Purim

Many things mark the unique holiday of Purim.  It is a day given to drinking, feasting, costume wearing and humor.  This is remarkable given some of the story’s more serious themes.  Haman is of course considered history’s first antisemite, a man who wanted to kill all Jews because he was angry with one Jew.  It is also a story about women’s rights.

Let me explain.  It all starts at a wild party in which King Ahasuerus demands that his beautiful wife Vashti dance for him and his friends.  He instructs his servants to bring her into the party wearing (only) her crown.  “But Queen Vashti refused to come at the king’s command…”  (Esther 1:12)  She refuses to dance naked before the king and his friends.  Vashti is then banished from the palace and stripped of her crown. (Sorry I could not resist the double entendre.)

The king’s advisors fear a feminist revolt.  “Queen Vashti has committed an offense not only against your majesty but also against all the officials and against all the peoples…  For the queen’s behavior will make all wives despise their husbands…”  (Esther 1:16-17)  Vashti’s sin is that she refuses the king’s command.  She has a mind of her own.  Vashti represents an independent woman.  She has thoughts different than her husbands, ideas that are hers alone.  She is a woman who refuses to be viewed only as an object of beauty, paraded around for others to admire.

On the other hand, the Jewish heroine of the story, Esther, lives by a different rule.   And herein lies the irony of our story.  The woman who saves the Jewish people from catastrophe and the genocidal designs of Haman gains this position of power and the title of queen by winning a beauty pageant.  The Book of Esther records no words about world peace or platforms about disadvantaged children from our heroine.  She is paraded before the king after twelve months of beauty treatments.  No words are even spoken between this future queen and her king.  She wins his favor by her beauty alone.  “The king loved Esther more than all the other women, and she won his grace and favor more than all the virgins.  So he set a royal crown on her head and made her queen instead of Vashti.” (Esther 2:17)

It is a bitter irony that Esther does what Vashti refuses to do.  She parades before the king.  Our great heroine is treated as the object that Vashti refuses to become. In fact Esther never acts of her own accord.  Even when she comes to the rescue of the Jewish people it is at her uncle Mordecai’s behest.  He pleads with her before she agrees to defend her people.  He implores her by saying: “Do not imagine that you, of all the Jews, will escape with your life by being in the king’s palace…  And who knows, perhaps you have attained this royal position for just such a crisis.”  (Esther 4:13-14)  In the end it is the woman who is the object of beauty who saves the Jewish people and the independent, thinking woman who is sidelined.  No one of course asks the question of them, at what cost to each of their souls. 

As I reflect on these past week’s events and Rush Limbaugh’s hateful comments I am reminded of this story.  I recall that although we might live thousands of years past the Purim story, and decades since the feminist revolution, we continue to struggle with these very same issues. 

And so on this joyous holiday I am reminded again about the hidden meanings in this ancient parody, a story of two beautiful women who live their lives by very different rules.  Although my tradition suggests otherwise I turn this year not to Esther for strength.  This year I have resolved to choose differently. 

I choose instead Vashti.  May her courage and independence always be an inspiration. 

Tetzaveh and the Iranian Crisis Sermon

As we prepare for Purim and its story of a Persian tyrant with genocidal designs against the Jewish people, my thoughts to turn to the present crisis about modern day Iran.  There has been a great deal written about Iran’s march toward nuclear weapons, the recent sanctions and an expected attack by Israel—perhaps as soon as this summer.  One might think that given these sentiments Israelis are stocking gas masks, preparing their safe rooms and spending evenings in bomb shelters.  This is far from the case.  There appears far more worry here than in Israel.

A few observations are in order.  My observations are more about how we navigate this present conflict.  I am not of course the president, prime minister, or chief of staff.  I have no expertise in military matters.  My knowledge is more about our feelings and how we prioritize them, as well as our commitments as Jews.  Not all of these observations agree with each other.  They are meant to help us unpack what is at stake in this crisis.

1. In Israel there is widespread agreement that Iran represents a grave threat.  There is however disagreement over how to deal with this.  The most recent poll indicated that the country is evenly divided regarding a military attack.

2. We should take antisemites and tyrants at their word.  The notion that they can be swayed by reason is flawed.  The idea that the mullahs of Iran will be influenced by rational arguments is false.  Economic sanctions might very well influence them, but reason will not.

3. That being said the comparisons to 1938 are also flawed.  The notion that today’s diplomatic efforts are the same as Chamberlain’s is erroneous.  Not every antisemite, and dictator, is Hitler, as evil and as menacing as they may be.  As Gershom Gorenberg observed when you paint the current crisis in terms of the prelude to World War II then the only acceptable choice becomes a military attack.  There may come a point when that is the only option but such historical analogies shrink our options rather than expand our choices.

4. I take our president at his word when he says that a nuclear Iran is unacceptable.  We might disagree about how to prevent this, but as an American and a Jew I have to hope that he means what he says.  I have to believe that America will do everything necessary to prevent Iran from building a bomb.

5. Israel’s existential anxiety is of course greater than that of the US.  Iran’s rulers have threatened to destroy Israel and death to America.  But Israel is threatened by its proximity, by its size and by its limitation in absorbing an attack.  The threats are felt differently here rather than there and we must recognize this and come to terms with this most basic of facts.

6. We feel a great sense of discomfort when Israel and US interests don’t appear in sync.  We feel anxiety when Israel becomes a battleground in American politics.  This will become even more pronounced at the AIPAC conference.  When candidates argue who would best protect Israel we become uneasy.

7. The US should prevent Iran from acquiring nuclear weapons not to protect Israel but because it is in the US interest.  Each nation should act out of its own interest.  I would rather hear words here why Iran is a threat to the US and in Israel why it is threat to Israel.  The Iran hostage crisis defined my highschool years.  In fact Iran’s current president was then a hostage taker.  I do not understand why that is not being discussed in the US.  I do not understand why the discussion appears more about how Iran is a threat to Israel and not how it is a grave threat to the US.

8. Only Israel, its leaders and people can determine what is in its own interests.  This is not because the US is untrustworthy but because this is the very nature of Zionism.  I continue to believe that the definition of Zionism is that Israel must go it alone. The nature of having a Jewish state is that we must not 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. And this is my biggest problem with the tenor of the debate among American Jews. It is all about Jewish victimhood and not what I believe Zionism is truly about, Jewish strength. It is all about America (under Obama) is victimizing the Jewish people, and selling Israel out.  Or it is about portraying Israel as threatened with destruction and so America (and especially American Jews) should come to its rescue.  Both of these pictures are a betrayal of what I believe Zionism should be.

9. I remember the first Gulf War well.  I recall the Scuds falling on Tel Aviv and I suspect that Bush Senior then asked Israel to restrain itself from attacking Iraq so as to preserve that tenuous coalition.  Israel restrained itself at great cost to the Zionist psyche.  Israel was built on the notion that only it could guarantee its own safety, not Patriot missiles but its own might and ingenuity.  This is again at stake—and is certainly a factor in the minds of Israel’s leaders.

Yossi Klein Halevi writes ("Can Israel Trust the United States When It Comes to Iran," TNR, March 2, 2012)

The Iranian nuclear threat could force Israel to choose between two of its essential national values. On the one hand, there is the commitment to Jewish self-defense. On the other hand, there is the longing to be a respectable member of the international community. Allowing an enemy that constantly threatens Israel’s destruction to acquire the means to do so would negate Zionism’s promise to protect the Jewish people. And launching a preemptive strike without American backing could lead to Israel’s isolation and risk Zionism’s promise of restoring the Jews as a nation among nations. 

In this excruciating dilemma, the question of whether Israel can trust the administration to act militarily against Iran becomes all the more crucial. Israeli leaders believe that their window of opportunity in launching a preemptive strike will be closing in the coming months. America, though, with its vastly superior firepower, could retain a military option even after Israel’s lapses. In other words: An Israeli decision not to strike this year will mean that it effectively ceded its self-defense—against a potentially existential threat—to America. When Obama tells Israel to give sanctions time, what he is really saying is: Trust me to stop Iran militarily when you no longer can. 

Thus the very definition of what it means to be a Zionist and an Israeli is also on the table.

10. As American Jews we are destined to live with conflict as well.  We desperately want Israeli and American interests to be synonymous.  But they are not and they never will be.  Each nation has different interests and different agendas.

Yossi Klein Halevi again writes:

In the end the dilemma for both Israel and the U.S. isn’t only strategic but ethical. Israel has a moral responsibility not to surprise its closest friend with an initiative that could drastically affect American well-being. And the U.S. has a moral responsibility not to pressure its closest Middle East ally into forfeiting its right to self-defense against a potentially genocidal enemy. 

In better times, the two allies might have been able to navigate these conflicting needs. But in the absence of mutual trust, what could remain are conflicting perceptions of interest. 

