Each Wednesday, I look forward to the Food Section of the New York Times. I love to read the restaurant reviews even if I can’t or shouldn’t eat the vast majority of the foods that are described. I love to read the descriptions of contemporary cuisine specialties even though I probably wouldn’t eat them even if I could. Still, the descriptions of the elaborate entrees, appetizers and desserts are fascinating to me.

Occasionally, one of the other articles in the section will also interest me. I remember, particularly, an article a few years back which talked about some “comfort foods” unique to various parts of the country. One that was mentioned was a “pie shake” which was a local delicacy in, I believe, Iowa. You make a regular milk shake but before mixing it up, you  add big chunks of fruit pie, crust and all of course, into the blender. It sounded great and we did make a few using Entenmann’s fruit pies. They were pretty good although I’m sure the Iowans did it better.

But, this week there was an article which appeared in the Food Section which really caught my attention. It was called “Everything New is Old Again” and described the reawakening of interest in traditional Eastern European Jewish “deli” cuisine. The article documented the new twists that are taking traditional foods to a new, exciting, contemporary level.

You can read the article and decide for yourself whether these new creations sound good to you but I’m going to use the opportunity of the article to pay tribute to the old style of Jewish deli food. I happen to be an expert in such things as I was a  waiter in a kosher delicatessen for a few years during high school and college.

Now, right here, I have to remind you that I grew up in Boston and even though there were a couple of what might pass for “New York delis” in our area (does anyone remember Jack and Marion’s?), most Boston delis were not quite up to the standards set by the Big Apple. In addition, the kosher delis didn’t sell the New York brands of deli meats  but mostly sold Morrison and Schiff, the local Boston Kosher purveyor of kosher meats. They were certainly very  good although when I moved to New York for Rabbinical School, I discovered how bland our local brand was in comparison.

But, still, deli is deli and my years working in a kosher deli were unforgettable.

While I don’t think that I could write a book called: “Everything I Learned about Being a Rabbi, I learned in the Deli” (that distinction would more properly be attributed to what I learned working as staff at Camp Ramah), but I learned a lot of skills that I remember to this day.

More about that later. First, the food.

The memories came back to me as I read the article and thought about the menu. Is there really such a thing as “lean corned beef” and if there is does anyone really want to eat it? What is really the difference between corned beef, pastrami and what used to be called rolled beef?  Does anyone eat p’tcha any more (look that one up if you have to)? And, finally, does anyone make real kishka anymore or is all artificial?

But, the major attraction of the deli I worked in was the food that came out of the kitchen. The owner’s sister, a woman in her 70’s, cooked meals every day and I can still taste them as I think about them. But, they all carried with them a story.

For example, the deli offered a “Hot Meat Ball” Sandwich. That was a potted meat ball squashed between what Bostonians called a “vienna roll”, a crusty bakery roll. The meatball was incredibly moist and spiced just right. But, imagine the surprise a customer would receive if they came in and ordered expecting an Italian meatball sub smothered in tomato sauce. I didn’t want to apologize to one who ordered the sandwich before bringing it to them but felt the need to do so if I wanted to ward off any complaints. Occasionally, I would forget and I can still see the face of the customer who got something entirely different than they expected.

Then, there was the Stuffed Cabbage. When my Grandmother made stuffed cabbage, she would not put any sauce on it, just the cabbage stuffed with meat (and her special touch: ground up ginger snaps). I rarely ate it when she made it. It tasted OK but I kept thinking something was missing.

Then when I started at the Deli. I saw that the cook made stuffed cabbage with a sweet and sour tomato sauce and I thought it was great. When I told my grandmother about it, she said; “I never heard of such a thing” and stormed away.

One night, our family came to eat at the deli (the only time I remember serving them) and I brought out a piece of stuffed cabbage just so my grandmother would taste it. She took one bite and started yelling  my mother: “I told you, Gertrude, this is the way you make stuffed cabbage and all these years you’ve been telling me to make it without any sauce”. My mother didn’t argue. But, from that moment on, stuffed cabbage in our house came with tomato sauce

But, my favorite moment at the deli, the one I remember most dearly came one night when there was only one vegetable in the kitchen. So, the line on the menu which read: “choice of vegetable” did not apply.

