

2,000 years ago Rabbi Hillel said, “Al tifrosh min ha-tzibbur—don’t separate yourself from the community.”  Hillel was right then.  He is right now.  The greatest danger is not Obama.  The greatest threat is not Romney.  It is not about taxes or the economy, health care or even who better has Israel’s back.  It is instead about separating ourselves from the community.  It should not be, “My guy didn’t win, so I am out of here, I am checking out.”  To be part of a community, to be a citizen of a democracy, means that you don’t always get your choice.  Your ideas don’t always hold sway.  Your vote does not always make you a winner.  But it always counts.  You are forever a member of the community.  We are forever part of something greater than ourselves and our own personal interests.  We must fight the impulse to say, “He ain’t mine.” 

I cannot say for sure who our leader will be come January.  I am certain that whoever it might be, he will my president.  I am certain he will be mine.