We may soon face the scenario that the two nations we love will not act in harmony and that Israeli, or American, actions will bring criticism, dissension, resentment and perhaps even antisemitism.

We must remain strong.  We must remain resolute.  We must be willing to live with conflict.  We must be willing to fight for Israel’s right to defend itself as it sees fit.  And as well to defend America’s right to support its own interests—even when they might be contrary to Jewish, and Israeli, interests.

In this week’s Torah portion we read of the ner tamid, the light that must be continually tended.  For American Jews it must be a love of both Israel and America, it must be a love for the country that is our home, and the nation that is our Jewish people’s destiny.  Whatever the coming year brings, that flame must remain our eternal light.

Tetzaveh

I have been thinking about ritual objects. My thoughts are not only about how we use them. Rather they also pertain to how others abuse them.

This week we read some more details about the construction of the tabernacle, in particular instructions for the priestly vestments and a few brief words about the eternal light. “You shall further instruct the Israelites to bring you clear oil of beaten olives for lighting, for kindling lamps regularly (ner tamid). Aaron and his sons shall set them up in the Tent of Meeting, outside the curtain which is over the Ark of the Pact, to burn from evening to morning before the Lord It shall be a due from the Israelites for all time, throughout the ages.” (Exodus 27:20-21)

In remembrance of the ancient tabernacle and in observance of this commandment, every synagogue has a ner tamid, usually translated as eternal light, situated above its Ark. It would be better to translate tamid however not as “eternal” but as “with unfailing regularity.” It was not that the ner tamid remained perpetually burning, as if by miracle, it was instead that this light had to be regularly tended. The medieval sage, Nachmanides, suggests that the ner tamid was also used to light the seven-branch menorah that stood in the Temple.

As I think about this menorah, my mind often wanders not to how these objects adorn so many synagogues, but instead to the Arch of Titus. There on that Roman arch are the reliefs of Jewish slaves being marched to Rome from their destroyed Jerusalem. There as well is the image of the menorah being carted away as a spoil of war. I also recall the many photographs of our recent enemies burning Jewish books, in particular the Talmud and the most sacred of all books, our Torah scrolls. Throughout the centuries pillars of fire consumed our most cherished possessions.

I love our Jewish books. I hold sacred our ritual objects. It causes me great pain and distress to imagine these ancient, and modern, destructions. Thus I am sympathetic to the pain caused to Muslims when they hear of their holy Koran being burned. We should remember the pain caused to our people by such fires.

I take issue however with the protestors, and rioters, in Afghanistan when they venerate these objects over human life. As much as I love our books, and as much as it pains me to ponder the Arch of Titus or the images of Nazis burning our Torah scrolls on Kristallnacht, I am more pained by the picture of a young boy standing in fear before a German soldier’s rifle. It is the murder of so many Jews that causes me the greatest pain. For our recent enemies, as well as our ancient, despoiling the sacred led to the murder of the innocent.

Amidst the reports of Afghanis rioting against the American soldiers’ burning of Korans, was another report about four Afghans who were beheaded by the Taliban. These men were accused of spying for the United States. The evidence against them was that they possessed satellite phones. Possession of such new technology is apparently an act of treason.

Veneration of the ancient to the exclusion of the modern is a belief we still confront. It is this view that sees human beings as but subjects of an ancient book. It is this view that makes human life secondary to ritual objects. It is my view, and the belief of our Jewish tradition, that human life takes precedence over all else, even our most sacred objects, even our most cherished books.

Jewish law states that we can even sell the community’s Torah scroll in order to ransom a captive. Even the most sacred of our possessions must serve human life. They are never of greater value than the most treasured of God’s gifts, life. I long for Afghans to protest against the murder of their countrymen by their co-religionists. I long for Afghans to rise up against those who would take life. I long for Muslims to stand up and say the Koran that they revere demands that they place human life first and foremost.

I remain sympathetic to the pain that burning a Koran engenders. I share this commitment to the holy. I would most certainly cry if I were to see a Torah scroll burned. Yet I long to hear something greater than these cries. Instead all I hear is silence. There is only deafening silence in the face of murder.

It is far too easy to clamor against what others do to us, to speak of victimization and defamation. It is far too easy to speak of how others trample on what we hold most dear, what we revere as sacred. But the most holy of tasks, the greatest of challenges, is always to speak of how we might change, what we might be doing wrong, to criticize our closest friends, our family and ourselves. This remains the most difficult of tasks.

In the end these are the fires that must be continually tended. We must not expect that they will burn eternally, as if by miracle. From evening until morning we must tend to these fires.

Talking about Iran

This is a 30 minute video with my teachers from the Shalom Hartman Institute: Tal Becker, Yossi Klein Halevi and Yehuda Kurtzer.  Their topic is: "What We Talk About When We Talk About Iran."  Their discussion is not about the specifics of the Iranian nuclear threat.  Instead they debate the perceptions of this threat.  Yehuda represents the American Jewish perspective and Yossi the Israeli.  Their insights are worth noting.



What follows are my thoughts.

Here in the United States the debate seems to follow two lines of thinking.  Either Obama is not doing enough (because he really does not care about Israel) or Israel is being overly hysterical about the threats it faces (again).  Regarding the first point, I can't say what might be Obama's true inner motivations, although many people speak and write as if they know exactly what he thinks and believes.  I do however find him to be naive about the Middle East. Obama acts as if he can sway by reason everyone and anyone, even tyrants.  I take dictators, and antisemites, at their word.  Jewish history teaches me that reason will not convince them of their erroneous, and evil, ways.

In addition, I continue to believe that the definition of Zionism is that Israel must go it alone. The nature of having a Jewish state is that we must not 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. This is my biggest problem with the tenor of the debate among American Jews. It is all about Jewish victimhood and not what I believe Zionism is truly about, Jewish strength. It is all about America (under Obama) is victimizing the Jewish people, and selling Israel out. 

The only reason the US should help attack, or sanction, Iran is because it serves our American interests. Iran almost hates America just as much as it hates Israel. Why no one is talking about the Iranian hostage crisis that defined my high school years is curious and troubling. Imagine what the people who took Americans hostage would do with a bomb. The president of Iran was then a hostage taker!  Iran having nuclear weapons is a threat to the world. Still sanctions are at present the better approach for American interests, especially as these sanctions have been most recently configured.

The problem that we have is that American and Israeli interests don't appear in sync. Our sense of threat is different. American Jews get palpitations when this happens. We want them to be synonymous. They are not. Israel has a shorter timetable, and faces a far greater existential threat, and therein lies the conflict. Each nation must do what is best for itself and in its own interests.  American Jews will have to live with this conflict.  Make no mistake, however.  While I may not clamor for Obama to do what is in Israel's best interest, I will support Israel in every way possible.  When Israel's leaders decide to take action to protect our nation I will stand with my people.  I might cry if the president offers little support, but I won't scream.  Recall that Reagan furiously criticized Begin when that Israeli prime minister ordered the bombing of Iraq's nuclear facility.  The US then supported a UN resolution condemning Israel.  Those two leaders had a similar distaste for each other, akin to our current two leaders.  Today's tension is all too familiar.  Conflict is part of any relationship and is part of the Israeli-American dynamic.  And we must learn to live with this present conflict.

I remain bound to the Jewish people, as I am to my family.  I am confident that Israel will do what is necessary, and required, to protect itself.

Some later additional notes:
For a prior post about these issues read my thoughts about Gershom Gorenberg's article here.
For a somewhat different view of American-Israeli relations as it relates to this Iranian crisis, read Donniel Hartman's piece here.
Watch next week's webinar from the Shalom Hartman Institute here and be sure to follow the institute's new website and materials about engaging Israel.

Terumah

When I visualize cherubs, even though I don’t much believe in these mythic beings, I still imagine Michelangelo’s renderings.  So much of our religious imagery is taken from Renaissance art.  The great artists of those days still continue to provide us with many of our visual religious images.  This is ironic given that Michelangelo for example mistakenly carved horns for Moses rather than the Torah’s “rays of light.”  And despite our tradition’s insistence otherwise, we continue to imagine Eve handing Adam an apple.  Judaism suggests the fruit was a pomegranate, fig or etrog.  So why do we depend on Renaissance artists when these angelic cherubs are described in our very own Torah?

