Noah

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

High Holiday Sermons

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

Rosh Hashanah Morning


Yom Kippur Evening


Yom Kippur Morning



As well as this year's discussions.

Rosh Hashanah Evening


Rosh Hashanah Second Day

Bereshit Sermon

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It is a simple message, but a mighty task.

Bereshit

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

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

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

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

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

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

Simhat Torah

Yehuda Amichai, the great Israeli poet, writes:

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

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

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

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

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

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

Asking the Clergy

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

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

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

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

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

Sukkot

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The set list continues next week with Simhat Torah…

Why!?: A Meditation on the Meaning of Religion

Yom Kippur Morning Sermon

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Don't Separate Yourself

Yom Kippur Evening Sermon

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yom Kippur

The Mishnah teaches: “For transgressions against God, Yom Kippur atones; but for transgressions of one human being against another, Yom Kippur does not atone until they have made peace with one another.”

This past Saturday evening Ari and I went to the Bruce Springsteen concert at MetLife stadium.  A shout out to all of the JCB members I saw there.  Because of a weather delay the concert did not start until 1030 pm.  Bruce played until 2 am.  It was of course a fantastic concert.  At about 8 pm they ushered everyone out of their seats to take shelter inside because of the approaching severe weather.  Two hours later they made an announcement.  “We have resolved the situation.  It is now safe to return to your seats.”  Ari and I looked at each other quizzically. 

Are not the rains in the heavens?  During our prayers we pray, “Your might Adonai is everlasting.  You give life to all.  Great is Your saving power.  You cause the wind to blow and the rain to fall…”  Some might disagree with this theology.  Perhaps you might offer scientific explanations about cloud formations and the power of nature.  But who would suggest that such matters are in human hands?

I recall a former teacher who appeared to believe that the British controlled the world.  He was a Bible professor so the university was forgiving of his theories about modern politics.  We knew that for ten minutes of every class we could stop taking notes as he spoke about secret meetings between Margaret Thatcher and Ronald Reagan.  Thatcher was telling Reagan what to do.  We knew especially that we would not be tested on Britain’s new rain making machine.  (I promise I am not making this up.) 

Nonetheless I thought of my professor on Saturday night.  “We have resolved the situation…”  Who takes credit for the rains?   These matters are not in human hands.  Judaism steadfastly rejects such theories.  It rejects my professor’s conspiracy theories (as well as Mel’s) and his belief that human beings command the heavens.

Judaism rejects the notion that all is in our hands, that everything is controlled by human beings, and as well that nothing is in our hands.  We can say we’re sorry.  We can repair our relationships with others.  When approaching God, prayers can suffice.  With others the hard work of repair is always demanded.

On Yom Kippur we turn inward.  We examine our ways.  We seek to make amends.  “Sure it’s so hard to be a saint in the city.”  Nonetheless every year we are given an opportunity to turn, to change, to carve a different path.  Our lives are not entirely in our hands we recognize.  There are matters that we cannot control.

We cannot influence everyone around us, we cannot change how others might behave or even respond.  We can choose our own responses, our own actions.  We can carve out our own paths. While not everything is within our power, the direction of our lives is for us to decide.  We can always turn. 

The weather is beyond the design of human beings.  The rains are indeed outside of our hands.  Whether we sing or dance is within our power.  How we respond is always in our hands.

Now with these hands
I pray for the strength, Lord
With these hands,
I pray for the faith, Lord
Come on, rise up!

Tom Friedman on Red Lines

Tom Friedman is right about the current failures of leadership.  About Netanyahu he writes:

Prime Minister Bibi Netanyahu of Israel has been loudly demanding that America publicly draw a “red line” in respect to Iran’s nuclear program that would delineate exactly when the U.S. would launch a strike against Tehran. Bibi is Winston Churchill when it comes to demanding that the U.S. draw red lines, but he is a local party boss when America asks him to draw a “green line” delineating where Jewish settlements in the West Bank will stop and a Palestinian state might start. Oh, no! Can’t do that, Bibi tells American officials. “I would lose my coalition.” So America is supposed to risk a war with Iran, but Bibi won’t risk anything to advance a deal with the Palestinians that might create a little more global legitimacy and sympathy for Israel, and America, in the event of a war with Iran. Thanks a lot.

When visiting Israel I met with an MK from Hadash an opposition party.  Here is a self-proclaimed pacifist party in Israel.  Most of its Members of Knesset are Arab but Dov Knenin is Jewish.  There was a certain self-righteousness that can only be afforded to members of the opposition.  Governing is of course messy and involves compromise most especially in a parliamentary democracy.  From the opposition you can be comforted by your disagreements.  Governing coalition says yes, you say no.  It says yes you say no.  I am understanding of the pressures on Netanyahu and Obama.  I am forgiving of how challenging it must be to govern and serve as prime minister and president. 

