Two Weeks of Study In Israel

It’s been almost three weeks since Laura and I returned from our trip to Israel and many folks in the congregation have asked me when I was going to write about the trip. I am not sure why, but this trip/experience has been particularly hard for me to “blog” about. Below you will find my best attempt at a partial expression of my most recent Israel experience.

We arrived late Thursday afternoon and went from Ben Gurion Airport to a roof top apartment a block from the beach, in the center of Tel Aviv. I found the place online – Trip Advisor - and had a number of interesting e-mail conversations with the owner of the building; a Brooklyn-born woman who grew up in Israel, had spent many years in Paris, and was now back in Tel Aviv. We spent our first Shabbat there recovering from jet lag and walking the streets and beaches of this "first modern Hebrew city", as Tel Aviv is sometimes called. It’s amazing to realize that 100 years ago there was nothing but sand where now stands a city of almost 500,000 people that is comparable to places like Barcelona or San Francisco in culture and commerce. Another name for Tel Aviv is “The City That Never Sleeps", since, unlike Jerusalem, where much of the city shuts down over Shabbat, Tel Aviv’s beaches, parks, bars, cafés, restaurants, shopping, and cosmopolitan lifestyle runs 24/7.

 

Our short visit to Tel Aviv left us wanting to come back for more but as Shabbat came to a close we checked out of our little apartment, picked up our rental car and drove to Jerusalem.  More people have died on Israel’s roads than in all its wars and driving can be pretty scary.  As Amir, our good friend and host while we were in Jerusalem, said, “the rule of the road here is to fill any space.” If you are used to driving in Manhattan or Boston, I suspect you would feel more at home but coming from Santa Rosa, Laura and I felt like we were risking our lives every time we got behind the wheel.

Jerusalem is only a 30-minute drive from Tel Aviv and we made it without any problems—until just before sunset when we arrived on the edge of an Ultra-Orthodox neighborhood.  As Shabbat wasn’t yet technically over, we were suddenly accosted by a group of mostly young men screaming, “Shabbas! Shabbas!” I pulled over and as the group passed by our car, one of the hecklers actually hit the roof of our car.  Welcome to Jerusalem!, we thought to ourselves, a city whose tensions are as readily apparent as its spiritual depth and beauty.

The main goal of our trip was to improve our Modern Hebrew language skills so, while in Jerusalem, Laura and I went to an amazing Ulpan (Hebrew language intensive) called Ulpan Or. Ulpan Or has created its own method to teach Hebrew focused mainly on one-on-one tutoring.  We spent each morning with our personal tutors and every afternoon we went on a tour to some place in the city to take our Hebrew from the classroom to the real world.  Almost all the teachers were youngish (25-30) women, many from Traditional/Orthodox families.  My main teacher was Hanna, a mother of 3, Modern Orthodox whose secular husband is a career soldier in the IDF.  Hanna and I spent a lot of time talking “religion” and learning about each other’s lives—all in Hebrew.  Hanna defines patience!  I might be able to order food or find a bathroom in Hebrew but having complex conversations is a real challenge.  Getting to know Hanna and the other instructors at Ulpan Or was as worthy an experience as any Laura and I had while in Jerusalem.  My Hebrew is still not where I would like it to be, but I am so grateful to Ulpan Or for the help and the experience, which I hope will not be my last.

Our friend Amir lives in Har Gilo, a bedroom community—or, depending on your perspective, a settlement—about 15 minutes from the city center.  Class began at 8:15 am, so every morning we would rise with the sun, more or less, throw on our clothes and drive to the German Colony in Jerusalem where Ulpan Or has its office. That means we had to pass through a security checkpoint at least twice every day, coming and going from Har Gilo.  At first, the checkpoint made us nervous, but in two weeks of passing back and forth to Har Gilo, we never had a problem nor did we see anyone else – Israeli or Palestinian, bothered in a significant way.

We met Amir on our last congregational trip – he was our guide – and have been in close touch ever since.  Amir radiates a love for Israel.  A tour guide for over 30 years, he has an exceptional knowledge of almost every aspect of Israeli society.  He is also a bible scholar, with an MA in Hebrew Bible from Hebrew University – a very prestigious degree.  In truth, Amir has become more like an older brother than an Israeli acquaintance.  He and his family—his wife, Hannah, and three grown sons, Oded, Ehud and Gilad—could not have been more welcoming to us. Nevertheless, we spent a lot of time arguing about all things Jewish, especially religion and state in Israel, and the nature of Jewish identity.

I have always been challenged by the notion of a Jewish national identity and, up until I met Amir, I believed and argued that there was no such a thing; Israel was a state where six million Jews lived but it was not a “Jewish State” because, among other things, a truly “Jewish state” would be run by “Jewish law” and it would more consistently reflect “Jewish values”— neither of which seem to prevail in contemporary Israel. I took a pretty radical position, originally articulated by the well- known Israeli scientist and philosopher, Yeshiahu Leibowotz (may his memory be for a blessing), with whom I met and studied in 1991 at The Shalom Hartman Institute.  While I am not comfortable with all the implications of a Jewish national identity – the blending of religion and state is especially troubling to me—I now recognize, thanks to Amir, the reality and importance of such an identity in Israel today.  To be clear, a Jewish national identity doesn’t preclude a connection to religious or cultural Judaism; it is a matter of focus.  For National Jews the existence of the State of Israel is their primary touch point for what it means to be a Jew today.

These topics, among many others, fueled long, often heated discussions with Amir.  We were all out of the house during the day, but in the evening we would meet for a meal – Amir is quite the cook – and occasionally tempers would flare.  But that intensity is one of the beauties of Israeli society—more of a virtue than something to be avoided.

Besides Amir and his family, Laura and I have a number of dear friends in Israel as well as a cousin of mine who moved from Omaha, Nebraska, to Israel to serve in the Army and is now about to enter Tel Aviv University.  The beauty of our connection there is that, even when years have passed since our last visit, when we get together it as if we were never gone.  That may be the thing I love the most about my time in Israel: there is very little tolerance for small talk; almost every conversation is significant and meaningful.  After all, with so many challenges to grapple with—and Israeli’s grapple with plenty every day—who has time to waste on superficialities?