In this week’s portion, we read of the details of the ancient tabernacle and the cherubs that adorned it.  “You shall make a cover (kapporet) of pure gold, two and a half cubits long and a cubit and a half wide.  Make two cherubim (keruvim) of gold—make them of hammered work—at the two ends of the cover….  The cherubim shall have their wings spread out above, shielding the cover with their wings.  They shall confront each other, the faces of the cherubim being turned toward the cover….  There I will meet you, and I will impart to you—from above the cover, from between the two cherubim that are on top of the Ark of the Pact—all that I will command you concerning the Israelite people.” (Exodus 25:17-22)

What is a cherub?  According to biblical scholars the Hebrew word keruv is most likely related to the ancient Akkadian meaning to pray, bless or be gracious to.  These winged creatures are first mentioned in Genesis, when God positions them outside the Garden of Eden to guard its entrance.  Their depiction was common throughout the ancient Middle East.  One can surmise that the Bible’s lack of a detailed description indicates that the ancient reader had a clear understanding of what cherubim looked like.  It appears that they had human faces, the body of animals, most often a bull or lion, and large wings.  Renaissance artists depicted them as babies with wings.

I wonder why a tradition that seeks to abolish all forms of idolatry demand that we construct such images within the most sacred of precincts.  Rabbi Gunther Plaut (z”l) suggests an answer: “Apparently the cherubim belonged to an old mythological tradition that could not be dislodged, and by hiding them away in a place totally inaccessible to the people at large the danger of their adoration was minimized…”  Then again perhaps such imagery is part and parcel to being human.  We need to build things in order to better imagine God and the accompanying heavenly entourage.  Thus despite Judaism’s zealous prohibitions against idolatry and representations of the divine, attempts to picture the heavens all too often peak through.

Most years I gloss over the Torah’s descriptions about cherubs and angels, dismissing them as meaningless to my modern day faith.  I don’t believe in flying mythic creatures.  Yet human beings continue to conjure rich images, painting and sculpting our understanding of the Bible’s words.  Human beings need to imagine detailed visions. And we rely on artists to visualize the divine.  We are dependent on others to help us grasp at the divine.  Perhaps we should instead take refuge in our own hearts and minds, allowing our thoughts to paint new and original images.  That would be more in keeping with our tradition’s philosophy.

The cherubim’s purpose was to mediate between heaven and earth, to carry the prayers of human beings to the heavens.   I choose instead to rely on my words.  Perhaps a few reach to the heavens.  More often than not my words are lifted by the words of my ancestors found in our prayerbook, especially when rendered as music and song.  And then there are occasions when I discover a poem, a verse that lifts my prayers, as if soaring on wings.  William Blake writes: “To see a world in a grain of sand/And a heaven in a wild flower,/Hold infinity in the palm of your hand/And eternity in an hour.”

And herein is the reminder I seek.  The divine can more often than not be unlocked in the most ordinary and every day.  We need not travel to beautiful buildings, even (and especially) those as striking as the Sistine Chapel.  We need not even construct a tabernacle, ordained with cherubim.  Our thoughts, our prayers, our visions and our very own renderings are all we require.

Iran Is Not Cuba

Iran Is Not Cuba
Gershom Gorenberg's wisdom and insights are worth noting.

He suggests that the panic about Iran is more prevalent here rather than in Israel.

...[T]he people around me in Israeli society don't seem to be panicking. Perhaps it's because no one I know has received official notice that it's time to get gas masks from the Home Front Command—in contrast to the nationwide distribution effort during the period of real tension before the 1991 Gulf War. In fact, the low level of public preparedness suggests two possible conclusions: Netanyahu, Barak, and other top officials could be confident, or terribly overconfident, that Iran and its allies will not retaliate in a serious way. Alternatively, the bellicose public comments and sundry leaks are designed for political purposes, foreign or domestic.

He also argues that the comparisons to 1938 Germany are flawed.

...[T]hinking in 1938 terms risks an even more hard-line implication: Any diplomatic engagement with Iran will lead to Chamberlain-style appeasement. So military action is not just the final option; it's the only option. Despite their emotional appeal, history's extreme examples can close off rather than aid analysis.

And thus I arrive at these tentative conclusions. Prepare for war. Work tirelessly on diplomacy.

Mishpatim

The Talmud offers the following counsel regarding abortion: “If a woman is having difficulty in giving birth, one cuts up the fetus within her womb and extracts it limb by limb, because her life takes precedence over that of the fetus. But if the greater part was already born, one may not touch it, for one may not set aside one person’s life for that of another.” (Mishnah Oholot 7:8)

Two insights emerge from this text. If a woman’s life is in danger then abortion is permitted—and even demanded. Jewish authorities continue to debate what might constitute a threat to the mother’s life. More traditional authorities argue only a physical threat, more liberal offer expansive interpretations, including psychological dangers. The second insight however is the more significant and informative for our contemporary debate. The mother’s life takes precedence over that of the fetus.

As I watch today’s shrill discussions I find myself growing increasingly agitated. My religious commitments are offended when others place the life of the fetus over that of the mother. I believe otherwise. My tradition teaches me that the mother’s life takes precedence. My deeply held religious conviction tells me that it is demeaning of women, and perhaps even misogynistic, to hold that the mother’s life is of equal value to that of the developing fetus. Despite this I am willing to respect those who have different religious convictions. I ask however that they do the same. The strength of this great nation is the belief that different, and even competing, religious convictions are allowed not only to coexist but also flourish.

The fetus is of course sacred and must be treated with care and concern. It is a potential life. Its value must not be brushed aside. Its value must not be treated in a cavalier manner. Nonetheless when its potential life threatens the actual life of the mother it becomes of secondary importance. Despite the debate among Jewish authorities regarding what constitutes a threat to the life of the mother; all agree that the mother’s life is of greater importance. The mother and fetus become two lives of equal value when the baby’s head emerges. Until that moment the mother’s life takes precedence. And that is what Judaism teaches, and that is what I firmly believe.

Yet a woman’s body (as well as a man’s) is not entirely her own. Our tradition also teaches that our bodies belong to God. We cannot do whatever we want to our bodies. My religious convictions are equally offended when people speak of their bodies as if they created them, as if they control them. They are instead entrusted to us. We are commanded to care for them. We do not own them. Even our bodies are divine gifts.

This is what I learn from our Jewish tradition. My faith demands the convictions of me that our bodies are sacred, human life is holy, but as well that a mother’s life is of greater importance than the potential life of the fetus she carries. I first discover this in this week’s portion. “When men fight, and one of them pushes a pregnant woman and a miscarriage results, but no other damage ensues, the one responsible shall be fined according as the woman’s husband may exact from him, the payment to be based on reckoning. But if other damage ensues, the penalty shall be life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burn for burn, wound for wound, bruise for bruise.” (Exodus 21:22-25)

Here we learn that monetary compensation is offered for an accidental miscarriage. In the Torah the intentional taking of a human life constitutes a capital crime. No compensation could suffice. Only the death penalty could rebalance the scales. That the Torah does not require this in the above situation is evidence of the Jewish position regarding abortion.

In addition, the meaning of an eye for an eye is not meant literally but instead figuratively. We are to determine the value of an eye. We are to calculate a fair monetary compensation for the injury. There is a profound confusion about this point. In contemporary culture an eye for an eye is instead used when speaking about exacting vengeance. Use of this biblical phrase suggests a veneer of justice, and is too often misused to justify military action. This is not how our tradition understands this phrase. There is much in the interpretation. Different religious traditions often understand the same words in different manners.

People speak as if their convictions are the beginning and end of all debate. They speak as if their religious beliefs are the determinants for all and that their interpretations are the only legitimate readings. I prefer however to look to my own faith for guidance and counsel. There I discover much to inform our current debates. There my religious convictions are restored.

My faith begins, and ends, with my tradition’s interpretations. My understanding however draws a wider circle, and includes the interpretations of others people’s religious convictions.

Appendix: A thoughtful, and immediate, critique from a congregant.
On the point that we should not impose our views of such moral issues on others, while I personally agree in general, in fact we do often impose our views of moral matters when it comes to action as opposed to belief. Our law allows all to believe what they want, and for the most part profess what they believe, but draws the line at action. Actions that contravene the norm are routinely condemned and punished, even when religiously based, and to some extent this must be so. For example, if one religion believes that smoking marijuana is required, its adherents do not get dispensation from our drug laws; if another believes children must proselytize at night in the street, it must nevertheless succumb to laws against child labor and abuse. Saying we should not impose our religious views on others, in matters such as abortion, does not really resolve the dilemma of how to deal with acts that our social “norm” considers (morally) beyond the pale. I don’t happen to think that a majority of Americans are against abortion, but if they are, if they find it so morally repugnant that they believe it cannot be tolerated at all in a civilized society, then how is a religious dissent on that issue any different from dissenting religious views regarding child abuse, polygamy, misogyny, drug use, etc.? I think it’s too easy to say each can do whatever he/she believes, because we still have some minimal societal norm to identify and enforce.
Robin

Wolpe vs. Beinart

Opinion: Wolpe vs. Beinart | Jewish Journal
Rabbi David Wolpe offers an important corrective to criticism of Israel from the left.  Wolpe writes:

...The parade of self-confident sophistries is confounding. “Denied rights simply because they are not Jews.” Beinart’s phrase elides a torturous history of renunciation, rejection, terror, promises of annihilation and, well, war. It places the entire burden of the conflict on the Israelis, inhabitants of the only state in the world whose existence is constantly questioned and threatened. It turns what has been a painful (and, to be sure, sometimes brutal) occupation of a population, with agonizing options on both sides and blood-strewn sidewalks, into the thinly veiled implication of racist oppression. If you said the reverse, that the Arab nations made war on Israel “just because they were Jews,” you would have a more supportable sentence. 