Nonetheless leadership is about courage.  It is about laying out a direction for the nation and plotting the course.  It is about inspiring people to sacrifice so that we can change direction.  If it is only about staying in power, or getting re-elected, then it loses much of its claim.  Israel and the United States must change course, not in every and all areas, but in some key areas.  We long for inspired leadership.

As for Obama, he’s been at his best when he has dared to lead without fearing the politics: taking out Osama bin Laden, securing health care without a public option, racing to the top in education and saving the banks rather than throwing all the bankers in jail, which they deserved. And he has been at his worst when he’s put politics first: spurning Simpson-Bowles, doubling down on Afghanistan for fear of being called a wimp and dropping “climate change” from his speeches. 

Even when leadership inspires us to disagree it serves the common good.  Read the entire article here.

Vayelech

This week’s Torah portion is Vayelech. Moses is nearing his death.  He will die before his life long dream and goal are realized.  The people will cross into the Promised Land without him.  They will be led by his successor, Joshua.  Moses is allowed only to peer from a neighboring mountaintop into the land.  Moreover, he will die alone.  Only God will tend to his funeral.  His grave will remain unmarked.  

How can this be?  The greatest of Jewish leaders is mourned and remembered, but his grave is never again visited.  It remains insignificant.  Our tradition does not mandate pilgrimages to this site.  It is as if to say that future generations must not dwell there.  They must press forward.  A monument might hold them back.  The people might dwell at their leader’s grave.  There they might build a mausoleum to their hero.  They must instead look toward the future.  They must remember his teachings but not hold on to his presence.

The Torah is an idea.  It can be held in our arms.  It can be lived in our words and deeds.  It can be carried from place to place.  It is a vision.  It is not dependent on one man (or woman), even one as great as Moses.  That is the dream of Torah.  It might have been given to Moses to hand to the people, but once given, it is dependent on all to fulfill.

Joshua must have raised such questions to Moses.  He must have doubted his abilities.  He must have wondered how he could stand in Moses’ shoes, how he could follow the greatest of leaders.  The Torah reports: Then Moses called Joshua and said to him in the sight of all Israel: “Be strong and resolute, for it is you who shall go with this people into the land that the Lord swore to their fathers to give them, and it is you who shall apportion it to them. And the Lord Himself will go before you. He will be with you; He will not fail you or forsake you. Fear not and be not dismayed!” (Deuteronomy 31:7-8)  

And Joshua might have cried:
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. (Dylan Thomas)

And yet somehow despite his tears and his cries, Joshua managed to find the courage.  He marched forward.  The people looked not back at their leader’s grave, but marched toward the land.  The people mourned their leader and then turned toward the future.  

Candidates make many promises.  I ask only that they show me the way.   Even the greatest of leaders and visionaries can never see all of their dreams realized.

Obama's Phone Call

Prior to Rosh Hashanah President Obama hosted a conference call for rabbis.  There is a call scheduled with Governor Romney as well.  Note in particular Obama's response regarding the question of red lines.  Here is the report from JTA...

President Obama told rabbis in a pre-Rosh Hashanah conference call that there is "no space" between the United States and Israel on Iran, but added that he would not make public a red line that could trigger a strike against Iran.  "There may come a time" Obama told 1,200 rabbis of all denominations on the call Friday, that the United States would "exercise a military option" to keep Iran from obtaining a nuclear weapon.  He said, however, he would not set red lines or a deadline, as Israel has demanded, noting that Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu would also not make public Israel's own trigger for military action.  "No leader ties his own hands," he said.  Still, Obama said, "there is no space between the U.S. and Israel" on Iran.  He also said that "I have been explicit and clear that we will prevent Iran from obtaining a nuclear weapon."  Obama reiterated his belief in exhausting other options. "There remains time and space for diplomacy," he said.

Obama also spoke about the recent anti-American violence in the Middle East. "We knew this process would not be easy," he said, referring to the development of democracies in the wake of the Arab Spring. "The United States must be aligned with democracy and human rights."  

The rabbis asked Obama why he has been focused so much during this election year on the middle class, at times seemingly to the exclusion of the poor.  Obama responded that the programs he has championed as benefitting the middle class, including expanded health care, would also benefit the poor.  Obama said he and his wife, Michelle, "wish you a happy and sweet New Year."  

The rabbis, in introducing Obama, also noted their outstanding plea that he commute the life sentence of Israeli spy Jonathan Pollard.  The call was organized by the rabbinical umbrellas of the Reform, Conservative, Reconstructionist and Orthodox streams.

Food Stamp Challenge

Food Stamp Challenge
During the week of November 11-17, I will participate in the Food Stamp Challenge.  You can find out more about this challenge at the above link.  Here are the guidelines prepared by the Jewish Council for Public Affairs.