Reflections on Pride Week

I think it was the Fall of 1998 that Eve (I have since forgotten her last name) suggested that we (Shomrei Torah) should march in the Sonoma County Gay and Lesbian Pride Parade.  “After all”, she pointed out, “the church (Christ Church United Methodist who we shared space with for over 30 years) does.  Why don’t we? “Why not?”  I replied, calling Stephen Harper a few minutes later to see if he and “Social Action” were up for getting things organized.  Without hesitation, Stephen took on the task with his usual moxie, persistence and talent; the first year we marched with the church, and by the third year we had the largest group of any religious organization represented, an intergenerational group of over 50 people.  

In my mind, those early marches marked the beginning of over a decade of advocacy for GLBT folk on a number of fronts.

When we were struggling with worshipping at the LDS church for Holy Days after the passage of Prop 8, a lesbian member of the congregation asked me why I cared so much about “their” issues. “Do you have a sister who is Gay?” She asked.  I winced at first -does one have to either be Gay or related to someone who is Gay to care about Gay Rights?  Later I realized that even though I did not have a Gay sibling, my family, especially my mother, had really informed the way I felt about homosexuality.

My mother was a teacher of Modern Dance and involved in Interior Design, and from an early age there were “out” Gay men in my life; even before I could really understand the issue, I was taught that “Gay people were just people like anyone else.”  Now almost four decades later, I realize how important those early years were in forming my moral and ethical foundation when it comes to Gay Rights and many other issues as well: thanks Mom!

Beyond my personal background lies the ground of progressive Jewish thought, especially the notion that we are all, all of us--male, female, black, white, straight, gay, young, old, single or married etc.--B’tzelem Elohim/created in God’s image.  Yes, there are other religious concerns like the heterosexual understanding of marriage in our Tradition as well as the biblical and then later rabbinic prohibition against “Lying with a man like one lays with a woman”, but (without going into all the arguments) the essence for me is our equality before God.

In truth, I have never put much thought into being inclusive of and welcoming to all kinds of Jews and their families; I was raised to make few distinctions and that is how I see the world.  That other people don’t see things the same way has been my real challenge and what has motivated me to march, and when I can, speak-out for a more inclusive Jewish Community and a more just secular society.

Last Sunday in celebration of Pride Week, Shomrei Torah hosted “The Sonoma County Interfaith Pride Service.”  We’ve been holding these services for a number of years, but this was the first time Shomrei Torah was the host congregation.  I sat on the bima with Reb Irwin from Ner Shalom in Cotati and 11 ministers from various churches in the area. As I welcomed the 150+ people in attendance I had to fight back tears; our original vision for Shomrei Torah “on the hill” at 2600 Bennett Valley Rd., was that we would be not just a center for progressive Jewish life but a focal point for the progressive religious community of Sonoma County as well.

Last Sunday’s service was not the first time in our 4+ years of occupancy here that we’ve lived up to that early vision, but it sure felt good, like a long-held, hard-won dream coming true before my very eyes.  It might not seem like much to some but to me, it is part of what makes life meaningful and Shomrei Torah such a blessing. 

Why Obama is Right About Israel

Not long ago I watched the movie, “127 Hours”. It’s about an extreme outdoor athlete who, while out on a solo hike in the Arizona Desert, gets trapped in a canyon, his arm pinned by a boulder that fell while he was descending.  It took him 127 hours to free himself.  He did it by cutting his arm off at the elbow with a dull, Swiss Army knife!

Today, Obama called on renewed peace talks between the Palestinians and Israel, contingent on the premise that any settlement to the conflict will be based on the pre '67 borders, give or take necessary land swaps to encompass large Israeli cities on the other side of “the green line.”  Apparently, Prime Minister Natanyahu angrily fought to have “pre '67 borders” stricken from Obama’s remarks, and one can only imagine the great cry of “foul play” or “betrayal” that will rise from the organized Jewish Community as soon as Obama’s speech is fully digested.  I’m not a member of the Natanyahu fan club nor do I have much faith in the hawkish and in my opinion, often-thoughtless organized Jewish communal response regarding Israel.  I do get one thing about their views – there is no reason to be optimistic about making peace with the Palestinians, or Syria. Look how quickly the “Arab Spring” has turned dark and foreboding.  Without any tradition of civic engagement for the public good, without even a trace of history of benevolent rule let alone democracy, why would anyone expect much good to come from such chaos?  The “Arab Spring” is an Israeli nightmare, which only strengthens its enemies, including Iran, who regularly vows to wipe Israel off the face of the earth.  As for the Palestinians, in Gaza, they protested Bin Laden’s death; what great neighbors Israel has!

Nevertheless, I am 100% behind Obama’s remarks and this is why:  time is not on Israel’s side.  There is no viable alternative to the Two State solution for Israel.  The Palestinians know this and now openly talk about a One State solution, which of course would be the end of the Jewish state.  Even now they are working toward a unilateral proclamation of their independence, which will likely be recognized by the U.N., an Israeli diplomatic disaster.   And, beyond the politics is the fact that the occupation, whether justified or not, is morally corrosive; even if Israel could maintain the status quo indefinitely, which it can not; the cost is too high.

Now you see why I started this blog with a recap of the movie “127 Hours”; it seems like an apt metaphor for the decisions Israel has to make; die trapped in a “twice narrow place” or risk cutting off a limb to save the rest of the body and soul.

What is a Jew?

Not too long ago my 16 year-old nephew Josh asked me, “what is a Jew?” His high school humanities teacher had insisted that “Jews were a race.” Josh knew this wasn’t true but was struggling to find a better definition, so he asked me. Twenty minutes later I was still trying to explain what “Jewishness” is all about. Eventually I gave up and went online to find him a definition he could take back to his class.

What are we? One thing for sure: since the Jewish community encompasses many diverse ethnic and racial backgrounds, we are not a “race”!

So what are we then: a religion, culture, nation, people?

As it turns out, Judaism is a complex mix of all of the above and that is why my nephew was so challenged to counter his teacher’s misinformation.

One helpful way to understand Jewish identity is to view it through the lens of our holy day cycle, especially this time of year, when each holy day offers at least one focal point for “Jewishness”. First, there is Pesakh, which lays the groundwork for the Jewish emphasis on Social Justice, a common liberal framework for Jewish identity. Then we have Yom Hashoah, our commemoration of the Holocaust; sadly many Jews define themselves in negative terms as a persecuted people. After Yom HaShoah we have Yom Ha-atzmaut, Israel Independence Day, which is an appropriate springboard for those whose “Jewishness” is national in character. Many Israelis define their Judaism in national terms, as do some Jews in the Diaspora, as well. And finally we have Shavuot, the celebration of the giving of the Torah on Mt. Sinai, an appropriate focal point for those whose primary Jewish touchstone is religious in character.

