Korah
The Israeli novelist, Etgar Keret, writes: "I love soccer because it is so painfully similar to life: slow, unjust, fairly random, usually boring, but always holding out the hope that, at some moment, however brief, everything will come together and take on meaning. There’s no getting away from it—life isn’t about limber athletes sinking hoops from the three-point arc; life is an ongoing, uncoordinated, anguished effort to transcend our trivial existence, an effort that, if we’re lucky, might lead to one brilliant move by Messi, Kaká, or some other dribbling magician. And then, for one split second, that whole damp 90-minute mishmash will turn into something coherent, beautiful, and worthwhile. And,when that moment and its endless playbacks fade, we will all return to our same drab reality of wasted time, pointless fouls, unreceived passes, and wild kicks that miss the goal by kilometers, only to wait with infinite patience and boundless hope for that next moment of grace." ("Goal-Oriented," TNR, June 2, 2010)
I do not share Keret's observation that most of life is boring (or his talent for spinning humor out of the ordinary), but I do share his thought that life is punctuated, like soccer, with flashes of brilliance and grace when everything seems to work and everyone seems in sync. Such is not the story of this week's Torah portion, Korah. Our portion is about the greatest rebellion against Moses and the authority God placed in him. In fact one can read much of the Torah, especially the Book of Numbers, as a record of how bad things can really go and how telling Keret's observation may be. Very little goes according to plan. God frees the people from Egypt, gives them the Torah and prepares them to enter the Promised Land. They in turn whine and complain. They gripe about Moses and his leadership.
In this week's portion, Korah screams, "You have gone too far! For all the community are holy, all of them, and the Lord is in their midst. Why then do you raise yourselves above the Lord's congregation?" (Numbers 16: 3) In the end Korah's rebellion is violently crushed. God does not easily forgive those who question Moses' authority. The Israelites move on to the next episode. Again they complain; this time about a lack of water. In this episode it is Moses who questions God's authority and is punished. Where are the flashes of brilliance? Where are the models to emulate? My teacher use to say, "There is no one in the Bible you would want your son or daughter to grow up to be like." Then why read the Torah? If it is not to provide us with models to emulate and characters to which we aspire, why read it at all?
It is because the Torah mirrors life. It is filled with ordinary people who occasionally do extraordinary things and more often than not do embarrassing things. We can see ourselves in its characters. We can find ourselves in its pages. There is a little bit of Korah in each of us. There is a measure of Moses in all. Such is also the case with the modern State of Israel. It is a country I love. It is a country whose miraculous founding I cherish and whose vibrancy continues to nourish my soul. Yet it sometimes stumbles. And this is exactly what happened with its recent actions regarding the Gaza flotilla. My remarks tomorrow evening will touch on these events and their repercussions. Loving Israel does not always mean agreeing with its actions, praising its behavior and apologizing for its leaders. It is the same with Torah. Loving the Torah does not always mean imitating it. Loving the Torah and Bible does not mean saying, "It must be right if David did it. It must be true if Moses said it." Torah means instead learning and growing from is words.
There are times when you can appreciate Keret's observation. Standing on the sidelines I watch my son slide to make a save and then leap to knock the unexpected shot out of bounds. Most of the time is spent on the sidelines kibbitzing with fellow parents, talking about schools, parenting, the news and weather. The hours of driving and watching are redeemed by those brief moments of beauty.
We travel from moment to moment, through ordinariness to such grandeur. We are sustained by the moments of illumination and brilliance. We pray that they might be more frequent. We recognize that they are elusive. Such is life. Such is soccer. Such is Torah.
I do not share Keret's observation that most of life is boring (or his talent for spinning humor out of the ordinary), but I do share his thought that life is punctuated, like soccer, with flashes of brilliance and grace when everything seems to work and everyone seems in sync. Such is not the story of this week's Torah portion, Korah. Our portion is about the greatest rebellion against Moses and the authority God placed in him. In fact one can read much of the Torah, especially the Book of Numbers, as a record of how bad things can really go and how telling Keret's observation may be. Very little goes according to plan. God frees the people from Egypt, gives them the Torah and prepares them to enter the Promised Land. They in turn whine and complain. They gripe about Moses and his leadership.
In this week's portion, Korah screams, "You have gone too far! For all the community are holy, all of them, and the Lord is in their midst. Why then do you raise yourselves above the Lord's congregation?" (Numbers 16: 3) In the end Korah's rebellion is violently crushed. God does not easily forgive those who question Moses' authority. The Israelites move on to the next episode. Again they complain; this time about a lack of water. In this episode it is Moses who questions God's authority and is punished. Where are the flashes of brilliance? Where are the models to emulate? My teacher use to say, "There is no one in the Bible you would want your son or daughter to grow up to be like." Then why read the Torah? If it is not to provide us with models to emulate and characters to which we aspire, why read it at all?
It is because the Torah mirrors life. It is filled with ordinary people who occasionally do extraordinary things and more often than not do embarrassing things. We can see ourselves in its characters. We can find ourselves in its pages. There is a little bit of Korah in each of us. There is a measure of Moses in all. Such is also the case with the modern State of Israel. It is a country I love. It is a country whose miraculous founding I cherish and whose vibrancy continues to nourish my soul. Yet it sometimes stumbles. And this is exactly what happened with its recent actions regarding the Gaza flotilla. My remarks tomorrow evening will touch on these events and their repercussions. Loving Israel does not always mean agreeing with its actions, praising its behavior and apologizing for its leaders. It is the same with Torah. Loving the Torah does not always mean imitating it. Loving the Torah and Bible does not mean saying, "It must be right if David did it. It must be true if Moses said it." Torah means instead learning and growing from is words.
There are times when you can appreciate Keret's observation. Standing on the sidelines I watch my son slide to make a save and then leap to knock the unexpected shot out of bounds. Most of the time is spent on the sidelines kibbitzing with fellow parents, talking about schools, parenting, the news and weather. The hours of driving and watching are redeemed by those brief moments of beauty.
We travel from moment to moment, through ordinariness to such grandeur. We are sustained by the moments of illumination and brilliance. We pray that they might be more frequent. We recognize that they are elusive. Such is life. Such is soccer. Such is Torah.
Jacob Milgrom z"l
Jacob Milgrom died this past weekend. He was a great scholar and the world's foremost authority on the Book of Leviticus. This past summer I had the pleasure of meeting him. I was introduced to Jacob and his wife Jo by their daughter Shira, a friend and colleague and for this introduction and meeting I will always be grateful. I have often struggled with balancing doubt alongside faith. Do too many questions undermine faith? What happens if we can't find the real Mount Sinai or prove the veracity of the exodus? I asked Professor Milgrom how he balanced the requisite doubt and skepticism of scholarship with the faith and trust of belief. His person was his response. He did not find it to be a struggle. You can regard Torah as holy. And at the same you can pull apart the strands of Torah, labeling some verses as written by one author and others by another school. Skepticism need not become cynicism. Scholarship points toward faith and in fact fortifies belief. Like the physicist who sees in the stars evidence of quarks and as well evidence of God's handiwork, Dr. Milgrom sees in the Torah evidence of God and humanity reaching towards each other. Faith is about bringing God into the world. Scholarship is about uncovering the hidden meanings in the Torah, and these are sometimes discovered by unraveling the many generations of writers who authored the Bible. Doubt must not as well undermine prayer. Not only can you pray, but you must pray, as Milgrom did on a daily basis. He once said (as retold by his son), "Of all things in the universe that God created, only the human is capable of chasing God out of his mind and heart. The human being, however, with his free will and his power of creation can fill his mind and heart with negativity and darkness, and expel God. However when I daven [pray], even if kavanah [proper feeling] doesn't come, at the very least I have dedicated a few minutes every day in which I don't create any negativity and darkness. In this way I have created a space for God to come in and fill me. This is the most important thing in life, because we can't base doing anything good in life on having experiences of kavanah. For kavanah is a gift for which we can't be accountable. But opening a space for God a few minutes each day we can do, and for this we can be accountable. Ultimately these few minutes each day are the foundation of hope that we can create meaning in our lives and they are the first step in tikkun olam [repair of the world]." I have come to see that questions renew and strengthen faith. I have also come to recognize that the greatest meaning can be derived from chance encounters and meetings. I admire Jacob Milgrom for balancing questions and devotion and of course for sharing his person with me. May the memory of Jacob Milgrom always serve as a blessing.
Richard Cohen - What Helen Thomas Missed
Richard Cohen - What Helen Thomas Missed
Richard Cohen writes, "The mini-Holocaust that followed the Holocaust itself is not well-known anymore, but it played an outsize role in the establishment of the state of Israel. It was the plight of Jews consigned to Displaced Persons camps in Europe that both moved and outraged President Harry Truman, who supported Jewish immigration to Palestine and, when the time came, the new state itself. Something had to be done for the Jews of Europe. They were still being murdered." Helen Thomas of courses misses this point. She also misses the point, that Obama and others miss, that the modern State of Israel is connected to the historic Jewish connection to the land of Israel and most importantly derives meaning from this connection. When will the world recognize this fundamental point? Peace and co-existence will also not be achieved by one group packing their bags and leaving. Jews and Palestinians are bound to the same land. I feel the Jewish connection. I recognize the Palestinian connection. Let us both recognize each others' claims and affirm each others' historical ties. Only then might we draw closer to peace.
