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.