1. Each person can only spend a total of $31.50 on food and beverages during the Challenge week - this translates to $4.50 per day, or $1.50 per meal.
2. All food purchased and eaten during the Challenge week, including fast food and dining out must be included in the total spending.
3. During the Challenge, eat only food that you purchase for the project. Do not eat food that you already own (this does not include spices and condiments).
4. Avoid accepting free food from friends, family, or at work, including food at receptions or coffee in the office
5. Please keep track of receipts on food spending and take note of your experiences throughout the week.
6. Share your Food Stamp Challenge by writing an op-ed for your local newspaper, blogging, advocating for feeding programs, and more.
7. Donate the additional money you would have spent on food during this week to a local food bank or anti-hunger advocacy organization (optional).
Note: You may find it difficult to complete the Challenge due to schedule or the limited budget. It will still be important and worthwhile to track your experiences.

Feel free to join me in this challenge, support my efforts or of course read about my experiences on my blog.  I hope to learn more about the struggles, challenges and difficulties of hunger in America.

Friend Me!

Rosh Hashanah Morning Sermon
Nadav was within a few hours of reaching the 29,028 foot summit of Everest when he discovered Aydin near death.  He shook Aydin who moaned slightly.  Nadav faced an agonizing choice.  The custom among Everest climbers is not to even attempt to rescue another climber in the so-called death zone, 3,000 feet from the summit.  It is a place that cannot sustain human life and climbers are dependent on the small oxygen tanks they carry.  To rescue another is to almost always guarantee death not for one but for two.  Only moments before Nadav had passed two dead climbers, whose frozen graves will forever remain on the world’s highest peak.  But Nadav ben Yehuda, a 24-year-old Israeli, and Aydin Irmak, a 46-year-old Turk, had become friends in the weeks they spent at Katmandu’s base camp preparing for the summit.

Nadav decided to attempt the impossible.  He carried Aydin on his shoulders part of the way, and at other times, harnessed him to his body, gripping the dying climber between his legs as they descended.  Sometimes they tripped over one another and fell 50 yards at a time.   Nadav removed two of his gloves in order to use his fingers better, causing immediate frostbite that might still, three months later, lead to partial amputation.  Soon Nadav’s oxygen canister froze and he was without the much-needed oxygen.  He recalled, “Your body is shutting down.  You do not see clearly because you are dizzy.”  Even his Sherpa guide, who he met on the descent, could not offer any aid.  Then three might die.  Somehow Nadav Ben Yehuda managed to carry Aydin Irmak to Camp Four where they both received emergency medical treatment.  Nadav has been called a hero for giving up his dream of summiting Everest and becoming only the fifth Israeli to achieve this goal.  He does not however see himself as a hero.  Saving a life was more important than reaching the top of the world.  He says, “I am not a hero but I am completely Israeli.”  The choice he faced at 26,000 feet was anguishing.  When asked why he flouted Everest tradition and perhaps even good sense, the answer was simple and decisive.  “Aydin Irmak was my friend.”

He was my friend.  This morning we ask, what is the meaning of friendship?  We find ourselves living in confusing times.  “Friend me!” we say.  Our children count their friends and their likes.  Friendship appears no longer measured by such heroic choices but is instead quantified.  We tally friends.  We accumulate likes.  Don’t get me wrong.  I use Facebook and Twitter as well.  I text.  I Facetime and Skype.  I do not see evils lurking in the conveniences of modern life.  But I also do not wish to shy away from the questions these modern devices pose.  What unintended changes do they bring?  What is their cost to the meaning of friendship? 

There was a recent article in The New York Times (September 9, 2012).  The reporter (Emily Layden) tells this story: My little brother went to school on a Friday morning last June, and this is what he heard: That another boy, a sixth-grader, had written a Facebook status the previous night asking his friends to “like” it if they hated my brother. The “like if you hate” question had gotten 57 thumbs-up. Verification for my brother’s generation is a statistical rat race, counted in friends, followers, re-tweets and re-pins. On an ordinary Friday morning, my brother learned that his name had garnered 57 “like if you hates.” 

A sad story.  When friendship becomes a matter that is tabulated then it leads to an explosion of such incidences.  Sure there were bullies when old people like me went to middle school, when computers only existed in university science labs and Steve Jobs was still tinkering in his garage.  But you could be sure that if 57 kids surrounded another kid screaming, “We hate you,” even the least caring of teachers and principals would get involved.  Today, the school said that such cyber-bullying is out of their jurisdiction.   What the school does not understand we must relearn.  If you can’t say it, or should not say it, face-to-face then you should not say it online.  If you bully someone on their wall, it is the same as bullying them on the playground.  Judaism believes that words are as dangerous as pushing and shoving.  Our words can harm no matter where they are used.