Richard Cohen writes, "The mini-Holocaust that followed the Holocaust itself is not well-known anymore, but it played an outsize role in the establishment of the state of Israel. It was the plight of Jews consigned to Displaced Persons camps in Europe that both moved and outraged President Harry Truman, who supported Jewish immigration to Palestine and, when the time came, the new state itself. Something had to be done for the Jews of Europe. They were still being murdered." Helen Thomas of courses misses this point. She also misses the point, that Obama and others miss, that the modern State of Israel is connected to the historic Jewish connection to the land of Israel and most importantly derives meaning from this connection. When will the world recognize this fundamental point? Peace and co-existence will also not be achieved by one group packing their bags and leaving. Jews and Palestinians are bound to the same land. I feel the Jewish connection. I recognize the Palestinian connection. Let us both recognize each others' claims and affirm each others' historical ties. Only then might we draw closer to peace.
Our First Ten Years
Our First Ten Years
The following is an excerpt from the sermon I delivered marking my first ten years at the JCB. The complete text can be found by following the link.
...I discovered in the rabbinate a job where I am asked to care and asked to question. I believe that every person must be loved and cared for and every idea questioned. Everything is subject to scrutiny and questioning, especially pronouncements that come without reasons. My parents are, I think, thankful and relieved that I was able to find gainful employment for my questioning. If you want to be better then you must question. I can be relentless in this task, but it is the only way you can better yourself and better community. Kim will tell you that the worst reason for why we might do something is to say to me, “That is how other synagogues do it.” I am not trying to be different for the sake of being different but I do believe that everything must be examined. First of all myself, each and every day, each and every moment. Second, our world. Third, our traditions. Nothing is a given. Everything must be examined, from each and every angle. That is the only way we can build a Judaism for tomorrow. That is the only way we can continue to build a synagogue.
That is what attracted me to this place. I discovered in the Board and those I met on that first occasion a certain courage in carving out our own path and creating a different kind of synagogue. All of us continue to share the passion that certain values need to be restored to synagogue life: a sense of caring, a commitment to be loving, priority of learning, engaging prayer services. I have always found the Hasidic shtiebel to be the better model, a place where the rabbi knows each and every family, a place where people enjoy prayer. A Brookville shtiebel might be a bit of an oxymoron, but such is my quest.
I admit. My passions can sometimes get the better of me. In fact truth be told I returned from my interview and told Susie, “I didn’t get the job.” “Why?” she asked. “I actually told them what I really think about a whole bunch of things.” Apparently the committee decided they liked the passion even if a few of the ideas were out of the ordinary for a Reform rabbi. I can be liberal on some questions and conservative on others. I don’t want to be categorized. I just want to continue thinking and questioning. I will always continue loving Judaism and loving even more, teaching Judaism. Most of all I will always continue to love this congregation. I hope I have lived up to the expectations and trust that that committee and Board saw in me.
In this week’s Torah portion, Shelach Lecha, we learn of Joshua and discover some of his character traits. I have always admired Joshua, in many ways more than Moses. Moses is an impossible model to emulate. First of all who really wants to be alone on a mountain top for 40 days talking to God, especially without any food or water? That does not sound like much fun. It does not even sound particularly meaningful. What kind of Jewish life would that be, especially without the food? Ask God questions; get answers. What is there left to do if all of your questions are answered in a few weeks? That does not seem particularly Jewish to me. The quest would be over before ever leaving the mountain top.
I love Joshua. He has faith and he appears to draw strength from within and even strength from questions and doubt. He remains steadfast in his beliefs while not losing faith with people. His faith does not blind him to reality, but instead gives him the strength to see beyond the present. He sees the positive, where others see the negative. He sees a better tomorrow, where others only see fear. A Joshua we can be. A Moses we cannot.
To Joshua, Moses says, “Chazak ve-ematz—be strong and courageous.” Such is my charge to myself. Such is my charge to the congregation I will continue to love and care for. Be strong and courageous. May this charge carry us through to our next decade.
The following is an excerpt from the sermon I delivered marking my first ten years at the JCB. The complete text can be found by following the link.
...I discovered in the rabbinate a job where I am asked to care and asked to question. I believe that every person must be loved and cared for and every idea questioned. Everything is subject to scrutiny and questioning, especially pronouncements that come without reasons. My parents are, I think, thankful and relieved that I was able to find gainful employment for my questioning. If you want to be better then you must question. I can be relentless in this task, but it is the only way you can better yourself and better community. Kim will tell you that the worst reason for why we might do something is to say to me, “That is how other synagogues do it.” I am not trying to be different for the sake of being different but I do believe that everything must be examined. First of all myself, each and every day, each and every moment. Second, our world. Third, our traditions. Nothing is a given. Everything must be examined, from each and every angle. That is the only way we can build a Judaism for tomorrow. That is the only way we can continue to build a synagogue.
That is what attracted me to this place. I discovered in the Board and those I met on that first occasion a certain courage in carving out our own path and creating a different kind of synagogue. All of us continue to share the passion that certain values need to be restored to synagogue life: a sense of caring, a commitment to be loving, priority of learning, engaging prayer services. I have always found the Hasidic shtiebel to be the better model, a place where the rabbi knows each and every family, a place where people enjoy prayer. A Brookville shtiebel might be a bit of an oxymoron, but such is my quest.
I admit. My passions can sometimes get the better of me. In fact truth be told I returned from my interview and told Susie, “I didn’t get the job.” “Why?” she asked. “I actually told them what I really think about a whole bunch of things.” Apparently the committee decided they liked the passion even if a few of the ideas were out of the ordinary for a Reform rabbi. I can be liberal on some questions and conservative on others. I don’t want to be categorized. I just want to continue thinking and questioning. I will always continue loving Judaism and loving even more, teaching Judaism. Most of all I will always continue to love this congregation. I hope I have lived up to the expectations and trust that that committee and Board saw in me.
In this week’s Torah portion, Shelach Lecha, we learn of Joshua and discover some of his character traits. I have always admired Joshua, in many ways more than Moses. Moses is an impossible model to emulate. First of all who really wants to be alone on a mountain top for 40 days talking to God, especially without any food or water? That does not sound like much fun. It does not even sound particularly meaningful. What kind of Jewish life would that be, especially without the food? Ask God questions; get answers. What is there left to do if all of your questions are answered in a few weeks? That does not seem particularly Jewish to me. The quest would be over before ever leaving the mountain top.
I love Joshua. He has faith and he appears to draw strength from within and even strength from questions and doubt. He remains steadfast in his beliefs while not losing faith with people. His faith does not blind him to reality, but instead gives him the strength to see beyond the present. He sees the positive, where others see the negative. He sees a better tomorrow, where others only see fear. A Joshua we can be. A Moses we cannot.
To Joshua, Moses says, “Chazak ve-ematz—be strong and courageous.” Such is my charge to myself. Such is my charge to the congregation I will continue to love and care for. Be strong and courageous. May this charge carry us through to our next decade.
My Thanks
My Thanks
The following is an excerpt from my speech at Thursday evening's fundraiser in my honor. For the complete text follow the link.
The following is an excerpt from my speech at Thursday evening's fundraiser in my honor. For the complete text follow the link.
Thank you for this evening and for this honor. I am grateful to all for attending. It warms my heart to celebrate together. I consider it a gift to serve as a rabbi and in particular as your rabbi. Thank you for that privilege. Thank you for recognizing all we have done over the past 10 years with this party. It is so wonderful to celebrate together and dance together!...
Parties and simchas are of course the quintessential Jewish occasions. They remind us of what I most fond of teaching and it is the following. Judaism says, you can’t dance by yourself. You must dance with others. It is not because you look stupid doing so. One need only watch a certain rabbi’s YouTube videos to find an illustration of this. Now my kids will say, “Abba, it is not that you can’t dance by yourself. It is, you can’t dance.” That may be true, but it is not the most important point. You need your community to dance. You also need your congregation to cry. We just don’t do stuff by ourselves. Judaism is not the religion of the rugged individual. We are at our best when we are with others. Our faith is not about solitude. We achieve greatness not on our own, but with friends and in the arms of community. That is what I am about. That is what this synagogue is about.
People often ask me, “When will you have your synagogue?” This question confuses the meaning and purpose of a synagogue with a building. We rightfully want and need a building not because we require a monument but because we can’t do all we want or need without our own home. But square footage does not make a synagogue just like it does not make a house into a home. In towns that too often measure people by the size and architecture of their houses our gathering here tonight reminds them and ourselves that meaning is found in the community we have already built, the people sitting around this room.