Where do you fit in? Which aspects of Jewish life do you most relate to? Usually, our Jewish identity stresses one or two aspects of “Jewishness” over others but, while we may have a focus, the other elements of Jewish identity are there, as well. For example, you may identify primarily as a “Cultural Jew” yet, on occasion, you attend religious services, have a seder at home, etc.

Jewish identity ends up like a hologram; even when you cut it into pieces, each piece preserves the image of the whole.

The challenge and the reward of a progressive Jewish community like ours is to create an environment where all the various expressions of Judaism can flourish together.

Israel @ 63

“My heart is in the east, while I am on the edge of the west” wrote the famous medieval poet, rabbi and philosopher, Yehudah Halevi. His words, his longing, his life, reflect the ancient and profound connection between the Jewish people and the land of Israel. Israeli independence? That was beyond Yehuda Halevi’s wildest dreams! All he hoped for was “to see the ruined shrine” (the Temple in Jerusalem), to quench the longing of his heart which, though comfortable in Spain, could only feel at home in The Promised Land.

Yehudah Halevi did not get to realize his dream - he died en route – nor did the Jewish people for another eight centuries,  but amazingly, the dream lived on.  From the time of the Roman conquest in 70 A.C.E., until today, we pray facing east, towards Jerusalem, and, in our prayers recited 3 times daily, there are regular references to the land and the people, Israel. In addition, our holydays are infused with a connection to Israel like, for example, Passover, where at the end of the seder we say, “Next year in Jerusalem”. We’ve been saying that for almost 2,000 years. If we could not live there physically, we would keep the promise alive spiritually.

In 1948, that 2,000 year old dream became a reality; a home for the Jewish people in the land of Israel; having been victims to history, now the Jewish people were re-entering history and that re-entry was painful, to say the least.  As it turned out, the land of Israel was not empty; people lived there and they were not so keen on sharing the land with the Jewish, mostly European, immigrants. The Jewish nation builders brought with them first-world industry and agriculture as well the backbone and determination to “make the desert bloom”. Because of this, the economy grew as did the Arab and Jewish population.  Conflict was inevitable and, to make a long story short, in spite of many attempts by the Jewish pioneers to broker peaceful coexistence with their Arab neighbors, as well as the U.N.’s offer of partition, the Arabs (they were not called Palestinians then) chose the path of war, and they lost. For the Israelis, it was the War of Independence. For what would latter become the Palestinians, it was the Naquba, the catastrophe; both sides suffered, much blood was shed, but when the hostilities subsided, the nascent state of Israel was born, and approximately 800,000 Palestinians had become refugees of the war.

Since 1948, Israel has managed to build, in spite of nearly 63 years of hostility with its neighbors, a vibrant, multi-ethnic, culturally diverse, economically robust, democratic country, while at the same time absorbing Jewish refugees from all over the world, including close to a million Jews who, after 1948, were expelled from the surrounding Arab countries.

Israel is far from perfect. The ongoing conflict with the Palestinians - the road blocks, check points and security barriers that make life so miserable for the Palestinians--also threatens to erode the soul of the Israelis that police them. Rocket attacks from Gaza (yes, they are still happening), the constant threat of terror and the possibility of nuclear annihilation from Iran, place a heavy burden on the Israeli psyche.  Yet, in spite of all these challenges, Israel manages to be a first world oasis in a third world desert, a democracy among dictatorships, a world leader in computer and medical technologies as well.

Israel is far from perfect, but even with all her warts, at 63, a very young age for a country, she has much to take pride in and celebrate.

Is Osama Bin Laden's Death a Cause for Celebration?

“How was your day?” I asked my 15-year-old son. “Fine,” he said. “How about yours?” “No complaints. Did you talk about Bin Laden in school?” “Yeah. Feels kinda weird to me, I mean to celebrate. I don’t want to celebrate someone’s death, even a bad person’s death.  Do we do that Dad? Is that what Jews do?”

What a great question and yes, I could not have been more proud to hear it from my own son.  As it was, I had already received a few inquiries from the congregation similar to Levi’s and like Levi I was deeply ambivalent; grateful that one very bad man had been brought to justice, sad at the great cost in every sense of the word of his life and death. 

I think Levi’s question can be split into two parts:

1.     Is it ok, according to Jewish Tradition, to celebrate the downfall of our enemies?

2.     What good can really come from Osama Bin Laden’s death?

I don’t feel qualified to answer the second question but I will attempt a response to the first.

With matzah still between our teeth, the question of the appropriateness of celebrating the defeat of our enemies should be fresh in our minds. After all, the Haggadah spends considerable time on this issue.  For example, the medieval custom of dipping our fingers in wine while we recite each plague, thus reducing our own joy, drop by drop, as we recall our enemy’s pain. There is also the oft quoted midrash that when the angels began to sing in praise of God at the drowning of the Egyptians in the Sea of Reeds, God silenced them saying, “My handiwork, my human creatures are drowning and you want to sing a song of praise?”

But, as you might imagine (or remember) the story doesn’t end here. As one approaches the end of the seder and the 4^th cup of wine, there is a section many skip over which does not call for joy, but certainly demands revenge:

“Pour out your fury on the nations that do not know you, the kingdoms that do not invoke your name, for they have devoured Jacob and desolated his home. Pour out your wrath on them, may your blazing anger over take them...”

Surprised? Our ancient ancestors did not struggle with political correctness as we do, though it wasn’t until after the bloody Crusades that these verses of Divine anger were added to the Haggaddah.  If you find this section a bit troublesome, you will be happy to know that this expression of at least the desire (or perhaps fantasy) of revenge is followed by the blessing over the 4^th cup of wine (remember, wine is a symbol of joy and celebration in Judaism) and then Hallel, which is a doxology of sorts, an extended praise of God with references to the Exodus as well.