I have some suggestions about all this.  First the solution that I suspect no one is going to listen to but I believe nonetheless.  No Facebook account, no Twitter until you are in high school.  Some of you might even by typing right now (even though you should not be) and saying things like, “My rabbi hates FB.  He doesn’t know what’s real.  #still-love-my-rabbi.”   You might be saying, “He doesn’t get it.  We have grown up with Facebook and texting.  This is how we talk to each other.”  But how can anything of meaning and substance be transmitted in 140 characters?  I will keep going.  Should I?  Perhaps not.  No media plan until you are in 9th grade.  Get a phone that has only talking and texting for now.  Here is my small hope.  You might spend these years trying to master speaking in complete sentences and listening to others. Spend some time making real friends in the real world.  Don’t worry about how many.  You know that I have always been more concerned about meaning.  Content is more important than who or how many.  Find a few quality friends.  Thank God for sleep away camps.  At most iPhones are still not allowed.  There you have to sit on your bunk during rest hour talking to others or listening to your iPods together.  Late at night when you and your friend can’t fall asleep you can talk about important stuff like what you are really scared about and how you are going to help each other overcome those fears. Try this as another rule.  If you have to tell a friend something and it has to be whispered, then it should not be posted on anyone’s wall.  Does anyone whisper secrets anymore?  Does anyone whisper anymore?

Don’t misunderstand me.  I am not trying to eliminate Facebook, if for no other reason than given how many of my friends invested in its IPO.  These things are here to stay.  We will use them.  We will even benefit from them.  But I am unwilling to let go of the things that should really matter.  Everyone needs not just friends but good friends.  Everyone needs someone who can honestly say things like, “You really should not wear that shirt.”  Everyone need someone who can tell them the truth, but in private and with love.  Good friends are the ones who tell you the things you don’t want to hear. They tell you with their arm around your shoulder.  They tell you with love.  Flattery is not the greatest measure of friendship.  Its true measure is loving critique.  Liking is not friendship.  What is it that we want from our friends?  We want of course love and support.  We want, we need someone with whom we can share our most intimate secrets, our fears and our worries.  We want someone who will accept us for who we are, but prod us to be better.  We need someone who will not judge us when we are broken, but hold us so that we might be find repair.  We need as well someone who will rejoice at our successes.  They will not be jealous of our achievements but instead celebrate them with us.  None of this can be communicated in a limited number of characters.  None of this can be conveyed on a wall.  It is instead, and only, face to face.  It is about looking in another’s eyes.  That is how we truly communicate.  We lose something when we overly rely on these social media outlets.  They do not offer deep and meaningful conversations.  They are not substitutes for real communication.  We must relearn how to converse.  We must relearn how to care. Panim el panim, face to face, is the answer.

David and Jonathan, we read in the Bible, shared the most beautiful of friendships.  The Bible tells us that their souls were bound together. They fought for each other.  They protected each other.  They looked out for each other.   When Jonathan is killed in battle, King David laments: “I grieve for you, my brother Jonathan, you were most dear to me.  Your love was wonderful to me, more than the love of women.” (II Samuel 1:26)  Dare we use such words to describe our friendships?  Learn from David.  Follow in his footsteps. 

The Internet as well has not expanded our horizons.  I know everyone says, “But it is the World Wide Web.  I can sit in my home and watch live video of people praying at the Western Wall.”  Sure that’s cool.  It is not of course the same as being there.  Even more important we tend to organize our cyber lives around likes.  We join groups in which everyone shares the same passions or opinions.  We think we are going out into the world, but all we are really doing is finding someone in Russia who shares a similar passion for cycling.  How is that helpful?  We have only discovered others who share our same ideas and ideologies.  We have merely expanded the circle of likes, but not expanded our knowledge and understanding. 

Someone recently commented to me that part of the problem with Washington politics is that our elected leaders don’t go out to dinner with each other anymore.  If Republicans and Democrats went out to dinner and had a few drinks together, if they became friends, despite their different ideologies, maybe something would get accomplished.  Ask these questions about your friends.  Do you have friends who are not like you?  Have our likes become the same as the ideological litmus tests leveled against aspiring candidates?  Our circles appear to be growing smaller rather than larger.  Online we read only what we agree with.  We friend only those who share our interests and worse, our opinions.  Do we have friends of different faiths?  Of different cultures?  Of different socio-economic standing?  Too close to home?  Online you can call people all sorts of names, you can dismiss their arguments with the press of a button, but when they are first your friend it is not so easy to cast them aside.  And that is exactly how it is supposed to be.  Friends first.  That alone could bridge the divide in Washington.  It is an immeasurable good to expand the circle of friendship ever larger.  I fear that the World Wide Web makes the circle smaller rather than larger.