We will build a building (and I won’t quit on this point) not because it is an end but because it is a means to further our vision of a caring and learning community. Let us be clear. Meaning and purpose are found in friends and community. This meaning we have already built. This purpose we have already achieved. Our community will only grow stronger in the years ahead, furthered by a building, sustained by the devotion of leaders and ensured by the participation of all. Our friendships will only grow deeper. And so I thank you for your friendship. Thank you for the privilege of serving this community.
I pray. May we never lose sight of the fact that square footage only tabulates area. It can never calculate meaning. On this occasion we have affirmed that no building can ever contain the meaning and purpose we have already grasped. Most people spend a lifetime pining after the friendships and sense of community we already hold. I thank God for this congregation and for its members. I thank you for calling me rabbi. May we continue to go from strength to strength. Chazak, chazak v’nitchazeik.
Operation Make The World Hate Us | The New Republic
Operation Make The World Hate Us | The New Republic
Leon Wieseltier's recent article is an insightful and provocative piece. He writes: "When, in the modern era, the Zionists concluded, quite correctly, that the Jews must extract themselves from anti-Semitic societies and establish a society of their own, a sovereign one, in the land of Israel, it was in part to “normalize” them by making them “reckoned among the nations,” and therefore like other nations. Zionism was a reversal of Balaam’s phony blessing. The state was not supposed to be a bunker, even if it had enemies." The problem, he argues, is that Israel, and Netanyahu in particular, increasingly approaches its problems with a bunker mentality. About the Palestinians and their supporters he writes: "You are not for co-existence if you advocate the disappearance of one of the terms. Consider...the recent adventures of Noam Chomsky in the region. It was widely noted that the Israelis, again idiotically, turned him away at the Allenby Bridge. It was less widely noted that a few days later a reporter for The New York Times accidentally discovered him in Lebanon at the home of Nabil Qaouk, the deputy head of Hezbollah, which is not what Voltaire had in mind."
Read as well Marty Peretz's article in the same magazine.
In The Great Flotilla Debate, The Facts Are On Israel's Side | The New Republic
"Sympathy for Hamas is an odd reality in the Western world, and Israel needs to puzzle over how it has lost so much ground in its struggle against Arab and Muslim barbarism. I understand that the revival of a certain chic anti-Semitism has paved the way for the grosser anti-Semites and for the Muslim phantasts who deal in torment and salvation. Among these were the voyagers on the ship of fools who, a clip from Al Jazeera demonstrates, awaited the shores of Gaza ... or martyrdom."
Leon Wieseltier's recent article is an insightful and provocative piece. He writes: "When, in the modern era, the Zionists concluded, quite correctly, that the Jews must extract themselves from anti-Semitic societies and establish a society of their own, a sovereign one, in the land of Israel, it was in part to “normalize” them by making them “reckoned among the nations,” and therefore like other nations. Zionism was a reversal of Balaam’s phony blessing. The state was not supposed to be a bunker, even if it had enemies." The problem, he argues, is that Israel, and Netanyahu in particular, increasingly approaches its problems with a bunker mentality. About the Palestinians and their supporters he writes: "You are not for co-existence if you advocate the disappearance of one of the terms. Consider...the recent adventures of Noam Chomsky in the region. It was widely noted that the Israelis, again idiotically, turned him away at the Allenby Bridge. It was less widely noted that a few days later a reporter for The New York Times accidentally discovered him in Lebanon at the home of Nabil Qaouk, the deputy head of Hezbollah, which is not what Voltaire had in mind."
Read as well Marty Peretz's article in the same magazine.
In The Great Flotilla Debate, The Facts Are On Israel's Side | The New Republic
"Sympathy for Hamas is an odd reality in the Western world, and Israel needs to puzzle over how it has lost so much ground in its struggle against Arab and Muslim barbarism. I understand that the revival of a certain chic anti-Semitism has paved the way for the grosser anti-Semites and for the Muslim phantasts who deal in torment and salvation. Among these were the voyagers on the ship of fools who, a clip from Al Jazeera demonstrates, awaited the shores of Gaza ... or martyrdom."
More Articles
If you would like to read more about Monday's events and the Gaza flotilla, read the following commentaries:
Amos Oz, Israel Force, Adrift on the Sea
Tom Friedman, When Friends Fall Out
Daniel Gordis, A Botched Raid, A Vital Embargo
Micheal Oren, An Assault, Cloaked in Peace
There is more to be learned and more commentaries to read and ponder...
Amos Oz, Israel Force, Adrift on the Sea
Tom Friedman, When Friends Fall Out
Daniel Gordis, A Botched Raid, A Vital Embargo
Micheal Oren, An Assault, Cloaked in Peace
There is more to be learned and more commentaries to read and ponder...
Shelach Lecha
What kind of person do you strive to be? What kind of leader do you hope to become?
In this week’s Torah portion, Shelach Lecha, we see two kinds of leaders, two kinds of people. There is Moses, the most important personality in the entire Torah. He stands up to Pharaoh. He leads us from slavery to freedom. He parts the Sea of Reeds, ok with God’s help of course. He communes with God on Mount Sinai and gives us the Torah. He talks to God face to face. So close in fact is his relationship with God that when he doubts, he consults God. Moses asks and God answers. Then there is Joshua, the leader who takes over the reins from Moses. We learn part of Joshua’s character traits in this portion.
In Shelach Lecha we read the story of the twelve spies who are sent to scout the land of Israel. Ten return with a negative report. “The country that we traversed and scouted is one that devours its settlers. All the people that we saw in it are men of great size… and we looked like grasshoppers to ourselves, and so we must have looked to them.” (Numbers 13:32—33) Joshua (and Caleb), on the other hand, report: “The land that we traversed and scouted is an exceedingly good land. If the Lord is pleased with us, He will bring us into the land, a land that flows with milk and honey, and give it to us… Have no fear then of the people of the country, for they are our prey: their protection has departed from them, but the Lord is with us. Have no fear of them!” (Numbers 14: 7-10)
How is it that all twelve scouted the same land, but came back with different reports? The answer is not they described a different reality. It is instead that their assessment of this reality differed. And it is their assessment that gives us a clue for measuring leadership and character. Joshua saw things differently. He looked at overwhelming challenges and rather than cowering in fear reasserted his faith and renewed his dreams.
How is that he was not afraid when others were terrified? He saw the same things. He saw the same challenges. But for Joshua nothing seemed insurmountable. The ten spies saw conflict, and battles, ahead. Joshua saw beyond these. Joshua understood the difficulties, but held in his heart the promise of what would result after struggle and challenge. That is what makes for Joshua’s greatness.
The majority always focus on difficulties. The majority worries about failure. Joshua reminds us that greatness is found in looking to the future. Joshua never ignores reality. He sees what others see. But he does so through the lens of future dreams, of promised gifts. This is the faith that carries him to tomorrow. This is why in his eyes even the mightiest of foes is not a giant and he is never as tiny as a grasshopper.
Joshua also appears to summon this faith from within. With all due respect to Moses and his many achievements, he in some ways had it easy. Moses asks for advice and God answers. Joshua on the other hand had to summon the answers from within. Few, if any, can be Moses. Many of us can be Joshua. He sees hope where the majority sees failure. He believes when the majority loses faith.
Moses is an impossible model to emulate. Joshua is difficult, but not beyond reach. Let us look to Moses’ Torah for wisdom and learning. Let us look to Joshua as an example to follow, a person who sees reality clearly but also and more importantly never loses hope in the future.
In this week’s Torah portion, Shelach Lecha, we see two kinds of leaders, two kinds of people. There is Moses, the most important personality in the entire Torah. He stands up to Pharaoh. He leads us from slavery to freedom. He parts the Sea of Reeds, ok with God’s help of course. He communes with God on Mount Sinai and gives us the Torah. He talks to God face to face. So close in fact is his relationship with God that when he doubts, he consults God. Moses asks and God answers. Then there is Joshua, the leader who takes over the reins from Moses. We learn part of Joshua’s character traits in this portion.
In Shelach Lecha we read the story of the twelve spies who are sent to scout the land of Israel. Ten return with a negative report. “The country that we traversed and scouted is one that devours its settlers. All the people that we saw in it are men of great size… and we looked like grasshoppers to ourselves, and so we must have looked to them.” (Numbers 13:32—33) Joshua (and Caleb), on the other hand, report: “The land that we traversed and scouted is an exceedingly good land. If the Lord is pleased with us, He will bring us into the land, a land that flows with milk and honey, and give it to us… Have no fear then of the people of the country, for they are our prey: their protection has departed from them, but the Lord is with us. Have no fear of them!” (Numbers 14: 7-10)
How is it that all twelve scouted the same land, but came back with different reports? The answer is not they described a different reality. It is instead that their assessment of this reality differed. And it is their assessment that gives us a clue for measuring leadership and character. Joshua saw things differently. He looked at overwhelming challenges and rather than cowering in fear reasserted his faith and renewed his dreams.