So, do Jews celebrate the defeat of our enemies? I guess it depends on who you ask, for as usual, Judaism is multi-vocalic (speaks with many and at times contradictory voices). How frustrating when you just want a “yes” or “no” answer! Frustrating but true to life, much of which is lived in shades of gray rather than the more definitive black or white. Nevertheless, I side with my son; I feel no joy in O.B.L’s death. Satisfaction? Perhaps. Hope? Maybe. But no joy, for the cost of his life was tens if not hundreds of thousands of other lives, and the wars that he started aren’t over.

Av harachaman, hamrachem alienu/Source of Compassion, have compassion on us...

Dream Big, Pesakh is Coming

With Pesakh just days away, my mind turns to the epic tale of our Exodus from Egypt.  The moment that always gets me is that pregnant pause before the seas split; one can only imagine what was going through our ancient ancestors' minds. Surely some thought death was about to be their reward for this first taste of freedom.  Others turned to Moses for deliverance and, at least according to the Midrash, some took things in their own hands, marching into the sea as if to force God’s “hand.”

In Hebrew, Egypt is called Mitzrayyim and with a little creative reading, Mitzrayyim can be translated as a narrow, or perhaps a twice-narrow place, in other words, a place of constriction, a place where one feels squeezed, limited, stuck, unable to move. I prefer this understanding of the Hebrew because it takes the narrative out of the limits of space and time and places it right before us here and now. The question becomes, “Where are we stuck? In what ways do we feel squeezed or constricted, unable to move?”

Many years ago, my friend and colleague, Margaret Holub, wrote that her Mitzrayyim was seasonal depression and “the seas split” for her when she began to take Prozac. She had wondered about sharing such a personal story, but decided that it was a story that needed telling for her and all those others who struggled in the twice-narrow place of depression and who could, through medication, be free, at least freer than they were before.

The Haggadah teaches that, “b’chol dor va-dor, in every generation each of us must regard ourselves as having been personally freed from Egypt.”

  

Where are you stuck, where do you yearn to be free?  What would it mean for the “seas to split” in your life?

Pesakh invites us to enter into this Master Story of the Jewish people and in doing so to imagine a future we would otherwise think impossible.

Dream Big!  Pesakh is coming!

Hag Sameakh!

RG

Do the Movements Matter: A Personal Reflection

In many ways, I am a “post-denominational” Jew.  My grandfather was a Conservative rabbi his whole working life.  My family was unaffiliated when I was growing up, but as a Jew in my 20’s I found my niche in a small Conservative synagogue in San Francisco called B’nei Emuna.  As my Jewish journey unfolded, it was Rabbi David Hartman, one of the leading modern Orthodox thinkers of the 20^th Century, who really inspired me to become a rabbi.

Given my more traditional background, you might wonder how I ended up a Reform rabbi.  The short answer is that when it came time for me to apply to rabbinical school, I realized that while I was attracted to a more traditional worship style and the treasure trove of the traditional Jewish cannon, theologically I was actually a Reform Jew! The crux of the matter was/is halakha, Jewish Law: did it have a vote or a veto in my life?  My answer was, and still is, a vote. That is to say, when it comes to the ritual commandments like keeping Shabbat or Kashrut, I believe in informed choice; that is why I applied to HUC-JIR, the Reform seminary, even though all my experience and references were from more traditional streams of Judaism.

You can imagine how the interview process went:  “Wow, recommendations from Rabbi David Hartman and David Gordis” (a well known Conservative rabbi, thinker and leader) are impressive, but why aren’t you applying to JTS, the Conservative seminary?”  To make a long story short, even though I did not know from Reform Judaism and had no connections in the movement, I was accepted into the Reform seminary and thus began my Reform Jewish journey.

It was a rough start.  I found the liturgy (or lack thereof) unsettling, and the campy music utterly foreign.  However, the overall approach to Jewish life, especially the inclusive approach to who is a Jew, and to the non-Jewish world, was what I had been looking for.  I was quickly intellectually if not liturgically at home in our movement.  It’s funny how it works, but by now I am even liturgically very comfortable in a Reform worship setting, though if I am davening somewhere other than Shomrei Torah, you are just as likely to find me at a (liberal) Conservative shul as a Reform one, and a knowledgeable outsider observing my leadership style at Shomrei Torah can see how eclectic my approach to Judaism and Jewish tradition is.  As the Dean of HUC-JIR recently said to me, “George, your approach is not exactly mainstream from a Reform perspective...” He meant that as a compliment.

To complicate things further, my main associations post-rabbinical school have been with post-denominational organizations:  The Shalom Hartman Institute is a pluralistic, Orthodox institute, and the Institute for Jewish Spirituality is open to all denominations, not sponsored by any.

So, back to my original question, do the movements matter?  This question is really bigger than one blog can address so I will stick to the personal for now, hoping to return to this subject in a more thorough way at another time.

Institutionally, I think they do and this is why:  There are real differences between the various non-Orthodox approaches to Jewish life.   I have personally gained a great deal from at least three if not four streams of Jewish life: Orthodox, Conservative and Reform (I might also include the Renewal Movement, inasmuch as I have been influenced by their focus on Hassidic thought and practice).  The movements are also to be thanked for essential elements of Jewish life today, like the seminaries.  I am profoundly grateful to HUC-JIR, the Reform seminary, for the 5 years of learning and my ordination some 15 years ago. 

Ultimately, I am a pluralist; I thrive in a diverse Jewish environment in dialogue with itself.  In that sense, my Jewish journey is like a page of Talmud, holding a number of different and conflicting views, in creative tension, all the time.

 Eilu v’eilu d’varim chayim. – those and these teachings are the words of the Living God....

The Morality of Earthquakes, Tzunamis and Nuclear Disasters

Our hearts go out to the Japanese people, and all the other folks affected by the recent earthquake, tsunami and ongoing nuclear crisis.  These are sad and scary times...

Natural disasters often beg the question: “Where was God?” both regarding the suffering that such natural disasters cause, as well as the role God in the unfolding of reality:  did God cause the earthquake and everything else that followed?

Was the earthquake an expression of ‘God’s Will’?