...Is there no room for honest dissent? I am no fan of the settler movement. I agree that two states is the only just and workable solution. But (and this is where we apparently diverge) I acknowledge I could be wrong about how to get there. We agree that Palestinians have suffered terribly. An end to the current impasse is urgently needed. But Beinart’s certainty about the ends of equality and statehood has frozen into lockstepping the means, and dictating acceptable attitudes. There are thoughtful, kind people who disagree. Many of them, I suspect, do not aspire to raze democracy. This e-mail is an end-zone dance, a strutting lack of humility. 

...Beinart’s e-mail represents what is wrong with the debate: It is smug in its dismissal of Israel’s leadership and grandiose in presenting one view as the sole salvation of that beleaguered nation’s honor. Peter Beinart raises crucial, abiding issues. Then he compares those who take a different view to racist destroyers of democracy. This is not debate. This is not dialogue. This is demagoguery. He is better than this and we must be, too. In Pirkei Avot, Avtalion warns sages to be careful with their words. The warning applies to those who are not sages, as well.

Orthodoxies unfortunately exist on both the right and left.  There are no easy answers to today's dilemmas.  Passionate debate must continue.  Pronouncements must be avoided.

For a reminder of Beinart's contribution to this discussion read a prior post.  There Beinart reminds us that our youth are growing increasingly distant from the State of Israel.

Going To Melody

Leon Wieseltier: Going To Melody | The New Republic
This article is a beautiful meditation about the too often ignored costs of our emerging (emerged?) digital age.  We prize the immediacy of news and information.  We equate Googling with learning.  We fail to recognize that in the process we may lose the meandering achievement of knowledge.  Wiesletier writes:

It is a matter of some importance that the nature of browsing be properly understood. Browsing is a method of humanistic education. It gathers not information but impressions, and refines them by brief (but longer than 29 seconds!) immersions in sound or language. Browsing is to Amazon what flaneurie is to Google Earth. It is an immediate encounter with the actual object of curiosity. The browser (no, not that one) is the flaneur in a room. Browsing is not idleness; or rather, it is active idleness—an exploring capacity, a kind of questing non-instrumental behavior. Browsing is the opposite of “search.” Search is precise, browsing is imprecise. When you search, you find what you were looking for; when you browse, you find what you were not looking for. Search corrects your knowledge, browsing corrects your ignorance. Search narrows, browsing enlarges. It does so by means of accidents, of unexpected adjacencies and improbable associations. On Amazon, by contrast, there are no accidents. Its adjacencies are expected and its associations are probable, because it is programmed for precedents. It takes you to where you have already been—to what you have already bought or thought of buying, and to similar things. It sells similarities. After all, serendipity is a poor business model. But serendipity is how the spirit is renewed; and a record store, like a bookstore, is nothing less than an institution of spiritual renewal. 

He speaks of the recent closing of his favorite record store.  I think as well of the closing of Borders and the many Barnes and Noble stores.  My town recently lost its record store as well.  Its independent book store, the wonderful Book Revue, still continues.  I wonder if it thrives.  Recently I wandered through its doors.  I soon found myself in the poetry section and discovered another Rainer Maria Rilke poetry book.  I was not looking for his poems.  I do not need yet another book, and another book of his poems, but how could I resist buying, "Book of Hours: Love Poems to God," especially when I read:

All who seek you
test you.
And those who find you
bind you to image and gesture.

I would rather sense you
as the earth senses you.
In my ripening
ripens
what you are.

I need from you no tricks
to prove you exist.
Time, I know,
is other than you.

No miracles, please.
Just let your laws
become clearer
from generation to generation.

I was searching for nothing.  That, at least, is what I thought.  Perhaps Wieseltier is right in his distinction between searching and browsing.  But the rows of poetry books always beckon me.  I found something even though I did not search for anything.  True knowledge surprises--and astounds.  That is its gift.  We lose these when we rely only on the internet and our computers.  Had I remained at home peering into my laptop I would not have discovered these poems.  And that is Wieseltier's great insight.  We no longer wander.  We no longer meander through rows of  books.  We no longer browse!  We no longer find comfort in the corners of libraries, surrounded by the learning of prior generations.  We only want answers.  We no longer search after knowledge and understanding.  Rather we type our questions into Google and scan its many answers.  But answers are not the same as learning.  And searching is no longer the achievement of knowledge.  Over these recent years search has grown more definitive while knowledge grows ever more diminished.  Wieseltier concludes:

My father had furniture stores. I grew up with the pathos of retail: you throw all your money into a location and an inventory, you hang out a sign, you trick out a window, you unlock a door, and (if you lack the resources to advertise formidably) you wait. If they come in, you use your skill; but they have to come in. When my father was ill, I would quit the library and mind the store. One day I set a house record for sofas sold because the store was located in a neighborhood where many U.N. people lived, and I knew more than most furniture salesmen about the crises in Iran and Cyprus. Eventually the store failed. But the failure of some stores is more repercussive than the failure of other stores. The commerce of culture is a trade in ideals of beauty, goodness, and truth. A hunger for profit exploits a hunger for meaning. If the one gets too ravenous, the other may find it harder to subsist. The disappearance of our bookstores and our record stores constitutes one of the great self-inflicted wounds of this wounding time.

And finally I return  to his earlier words: "But serendipity is how the spirit is renewed; and a record store, like a bookstore, is nothing less than an institution of spiritual renewal."

If everything becomes virtual how will we learn what we do not know we need to learn?

Yitro

This week’s Torah portion contains the Ten Commandments. According to Jewish tradition, these ten are delineated as follows and are called instead Aseret HaDibrot, the Ten Sayings.

1. I am the Lord your God who brought you out of the land of Egypt.
2. You shall have no other gods beside Me.
3. You shall not swear falsely by the name of the Lord your God.
4. Remember the Sabbath day and keep it holy.
5. Honor your father and you mother that you may long endure on the land.
6. You shall not murder.
7. You shall not steal.
8. You shall not commit adultery.
9. You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor.
10. You shall not covet your neighbor’s house.

People often place these commandments above others. In fact I often hear the following, “I am not that religious, but I do follow the Ten Commandments.” While contemporary culture gives these commandments such prominence, their place within Jewish tradition is far more convoluted.

It was once the case that these commandments were as central as people’s statements would suggest. During early rabbinic times the Ten Commandments were recited during the morning service alongside the Shema. However it was soon removed from the liturgy in response to sectarian claims (most likely early Christian) that these commandments were more important than all others. The rabbis however did not want people to think that these ten were of greater importance than others. All mitzvot, commandments, were binding. The rabbis argued that Judaism demands our commitment to 613 mitzvot.

Yet the rabbis were also keenly aware of the universality of the Ten Commandments’ message. This is why they taught that they were given in the wilderness, in a land claimed by no one. They also argued that they were translated into every language and that again their universal message was disseminated throughout the world. Even Shabbat contains a universal message within the rabbinic imagination.

While Shabbat might not appear to contain a message for the entire world, given our particular Jewish observance of the day, its message is of universal import. While I hesitate to use such evangelical language, Shabbat is a day that can benefit the entire world. Shabbat can offer respite for the soul. It is a day that can renew and restore. It is a day that is set apart from all others, offering us a chance for spiritual renewal and reflection.

Whether we sing Lecha Dodi and fill the day with Jewish music and prayers or just take a day to pause and reflect, Shabbat is a day that can benefit all. It is a day given to the world.

January-February Newsletter

What follows is my January-February 2012 Newsletter article.  Sorry for the delay in posting this article.

Here are my answers to our students’ Ask the Rabbi questions.

Can you get the words in English for your bar/bat mitzvah?

No.  I assume this question is about how hard Hebrew can sometimes be to read and chant. Every one of our students has always been able to lead the prayers.  That is why we meet with students for over six months to help get them ready.  Sometimes students write notes for themselves in their books to help them remember how to say difficult words, but you can never do that in the Torah scroll.  Every student at the JCB reads from the Torah scroll.  That takes hard work and practice.  Bar/bat mitzvah means taking responsibility for your own Judaism.  It is not always easy.  I believe that the things that are the best are not those things that are the easiest.  I know you can do it!  Besides you get to read from the most important Jewish book!  On your bar/bat mitzvah day the most important job is yours not any professionals.  That is what it means to become a bar/bat mitzvah. 