How has something so basic become so confusing?  And so what of our friendship with Israel, a friendship debated by our politicians and tweeted about by their super PAC’s.  A few things seem clear.  Obama and Netanyahu do not share warm relations.  I do not think they call each other friends.  They do not appear to be the friends that Bush and Olmert or Clinton and Rabin were.  To be honest both Obama and Netanyahu disappoint me. Israel and the United States are supposed to be friends.  Both Romney and Obama, and nearly every senator and representative affirm this.  Look at how many have traveled to Israel on AIPAC trips.  (By the way I would love to send a JCB delegation to the Washington conference.) 

Here is my worry.  This friendship has become defined by talking points.  I firmly believe that deep and meaningful friendship involves loving critique.  Yet every criticism of Israel or inappropriate word is deemed a betrayal of our friendship and treason against the Jewish people.  Don’t reduce my friendship and love to matters of military aid.  Are we that insecure that we cannot tolerate critique and disagreement?  Israel and the United States both face unimaginable challenges.  We face complicated questions that defy simple answers.  The unfortunate problem is that everything is being aired in public.  I feel like I am watching those 6th graders fight it out on Facebook, posting tirades on each other’s walls.  Like if you hate Obama.  Like if you hate Romney.

Friends should have more dinners together.  They should play some basketball together.  Ok, I am sure Netanyahu would prefer soccer but you get the point.  It saddens me that the White House turned down Netanyahu’s apparent request for a meeting when the prime minister is going to be here for the United Nations Assembly.  Obama’s White House should have said, “Sure come to DC for dinner, but no photo ops and no public speeches, no pointing fingers at one another and no lecturing each other, only a joint statement that says, ‘The United States and Israel share a deep friendship that spans presidents and prime ministers.  We share a commitment to peace and security especially in the Middle East.  We both cherish democracy.  The United States and Israel will continue to work together to make sure that Israel and the United States remain free and secure.”  Hammer out the details about Iran in private.  Work out the tough stuff not in the media or Facebook, but in private, arms around each other’s shoulders.  Ok, I am a dreamer.  But dare we forget our dreams? 

By the way I did not think Romney’s visit to Jerusalem offered anything better.  He said what Israelis wanted to hear, or at least what some Israelis wanted to hear.  Know this.  There is a significant percentage of Israelis, perhaps as many as 50%, who disagree with the country’s settlement policy.  Romney spoke nothing of this.  He said only what many Jewish ears love to hear.  My Jewish heart might have been warmed by his words but it was not necessarily what needs to be heard.  Give me some loving critique.  Show me you really understand the internal challenges Israel faces.  How is Israel going to remain both Jewish and democratic while expanding settlements in the West Bank?  Offer Israel constructive criticism and advice.  I continue to dream.  And now some adults might be saying, “My rabbi doesn’t know what’s real.  #still-love-my rabbi.”

The Jewish tradition speaks of God as our beloved friend.  That is what is suggested by its interpretation of Song of Songs.  For modern scholars this biblical text is a love poem that at times borders on the erotic.  The tradition, and in particular the mystical Rabbi Akiva, insisted it was a love poem between the people Israel and God.  “Hark!  My beloved!  There he comes, leaping over the mountains, bounding over hills…My beloved spoke to me: Arise, my friend, my fair one, come away!—Kumi lach rayati!” (Song of Songs 2)  There is an intimacy that is almost embarrassing.  Here are words that should never be posted on someone’s wall.  And yet here it is in our Bible speaking about God and Israel.  The two are depicted as lovers walking hand in hand, arm in arm.

That is what is implied as well when the Bible speaks of Abraham walking with God.  The first Jew is described as walking with God.  What does this mean?  What does it mean to walk with God?  It does not mean that Abraham followed God, although he certainly listened to God’s many demands.  It can only mean that there was a certain intimacy between the two.  They were friends.  God calls Abraham his beloved friend.  The two walked together.  We can learn a great deal from their interactions.  We can discern from their friendship how we are to be true friends. 

We can learn especially from the story of Sodom and Gomorrah (Genesis 18).  In that tale, God first decides to share with his trusted friend Abraham the plan to destroy these sinful cities. And that is the first lesson. God seeks advice and counsel from his friend.  Then the most amazing story unfolds.  Abraham argues with God.  Abraham does not say, “You’re God so it must be a good idea.  Besides they are sodomites and they deserve all that fire and brimstone.”  Abraham bargains for the sake of those sinful cities.  He presses God to relent and to reject the punishment of all for the sake of a few.  If Abraham is able to find ten righteous then the cities will be spared.  God agrees.  God says, “Ok my friend.”  Alright, I paraphrased.  God does not really say, “Beseder, beseder…habibi.”  But God does listen to his friend and Abraham doesn’t say, even to God, “You are wonderful.  Whatever you say goes.”  In the end the cities are of course destroyed.  But Abraham and God continue to walk together.  They continue to journey together.