When one regular customer came in and asked what the choice of vegetable was, I said: “Peas and Carrots”.

He said: “Peas or Carrots?’

I said: “No, peas and carrots” referring of course to the legendary canned mixture of peas with cubes of carrots.

The customer said: “So what’s the choice?”

And I, knowing he was a steady customer who didn’t mind being kidded, said: “You want ’em or you don’t want ’em”. He thought it was funny. thank God.

But I use that line often to this day. Sometimes someone will ask me about a particular point in Jewish law and say to me: “But, isn’t there a choice?”

It is then that I tell them the story of the deli. Sure there’s a choice: “You follow the law or you don’t follow it”.

Actually, that is a bit unfair since change is built into Jewish law but sometimes that is the only answer that one can give when confronted with a person who doesn’t like a position of Jewish law. I want people to observe Jewish law as it is but obviously, in the end, if the law can’t be changed, it is up to the individual to decide.

That is one of the lessons I learned about being a Rabbi from working in the deli. There were many others, the most important being that each customer needed to be treated with respect and patience. That may be the most important lesson of all.

I would come home smelling like pickles, would wake up in the middle of the night after a busy day and find myself still taking orders in my dreams and I really never quite had the same taste for deli after serving it for so long. But, the article reminded me of how much emotion and memory is wrapped up in the foods we love.

Gotta go, it’s time for lunch.

I have written previously in this blog and in other media about my admiration for Pope Francis.  It is not my place to comment either on Catholic theology or to expect that church doctrine will follow the priorities or positions I hold which I believe are reflective of Jewish values but I do believe that how the Pope presents religion in general and the values he chooses to espouse are critically important to the world in general.

I believe that this pope has identified and clearly expressed certain values which should be at the heart of all religions: less emphasis on amassing wealth and power and more emphasis on human interaction and concern for all. There are still, to be sure, trappings of the church and we may still have disagreements over certain positions taken by the church and the pope, but Pope Francis’ humility and concern should inspire us all.

Pope Francis’ trip to Israel and the West Bank this week raised a lot of eyebrows and concern to both Israelis and Palestinians. But many were significantly impressed. I, quite frankly, was moved by his recognition of the Palestinian people and their struggles and touched by his kindness and compassion to holocaust survivors and to the families of victims of terror. His quiet and gentle manner provided a much needed opportunity for a deep breath as the conflict continues without, apparently, hope for resolution.

But, it was his invitation to President Abbas and President Peres to come to the Vatican for prayer that touched me most deeply. That offer was accepted and I am optimistic that such a moment will take place. I do not believe that prayer will solve this crisis. It will take much more than quiet meditation to bring peace, security and justice to Israelis and Palestinians. But, it is important to note as Heschel wrote “that prayer may not save us but prayer may make us worthy to be saved”.

Perhaps the moment of prayer is just what our leaders need to remind them of what is at stake here. The author Yossi Klein Halevi is quoted in today’s New York Times as saying that: “what we’re missing around the negotiating table are chaplains…I’d like to replace some of the diplomats with genuine religious leaders, people who understand that this conflict is primarily about intangibles and not a line on a map”. The injection of a spiritual element to attempts to solve a political crisis is risky especially if it turns out to be nothing more than a photo opportunity. But, if there is any religious leader in the world today who could inspire a renewed effort at negotiations, I think it is Pope Francis and I admire him greatly for taking this step.

Today is Jerusalem Day, a day of celebration in many ways. It is a day when Jews were able to return to the Western Wall and to the Old City of Jerusalem and the border which ran through the city for 19 years was dismantled. It is a day of celebrating what has been called the “reunification” of Jerusalem.

I have written extensively in this blog of my love for the city of Jerusalem which I have been visited on 13 occasions and truly was privileged to call my home for an entire academic year. Jerusalem Day brings back many inspiring memories for me. But, as much as we celebrate the ability to return to holy sites closed to Jews for years and as much as we legitimately proclaim our people’s and our faith’s more than 2000 year old love affair with Jerusalem, it is difficult to celebrate Jerusalem Day today with a full heart. The city is not “unified”. As long as Palestinians are evicted from the homes in deference to Jewish settlers; as long as Palestinian neighborhoods are neglected while Jewish neighborhoods flourish and as long as the voices of racism and bigotry and violence are heard on both sides of the conflict, Jerusalem will not be the city of our dreams.