How did you train to become a rabbi?

After graduating from college (Franklin & Marshall, a great college, with a bad mascot, the diplomats) I spent five years studying in rabbinical school (Hebrew Union College).  The first year of rabbinical school was in Jerusalem where I met my wife, Susie, who is also a rabbi.  Oops I think that is off topic.  So that is a lot of school.  But the most important thing about being a rabbi is that you have to keep learning.  So every year I go back to Jerusalem to learn even more.  To be a rabbi means to love learning, and of course love people. 

What is your favorite Torah story?

My favorites are the ones I find the most challenging.  I continue to be challenged by the story about Moses hitting the rock in anger.  Because of this God does not allow him to enter the Promised Land.  I have always found this to be a very harsh punishment for what appears to be a small mistake.  So I keep searching and looking to see if maybe Moses’ mistake was much bigger than what I originally thought.  Maybe part of the lesson is that even small mistakes can sometimes have really big consequences. 

Hi, what did you think of Charlie Sheen’s comment?

Shalom!  Unfortunately antisemitism still exists.  People hate for all different reasons.  People blame others for their own mistakes and failures all the time.  Sometimes that looks really ugly.  Charlie Sheen is not the only example of a person who blames the Jewish people for his own problems.  That list is very long.  In the end it is just really sad that such a talented man is destroying his life, and also bringing down those who are trying to support him.  I used to really enjoy the show, but don’t watch it any more. 

Why is Christmas so celebrative and has Santa (who isn’t real), and lights and everything, and Hanukkah is only presents and menorahs?

First of all I would not tell your Christian friends that their hero is not real.  That is for them to decide.  Second it is not a competition.  Third we live in a country where most people are Christian so it appears that Christmas is better because it is all over the radio, and in stores, and in public displays.  Instead of looking at what you don’t have, try enjoying the pretty lights.  I like how they make the early dark nights brighter!  It won’t make you less Jewish to enjoy Christmas lights, or even sing Christmas songs.  Most important you have to compare the whole package.  Hanukkah is a minor holiday.  Present giving for Hanukkah is a really new thing.  I promise you that the Maccabees were not giving each other presents or even playing dreidle 2,200 years ago.  They were too busy fighting the war!  You have to look at all Jewish holidays not just the one that comes near Christmas.  Sukkot is a major holiday and is for example all about joy and happiness.  My sukkah is even decorated with lights.  Or look at Passover, another major holiday.  How fun is it to find the afikomen?  The most important thing is to remember that Judaism is all about joy and celebration.  I look forward to dancing with you during the hora at your bar/bat mitzvah!  How much more fun does there need to be? 

Keep asking your questions.  They continue to be the best way to learn!

Beshalach Sermon

In this week’s portion the people finally leave Egypt.  They do not travel very far before they are nearly overtaken by Pharaoh and his army.  We read of this famous scene describing the Israelites standing at the shore of the Sea of Reeds, fearful again for their lives.  Everyone knows the story.  God of course splits the sea and the people travel through.  The Egyptian army is drowned in the sea.

There are two midrashim about this event and the questions about miracles that it raises.  The first is a modern midrash.

1. Even though the splitting of the sea was a great and wondrous miracle some people still only saw the mud beneath their feet.  They never looked up.  They only saw the mud dirtying their sandals.  The lesson is clear.  There are many miracles, all around us, but sometimes we only see the mud.

2.  According to an ancient midrash, God did not bring this miracle immediately.  God waited until the people demonstrated their faith.  And the people waited for one person, a man named Nachshon.  It was he who was responsible for God’s miracle.  How?  He jumped into the waters.  Only until the waters covered his mouth did God finally split the sea.  Thus you have to have faith.  You have to jump in head first if you really want to see miracles.

Following this miracle at the sea, Miriam led the people in celebration on the other side.  There was singing and dancing.  The most important lesson is that the Torah continues after this portion.  It does not stop on the other side with this great celebration.  The journey continues. The people did not stop with a great celebration. They traveled to Mount Sinai.  They wandered through the wilderness.

If we are going to apply this lesson to our own times it occurs to me that we place too much emphasis on celebrations and milestones.  We should focus instead on the journey.  I am not suggesting that I don’t like a good party.  I certainly do.  But the central focus should not be the ceremony. If we are talking about b’nai mitzvah it should not be about how many verses a student chants, or how well the bar/bat mitzvah sermon is crafted.  Instead it should be about the process of learning.  What values did s/he learn as s/he prepared for this day?

What would happen if birthday parties were not about “Wow I am 50 years old” but instead about “This is what I have learned in my 50 years.”  Then we would not wake up the next day depressed that the party is over (or hung over).  Instead we would say, “This what I hope to learn in my next 50 years.”  What would happen if come Monday the Super Bowl was not about the winner but instead about the season—of each and every team, and about the hopes for next year’s season?  Will the Giants’ sense of family be as profound if they lose the big game?

I know.  I am being overly idealistic.  But the lesson is important to remember.  The lesson is not to focus on the milestones and instead about the journey.  The Hasidic rebbe, Rabbi Ohrbach offers this comment:  “This is an indication of what happens so often when one’s striving for a certain goal is finally realized.  As long as one is striving, the goal is something greatly desired.  However, once one has realized the goal, it seems to shrink in importance.  The mundane reality of everyday life dissolves all the beautiful dreams and one realizes all the problems that still lie ahead.”

Life is not about the parties and celebrations.  It is instead about the journey, the wandering, the trip, the striving.  The poet Robert Browning said:  "A man's reach must exceed his grasp/Or what's a heaven for?”  Thus keep on striving, keep on journeying and even wandering.  And always be like Nachshon.  Have the courage to jump in the waters.

Rabbi Steven Moskowitz

February 3, 2012

Some Medals are Pinned to Your Soul

Bartali Honoured For Saving Jews During The Holocaust | Cyclingnews.com
A fellow cyclist shared this article about Gino Bartali, the Italian champion cyclist and winner of the Giro d'Italia in 1936, 1937 and 1946 and the Tour de France in 1938 and 1948.  Apparently Yad VaShem is researching whether he also deserves recognition as one of the Righteous of the Nations, those who worked to save Jews from the World War II Nazi death machine.  His long rides were not the apparent training rides that others thought them to be but instead efforts to smuggle documents to Jews seeking to escape.  These documents were hidden in his bicycle.  It is also reported that at least on one such occasion he led Jews across the Alps himself.  Explaining it as part of his training he pulled a wagon behind his bicycle with a secret compartment holding Jewish refugees.  His efforts helped to save the lives of 800 Jews.  His only public comment about these efforts was the statement: "Good is something you do, not something you talk about. Some medals are pinned to your soul, not to your jacket."  He died in May 2000.

Let that be a temper to my competitive spirit and my efforts to ride faster and farther.

And the next time I get up out of my saddle and try to muscle up a climb I should remember to use the derailleur instead and shift to an easier gear.  It is the derailleur that Bartali also helped to pioneer.

I  must remember that refining the soul is always better, and far more important, than polishing any trophy.

Beshalach

According to the rabbis every word in the Torah is perfect; every phrase has a purpose. The unusual sparks a question. A teaching follows.

The rabbis ask why this week’s portion begins with the word, vayehi? “Vayehi—And it came to pass, when Pharaoh sent the people away…” (Exodus 13:17) This word adds nothing to the plain meaning of the verse. It appears redundant. From this word alone mountains of teachings are spun.

Thus the rabbis of the Talmud teach that wherever the Torah states vayehi distress is implied. (Megillah 10b) And then upon this teaching later rabbis offer additional insights.

The Hasidic rebbe, Rabbi Rabinowitz asks:

What distress was there when the Israelites left Egypt? The purpose of the plagues, which God brought upon Egypt, was to instill faith in the hearts of the Israelites and to gradually develop within them a yearning for freedom and a strong desire to free themselves of the shackles of Egypt and its depravity. In the end, after all the plagues, miracles and wonders, the Torah tells us that “Pharaoh sent the people away”—that the Israelites did not leave Egypt on their own free will, but were sent away. That was indeed a cause for distress. (Iturei Torah, Beshalach)

For years the Israelites hoped to be free. Yet when the moment arrived, rather than leaving of their own volition, they were hurried out of Egypt by their tormentor.

Sometimes, after years and years of waiting, when the dream is finally realized we fail to recognize its achievement. Sometimes when miracles appear, we do not see them. The achievement of our own dreams is too often left for others to point out to us. Our own eyes fail to see our hopes realized.

Another Hasidic rebbe, Rabbi Ohrbach offers a different comment.

