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.