Jewish Tradition is not monolithic; there is more than one Jewish answer to this question.  One trend that you do find in Jewish tradition, starting in the Tenakh (Hebrew Bible) and working its way through Jewish thought in some circles up until today, is the sense that yes, everything is an expression of God’s will.  Thus, when the prophet Amos proclaims, “Adonai roars from Zion, Shouts aloud from Jerusalem; And the pastures of the Sheppard shall languish; and the summit of Carmel shall wither.” (Amos 1:2),  he is predicting a large, devastating earthquake, which God will bring against the Judeans because of their moral failures.  To Amos and other biblical voices, “the earth and all that fills it” is an organic whole; every move we make in one way or another affects and is affected by God.  Thus, if we sin, God reacts and that might mean an earthquake or a famine or an invading army!  Whatever happens reflects our behavior and God’s will.

This is the same line of reasoning used by the likes of Pat Robertson and  the late Jerry Falwell, who blamed the 911 terrorist attack on “gays”, “abortionists” and the “ACLU”, and the deadly Indonesian tsunami in 2004 on the "moral depravity of the Indonesian people.”  It is hard for me to fathom how anyone could take these two (and others like them) seriously.  It’s even harder for me to face the fact that, though not often quoted in the media, there are Jews with similar theologies; for example, those who claimed that ”the Holocaust was punishment for the rise of Reform Judaism in Germany...” or that a terrorist attack in Israel was the result of mezuzot on the doorways of the buildings that were not kosher.  Enough!

Of all the Jewish views on the causes of natural disasters and other calamities, I prefer the approach of the great medieval rabbi and philosopher Maimonides.

According to Maimonides, there are three causes of evil:  that we are material (by definition all material things decay/come in and out of being); what governments do to us; and what we do to ourselves.  Wisdom and refraining from idolatry (making something of ultimate concern that is not of ultimate value) are the ways one mitigates against evil.  This is how Maimonides might view the recent tragic events in Japan:

First, he would point out that earthquakes and tsunamis are simply a part of reality – the material world by definition is subject to natural forces; material things come in and out of being.  Stuff happens...earthquakes and other natural disasters are manifestations of the transient nature of the material world. We do not and cannot control, stop, or alter in any meaningful way such a naturally occurring event.  What we can do is use “wisdom” to mitigate the damage it will cause.  So, while Maimonides would not have blamed the recent disaster on the moral behavior of the Japanese people, he might question the wisdom of building nuclear reactors in general, or in the specific, earthquake and tsunami-prone environment of Japan.  He might also question Japanese society's priorities; was the focus on things of ultimate concern like safety and preserving human life, or was it centered on more ”idolatrous” objectives like material consumption, profits, etc. (Just think how vulnerable we in the U.S are to this critique!)

Maimonides directs us not to point fingers at each other over the cause of natural disasters but rather to demand that we live wisely knowing that natural disasters are a part of reality.  In doing so he inspires us to ask important, fundamental questions about who we are and who we ought to be as individuals, and as members of a more global society.

Maimonides' perspective is helpful, at least to me, but the first and most important religious response in times like these is to lend a hand in any way we can.  Only when the dust settles and all the aid that we can muster is delivered, is it time to ask the tough questions Maimonides' philosophy demands.

Israel on our Minds

With the Middle East in turmoil, the Jewish world turns to Israel wondering what the future will be. Coincidentally, just last Thursday I met with 15 members of our Social Action Committee to lead a dialogue about Israel as a pilot for a community-wide program.  The goal was simple: to create a safe environment for people to express a diversity of opinions about Israel without fear of conflict or judgment.

As simple as that seems Israel is one of, if not the most challenging, issue for Jewish communities to civilly explore together.  In fact, after years of what I experienced as divisive and not very productive, politically-oriented programming about Israel, I have moved in an apolitical direction and have attempted to take the congregation with me as well.  It is not that I don’t have opinions about the current situation, the government, etc.  Rather, I’ve come to the conclusion that it is more important to try to find ways for people to connect with Israel the country and it’s people than it is to provide forums for a critique of Israel’s policies.

There are times when Israel feels like the elephant in the room:  people have Israel on their mind but do not have a forum in the congregation to discuss their feelings.  That is where this pilot program comes in; it is an attempt to give people a voice without allowing that voice to reverberate in unhealthy ways in the congregation.  All present at the dialogue were pleased with the results.  We did not necessarily agree with each other, but everyone was able to speak their mind without cross talk or judgment.   It is hard to know what we can do here in Santa Rosa about what is happening in Israel.  One thing we can accomplish is to respectfully hear each others' point of view.  Perhaps from there an agenda will emerge that we can all embrace.

A few years back I wrote a sermon for the Holy Days about Israel.  It is a little dated but still worth reading.  The sermon is titled My Heart is in the East, and you will find it at

http://www.shomreitorah.org/sermons.html.

"Death Don't Have No Mercy"

I recently met with some members of the Chevra Kadisha of Sonoma County, the Jewish Burial Society of Sonoma County.  We talked at length about the various challenges they face, especially the need to get the word out about their holy work and how we can help.

In general, Americans are death-averse; we don’t like to talk about death and we work hard to keep the messy details as far away from us as possible.  But, “death don’t have no mercy;” we are all going to die, so it makes practical and Jewish sense to face this inevitability head-on.  According to Jewish tradition, no one is more vulnerable than when they are dead, and great care and respect should be given to the dead.  Kavod Hamet, honoring the dead, is an essential Jewish value as important as ever but lost to many today.

How does one honor the dead?  There are various practices but here are the basics:

Provide Shomrim/Guardians who accompany/stay with the body from death until burial.

Honor the body:  Don’t defile the body—avoid autopsies & embalming (when you can); avoid any alteration of the body after death (organ donations are an exception).

Treat the body with dignity:  Don’t leave the body exposed.  This includes public viewings, which, from a Jewish perspective, are an affront to the dead who, even when made up, only look like a shadow of themselves when they were alive.

Handle the body with great reverence and care:  Even in death the deceased still represents a diminished but real reflection of the Divine, in as much as we are all created B’tzelem Elohim/in God’s image.  This is also why a speedy burial is so important – to leave a body unburied is considered undignified and shameful.  

What does the Chevra Kadisha do?  They can oversee all or part of the process from death until burial.  Most important of all, they handle the holy work of Taharah and Tachrichim, the ritual washing and the dressing of the body, as well as the placement of the deceased into the Aron/casket.

Why use the Chevra Kadisha?  Besides the value of following Jewish Tradition, there is also the value of having members of your own community reverently care for you or your loved ones.  Even under the most professional of circumstances, it is hard to imagine that mortuary employees will handle you or your loved one with as much care or respect as our own Chevra Kadisha.