How is that he was not afraid when others were terrified? He saw the same things. He saw the same challenges. But for Joshua nothing seemed insurmountable. The ten spies saw conflict, and battles, ahead. Joshua saw beyond these. Joshua understood the difficulties, but held in his heart the promise of what would result after struggle and challenge. That is what makes for Joshua’s greatness.
The majority always focus on difficulties. The majority worries about failure. Joshua reminds us that greatness is found in looking to the future. Joshua never ignores reality. He sees what others see. But he does so through the lens of future dreams, of promised gifts. This is the faith that carries him to tomorrow. This is why in his eyes even the mightiest of foes is not a giant and he is never as tiny as a grasshopper.
Joshua also appears to summon this faith from within. With all due respect to Moses and his many achievements, he in some ways had it easy. Moses asks for advice and God answers. Joshua on the other hand had to summon the answers from within. Few, if any, can be Moses. Many of us can be Joshua. He sees hope where the majority sees failure. He believes when the majority loses faith.
Moses is an impossible model to emulate. Joshua is difficult, but not beyond reach. Let us look to Moses’ Torah for wisdom and learning. Let us look to Joshua as an example to follow, a person who sees reality clearly but also and more importantly never loses hope in the future.
Gaza Flotilla
Let's take a step back from the outcry and make a few observations about Monday's tragic events. Let's first say that Israel lost this one. It seems plain that Israel lost far more than it gained. This was a PR battle from the start. As soon as the ships sets sail from Turkey Israel lost. The only option at that point was to quietly let the ships reach Gaza, despite the fact that more than a few of the "passengers" could very well have been dangerous terrorists and that there might as well have been weapons onboard. As many Israeli commentators note, you don't send soldiers to a PR battle. As soon as the ships set sail Israel was stuck in a catch-22. In such situations military force does not work. But if you do you send soldiers, you send them ready for any possible situation. I don't watch many reality cop shows, but you only have to watch one to see that there are many non-lethal methods for subduing people that are far better than paintball guns. Read Yossi Melman's column in Haaretz for more on this. Let's also say that Israel was right. Israel justifiably maintains a naval blockade of the Gaza strip and it must continue intercepting weapons ships, just as it did for example in November. By the way Egypt also maintains a blockade. Hamas' main objective is war with Israel. Hamas maintains a constant state of belligerence with Israel and Israel has every right to protect its citizens. Time and again Hamas has shown itself more interested in importing weapons than food, more interested in building tunnels than schools, homes or roads. No doubt the building materials on board these ships would have been used to build more smuggling tunnels than schools. Now unfortunately the world will not see the legitimacy of Israel's blockade. Israel will be criticized for "besieging" Gaza. Maintaining its rightful blockade of Gaza will come under even more international scrutiny. No amount of talking points from all of the organizations I support will help to explain this situation. And this is why Israel's actions were so disheartening, and terribly unproductive. The more important battle was not the struggle that happened at sea but the ongoing battle for Israel's legitimacy and its right to defend its citizens, as well as free Gilad Shalit. The tragedy is that the Gaza flotilla and Israel's mishandling of it have obscured the more important fight.
Shalom Hartman Institute - Rabbi Donniel Hartman
Using Prepared Scripts Perpetuates Hateful Rhetoric
Rabbi Donniel Hartman writes about today's unfortunate news. "It is time for all those of decency to declare, "Enough." It is time to begin a new conversation, one in which legitimate acts of self defense on Israel's part are no longer labeled automatically as acts of aggression and war crimes. Nor should attempts to better the plight of Palestinians, including those affiliated with Hamas, be labeled by definition as anti-Israeli and political."
Rabbi Donniel Hartman writes about today's unfortunate news. "It is time for all those of decency to declare, "Enough." It is time to begin a new conversation, one in which legitimate acts of self defense on Israel's part are no longer labeled automatically as acts of aggression and war crimes. Nor should attempts to better the plight of Palestinians, including those affiliated with Hamas, be labeled by definition as anti-Israeli and political."
Wrong Numbers
Wrong Numbers
This article is a critique of Peter Beinart's article. The authors observe:
This article is a critique of Peter Beinart's article. The authors observe:
Our response to Beinart and others who share his view of a profound and growing schism between liberal American Jews and establishment advocacy organizations is not based on political differences. Rather, our concern is that he and others have allowed their own political allegiances to color their interpretation of the views of the broader American Jewish public. In so doing, they give a distorted impression of American Jewish opinion and overlook important developments in the relationship of American Jews to Israel.
As a result of these [Birthright] initiatives, for the first time, in some studies a larger share of young adults report having been to Israel than older adults. For these young adults, Israel is a central part of their identities in a way that was simply untrue for the vast majority of their parents’ generation. They have more direct ties to Israel including Israelis they met during their trips. They are more likely to return to study, volunteer, or work. And they are more likely to connect to Israel in the United States, through film, music, food, and via the web. Israel advocacy—of either the AIPAC or J Street variety—is just a part of the broader repertoire of connections that young adults increasingly maintain with Israel.
Although Beinart may not be a reliable guide to American Jewish opinion in the past or present, he may yet prove to be a bellwether. When he writes that under the Netanyahu government lines are being crossed and Zionism increasingly seems at odds with liberalism, he expresses the sentiments of an influential segment of the American Jewish intelligentsia. The tension between American Jewish liberalism and the policies of the current Israeli government is real, and the prospect of substantial alienation in the future cannot be dismissed. It should be remembered, however, that American Jews have had plenty of experience with U.S. administrations they did not support politically. For the foreseeable future, diverse personal connections, alongside a basic belief in the need for a Jewish state, will help the next generation of American Jews remain committed to Israel even in the face of distressing political developments.And if you can read more, see as well this article in Commentary magazine. Let the discussion and debate continue!
Despite Obama’s Delusion, Changing The Words Does Not Change The World | TNR
Despite Obama’s Delusion, Changing The Words Does Not Change The World | The New Republic
More on the question raised by this week's parsha. Marty Peretz writes: "It's official now. You cannot use "Muslim extremism" or "Islamic terrorism." Not because the words don't describe a real phenomenon in the world. An ugly phenomenon. And, alas, an abundant phenomenon. But because the president doesn't like the thought. And he certainly doesn't like the religious adjective."
More on the question raised by this week's parsha. Marty Peretz writes: "It's official now. You cannot use "Muslim extremism" or "Islamic terrorism." Not because the words don't describe a real phenomenon in the world. An ugly phenomenon. And, alas, an abundant phenomenon. But because the president doesn't like the thought. And he certainly doesn't like the religious adjective."
The Failure of the American Jewish Establishment | The New York Review of Books
The Failure of the American Jewish Establishment | The New York Review of Books
This is a very powerful article and with it Peter Beinart has generated a great deal of discussion and controversy about the failures of the American Jewish establishment. He argues that the establishment is failing to create a sense of attachment among young American Jews towards Israel. I urge you to take the time to read the article in its entirety. What follows are a few quotes from this article.
This is a very powerful article and with it Peter Beinart has generated a great deal of discussion and controversy about the failures of the American Jewish establishment. He argues that the establishment is failing to create a sense of attachment among young American Jews towards Israel. I urge you to take the time to read the article in its entirety. What follows are a few quotes from this article.
Most of the students, in other words, were liberals, broadly defined. They had imbibed some of the defining values of American Jewish political culture: a belief in open debate, a skepticism about military force, a commitment to human rights. And in their innocence, they did not realize that they were supposed to shed those values when it came to Israel. The only kind of Zionism they found attractive was a Zionism that recognized Palestinians as deserving of dignity and capable of peace, and they were quite willing to condemn an Israeli government that did not share those beliefs... The only kind of Zionism they found attractive was the kind that the American Jewish establishment has been working against for most of their lives. Among American Jews today, there are a great many Zionists, especially in the Orthodox world, people deeply devoted to the State of Israel. And there are a great many liberals, especially in the secular Jewish world, people deeply devoted to human rights for all people, Palestinians included. But the two groups are increasingly distinct. Particularly in the younger generations, fewer and fewer American Jewish liberals are Zionists; fewer and fewer American Jewish Zionists are liberal. One reason is that the leading institutions of American Jewry have refused to foster—indeed, have actively opposed—a Zionism that challenges Israel’s behavior in the West Bank and Gaza Strip and toward its own Arab citizens. For several decades, the Jewish establishment has asked American Jews to check their liberalism at Zionism’s door, and now, to their horror, they are finding that many young Jews have checked their Zionism instead.