And that is the most important lesson about friendship.  The Hebrew for friend is chaver.  It means to be joined together.  We are bound together for better or for worse, just like Nadav and Aydin, lashed together by their harnesses.  But everyone seems to think that we are like every other climber scaling Everest.  We act as if we share their ethos of everyman for himself.  To even try to save another is to invite too much risk.  We are not mountain climbers.  We are not scaling the world’s tallest peak.

When Nadav returned to Israel he was greeted with a ticker tape parade and medals.  The guy who didn’t make the summit got a parade.  Why?  Because he understood the meaning of friendship.    Of course, there will be no parades for us.  There will be no accolades on our walls.  We don’t really need such things.  We do need to relearn the true meaning of friendship. We cannot live without friends.  It is not a matter of numbers.  We only need one good friend.  Or it might only be a few.  But we most certainly can never live in isolation.  We can never realize our potential without others.  We are nothing without friends.  We are nothing if we do not look at others panim el panim, face to face, and walk arm in arm.

Rosh Hashanah

Tom Friedman recently wrote: “The truth is, if you want a decent job that will lead to a decent life today you have to work harder, regularly reinvent yourself, obtain at least some form of post secondary education, make sure that you’re engaged in lifelong learning and play by the rules. That’s not a bumper sticker, but we terribly mislead people by saying otherwise.” (The New York Times, September 9, 2012)

It could be a bumper sticker for Jewish values however.  His Op-Ed was not of course about Judaism but instead about the economy and jobs.  Part of what he wrote resonates with Jewish teachings and in particular the central message for the upcoming High Holidays.  On Rosh Hashanah in particular we affirm that we can change.  We proclaim that we can fix our mistakes and mend our ways.  We believe that human beings are capable of repentance and change.

Change however comes with difficulty.  People resist it.  And this is part of our current crisis.  Everyone wants to hold on to the past and in particular their imagination of that past.  When we attempt to hold on to such imaginings we never serve the future.   We find ourselves alone and comforted only by memories.  Thus change is necessary.  It is required for our country.  It is required for our people.  It is required in our personal lives.  We must regularly reinvent ourselves.

On Rosh Hashanah we celebrate our ability to change.  We dip the apples into honey and say, “May it be Your will, Adonai our God and God of our ancestors, to renew this year for us with sweetness and happiness.”  The Hebrew word for renew is hadesh.  We make new.  We make the old new.  We are never trapped in our old ways. Our lives are not predestined.  Our choices are not predetermined.  We can change.  We can be different.

Too often we feel that our lives are beyond our control.  To be sure there are things that we cannot determine.  Our health is not entirely in our own hands.  Sometimes as well other people’s choices effect our own and help to determine the directions of our lives.  Yet our choices remain in our own hands.  This is what we can change.  And this is what we mark on Rosh Hashanah. 

More than other day this holiday offers us the opportunity to reinvent ourselves. Let us celebrate this day and seize this opportunity.

Nitzavim

The Torah declares: “Surely, this instruction which I enjoin upon you this day is not too baffling for you, nor is it beyond reach. It is not in the heavens, that you should say, ‘Who among us can go up to the heavens and get it for us and impart it to us, that we may observe it?’ Neither is it beyond the sea, that you should say, ‘Who among us can cross to the other side of the sea and get it for us and impart it to us, that we may observe it?’ No, the thing is very close to you, in your mouth and in your heart, to observe it.”  (Deuteronomy 30)

People are often intimidated by Torah and especially chanting its words.  It is of course written in Hebrew.  The scroll is still written without vowels.  It is a challenging task.  But such an attitude confuses the reading and studying of Torah with living it.  Living Torah, bringing its values into our lives and the world, is our most important task.

A Hasid complained to the Kotzker Rebbe: “I have a tremendous desire to study Torah.  I want to be a learned man, but whatever I learn I forget.”  The Kotzer told him: “Who says that you have to be a learned man?  Isn’t being a plain Jew enough for you?  Nowhere does the Torah state that person must be a great Torah scholar.  When Isaiah says, ‘Learn well,’ Rashi, the great medieval commentator, explains this to mean ‘learn to do good.’   The purpose of learning is not to become a Torah scholar, but to be good and do good.

Although learning is prized, doing good is even more valued.  I understand that even doing good might sometimes seem challenging.  Nonetheless that is our most important task.  And that should be very close.  It is in our mouths and in our hearts.  We don’t require experts to master Torah for us.  We don’t require others to travel great distances to learn it.

Torah belongs to each and every one of us.  It is only a matter of living it.