Are there additional costs involved?  The Chevra Kadisha is made up of a group of volunteers whose only compensation is the satisfaction of fulfilling the mitzvot of Kavod Hamet.  There is often a small fee to cover their costs and the funeral home may charge for Tahara.  However, cost should not be an issue in your decision to use the Chevra Kadisha.  No one will be denied this sacred ritual.

Besides thinking about using the Chevra Kadisha for you or your loved ones in your time of need, please consider volunteering to help by being there for others in your community at their most vulnerable time.

If you would you like to learn about the Chevra Kadisha, call Patty or Marc Bernstein at (707) 546-6043 or visit the website of the Chevra Kadisha of Sonoma County, www.sonomajewishburial.org – which is currently a work-in-progress.

Alienation: Take 3!

Alienation: Take 3

This past Sunday, 30 members of Shomrei Torah gathered together over an exceptional breakfast provided by Leira and discussed their responses to my blog and the issues it raises. We split into four groups of approximately 8 people and had focused conversations based on the following questions:

1. What about the Blog spoke to you?
2. What draws you to Judaism – beliefs and practices?
3. What seems like an obstacle?
4. What does your heart long for religiously/spiritually

Each group identified the similarities and differences in the responses among its members. We then came back together to hear the main themes that had been noted.

Thirty Jews, forty opinions, right? In fact, there was a lot of commonality in folks’ responses. For almost everyone, “God,” however conceived, is a stumbling block to connecting with Judaism, especially as expressed in our services.  Likewise, many pointed to the traditional, Hebrew liturgy as an obstacle.  (Interestingly, though, a few found Hebrew less uncomfortable than English, precisely because not knowing what they’re saying allows them to avoid dealing with the issues and images they find so challenging!)  Some people reported unease with any suggestion that Jews hold a moral high ground: as one participant said, “I was raised to believe that Judaism offered a morally superior system, but that is not what I encounter in the world, either in the States or in Israel.…”  Many report that they are busy doing other things that seem more meaningful to them than what Judaism has to give.  And another commonly-expressed road block during services was simply a lack of Jewish background – “it’s hard to feel connected if you don’t know what is going on…”

On the positive side, most people present felt good about their Jewish communal ties, the sense of belonging, and specifically their involvement at Shomrei Torah.  It was clear that the Jewish emphasis on social justice was a positive touchstone.  Many spoke of their appreciation of the culture – from the music we use in our liturgy to Jewish humor and food.  Others felt enriched by hearing a good d’var torah (discussion of Torah ideas).  And, although many felt alienated from the Jewish canon (Hebrew Bible, Talmud, etc), a number of folks appreciated its use as a means to navigate a moral path through life:  Torah as a moral guide.

As I said in my blog and at the beginning of the meeting, my sole goal was to provide a forum for people to speak their minds, and for me to listen; that goal was accomplished.  As for what’s next, all I know is that I want the dialogue to continue.  If you were at the brunch event, I welcome your further reflections.  If you couldn’t join us, I hope you’ll be in touch with any thoughts or feelings you have about these issues.

Does Evil Exist?

I just returned from an IJS (Institute for Jewish Spirituality) retreat on the Brandeis-Bardin Campus of the American Jewish University in Los Angeles.  As an alumnus of the institute, I have access to two retreats every year.  The retreats are a rich mix of prayer, meditation, study and small group discussion.  The focus this year was the challenging subject of “evil”, its place in Jewish Tradition, as well as in our own experience.  The exceptional scholar of Jewish Mysticism, Melila Helner-Eshed, was our teacher and she brought with her readings from the Zohar, the central piece of the Jewish mystical cannon.

Judaism does not speak with one voice when it comes to “evil”,or most theological concepts. Here is a very brief and far from exhaustive outline of Jewish approaches to “evil” over time:

The Tanakh (Hebrew Bible) has two main views:

1. Evil is a part of the world, co-existent with Creation (note the tohu v’ vohu  in the first creation myth in Genesis, the evil that flourishes before The Flood, etc.).

2. God is subsumed under everything including “evil”. (Note:  Isaiah, chapter 47; “I create  light and dark, good and evil…”)

The Rabbis of the Talmud offer a number of views, the most prominent being the concept of the yetzer rah and the yetzer tov. This view suggests that we are born a-moral, a tabla rasa, but with two inclinations: one for the good. the yetzer tov; and one for the bad or evil, the yetzer rah.  The goal of life is to have our “good inclination” rule over or control our “bad/evil inclination”. Seems simple enough but in fact, the translation is misleading because, as the Rabbis note, without the “bad/evil inclination”, no babies would be born, no business would be built, in essence, nothing would happen.  Thus, the “bad”or“evil” inclination is really more like an energy source (think sexuality or the drive to compete) which, uncontrolled can lead to bad/immoral/”evil” behavior.

The Middle Ages saw a turn toward Greek thought and the rise of the Jewish philosophic traditions.  The most prominent rabbi of that time was Maimonides and he tends to down play evil suggesting that most evils are either a product of our material nature (anything that comes in and out of “Being” must by definition be subject to injury, disease, decay, and death), or of what we do to ourselves and to each other among other things, idolatry (making something of ultimate concern that is not of ultimate value), or a lack of wisdom.

But what about the mystical canon of Judaism?  What does it have to say?  This is where Melila's teaching was so helpful.  Jewish mysticism flowered at the end of the Middle Ages in part in reaction to rational, philosophic approaches of the Middle Ages.  For the mystics of the Zohar, evil was a real and constant force in creation. Melila joked that if  a child of a mystic from 16^th Castile, Spain ran to her father complaining of dragons under the bed, he would be most concerned and interested, wondering what they want, what they need and how to persuade them to go away!  Not only is the evil and demonic real, to live life fully one must engage,even delve, into “the dark side”, know it intimately enough to be able to work with it, and possibly transform it into something good.

There were two conceptions of evil from the Zohar that I found particularly compelling.  One was the idea that evil is the result of imbalance in the universe between din (judgment) and hessed (loving kindness).  The other was more image than concept – “The world is balanced on the fin of the Leviathan…”, the Leviathan being one of a number of symbols for the malevolent forces in creation….