This obsession with victimhood lies at the heart of why Zionism is dying among America’s secular Jewish young. It simply bears no relationship to their lived experience, or what they have seen of Israel’s. Yes, Israel faces threats from Hezbollah and Hamas. Yes, Israelis understandably worry about a nuclear Iran. But the dilemmas you face when you possess dozens or hundreds of nuclear weapons, and your adversary, however despicable, may acquire one, are not the dilemmas of the Warsaw Ghetto. The year 2010 is not, as Benjamin Netanyahu has claimed, 1938. The drama of Jewish victimhood—a drama that feels natural to many Jews who lived through 1938, 1948, or even 1967—strikes most of today’s young American Jews as farce. But there is a different Zionist calling, which has never been more desperately relevant. It has its roots in Israel’s Independence Proclamation, which promised that the Jewish state “will be based on the precepts of liberty, justice and peace taught by the Hebrew prophets,” and in the December 1948 letter from Albert Einstein, Hannah Arendt, and others to The New York Times, protesting right-wing Zionist leader Menachem Begin’s visit to the United States after his party’s militias massacred Arab civilians in the village of Deir Yassin. It is a call to recognize that in a world in which Jewish fortunes have radically changed, the best way to memorialize the history of Jewish suffering is through the ethical use of Jewish power.
But comfortable Zionism has become a moral abdication. Let’s hope that students, in solidarity with their counterparts at Sheikh Jarrah, can foster an uncomfortable Zionism, a Zionism angry at what Israel risks becoming, and in love with what it still could be. Let’s hope they care enough to try.Given the centrality of the State of Israel Beinart's observations are deeply troubling. Although I believe in the necessity of the ethical use of Jewish power, I remain unsure if the solutions he proposes will correct the disconnect many American Jews feel towards Israel. Nonetheless we cannot dismiss his observations. The majority of American Jews belong to Reform and Conservative congregations. Yet American Zionism is becoming increasingly dominated by Orthodox youth. We must fashion an American Zionism that speaks to the majority of American Jews.
Bret Stephens Article
For those who are unable to access Bret Stephens' article online here is the complete text.
The Mosque at Ground Zero by Bret Stephens
The Wall Street Journal, May 25, 2010
The conservative blogosphere is buzzing with outrage over plans to build a 13-story mosque and Muslim cultural center just a few hundred feet from Ground Zero. As a resident of lower Manhattan, I see it differently: The center—to be known as Cordoba House and built (if it is ever built) at a cost of $100 million—might yet serve as an excellent test case for tolerance.
Muslim tolerance, that is.
That, at least, is how the concept is being advertised by Feisal Abdul Rauf, the Kuwaiti-born imam whose brainchild this is. "We see it as a major step toward the Americanization of the Muslim community," Mr. Rauf told members of the financial district's community board, which approved the project unanimously less than a week after the attempted Times Square bombing. His wife, Daisy Khan, who runs an outfit called the American Society for Muslim Advancement, adds that "it's going to be a place not only for Muslim activity, but interfaith activity of the highest order."
Opponents of the center insist that Mr. Rauf's image as a moderate is a sham. In the American Thinker, an online magazine, Madeleine Brooks reports that in a recent sermon she personally heard Mr. Rauf "deny that Muslims perpetrated 9/11," though she doesn't quote him directly. Alyssa Lappen of Pajamas Media website notes that the imam has urged the U.S. to allow "religious communities more leeway to judge among themselves according to their own laws," which in his case means Shariah law. There's also a question of how Mr. Rauf's Cordoba Initiative, which in 2008 had assets of $18,255 according to its IRS tax filing, plans to raise $100 million.
Opponents also argue that building the center so close to Ground Zero is an insult to the memory of the victims of 9/11. Germany has spent six decades in conspicuous and mainly sincere atonement for Nazi crimes. But it surely has no plans to showcase the tolerant society it has become by building a cultural center down the road from Auschwitz. Japan is no doubt equally disinclined to finance a Shinto shrine in the vicinity of the Pearl Harbor memorial.
But discretion does not seem to be part of Mr. Rauf's playbook: He is nothing if not American in his penchant for publicity-seeking. He also seems to know exactly how to play to the great conceit of modern American liberalism, which constantly seeks opportunities to congratulate itself for its superior capacity for tolerance. Apparently it did not occur to the members of the community board who so eagerly green-lighted Cordoba House to suggest to Mr. Rauf that the $100 million might be better spent building centers of "interfaith activity" in Riyadh, Islamabad and Kuwait City.
Be that as it may, I still think Mr. Rauf and his wife should be taken at their word—provided they are also held to it. As a confidence-building measure for those of us who live in the neighborhood, it would help if the pair voluntarily answered some questions about the nature of their beliefs. A sampler:
Who perpetrated the attacks of 9/11, and what was their religion?
Are suicide attacks or other forms of violent jihad acceptable under any circumstances, including against American soldiers in Iraq and Afghanistan?
Does Israel have a right to exist as a Jewish state?
Do they agree with the State Department's designation of Hamas and Hezbollah as terrorist organizations?
What aspects of Shariah law, if any, do they repudiate?
Will their center invite the input and participation of Muslim gay and lesbian groups?
Do they consider the Muslim Brotherhood to be extreme?
What influence will any foreign funding of Cordoba House have on its programs or on the literature it distributes?
Finally, it is worth asking Mr. Rauf and Ms. Khan the broader question of how they think about tolerance itself. In the case of the famous Muhammad cartoons, "moderate" Muslims typically make the case that while free speech has its place, the sensitivities of the Muslim community should be respected. But tolerance can't just be a one-way street, and sensitivity is not the preserve of Muslims alone. So what do they make of the sensitivities of 9/11 families in the face of their mega-mosque? And if they are prepared to so lightly traduce on those sensitivities, will they perhaps return the favor by hosting an exhibition of pictorial depictions of the prophet?
The offending Danish cartoons won't be necessary: For material, they can draw on a rich tradition of Islamic portraits of their prophet, not least from the collection of the Topkapi Palace in Istanbul.
Eager as the imam and his wife are to present themselves and their center as progressive, mainstream and all-American, I have no doubt they will answer these questions in a way that satisfies community standards in Tribeca. It certainly should not embarrass the Tribeca city fathers—so keen to show off their liberal bona fides—to ask them.
And by the way, also on Tuesday in The New York Times there was an excellent article about religious tolerance by Tenzin Gyatso, a Buddhist. His Op-Ed, Many Faiths, One Truth, is a must read alongside the Bret Stephens piece.
The Mosque at Ground Zero by Bret Stephens
The Wall Street Journal, May 25, 2010
The conservative blogosphere is buzzing with outrage over plans to build a 13-story mosque and Muslim cultural center just a few hundred feet from Ground Zero. As a resident of lower Manhattan, I see it differently: The center—to be known as Cordoba House and built (if it is ever built) at a cost of $100 million—might yet serve as an excellent test case for tolerance.
Muslim tolerance, that is.
That, at least, is how the concept is being advertised by Feisal Abdul Rauf, the Kuwaiti-born imam whose brainchild this is. "We see it as a major step toward the Americanization of the Muslim community," Mr. Rauf told members of the financial district's community board, which approved the project unanimously less than a week after the attempted Times Square bombing. His wife, Daisy Khan, who runs an outfit called the American Society for Muslim Advancement, adds that "it's going to be a place not only for Muslim activity, but interfaith activity of the highest order."
Opponents of the center insist that Mr. Rauf's image as a moderate is a sham. In the American Thinker, an online magazine, Madeleine Brooks reports that in a recent sermon she personally heard Mr. Rauf "deny that Muslims perpetrated 9/11," though she doesn't quote him directly. Alyssa Lappen of Pajamas Media website notes that the imam has urged the U.S. to allow "religious communities more leeway to judge among themselves according to their own laws," which in his case means Shariah law. There's also a question of how Mr. Rauf's Cordoba Initiative, which in 2008 had assets of $18,255 according to its IRS tax filing, plans to raise $100 million.
Opponents also argue that building the center so close to Ground Zero is an insult to the memory of the victims of 9/11. Germany has spent six decades in conspicuous and mainly sincere atonement for Nazi crimes. But it surely has no plans to showcase the tolerant society it has become by building a cultural center down the road from Auschwitz. Japan is no doubt equally disinclined to finance a Shinto shrine in the vicinity of the Pearl Harbor memorial.
But discretion does not seem to be part of Mr. Rauf's playbook: He is nothing if not American in his penchant for publicity-seeking. He also seems to know exactly how to play to the great conceit of modern American liberalism, which constantly seeks opportunities to congratulate itself for its superior capacity for tolerance. Apparently it did not occur to the members of the community board who so eagerly green-lighted Cordoba House to suggest to Mr. Rauf that the $100 million might be better spent building centers of "interfaith activity" in Riyadh, Islamabad and Kuwait City.
Be that as it may, I still think Mr. Rauf and his wife should be taken at their word—provided they are also held to it. As a confidence-building measure for those of us who live in the neighborhood, it would help if the pair voluntarily answered some questions about the nature of their beliefs. A sampler:
Who perpetrated the attacks of 9/11, and what was their religion?
Are suicide attacks or other forms of violent jihad acceptable under any circumstances, including against American soldiers in Iraq and Afghanistan?
Does Israel have a right to exist as a Jewish state?
Do they agree with the State Department's designation of Hamas and Hezbollah as terrorist organizations?
What aspects of Shariah law, if any, do they repudiate?
Will their center invite the input and participation of Muslim gay and lesbian groups?