This is an indication of what happens so often when one’s striving for a certain goal is finally realized. As long as one is striving, the goal is something greatly desired. However, once one has realized the goal, it seems to shrink in importance. The mundane reality of everyday life dissolves all the beautiful dreams and one realizes all the problems that still lie ahead.

It is clear that not achieving our dreams is profoundly disappointing, but this comment offers an interesting insight that achieving them can also lead to disappointment. Sometimes our most hoped for dreams bring great disappointments.

Instead it is the dreaming and striving that give life meaning. It is this seeking that combats disappointment, despair and distress. It is the Torah’s wandering that offers its greatest lesson. It is our people’s standing on the border of the Promised Land that is its most profound teaching. The secret to our success is therefore to always set new goals. It is an unsuccessful life to achieve every goal and realize every dream. Better to set your sights so high that you are forever striving. Better to pause only briefly to celebrate achievements and instead immediately set new goals.

Perhaps this is why my favorite poetry books are those released posthumously. These collections of unfinished poems reveal the most about the poet. It was what he or she was working on in their last days. It demonstrates that the poet was forever creating, and always dreaming. One can never be sure if theses poems achieved their final polish and finishing touches. These poems instead reveal the poet’s truer self. They shed light on the poet’s inner strivings.

And that is the secret: to forever set new goals. And as you near achieving those goals, set your sights even higher.

Bo Sermon

In this week’s Torah portion we read of the final three plagues: locusts, darkness and the killing of the Egyptian first born.  That darkness must have been really terrible after spending all those days covered with swarming locusts.  That darkness was a torture of memories of prior plagues.

Much of the focus of these plagues is obviously about how we respond to our enemies.  The message is clear.  If they don’t do what is right then bring on the plagues.  To reiterate, we have every moral right to battle our enemies, and even if necessary to kill those who threaten us.  Whether it is Pharaoh, Amalek, Haman; bin Laden, Hamas or Iran we have that moral right.  Clearly Israel and America live by this principle in the current clandestine war against Iran, and in particular against its efforts to build nuclear weapons.

We are however limited in this fight.  We can only kill those who threaten us.  When the military is used as a means to mete out swift justice this transgresses basic democratic principles.  Thus we must carefully use the military only against those who threaten our lives.  That is its purpose; it is that purpose alone that the military serves—namely defense.

But what about our enemies within?   These issues and their related moral judgments only apply to our external enemies.  Although we face painful and wrenching choices in confronting these external enemies, the moral lines seem very clear.  Of course you must defend yourself.  As long as we never lose sympathy for other human beings, we can strike out against those who threaten us.  In confronting these enemies we must always remember that even our enemies are deserving of humanity.  Today we see before us many painful choices, but clear answers.

Then again, what about the questions regarding our enemies within?  If you think about it the remainder of the Torah is all about our internal battles and confronting these naysayers and internal enemies.  After the plagues it was all about how we get along with each other.  “Not so well,” is the Torah’s short answer.  Then again that Torah is still being written.  We are still very much wandering through that wilderness.  Today there is a battle going on for the soul of Judaism.  We are nearly at war with each other over the Jewish future.  Clearly military might cannot be used to achieve our desired ends.  Thus how we face the enemies within our own midst is a more difficult and even more wrenching question.

I am not sure if everyone has kept up with some of this news, so let me offer some sobering illustrations.  In Israel especially the struggle for the soul of Judaism, and the definition of what it means to be a Jew, is reaching a fever pitch and perhaps even a breaking point.  A few examples from the news.  Organizers of a conference on women’s health and Jewish law barred women from speaking from the podium, leading at least eight speakers to cancel.  Ultra-Orthodox men spit on an eight-year-old girl whom they deemed immodestly dressed.  The chief rabbi of the air force resigned his post because the army declined to excuse ultra-Orthodox soldiers from attending events where female singers performed. Protesters depicted the Jerusalem police commander as Hitler on posters because he instructed public bus lines with mixed-sex seating to drive through ultra-Orthodox neighborhoods.  Vandals blacked out women’s faces on Jerusalem billboards.  A distinguished professor of pediatrics whose book won an award from the Ministry of Health was instructed that she could not sit with her husband at the ceremony and that a male colleague would accept her prize for her because women were forbidden from the stage.

To be sure Israel is far superior than its neighbors in terms of women’s rights.  This does not mean, however, that this battle should be forgotten, or the struggle avoided.  There are other examples of the increasing Haredization of Judaism in Israel.  Some extremist settler rabbis have begun to speak about the lives of Jews as more precious than that of others, thereby betraying the Torah’s principle that all human beings are created in God’s image.  Still it appears that the greatest fault line exists over women’s rights.

I do not wish to debate who understands the tradition better and who can cite texts to support their position with greater authority.  I can cite Jewish tradition as to why there should not be such limits on women’s rights.  I can quote some of my Orthodox colleagues who are slowly changing things in their own community (see especially Dov Linzer’s New York Times article for evidence of this).  That as well is not my interest.

What makes me a Reform rabbi is that I can stand here and say that thousands of years of Jewish tradition is wrong and it needs to change.   This is the essence of Reform—we must reform the tradition, we must change it.  In a nutshell, Reform places change front and center.  Our first response is to reform what in our judgment is wrong.  As a contrast our Conservative friends place conserving the tradition first.  Their first response is to preserve the tradition.  Change is a last resort and even then it is dressed up as reinterpretation, or the rediscovery of a minority opinion.

Such distinctions are matters of differences between friends.  Reform, Conservative and Orthodox seek to live as Jews in the modern world.  All attempt to make their way both as Jews and moderns.  Our differences should not be with our Conservative and Orthodox friends.  Our differences are instead with the Haredi, the ultra-Orthodox, who shun everything modern.  They wish to live in a world only of yesteryear.

They wish to define Judaism not just for themselves but for all Jews.  They wish to write liberal Jews out of their world, and even out of the Jewish world.  Some years ago one rabbi said, “Only one who believes in the God of Israel and in the Torah of Israel is entitled to be called by the name Jew.”  Another therefore declared, the world’s Jewish population is one million.  There is no room for pluralism or debate in their worldview.  How are we to respond to these battles within our own tradition and people?

First of all I must say, I will not resort to violence even if they do.  I cannot argue or reason with these ultra-Orthodox Jews.  With a fundamentalist of any stripe reason openness to other opinions is not an option.  The values of ahavat yisrael, love of the Jewish people, and am echad, one people, do not extend to Jews who act or believe differently than they do. 

I must therefore support efforts to bring to justice those who use violence to force their views on others.  In Israel I must support efforts to change the political system so that ultra-Orthodox parties no longer have undo influence over Israel’s political decisions.  I must support efforts to bring the ultra-Orthodox into a modern, working society—no more exemptions from the army, no more exemptions from work in favor of study.  Still these are not my most important responses.

Most important I must remain secure in my identity.  I must not look to the right or the left for approval.  No one can say how I am to live my Jewish life.  If I remain secure in my Jewish identity then it does not matter what others say.  I cannot build my Jewish life on the opinions of others—only on my own.

My teacher Rabbi David Hartman’s new book is called The God who Hates Lies.  In it he argues that both God and the self hate lies.  A Jewish identity is first and foremost built on honesty.  He writes: “The tradition itself, compared by the midrash to living waters, contains powerful and plentiful theological resources for responding to the shifting cultural landscapes of our ever-emerging historical drama.  For too long these waters have sat stagnant, awaiting a community of inheritors, a living tzibur, sufficiently confident, willing, and thirsty to tap into them.”

That is our only answer—to be both confident and thirsty.  Confident in our identity.  Thirsty for a better tomorrow.  I must not rest until that thirst is sated. 

Bo

The tenth and final plague is wrenching.  Who among us could imagine a worse punishment?  The death of a child is every parent’s worst nightmare.  It was Pharaoh’s as well.

“In the middle of the night the Lord struck down all the first-born in the land of Egypt, from the first-born of Pharaoh who sat on the throne to the first-born of the captive who was in the dungeon, and all the first-born of the cattle.  And Pharaoh arose in the night, with all his courtiers and all the Egyptians—because there was a loud cry in Egypt; for there was no house where there was not someone dead.” (Exodus 12:29-30)

Such is the suffering of my enemies. The years in which we now live have given rise to many would be Pharaohs who seek to destroy all that we love.  There are too many who declare themselves our enemies.  Even though much has been accomplished to forestall their designs, we must remain forever vigilant.  Yet I wonder, can we sympathize with the pain of these Pharaohs while still remaining vigilant?