What do I believe about the existence of evil?  My rational brain sides with Maimonides; most things that we call “evil” are human in origin; we’ve brought them upon ourselves.  That is to say that I generally do not think there are malevolent forces lurking in creation that can posses, take over or influence humanity.  I am also very concerned about the binary affect the use of the word has on any discourse. As Jean Paul Sartre taught in his seminal work, Anti-Semite and Jew, the ability to label the “other” as categorically bad (evil) automatically ascribes “goodness” to you.  However, my gut feels differently; some things, actions, people do on a gut level seem evil to me and at times I really wonder about whether evil exists as a force to be reckoned with in the universe.

In truth, “evil” for me is a conceptual work in progress; I struggle like most to come to terms with “the horror” of reality sometimes.  One comforting Jewish approach is that of Hassidism which, in general, believes that nothing is completely devoid of the holy and thus the chance for redemption exists in almost any situation. Personally, that approach gives me courage to face my own shadow while inspiring me to believe and live for the promise of the future even in the darkest of times.

Martin Luther King Jr. and The Exodus

Every year Martin Luther King  Jr. Day coincides with our weekly readings in the book of Shemot/Exodus. This past week we read from Parashat B’shalakh, the portion that describes the Israelite's exodus from Egypt and their miraculous delivery at the Sea of Reeds.

This story from degradation to freedom is as well-known as any in our tradition.  Revolutionary movements from ancient times until today draw from the deep well of this Master Story of the Jewish people. Martin Luther preached the Exodus story as the theological basis for The Reformation, and Martin Luther King Jr., who we remember this week, often used the Exodus narrative in his struggle for civil rights.

I was a young college student when I really discovered Martin Luther King; when I was feeling down I would go down to the audio room in the library at the University of Vermont and listen to his sermons and other addresses that were on tape there.  I will never forget the time I discovered his "I have a dream" speech…. 

One thing that often gets lost in his extensive biography is what a great preacher he was and how prescient and timeless his words were. One of the books that is regularly on my bed stand is a compilation of his writings - they are truly inspirational!  I want to share some of his words in honor of his name and our Master Story – The Exodus.

We will start with a few words from a sermon he gave at the National Cathedral Episcopal Church in Washington, DC on March 31, 1968.  It's called "Remaining Awake through a Great Revolution":

"I would like to deal with the challenges that we face today as a result of this triple revolution that is taking place in the world today.  First, we are challenged to develop a world perspective.  No individual can live alone, no nation can live alone, and anyone who feels that he can live alone is sleeping through a great Revolution.  The world in which we live is geographically one. 

The challenge that we face today is to make it one in terms of brotherhood.... through our scientific and technological genius, we have made of this world a neighborhood and yet... we have not had the ethical commitment to make of it a brotherhood….  We must all learn to live together as brothers, or we will all perish together as fools.  We are tied together in a single garment of destiny, caught in an inescapable network of mutuality…  I can never be what I ought to be until you are what you ought to be, and you can never be what you ought to be until I am what I ought to be... this is the way God's universe is made, this is the way it is structured.”

When I first read those words I practically burst out with the Shemah – “Hear Oh Israel, Adonai Your God, Adonai is One."  As early as 1968, MLK understood how interconnected we all are predicting the kind of globalization and environmental degradation that we are really just recognizing today.

The words from this sermon were delivered on February 4^th, 1969 at Martin Luther King Jr.’s home church, Ebenezer Baptist Church, in Atlanta, Georgia.  It's called "The Drum Major Instinct."  Reverend King explains earlier in the sermon that the drum major is the guy out in front who gets all the attention.  This is my personal favorite and they mirror my own feeling about what makes for a meaningful life.

"If any of you are around when I have to meet my day, I don't want any long funeral.  And if you get somebody to deliver the eulogy, tell them not to talk too long... tell them not to mention that I have a Nobel Peace Prize, that is not important.  Tell them not to mention that I have three or 400 other awards, that's not important.  Tell them not to mention where I went to school.

I'd like somebody to mention that day, that Martin Luther King Jr.., tried to love somebody.  I want you to say that day, that I tried to be right on the war question.  I want you to be able to say that day, that I did try to feed the hungry.  And I want you to be able to say that day, that I did try in my life, to clothe those who were naked.  I want you say, on that day, that I did try, in my life, to visit those who were in prison.  I want you to say that I tried to love and serve humanity.

Yes, if you want to say that I was a drum major, say that I was a drum major for justice; say that I was a drum major for peace; I was a drum major for righteousness.  And all the other shallow things will not matter.  I won't have any money to leave behind.  I won't have the fine luxuries and things of life to leave behind.  But I just want to leave a committed life behind.”

Martin Luther King Jr. spoke often against the Vietnam War. Just substitute Iraq and Afghanistan for Vietnam and much of what he said then rings true today. Here is one sample taken from a speech he delivered April 4^th, 1967 At Manhattan's Riverside Church:

“Somehow this madness must cease. I speak as a child of God and brother to the suffering poor of Vietnam and the poor of America who are paying the double price of smashed hopes at home and death and corruption in Vietnam.  I speak as a citizen of the world, for the world as it stands aghast at the path we have taken.  I speak as an American to the leaders of my own nation.  The great initiative in this war is ours. The initiative to stop must be ours.  This is the message of the great Buddhist leaders of Vietnam. Recently, one of them wrote these words: "Each day the war goes on the hatred increases in the hearts of the Vietnamese and in the hearts of those of humanitarian instinct. The Americans are forcing even their friends into becoming their enemies. It is curious that the Americans, who calculate so carefully on the possibilities of military victory do not realize that in the process they are incurring deep psychological and political defeat. The image of America will never again be the image of revolution, freedom and democracy, but the image of violence and militarism."

I'll conclude with a few words from one other sermon called "I See the Promised Land” which he delivered the eve of his assassination at Mason Temple Church in Memphis, Tennessee, April 3, 1968.

This is how he concludes:

“Well, I don't know what will happen now.  We have some difficult days ahead.  But it doesn't matter with me now.  Because I've been to the mountaintop.  And I don't mind.  Like anybody, I would like to live a long life.  Longevity has its place.  But I'm not concerned about that now.  I just want to do God's will.  And God’s allowed me to go up to the mountaintop.  And I've looked over.  And I’ve seen the Promised Land.  I may not get there with you.  But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people will get to the Promised Land.  And I'm happy, tonight.  I'm not worried about anything.  I'm not fearing any man.  My eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.”