Do they consider the Muslim Brotherhood to be extreme?
What influence will any foreign funding of Cordoba House have on its programs or on the literature it distributes?
Finally, it is worth asking Mr. Rauf and Ms. Khan the broader question of how they think about tolerance itself. In the case of the famous Muhammad cartoons, "moderate" Muslims typically make the case that while free speech has its place, the sensitivities of the Muslim community should be respected. But tolerance can't just be a one-way street, and sensitivity is not the preserve of Muslims alone. So what do they make of the sensitivities of 9/11 families in the face of their mega-mosque? And if they are prepared to so lightly traduce on those sensitivities, will they perhaps return the favor by hosting an exhibition of pictorial depictions of the prophet?
The offending Danish cartoons won't be necessary: For material, they can draw on a rich tradition of Islamic portraits of their prophet, not least from the collection of the Topkapi Palace in Istanbul.
Eager as the imam and his wife are to present themselves and their center as progressive, mainstream and all-American, I have no doubt they will answer these questions in a way that satisfies community standards in Tribeca. It certainly should not embarrass the Tribeca city fathers—so keen to show off their liberal bona fides—to ask them.
And by the way, also on Tuesday in The New York Times there was an excellent article about religious tolerance by Tenzin Gyatso, a Buddhist. His Op-Ed, Many Faiths, One Truth, is a must read alongside the Bret Stephens piece.
Behaalotecha
In this week’s portion, Behaalotecha, we read the words “vayihi binsoah ha-aron” sung during the Torah service. “When the Ark set out, Moses would say: ‘Advance, O Lord! May Your enemies be scattered, and may Your foes flee before You!’” Long ago the Reform movement, and the Reform prayerbook we now use, excised these words from its liturgy, arguing that these sentiments were not befitting a prayer.
They believed that religion should only promote peace and not use the language of war. I wonder about this decision. While I steadfastly believe in the importance of peace, I also believe a religion’s most important teachings are the lessons of right and wrong. Judaism seeks to draw a line between good and evil. And so in our tradition’s view peace can only be achieved when justice is advanced. Peace may be furthered by sacrificing grudges and burying anger, but it is never about giving up on justice. It is not about sacrificing right and wrong. And this sense of justice entails calling some, friends and others, enemies. Sometimes we worry so much about sounding like our enemies that we stop using words that contain important moral lessons.
The essence of Memorial Day is about this very concept. Its meaning is not of course found in the picnics, barbeques, carnivals and sales we enjoy. For generations, American soldiers, some Jewish, many Christian and even a few Muslim, have given their lives to preserve the idea that religions can co-exist and even nurture each other in this great country. Each of us can teach what is most important in our respective traditions. We can shout loudly for all to hear what we most love about our faiths. Here we believe that all benefit from this shouting and teaching.
My enemies are not those who do not revere Torah. My enemies are instead those who can only be religious by excluding other religions. I knew, for example, that the Taliban were our enemies before 9-11. It was the moment I read they had destroyed two sixth century Buddhist statues, in March 2001. Any leader who could only be faithful to his own religion by obliterating objects revered by another is my enemy. I struggle as well to find many adherents of Islam’s claim to be a religion of tolerance when non-Muslims are barred from entering its holiest of cities, Mecca.
Which is why, although I admit misgivings, I applaud New York City’s approval of the proposed building of a mosque near Manhattan’s ground zero. I agree with Bret Stephens who wrote in Tuesday’s Wall Street Journal that the money might be better spent by the construction of an interfaith center in Saudia Arabia. Nonetheless what makes America great is its tolerance of all religions and the fact that this freedom of religion is enshrined in our Constitution’s Bill of Rights. This is the very thing that our soldiers died fighting for. And we should remember our fallen soldiers on this Memorial Day.
This belief in religious pluralism is part of what I am; it is part of who we are. There are those who do not believe as we do. There are those in the world who can only be who they are by destroying others or smashing their holy shrines. I stand against those who stand against tolerance and pluralism. They are my enemies. Peace will not come by shying away from naming our enemies. Peace will only come by maintaining a clear sense of right and wrong. This means knowing who is an enemy and who is a friend.
Justice is our obligation, peace our most heartfelt prayer. And so I conclude with a prayer for peace, with words from an earlier Reform prayerbook, published in 1940: “Grant us peace, Thy most precious gift, O Thou eternal source of peace, and enable Israel to be its messenger unto the peoples of the earth. Bless our country that it may ever be a stronghold of peace, and its advocate in the council of nations…”
They believed that religion should only promote peace and not use the language of war. I wonder about this decision. While I steadfastly believe in the importance of peace, I also believe a religion’s most important teachings are the lessons of right and wrong. Judaism seeks to draw a line between good and evil. And so in our tradition’s view peace can only be achieved when justice is advanced. Peace may be furthered by sacrificing grudges and burying anger, but it is never about giving up on justice. It is not about sacrificing right and wrong. And this sense of justice entails calling some, friends and others, enemies. Sometimes we worry so much about sounding like our enemies that we stop using words that contain important moral lessons.
The essence of Memorial Day is about this very concept. Its meaning is not of course found in the picnics, barbeques, carnivals and sales we enjoy. For generations, American soldiers, some Jewish, many Christian and even a few Muslim, have given their lives to preserve the idea that religions can co-exist and even nurture each other in this great country. Each of us can teach what is most important in our respective traditions. We can shout loudly for all to hear what we most love about our faiths. Here we believe that all benefit from this shouting and teaching.
My enemies are not those who do not revere Torah. My enemies are instead those who can only be religious by excluding other religions. I knew, for example, that the Taliban were our enemies before 9-11. It was the moment I read they had destroyed two sixth century Buddhist statues, in March 2001. Any leader who could only be faithful to his own religion by obliterating objects revered by another is my enemy. I struggle as well to find many adherents of Islam’s claim to be a religion of tolerance when non-Muslims are barred from entering its holiest of cities, Mecca.
Which is why, although I admit misgivings, I applaud New York City’s approval of the proposed building of a mosque near Manhattan’s ground zero. I agree with Bret Stephens who wrote in Tuesday’s Wall Street Journal that the money might be better spent by the construction of an interfaith center in Saudia Arabia. Nonetheless what makes America great is its tolerance of all religions and the fact that this freedom of religion is enshrined in our Constitution’s Bill of Rights. This is the very thing that our soldiers died fighting for. And we should remember our fallen soldiers on this Memorial Day.
This belief in religious pluralism is part of what I am; it is part of who we are. There are those who do not believe as we do. There are those in the world who can only be who they are by destroying others or smashing their holy shrines. I stand against those who stand against tolerance and pluralism. They are my enemies. Peace will not come by shying away from naming our enemies. Peace will only come by maintaining a clear sense of right and wrong. This means knowing who is an enemy and who is a friend.
Justice is our obligation, peace our most heartfelt prayer. And so I conclude with a prayer for peace, with words from an earlier Reform prayerbook, published in 1940: “Grant us peace, Thy most precious gift, O Thou eternal source of peace, and enable Israel to be its messenger unto the peoples of the earth. Bless our country that it may ever be a stronghold of peace, and its advocate in the council of nations…”
West Bank Settlements
West Bank Settlements Become Havens of Israeli Suburbanites - CSMonitor.com
I don't typically read The Christian Science Monitor but recently received a free copy in the mail. This article by Yasmine Soiffer is a worthwhile read, even though it was written September 2009. It explores the motivations of those moving to communities outside the Green Line. What the world calls settlements most living there see as suburbs. A few excerpts:
I don't typically read The Christian Science Monitor but recently received a free copy in the mail. This article by Yasmine Soiffer is a worthwhile read, even though it was written September 2009. It explores the motivations of those moving to communities outside the Green Line. What the world calls settlements most living there see as suburbs. A few excerpts:
Ideology was what brought the first waves of settlers into the land Israel captured on the west bank of the Jordan River in the 1967 war, some of them keen to return to earlier settlements they'd lost in the 1948 Arab-Israeli war that led to Israel's establishment. In the early 1970s, a socioreligious movement called Gush Emunim, or bloc of the faithful, drew to settlements people motivated by the concept that Israel's success in 1967 was divinely inspired, that the Jewish people's return to their biblical homeland signaled the coming of the messianic age. While that worldview continues to attract some, the majority of today's new arrivals come primarily for practical considerations. A Kiryat Netafim resident says, "I had three priorities in choosing where to live. The first was finding a good place to bring up kids. The second was financial. Third comes ideology. It's in that order. To think of only one of these is not the right approach to life. It's a mixed salad."I have often argued that characterizing all "settlements" as the same, and as ideologically motivated is mistaken and unhelpful. This article helps to shed light on the true character of these communities. The vast majority of Israelis moving to these communities are motivated not by ideology but by the same things that motivate people to move to any city's suburbs, the issues of quality of life: the price of homes, good schools, nature...