9-11

Art Spiegelman called his above rendition, "In The Shadow of No Towers."  The shadow still lingers.  And it inspires. Yesterday's Forward published remembrances of Jewish servicemen killed in Afghanistan and Iraq.  Of the 6,565 soldiers killed in these wars, 50 were Jews.  Below is the paper's editorial:

In mid-August, 127 Americans flew to Israel with the intention of joining the Israel Defense Forces. They arrived at Ben-Gurion International Airport to a boisterous and well-organized welcome, complete with a live band, balloon hats, and a speech delivered personally by Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu. Photos of would-be soldiers joyously dancing in the airport arrival hall circulated on the Internet, while many of their parents posted proud but anxious messages on Facebook.  “You’ve decided to defend the Jewish future,” Netanyahu told them.  About a month before this well-reported scene — on July 21, to be exact — Michael Brodsky died in Kandahar province, Afghanistan, from injuries caused by an improvised explosive device. He was 33 years old. He died as a member of the United States Navy, and as a Jew. When he and his brother enlisted right after the September 11 terrorists attacks, they got matching tattoos of the Star of David. And when Michael was deployed, his father told the Forward, he carried an Israeli flag with him.  As a Jewish community, we rightly celebrate the commitment and passion of the young Americans determined to contribute to the defense of Israel. But do we pay as much attention to the many more American Jews who have served in the deadly theatres of war in Iraq and Afghanistan for nearly 11 years?  In February 2011, the Forward published profiles of the 37 Jewish servicemen and women who had died in the two wars over the previous decade. By last Veterans Day, two more names had been added to the list.  Now, that sorrowful tally has grown to 50 — a number that includes fresh losses such as Brodsky and the names of others whose Jewish identity has only recently surfaced.

And here is the paper's story about Petty Officer 2nd Class Michael J. Brodsky.

On September 11, 2001, when Michael Brodsky found out about the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon, he and his younger brother, Corey Brodsky, went down to the recruitment office and enlisted in the Navy. The same day, the two brothers got matching tattoos of the Star of David with the Hebrew word for “brotherhood” in the middle.  Steven Brodsky remembers his son as a “goofball” who was always teasing his mother and younger brother. Growing up in Tamarac, Fla., Brodsky was a Cub Scout and later a Boy Scout; a dedicated and athletic student, he also wrestled in high school.  Brodksy came from a patriotic family and became a dog handler in the Navy. Planning to make a career out of the military, Brodsky repeatedly took tests for a promotion. On the day that he died, his father said, the promotion finally came through. Steven Brodsky, an ex-military man himself, proudly recounted his son’s 11 medals.
Michael Brodsky loved his 9-year-old daughter, Natalia, who had fought and beaten cancer when she was younger. “He talked to his mother every day on Skype, and he was my best friend. He was a good person,” Steven Brodsky said.  Brodsky carried an Israeli flag with him when he was deployed, his father told the Forward. “He was a dedicated soul; he loved what he did, and no one could have talked him out of it.”  Michael Brodsky died July 21, 2012 in Kandahar province, Afghanistan, from injuries caused by an improvised explosive device. He was 33 years old.

The 50 remembrances can be found here.  Two of these stories can be viewed on the following video.



These stories are worth remembering on this day as well.

Wieseltier on Ryan

Leon Wieseltier: His Grief, And Ours | The New Republic
Leon Wieseltier writes the following in The New Republic, commenting on Paul Ryan's fascination with Ayn Rand, in particular her radical individualism.

What, then, is so terrible about self-reliance? Nothing, unless it is promoted into an absolutism, into a cult of sacred egotism, into an “Invictus”-like illusion. (That is another classic of ego-swelling adolescent literature.) The more people do for themselves, the better. The more they assume responsibility for the course of their lives, the better. Who denies these noble banalities? Our agency is the clearest expression of our freedom. We possess extraordinary powers. It is miraculous what the works of human hands have accomplished, except that it is the opposite of miracle, because we are not supernatural beings. 

But Ryan’s concept of self-reliance, the gospel of John Galt (“you are your own highest value ... as man is a being of self-made wealth, so he is a being of self-made soul ...”), is devoid of all humility—it is the very vainglory against which the Bible, Ryan’s ultimate book, warned. My power and the might of mine hand hath gotten me this wealth! Ryan may have disavowed Rand’s atheism, but he has not quite escaped her revolt against human finitude, her deification of the individual. This radical individualism is a delusion of impotence made over into a delusion of omnipotence. 

It is also, analytically, a colossal mistake. The splendid isolation of the trader, the builder, the innovator, the entrepreneur, the superman, does not exist. It is one of the many flattering legends that successful people in this country devise about themselves. (Like the legend that success is a proof of personal virtue.) The individual—even the individualist individual—is always situated densely in the customs and the conventions of society. Where is Burke when you need him? And where are the otherwise ubiquitous metaphors of the network and the web? If, for conservatives, the market can serve as a model for society, surely it is because the market is web-like, society-wide, a social entity, a thicket of bonds and connections and influences in which creativity flourishes not least because it is enabled and implemented by others who, gratefully or opportunistically, recognize it. Competition is itself a kind of social compact, and in this sense a kind of cooperation. 