We have made progress since his time but perhaps Dr. King was a little too optimistic.  The Promised Land was farther off than he thought, true redemption, true tikun, seems always to be over the next hill.

Moses did not get to crossover, nor did Martin Luther King Jr..  The Israelites made it but for just a short while and then they were exiled. 

The story of the Exodus lives on in every age and in all of us.  It is both inspiration and charge - to fight against oppression of every kind and never give up on freedom for all people, everywhere.

Fatal Shooting in Arizona

What a shock it was to read about the fatal shooting in Arizona;  6 dead including a 9-year-old child and a Federal judge, thirteen wounded.  The prime target was Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords, a Democrat and a Jew. As of the writing of this blog, she is in critical condition having been shot at close range in the head. Sheriff Clarence Dupnik summed up many peoples' feeling when he suggested that the vitriolic political climate of Arizona was surely in part to blame: "When you look at unbalanced people, how they respond to the vitriol that comes out of certain mouths about tearing down the government. The anger, the hatred, the bigotry that goes on in this country is getting to be outrageous... .” (NYT)

What inspired such a bloody and tragic rage? It’s tempting to blame Tea Party activists or the overheated anti-government rhetoric of some in the Republican party, but that would be a cheap shot. However, I do think it is legitimate “to hold Republicans and particularly their most virulent supporters in the media responsible for the gale of anger that has produced the vast majority of these threats, setting the nation on edge.” (NYT)

Jewish Tradition believes in the power of words. It was through words that the world was created - “And God said ‘let there be light’ and there was light” – and it is through words that the world is governed: remember Moses was part revolutionary and part Law Giver. We are a wordy people whose genius is arguably the many worlds we have created with words – the sea of Talmud, the vast oceans of learning in almost every discipline. We are a wordy people that understands the power of words to hurt and to heal.

Intensely aware of the power of speech and of the harm that can be done through speech, the Talmud tells us that the tongue is an instrument so dangerous that it must be kept hidden from view, behind two protective walls (the mouth and teeth) to prevent its misuse. The Talmud also suggests that being wronged with words is especially egregious because there is no way to take the words back once they have been spoken. Speech is compared to an arrow: once the words are released, they cannot be recalled, the harm they do cannot be stopped, and the harm they do cannot always be predicted, for words like arrows often go astray. In the ultimate indictment of lashon harah/derogatory speech, the Talmud in Tractate Erchin 15b, compares lashon harah to murder.

Murder riding on the tide of political vitriol is not new to the Jewish world.

On Nov. 4, 1995, Yigal Amir, a 25-year-old Israeli resident of suburban Tel Aviv and law student at Bar-Ilan University, shot the then Israeli prime minister, Yitzhak Rabin, as he was leaving a peace demonstration where 100,000 people had gathered to hear him and Labor leader Shimon Peres speak. When asked why he shot the Prime Minister, Amir said he was acting on his understanding of the laws of the pursuer wherein it is justified to kill as an act of self-defense. What’s especially chilling is that just before Rabin’s assassination, extremist rabbis of the far right in Israel had ruled that Rabin, because of his pursuit of the Peace Process, could be viewed as a ‘pursuer’ thus offering a justification for his murder. While some have questioned the direct link of the pursuer rhetoric and Rabin’s assassination, most agree that the vicious tone of the debate about the Peace Process at that time created an environment ripe for violence.

The power to hurt, even mortally wound, as well as the power to heal; words, how easy they flow off the tongue, but how hard they are to retrieve.  A gun shot Yitzchak Rabin, a bullet pierced Gabrielle Giffords' skull.  Six others were gunned down dead and a total of 13 were wounded. Bullets, not words, did the literal damage but the haunting question we are left to ponder is whether, without the hateful speech prior to these hateful acts, would the guns ever have been loaded, would the triggers ever have been pulled.

Pacific Area Reform Rabbi's Conference

I am writing to you from PARR, the annual Pacific Area Reform Rabbis conference in Palm Springs. PARR represents a large region from Texas to New Zealand; there are 200+ rabbis in attendance this year.

I’m here for 3 reasons: To get the word out about our search for a Rabbi-Educator; to study with the conference scholar, Rabbi Michael Marmur; and to learn with/share best practices with my colleagues. And, since I’ve been in the region for almost 15 years, it’s nice simply to see and catch up with people.

Rabbi Marmur’s presentations are about creating a new theology for our time. Interesting to me is the fact that he, like most everyone else I’ve heard/spoken with, is openly acknowledging and speaking about the wide-spread and profound alienation many Jews feel from their Tradition. He is attempting to develop a theological paradigm that will speak to people who are not motivated, inspired or committed to the traditional Jewish focus on Community (an obligation to) and Mitzvah (the sense of both commandment and obligation). He, like most everyone else, has more of a sense of the problem than the solution, though he is offering some interesting food for thought, which is too complicated/involved to blog about and which I am sure to share with you when I return.

Rabbi Michael Comins is also here, among a number of other scholars, and I sat- in on his presentation about his new book, Making Prayer Real. The book is written for the Jewish, religious seeker, who has not been able to connect to Jewish worship, yet yearns for a deep and sustainable Jewish prayer practice. I bought a copy and have invited him to come and speak/teach at Shomrei Torah. He’s been with us before and was very well-received (I am also on his advisory counsel for his other work – Torah Trek).

In addition I attended sessions about the “American Jewish English Dialect” (I bet you didn’t know one existed!), “Clothing and Gender in Jewish Tradition”, as well as an hour meeting with the Israeli Council General from Los Angeles, Yaakov Dayan.

Along with all the learning, we also have services in the morning and the evening. In fact, last night the whole evening program was centered around worship with a focus on innovation. There was a panel discussion amongst the various service leaders (the cantors conference was also in town and joined us for this program), and then three different services were offered. I chose to pray in the “Visual Liturgy Service”. There were no siddurim (prayer books) rather
everything was projected onto the wall. In addition to the words, images were also used to reflect the various themes of the service. Visual liturgies are one wave of the future worth exploring...

I am enjoying being enriched by my time at PARR but when it comes to Jewish life, time away from Shomrei Torah always fills me with gratitude for what we have built and continue to offer together. I can’t wait to be back in time for Shabbat!

Blessings...

RG