One of the fastest-growing settlements in the West Bank is Tekoa, which in 2008 grew by 11.6 percent. That's even more rapid growth than in the ultra-Orthodox settlements of Modiin Illit and Beitar Illit. Tekoa, which appears in the Bible, is southeast of Bethlehem and has natural attractions: It sits atop a hill that provides breathtaking views of the desert mountains and, on a clear day, of Jordan. It also has man-made draws: a public swimming pool and an intentional progressive mix of religious and secular families – Israel's main social divide. Its official Orthodox rabbi has an unconventional habit of meeting with local Islamic figures, including members of Hamas. A Tekoa resident reflects, "I came here for more space and a good community, but I had to realize that I was doing something politically that many people don't agree with. I'm not one that says we should get rid of the Arabs; I so completely disagree with that attitude. I've always supported a two-state solution. But I don't think it's really going to happen.... [I]t became clear to me [after the Gaza rocket attacks] that giving away land and cutting back our borders is not the answer."
Naso Sermon
This week’s Torah portion is Naso from the book of Numbers. Much of this portion and the previous portions in Leviticus reflect a priestly culture. If you need to say thank you to God, bring an animal to the priest to sacrifice. If you have a problem go to the priest. In fact this week’s portion details the strange sotah ritual in which a husband who suspects his wife of adultery brings her to the priest and has her drink a magic potion in order to determine her guilt or innocence. Leaving aside the details of the ritual, the context clearly reflects the ultimate power and authority of the priest.
Everything goes through the priest, even of course the priestly blessing. This blessing is one of the most familiar blessings in the Torah, “May the Lord bless you and keep you; may the light of the Lord’s face shine upon you; may you always find God’s presence and be blessed with peace.”
With the destruction of the Temple in 70 C.E. Judaism shifted away from this priestly culture to a democratic culture. We of course retained vestiges of the priestly, Temple culture. We pray for the restoration of the sacrificial cult, at least in traditional synagogues. We offer the priestly blessing on holidays (and in Israel everyday). We call forward those who are descended from the kohanim, the priests, to recite this blessing for their congregation. In our congregation we do so on the High Holidays.
One of the radical moves of the rabbis, however, was to remove rank by birth. Leadership was attained through learning. Prayer and blessing, learning and leadership is accessible to all. This is the essence of the Shavuot message. This is the essence of the holiday we just celebrated. Torah was given to all! It was not given to a privileged few. The Torah was given to each and everyone of us.
The rabbi does not serve as an intermediary. The rabbi’s blessing does not make it official. You can approach God yourselves. Drawing near to God does not require a special place or a special person. You can bless yourselves. My favorite blessing is the priestly blessing said by parents for children on Shabbat. My greatest desire is to empower everyone to take charge of their own Jewish lives and to say this blessing themselves.
Despite this I recognize that there are times when we want and need someone else to say a blessing for us. There is the comfort in the familiar voice, that is not our own. I understand this. The rabbi who buried my grandparents also officiated at my wedding. Hearing the same voice intone the blessings of our tradition brings a comfort that I could not myself bring to those moments. There is a continuity in the voice. There is a music in his blessing.
It is not that he is the only person who can say it. It is instead that his voice is the connecting thread spanning the milestones of my life. That is of course what it means to belong to a community. When belonging to a congregation each milestone is threaded together. They are not some discreet ceremonies presided over by some officiant. The blessing of the rabbi is received and given meaning in the context of community. He might very well be the weaver, but the congregation is the tapestry. I relish the privilege of offering the priestly blessing at milestone occasions. It binds us together.
I also wish that it was not only reserved for my lips. I wish that each of us would utter these words on any number of occasions. I wish that parents would bless their children and that spouses would bless each other. I wish that people would not feel as if they have to wait for me to recite the motzi blessing, but that these words would naturally roll off their tongues as well.
I will continue to count it a privilege to recite the priestly blessing at momentous occasions. I will also continue to teach that each and everyone of us can say blessings and have our own direct, connection to God.
Everything goes through the priest, even of course the priestly blessing. This blessing is one of the most familiar blessings in the Torah, “May the Lord bless you and keep you; may the light of the Lord’s face shine upon you; may you always find God’s presence and be blessed with peace.”
With the destruction of the Temple in 70 C.E. Judaism shifted away from this priestly culture to a democratic culture. We of course retained vestiges of the priestly, Temple culture. We pray for the restoration of the sacrificial cult, at least in traditional synagogues. We offer the priestly blessing on holidays (and in Israel everyday). We call forward those who are descended from the kohanim, the priests, to recite this blessing for their congregation. In our congregation we do so on the High Holidays.
One of the radical moves of the rabbis, however, was to remove rank by birth. Leadership was attained through learning. Prayer and blessing, learning and leadership is accessible to all. This is the essence of the Shavuot message. This is the essence of the holiday we just celebrated. Torah was given to all! It was not given to a privileged few. The Torah was given to each and everyone of us.
The rabbi does not serve as an intermediary. The rabbi’s blessing does not make it official. You can approach God yourselves. Drawing near to God does not require a special place or a special person. You can bless yourselves. My favorite blessing is the priestly blessing said by parents for children on Shabbat. My greatest desire is to empower everyone to take charge of their own Jewish lives and to say this blessing themselves.
Despite this I recognize that there are times when we want and need someone else to say a blessing for us. There is the comfort in the familiar voice, that is not our own. I understand this. The rabbi who buried my grandparents also officiated at my wedding. Hearing the same voice intone the blessings of our tradition brings a comfort that I could not myself bring to those moments. There is a continuity in the voice. There is a music in his blessing.
It is not that he is the only person who can say it. It is instead that his voice is the connecting thread spanning the milestones of my life. That is of course what it means to belong to a community. When belonging to a congregation each milestone is threaded together. They are not some discreet ceremonies presided over by some officiant. The blessing of the rabbi is received and given meaning in the context of community. He might very well be the weaver, but the congregation is the tapestry. I relish the privilege of offering the priestly blessing at milestone occasions. It binds us together.
I also wish that it was not only reserved for my lips. I wish that each of us would utter these words on any number of occasions. I wish that parents would bless their children and that spouses would bless each other. I wish that people would not feel as if they have to wait for me to recite the motzi blessing, but that these words would naturally roll off their tongues as well.
I will continue to count it a privilege to recite the priestly blessing at momentous occasions. I will also continue to teach that each and everyone of us can say blessings and have our own direct, connection to God.
Peace, Love and (Mis)Understanding
Elvis Costello just announced that he will cancel his concerts in Israel. He writes on his website: "It is after considerable contemplation that I have lately arrived at the decision that I must withdraw from the two performances scheduled in Israel on the 30th of June and the 1st of July. One lives in hope that music is more than mere noise, filling up idle time, whether intending to elate or lament. Then there are occasions when merely having your name added to a concert schedule may be interpreted as a political act that resonates more than anything that might be sung and it may be assumed that one has no mind for the suffering of the innocent...." What a shame! The growing anti-Israel campaign where Israel is seen as increasingly illegitimate and likened to apartheid South Africa is gaining adherents in many circles. There are divestment campaigns and now calls for boycotts. All of these suggest a fundamental misunderstanding of the situation. Israel is by no means perfect, but it has steadfastly sought peace despite decades of Arab belligerence. Most Israelis support a two-state solution. Even Netanyahu affirms the idea. To be sure there are more Israelis to convince, but it is Palestinian intransigence in general and insistence in particular of a "right of return" that stalls progress. Costello will not advance peace or love or understanding by refusing to play in Israel. He has only sided with those who say that Israel is always wrong and state that if only Israel would withdraw from here or there, then there would be peace. I will always say, "Great songs Elvis." Now I must add, "Shameful decision. You have not advanced 'peace, love and understanding.'"
Naso
This week’s Torah portion is Naso (Numbers 4:21-7:89). It details a number of items: a census of the Levites, the tribe assigned to priestly duties; the sotah ritual for determining the guilt of an adulterer (although I remain skeptical that drinking a water and earth mixture can actually determine guilt and so I believe the ritual was instead intended to assuage jealousy and anger); the Nazarite vow, pledging those adherents to God and setting them apart from the people by insisting that they abstain from drinking alcohol (rather un-Jewish if you asked me) and by refraining from cutting their hair (hence the most well known Nazarite is Samson); and finally in chapter seven, the last bit of preparations for the tabernacle’s use.
At the conclusion of chapter six about the Nazarite’s vow occurs one of the most familiar blessings in the entire Torah, the priestly blessing: “May the Lord bless you and keep you; may the light of the Lord’s face shine upon you and be gracious to you; may you always find God’s presence in your life and be blessed with shalom, with peace.”
It is these words that I recite when blessing brides and grooms, babies and of course b’nai mitzvah students. It is these words that are known as the birkat cohanim, the priestly blessing recited at holiday services, most especially the High Holidays. I call forward those tracing their lineage to the ancient priests. At this service the cohanim stand and bless their fellow congregants. It also these words that comprise the traditional blessing for children recited by parents at the Shabbat dinner table.