Let us be clear about the moral questions we face.  It is legitimate to kill our enemies.  Our nation’s leaders must continue to make every effort to protect us.  The Talmud admonishes us: “If someone comes to kill you, get up earlier to kill him first.”   Yet there is a moral distinction between the legitimacy of killing our enemies and celebrating this fact.  The celebration of the death of any human being is an act to be shunned.  Judaism teaches that all human beings are created in God’s image.  No one is greater than another because all human beings are descended from the same parents, namely Adam and Eve.  All life is precious.  Every life is of equal value.

We should be filled with remorse that we are forced to kill others in order to protect ourselves.   There is as well a distinction between killing to protect our nation’s citizens and killing to mete out justice.  In a democracy justice must remain the province of the courts not the military.   We have every moral right to kill in order to protect.  We do not have this same right to kill quickly and decisively in order to punish.  The killing, for example, of Osama bin Laden (y”s) was justified because it helps to prevent his minions from attacking us again.  We might never again be victimized by his genocidal aims.

It felt satisfying however because it appeared just punishment for his responsibility in the murder of our fellow New Yorkers, the far too many innocent people who were so ruthlessly murdered on 9-11.  This emotional satisfaction confounds our ethical judgments.  It comes to masquerade as moral legitimacy.  Make no mistake.  Punishment can only be justified when sanctioned by courts of justice, never by force of arms. 

I expect the military to protect me.  I expect judges and juries to punish those who wrong me.

Thus Pharaoh’s pain and suffering appears unjustified.  Forgive my chutzpah but the tenth plague seems unwarranted and overly harsh.  How can any wrong justify the taking of the life of a child, even the child of one as evil as Pharaoh, even the child of the enemy who seeks my destruction? 

These deaths satisfy only our emotional need for punishment at best, and revenge at worst.  The death of these countless Egyptians might be emotionally satisfying, but remain morally illegitimate.  Our tradition of course insists that we not celebrate their deaths.  At our seders we remove a drop of wine to signify the lessening of our joy.   We recognize the suffering even of our tormentors.  But can there ever be enough drops taken from our cups of wine to render this act legitimate?

Today we can have sympathy for the suffering of our enemies while not shying away from what must be done to protect ourselves. We must teach over and over again that it is never a sign of weakness to have sympathy for someone else’s pain.

We sympathize even with the pain of our enemies.  Still we refuse to ask the most important questions facing our age.  Everyday we read in our papers that another was killed in this never-ending war on terror, we must ask was this killing justified?  Did it live up to the moral measure of offering us more protection?  Or was it merely done to satisfy our emotional need for immediate punishment?

These are the questions of today.  Dare we ask these questions of our Torah as well?

Vaera Sermon

This week’s Torah portion is Vaera.  In it Moses goes before Pharaoh to tell him to let the Israelites go free.  It is rarely noted that Moses is 80 years old when he first appears before Pharaoh.  It is interesting that both Abraham and Moses achieved greatness during their older, retirement years.  Perhaps the Torah is suggesting that achievements are not of youth and strength and vigor, but of age and wisdom.  It is only after years of toil and learning that one can really achieve something of historical weight.

We also read of the first six plagues—namely blood, frogs, lice, wild beasts, cattle plague and boils.  This is preceded by what might be called dueling magic tricks.  Moses and Aaron compete with the Egyptian magicians, each performing magic tricks to impress Pharaoh.  There is the Bible’s age old favorite of turning a staff into a snake.  And this of course raises the question of magic and miracles.

The first answer is that it is called a miracle if it is our side.  If it is the other guy then it is magic, or even worse, sorcery.  If to our benefit, then it is God’s miracle.  If to theirs then there are only two possible choices.  It is only an apparent benefit.  It only looks like a good thing.   Or it is not a miracle but magic.  Thus miracles are really only a matter of perspective.  Perhaps if we look at something differently it will be seen as a miracle.  This is one lesson we can draw from the portion.  Look at the world differently and you will see many more miracles.  With such eyes even every sunrise can be seen as a miracle.

Finally there is the question about staffs and snakes.  How can a staff turn into a snake?

Do we believe in magic?  Do we believe in superstitions?

The simple answer is Jews do believe in such things, but Judaism does not.  There are so many bendles and hamsas and they are indeed becoming even more popular.  Before I share my views I must offer a measure of full disclosure.  Although I oppose such superstitions as too easy of answers, and Judaism certainly opposes such simple paths, I admit that before my children were born, I placed bendles everywhere.  They were on their cribs and even sewn into some of their clothes and tied to their backpacks.  Although I did not believe in such superstitions I certainly was not going to test the theory on my kids!

I also still recall what Ari’s kindergarten teacher taught him years ago.  Here is that whole story.  I was on my way to Israel during the worst days of the intifada.  I was about to leave on a solidarity mission.  I ended up being there when the Moment Café was bombed and other such horrible acts occured.  Ari was understandably nervous.  His teacher comforted him with the words your dad can’t be harmed if he is performing a mitzvah.  And so his entire class collected money so that I could serve as their shaliach in giving tzedakah.  If they helped to make sure that I was busy performing a mitzvah I would then be protected.

There is this custom of giving tzedakah to someone traveling, especially to Israel.  The traveler is then offered extra protection.  The theory is that they are in the midst of performing a mitzvah and so can’t be harmed.  The rabbis counsel, “Tzedakah tatzil mimavet—tzedakah saves from death.”  Ari’s class would make sure that this theory was given life on my journey.  I refrained from debating this theology at that moment.  It gave Ari comfort and so I supported it.  Even if a superstition, it provided comfort, and so why should I debate it?

I think this is why there are a great many superstitions surrounding death and mourning.  There is the most common custom of covering mirrors.  Most likely its origin is that people used to believe that spirits lived in mirrors.  But really it just adds comfort to follow the tradition’s to do list.  It is also explained that at such times one should not be thinking about how one looks.  Still it is the comfort we seek.

And that in the final analysis is my view about such superstitions and trinkets.  They can give you an extra measure of comfort.  They can grant you an extra dose of confidence.  But they can’t be the only answer.  There is no such thing as a protective bubble.  There is no such thing as an easy, simple answer or path.

Tzedakah cannot save us from physical death.  No one can be rescued from that.  Tzedakah, and mitzvot, and good deeds, can save us from a death of the spirit.  That is always in our own hands.  The protective bubble while tempting is not in our hands.  We can only control how we live our lives.

Tzedakah tatzil mimavet—tzedakah saves us from death is not a theological statement.  It is instead a command.  Work hard so that tzedakah can save you from a spiritual death.

Vaera

“Does kissing a stingray bring you good luck? Or breaking a mirror bring you bad?” a seventh grader recently asked. Thus began a conversation about superstitions. We talked about bendles and hamsas. We discussed the common middle school superstition of placing a spoon underneath your pillow and wearing your pajamas inside out to bring on a snow day.

I challenged our 7th graders to a friendly bet. Knowing the next day’s forecast, I suggested that our students place a spoon under their pillow to make it snow. If it did indeed snow I would donate one dollar to tzedakah for each student. If it did not snow they would each have to bring in a dollar to place in the tzedakah box. They refused the challenge saying, “There has to be snow in the forecast for it to work.” I wondered aloud, “Then why not just watch the Weather Channel?”

I challenged them further. “If you are wearing a red string on your wrist, is it then safe to run out into the street?” One student of course said, “It depends on which street we are talking about.” When I responded the LIE, all responded, “Of course not. That would be really dangerous?” So does a bendle provide a protective bubble around a person? Clearly not, our students agreed.

How then do such superstitions work? Do Jews believe in magic?

“Aaron cast down his rod in the presence of Pharaoh and his courtiers, and it turned into a serpent. …[A]nd the Egyptian magicians, in turn, did the same with their spells; each cast down his rod, and they turned into serpents. But Aaron’s rod swallowed their rods.” (Exodus 7:10-12) This week’s portion makes the point that our magic is superior to the Egyptian’s. Their magic is but sorcery. The Torah suggests that magic is what the other guy does. Miracles are what we do. Whether it is God’s hand or sorcery, miracles or magic, grace or superstition is perhaps only a matter of perspective.

Thus we believe in miracles but not superstitions. Miracles reach from heaven to earth. Superstitions suggest the reverse direction. While prayer might move upward, mastery of the divine does not. We cannot control the heavens by the wearing of a string or blue stoned jewelry. We do not invite bad fortune by breaking a mirror. We are not granted a year of good mazel by kissing a stingray.

I asked our seventh graders, “Will wearing a bendle guarantee you 100% on a test?” A wise seventh grader responded, “It might help give you some extra confidence.” There is great truth in this insight. If combined with study and learning, then a bracelet or necklace could indeed help. If it is a substitute for hard work then it is guaranteed to fail.

Superstitions play into the notion that no one chooses the more difficult path. Everyone likes the easy road. The current fascination with Kabbalah, and the trinkets its mystics hawk, is a symptom of our culture’s attraction with easy answers and simple paths. Judaism is anything but. It is instead serious. It is complicated. And yes it is also overwhelming and demanding.

