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....