It is no wonder that Ryan, and of course Romney, set out immediately to distort the president’s “you didn’t build that speech” in Roanoke, because in complicating the causes of economic achievement, and in giving a more correct picture of the conditions of entrepreneurial activity, Obama punctured the radical individualist mythology, the wild self-worship, at the heart of the conservative idea of capitalism. An honest reading of the speech shows that Romney and Ryan and their apologists are simply lying about it. The businessman builds his business, but he does not build the bridge without which he could not build his business. That is all. Is it everything? Surely it takes nothing away from the businessman, who retains his reason for his pride in his business. But it is not capitalist pride that Romney and Ryan are defending, it is capitalist pridefulness.

I would add...  I seek not a denigration of individual achievement but a recognition by successful individuals of their dependence on others.  No one succeeds on his/her own.  There is the individual. There is the community.   And there is God.  This recognition leads to gratitude.  And this in the final analysis leads to a desire to give back.  This, I believe, nurtures the individual more than all of the successes that might be counted.

Ki Tavo Sermon

This week’s Torah portion is Ki Tavo.  We are nearing the end of the Torah.  Moses is addressing the people before they cross over into the land of Israel.  He instructs them that when they enter the land they are commanded to offer thanks.  They are to bring an offering and make a proclamation.  It begins with these words: “My father was a wandering Aramean.  He went down to Egypt with meager numbers and sojourned there…” (Deuteronomy 26:5)   This is followed by a brief encapsulation of Jewish history.

It is fascinating that as soon as the people arrive in their new home they are to publicly declare their immigrant roots.  They are to say we were once wanderers.

In fact the origins of the term Hebrew suggests this wandering.  Ivri means to cross over.  Abraham was the first to be called this because he crossed over into the land of Canaan, later to be called the land of Israel.  Our name suggests our identity.  We are wanderers; we are forever immigrants.  As we become more and more comfortable and at home in our cities, towns and countries we tend to forget this history and our origins.  Perhaps this is the very purpose of the prescribed ritual.  This is why these words became part of the traditional seder.  At these meals we declare, “Our father was a wandering Aramean…”

All of this makes me think about our current discussions about immigration.  These debates tend to look at immigrants as a threat rather than the way they might sustain our future.  We ask, “How much of a threat will these new people be to our accustomed ways and especially our livelihoods?”  We tend to look at what we might lose.  There will be more people to divide up an ever-shrinking pie.  This is how the debate appears.  It is not about what we might gain, but about what we might lose.  I believe instead that new people and their new ideas is how we will march into the future and better that future.

I am not so naïve as to suggest that any country can afford to welcome every person who wants to immigrate.  There are limits to our resources.  Israel, for example, is now facing a similar issue.  After decades of holding up the virtues of immigration and most especially Jewish immigration, Israel has now become a desired destination for African refugees.  In fact about 20 such refugees are now stuck outside of Israel at its new border fence with the Sinai.  They have trekked through the deserts to make their way to a promised land.  The irony is almost too bitter to utter.  Only yesterday Israel allowed three of these wanderers into its borders, a woman and two children.  They have supplied the migrants with food and water but have not allowed more in.  For Israel as well there are limits to this immigration.

One of my teachers, Tal Becker, recently asked how can we respond to this growing crisis with Jewish values?  The Torah teaches us that we must love the stranger.  We cannot turn all away; we also cannot welcome all in.  Tal Becker argues that Israel must figure out how many it has the resources to welcome and then increase that number by 10,000.  His contention is that we must go beyond what we think we can afford.  Israel is built on Jewish values and these in addition to our Jewish history outweigh the practical.  We do not discount the practical.  But we go beyond it; that is what our values dictate.

I do not understand why in this country we are not especially more open to the immigration of those who study here at our universities.  Every person who gets a graduate degree here should be given immediate citizenship; new people and new ideas will only better our future.  That is my faith in immigration. 

It left a deep impression on me at the service when we thanked the church.  Then Reverend Ramirez gave a tearful tribute to his parents who immigrated to this country with only a dream of a better future for their children.  They worked several jobs so that their children might succeed.  That is this nation at its best.  I see this as well every time my son takes to the field on Huntington’s soccer team.  There is Ari, the goalie, often shouting directions in Spanish to his defenders.  It is quite the mixture of people and cultures on that field.  That too is this nation at its best.

As everyone knows Emma Lazarus, the great American Jewish poet, penned the words inscribed on the base of the Statue of Liberty.  She there refers to the statue as the “Mother of Exiles” and she concludes:

Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

That is the spirit that must animate this great country.  It is the values written there and the values found in our Torah portion.  It is not immigration without limits, but most certainly more than we imagine we can welcome. We shut the door to strangers not only to their detriment but to ours as well. I will always believe in immigration and its power to transform both the immigrant and the nation. 

We are all wanderers—each and every one of us.  We are all immigrants—each and every one of us.  And that is the offering we must carry with us each and every day.