I have always found it interesting that people prefer that I offer this blessing at momentous times in their lives, rather than parents or other family members. People seem to feel that somehow my blessing, offered at a simcha, is more important or perhaps even better than a parent’s. I don’t want to write myself out of job, but why do people feel that the rabbi is required to recite a blessing?
We belong to a democratic tradition. I hold no special connection to God; I have no special power to offer God’s blessings that is not available to everyone. A rabbi is first and foremost a teacher. Blessings can be offered by everyone and anyone. Each of us can find our own connection to God. I do not serve as an intermediary. Praying to God does not travel through the rabbi. Many of our prayers do require others, do require the community. We pray best when standing with our congregation. But each of us has our own direct line to God. Our blessings and prayers, while aided by the community, travel through no one but ourselves.
All of us can offer blessings. This is perhaps more obvious when it comes to giving thanks for food or when reciting the kiddush over wine. One does not, for example, need the rabbi to come to one’s house to recite the kiddush at the seder table. Why then when it comes to blessing other people are we uncomfortable doing this ourselves? Why do we defer reciting the priestly blessing to a spiritual authority? Why not bless our children ourselves, each and every Friday night?
Imagine this. Every Shabbat we hold our children close, perhaps only for the one minute that they allow us, and we say not only “I love you,” but also, “May the Lord bless you and keep you…” I am so very thankful for the trust you place in me by asking me to offer this priestly benediction at the special occasions in your lives, but children also require the blessing of parents. Husbands and wives need blessings from each other. Perhaps we should not wait until the milestones in our lives to hear these words. We should hear this blessing roll off our tongues each and every week. Each of us can bring blessings to our lives. Each of us can bring blessings to our family’s lives! Offering weekly blessings can sustain us. And that sustenance is within the power of each of us!
At the conclusion of chapter six about the Nazarite’s vow occurs one of the most familiar blessings in the entire Torah, the priestly blessing: “May the Lord bless you and keep you; may the light of the Lord’s face shine upon you and be gracious to you; may you always find God’s presence in your life and be blessed with shalom, with peace.”
It is these words that I recite when blessing brides and grooms, babies and of course b’nai mitzvah students. It is these words that are known as the birkat cohanim, the priestly blessing recited at holiday services, most especially the High Holidays. I call forward those tracing their lineage to the ancient priests. At this service the cohanim stand and bless their fellow congregants. It also these words that comprise the traditional blessing for children recited by parents at the Shabbat dinner table.
I have always found it interesting that people prefer that I offer this blessing at momentous times in their lives, rather than parents or other family members. People seem to feel that somehow my blessing, offered at a simcha, is more important or perhaps even better than a parent’s. I don’t want to write myself out of job, but why do people feel that the rabbi is required to recite a blessing?
We belong to a democratic tradition. I hold no special connection to God; I have no special power to offer God’s blessings that is not available to everyone. A rabbi is first and foremost a teacher. Blessings can be offered by everyone and anyone. Each of us can find our own connection to God. I do not serve as an intermediary. Praying to God does not travel through the rabbi. Many of our prayers do require others, do require the community. We pray best when standing with our congregation. But each of us has our own direct line to God. Our blessings and prayers, while aided by the community, travel through no one but ourselves.
All of us can offer blessings. This is perhaps more obvious when it comes to giving thanks for food or when reciting the kiddush over wine. One does not, for example, need the rabbi to come to one’s house to recite the kiddush at the seder table. Why then when it comes to blessing other people are we uncomfortable doing this ourselves? Why do we defer reciting the priestly blessing to a spiritual authority? Why not bless our children ourselves, each and every Friday night?
Imagine this. Every Shabbat we hold our children close, perhaps only for the one minute that they allow us, and we say not only “I love you,” but also, “May the Lord bless you and keep you…” I am so very thankful for the trust you place in me by asking me to offer this priestly benediction at the special occasions in your lives, but children also require the blessing of parents. Husbands and wives need blessings from each other. Perhaps we should not wait until the milestones in our lives to hear these words. We should hear this blessing roll off our tongues each and every week. Each of us can bring blessings to our lives. Each of us can bring blessings to our family’s lives! Offering weekly blessings can sustain us. And that sustenance is within the power of each of us!
Bamidbar Sermon
Let’s begin not with Jewish tradition but with some observations about other religious traditions. In the Muslim tradition, Mecca is the most important city. This is where Muhammad first proclaimed Islam. The fifth pillar of Islam states that everyone who is able must make a pilgrimage, at least once in their lifetime, to Mecca. This is called the Haj and it is the largest pilgrimage celebration in the world.
Hinduism as well has several holy cities to which people make pilgrimages. Christianity has the Church of the Holy Sepulchre where Jesus was crucified and Bethlehem where he was born. Visiting these places, walking in Jesus’ footsteps, is an enormously important act for believing Christians.
By contrast we still can’t find Mount Sinai. Perhaps that is part of our tradition’s intention. No place should ever become overly venerated. Ours is a search for truth rather than a search for a destination. Perhaps we can even say that the journey is more important than the direction. Our religion was proclaimed in a wilderness, in a desert.
Truth and revelation were not revealed at some place that we can find, but in a non-descript, deserted revelation. This is the notion about which I have been reflecting. It is the notion that we can find truth anywhere and everywhere.
It is of course ironic that I say this only two days after marking Jerusalem Day and in a congregation that has so many employed in the real estate business. Yes we have a holy city that is worthy of visiting and a holy land that is central to our people. This came later in our tradition, not too much later, but after the Torah. The land of Israel is not the origins of our religion.
Israel’s declaration of independence states: “The Land of Israel was the birthplace of the Jewish people. Here their spiritual, religious and national identity was formed.” As much as I love Israel this is not accurate. We were born in the desert, in the wilderness. Israel is extraordinarily important. It is important, however, because it is our home.
Home provides comfort and security. The problem is when we look to our home to provide all truth and revelation, when we place everything, every hope and prayer, in a few places. The beauty of our tradition is that every place can be holy. Every place is a source of truth. If you can find revelation in the desert then it can be found anywhere. One small example. This evening we are celebrating the achievement of our confirmation students. These students met for three years at Mario’s Pizzeria. In the basement of a local restaurant we discussed and debated questions about God and tradition. There, in the least likely of places, we uncovered truth.
Perhaps part of the power of the desert is that the small things are most prized. You have to search carefully for water. There truth and meaning are not taken for granted.
We spend our lives building our homes and planning vacations to destinations that we hope and pray hold promise. But promise and truth are to be found in unexpected places. We learn the most in the places where we don’t seek it. It is in the unplanned places where we find meaning. We have to only be open to this possibility. Every place, every moment is potentially filled with meaning.
That is the message of the midbar, of the desert. That is the meaning of this week’s portion, bamidbar. May we always find meaning—everywhere and anywhere.
Hinduism as well has several holy cities to which people make pilgrimages. Christianity has the Church of the Holy Sepulchre where Jesus was crucified and Bethlehem where he was born. Visiting these places, walking in Jesus’ footsteps, is an enormously important act for believing Christians.
By contrast we still can’t find Mount Sinai. Perhaps that is part of our tradition’s intention. No place should ever become overly venerated. Ours is a search for truth rather than a search for a destination. Perhaps we can even say that the journey is more important than the direction. Our religion was proclaimed in a wilderness, in a desert.
Truth and revelation were not revealed at some place that we can find, but in a non-descript, deserted revelation. This is the notion about which I have been reflecting. It is the notion that we can find truth anywhere and everywhere.
It is of course ironic that I say this only two days after marking Jerusalem Day and in a congregation that has so many employed in the real estate business. Yes we have a holy city that is worthy of visiting and a holy land that is central to our people. This came later in our tradition, not too much later, but after the Torah. The land of Israel is not the origins of our religion.
Israel’s declaration of independence states: “The Land of Israel was the birthplace of the Jewish people. Here their spiritual, religious and national identity was formed.” As much as I love Israel this is not accurate. We were born in the desert, in the wilderness. Israel is extraordinarily important. It is important, however, because it is our home.
Home provides comfort and security. The problem is when we look to our home to provide all truth and revelation, when we place everything, every hope and prayer, in a few places. The beauty of our tradition is that every place can be holy. Every place is a source of truth. If you can find revelation in the desert then it can be found anywhere. One small example. This evening we are celebrating the achievement of our confirmation students. These students met for three years at Mario’s Pizzeria. In the basement of a local restaurant we discussed and debated questions about God and tradition. There, in the least likely of places, we uncovered truth.
Perhaps part of the power of the desert is that the small things are most prized. You have to search carefully for water. There truth and meaning are not taken for granted.
We spend our lives building our homes and planning vacations to destinations that we hope and pray hold promise. But promise and truth are to be found in unexpected places. We learn the most in the places where we don’t seek it. It is in the unplanned places where we find meaning. We have to only be open to this possibility. Every place, every moment is potentially filled with meaning.
That is the message of the midbar, of the desert. That is the meaning of this week’s portion, bamidbar. May we always find meaning—everywhere and anywhere.