Some of these same 7th graders heard these demands and helped to feed the hungry last month. I don’t know if they wore bendles or hamsas. I suspect some might have even kissed the same stingray that I kissed in Grand Cayman. I do know that their hands were busy for hours baking desserts for the hungry. I do know that their hands were overwhelmed serving the homeless and fulfilling Judaism’s demand that we better our world.

I also know that they did not tire. And that is Judaism—always the hard work, never the easy path, forever demanding, but also promising great rewards, found not in a year of guaranteed good luck, but in a moment of helping others.

Addendum: Here is the picture of your rabbi kissing a stingray. By the way the tattoo is a spray paint tattoo and a result of my very important job as Uncle Steve.

Shemot

The moment arrives for all parents.  No longer are they called by their names.  They are known only in relation to their children.  “Oh hi, you must be Shira’s father.  Are you Ari’s dad?”

It was the same for Moses’ parents.  “A certain man of the house of Levi went and married a Levite woman.  The woman conceived and bore a son…” (Exodus 2:1-2)  It is not until next week’s portion, after Moses speaks with God at the burning bush, that we learn the names of our greatest hero’s parents.  “Amram took to wife his father’s sister Jochebed, and she bore him Aaron and Moses.” (Exodus 6:20)

Interestingly the revealing of this detailed information follows the revelation of God’s name.  Moses of course learns God’s name at the burning bush.  After this moment we then learn the names of Moses’ parents.  There are however even more curious details about names in the opening of the Book of Exodus. Moses is not named by his parents, but instead by Pharaoh’s daughter when she rescues him from the Nile.  “When the child grew up, she brought him to Pharaoh’s daughter, who made him her son.  She named him Moses, explaining, ‘I drew him out of the water.’” (Exodus 2:10)

And finally, the name of this week’s portion is Shemot, Names.  So what is in a name?   And how do we earn the names by which we are called?  The Israeli poet Zelda writes:
Each of us has a name
given by God
and given by our parents
Each of us has a name
given by our stature and our smile
and give by what we wear
Each of us has a name
given by the mountains
and given by our walls
Each of us has a name
given by the stars
and given by our neighbors
Each of us has a name
given by our sins
and given by our longing
Each of us has a name
given by our enemies
and given by our love
Each of us has a name
given by our celebrations
and given by our work
Each of us has a name
given by the seasons
and given by our blindness
Each of us has a name
given by the sea
and given by
our death.

What we are called is a mixture of many things.  Our wrongs name us.  Even the mountains name us. The clothes we wear, our work, our simchas, our loves all add to our name.  Our names are not merely words given to us by our parents, or as in Moses’ case, his adopted mother.  They represent an accumulation of all our experiences.

Rabbi Shimon concurs: “There are three crowns: the crown of Torah, the crown of Priesthood, and the crown of Royalty.  The crown of a good name surpasses them all.” (Pirke Avot 4:17)  A good name is even better than mastering Torah!

And how is a good name achieved?  There is only one way.  It is through righteous action.  It is through performing good deeds.  A good name must be unqualified.  It should never be “He achieved great things, but…  She had many successes, but remember that one time…”

Still my favorite names are those I earn through my children.  They represent any parents’ greatest successes.  I am happy to be known only as Shira and Ari’s father.  And I imagine Moses’ parents felt the same.  This is why their names were not publicized until after Moses achieved some measure of greatness and after he discovered God at the burning bush.

For parents their greatest recognition comes through their children!  It is because in these names my recognition depends not on my own good deeds but instead upon my children’s.

Vayechi Sermon

This week we read the final Torah portion of Genesis.  In it both Jacob and Joseph die.  Joseph dies at the portion’s conclusion.  Interestingly he is not buried in the land of Israel until the people are freed from Egypt over 400 years later after their slavery.  Jacob however is taken to the land immediately after his death.  The family travels there to bury him in Hebron’s Cave of Machpaleh.

Prior to this Jacob gathers his children together for a final blessing.  His words read more like prophecy than blessing.  Let’s look at a few of the words he offers to his children.

To his firstborn Reuben he says,

Reuben, you are my first born,

My might and first fruit of my vigor,

Exceeding in rank

And exceeding in honor.

Unstable as water, you shall excel no longer…

And,

Simeon and Levi are a pair;

Their weapons are tools of lawlessness.

Let not my person be included in their council,

Let not my being counted in their assembly.

For when angry they slay men,

And when pleased they maim oxen….

At first glance we must admit that Jacob does not offer such kinds words to his sons.  Talk about a father who had unreasonable expectations of his children!  Or perhaps he was just being honest with his children about their faults.  Both of these blessings are actually connected to the sons’ earlier failures.  Simeon and Levi of course attacked Shechem after Dinah was raped.  They took the law into their own hands.

And to the fourth son, Judah, from whom we trace our lineage because it is from the tribe of Judah that we derive the term Jew, Jacob says these words:

You, O Judah, your brothers shall praise:

Your hand shall be on the nape of your foes;

Your father’s sons shall bow low to you…

The scepter shall not depart from Judah,

Nor the ruler’s staff from between his feet;

So that tribute shall come to him

And the homage of peoples be his.

Biblical scholars would suggest that these words were authored after the success or failures of the particular tribes could be seen.  They were not spoken by Jacob, but written later as his words.  But our question is not about the historical accuracy of the vision.  It is instead about the insights they offer into personality traits.

The Torah offers strong evidence that the descendants of Levi for example are given to anger.  Moses, the most famous of Levites, is the best example.  He is of course punished for hitting the rock in anger.  He is not allowed to enter the Promised Land because of this.  Is his example the realization of Jacob’s words to Levi?

Our question is thus about character.  How much of our nature is pre-wired?  What of our character is genetics?  We have come to learn a great deal about genetics.  We know that many diseases have genetic markers.  Even eating habits and metabolism have strong genetic components.  (Read last week’s New York Times magazine for more about this discussion about obesity and genetics.)

Are traits such as anger also pre-wired?  I am sure many parents have heard statements come from their mouths that they promised themselves as children they would never say as parents.  Then when they become parents they hear the words of their mother or father coming out of their mouths.  Is this a matter of wiring?  Or is it instead a matter of we can only learn how to be parents from our own parents?

Could it be true that so much of our personalities are pre-wired?  The Torah would seem to suggest yes.  The Levites are given to great anger.  Their fate is written in this week’s portion.  Every Levite who follows becomes living proof of Jacob’s prophecy.

One of my favorite novels, A.B. Yehoshua’s Mr Mani deals with this theme.  Despite everyone’s best efforts in this novel what happens to them appears pre-ordained.  The Israeli author is asking, can we really control our own destiny, can we really write a new history for the Jewish people?

In this view our lives become a futile attempt to fight against our destinies.  I however refuse to believe this.  And despite the Torah’s stories and Jacob’s prophecy, I would suggest that Judaism does not believe this as well.  We can indeed write our own destiny.  Even with the genetic cards stacked against us, even if we are wired to eating too much—or given too much anger—we can escape what is written for us, and write something different for ourselves.

This is the essence of what we are supposed to be doing on the High Holidays.  We don’t just pray and fast on those days.  We are supposed to do much more.  We are supposed to try to change ourselves, to improve ourselves, to write a new chapter for ourselves in a new year.

The temptation is to give in to our genes.  As we discover more and more about our wiring, this temptation will grow even stronger.  I can’t lose weight, we might say, it is in my genes.  My anger is not my fault; it is instead my father’s.  I can’t control myself, it is my addiction, it is written in my wiring.  We must fight this temptation. We must summon the willpower to write our own stories, rather than follow the script written by our ancestors, or that written by our biology.

There is a hidden message as well, concealed in this week’s Torah portion.  We read that Jacob also blesses his grandchildren, Ephraim and Manasseh.  Jacob gives the younger of the two, Ephraim, the more favored blessing.  Jacob places his right hand, in ancient times the hand of power, on the youngest grandson.  This of course is contrary to the laws of inheritance.  It was always the oldest we received the greater blessing.  Joseph objects to his father’s choice, but Jacob insists that it is correct.  It is not because he is blind, as his son suggests.  He in fact sees very clearly.  The younger should receive greater blessings than the older.  Thus the expected story is rewritten by Jacob’s hands.

Most interesting, it is this blessing that we emulate when blessing our sons on Shabbat evening.  As we place our hands on their heads, we say, “May God make you like Ephraim and Manasseh.”  In this blessing we even preserve the inverted order.  In each successive generation we affirm that the story is not always written from birth.  It is not wired by birth order, or even genetics.  It can be rewritten by our own hands.  That is what we say each and every time we place our hands on our children’s heads.  We say to our children, “You can write a different story for yourselves!”