Whether the simple gesture offered by Pope Francis bears fruit or not, it is worth a try and I will pray along with him and those gathered around him for peace and coexistence in the holy city.

This Shabbat, I will be celebrating the 46th anniversary of my bar mitzvah. It will be hard to top the 45th as I wrote about in this blog last year. You can read that story (and I hope you will) at http://rabbirobdobrusinblog.wordpress.com/2013/04/28/a-bar-mitzvah-present-to-cherish-45-years-later/

But, when I look back at my Bar Mitzvah itself, there are three presents which stick out in my mind. First, the gold watch my parents gave me which I still have. Second, the autographed Red Sox baseball which still sits on my desk. And, third, the most inspired  present any 13 year old could receive in 1968: a 2 year subscription to MAD Magazine.

I can still remember the stunned sense of joy and appreciation I felt when I opened the letter from a  friend of my father’s to see that that was the present he had given me.

From the time I was in 5th grade until the early years of High School, I devoured MAD Magazine as did most of my friends. The satire ranged from somewhat funny to absolutely brilliant. The subject matters sometimes resonated with my adolescent mind and sometimes didn’t. But, it didn’t matter. Every bit of the magazine from “The Lighter Side of…” to the movie satires to “Spy vs. Spy” to the song parodies to what were called the “Drawn Out Dramas”, the miniature cartoons scattered around the margins which sometimes required magnifying glasses to read, MAD was the epitome of teenage humor.

I tend to think one of the secrets of the success of the magazine was that it was just over the edge enough to keep our interest but not so “dirty” that our parents would have been forced to throw it out. In fact, I distinctly remember being able to convince my father that in fact it was tremendously creative as he threatened to throw out an issue that he found offensive for some reason. That was fortunate because that was the issue that actually contained a record you could play on your record player at home, a song called: “It’s a Gas”.  (I’m not going to give you the link but you can find it on Youtube if you don’t remember it- just remember we were 13 at the time, but I have to confess it still makes me laugh hysterically.)

I didn’t realize how lasting the memories of MAD magazine were to me until a couple of years ago when I was trying to find an appropriate 60th birthday gift for my older brother. I was looking around in the bookstore  when I came upon a 50th anniversary collection of the best of MAD from the 60s. I bought it and read most of it before I sent it to him and realized that I remembered much of what was in the collection even though I hadn’t seen the magazine (except for a few I bought at a used bookstore a while back) for several decades. All I had to do was read the title of the feature and it all came back to me immediately. And, my brother had the same feeling when he opened it. Whether the material in MAD stood the test of time could be debated but it certainly stood the test of memory.

At the end of April, Al Felstein died. He  was editor of the magazine for some 30 years including the years I was an avid reader  There was an obituary about him in the New York Times. It was a rather long obituary and a lot of it was a celebration of MAD. The accolades were well deserved. He must have been a genius.

So, another piece of my youth is gone. But, it gave me a lot of great memories. MAD together with Rowan Martin’s Laugh In epitomized for me my growing sense of “maturity” (God help us) and appreciation of the higher forms of culture. If you remember MAD as I do, take  a minute to think about how it inspired you. I know it made me laugh but I also think that reading the humorous, creative twists of language, might even have helped me develop as a writer of sermons.

Whether or not that is true is immaterial or as Alfred E. Neuman would say; “What me worry?”

May the memory of Al Feldstein be for a blessing.

 

Today is  Yom Ha’atzmaut, Israel Independence Day. As one who has dedicated many words, much time and much energy expressing deep concern over certain policies of the government of the State of Israel, it is important to express the  other piece of my feelings about Israel loudly and clearly and what better time than Yom Ha’atzmaut to say it.

The creation of the State of Israel is one of the greatest blessings in the history of our people. The Jewish people are immensely safer and richer since the State was founded and we owe a tremendous debt of gratitude and respect to all of those who have given of their energy, their passion, their resources and- in far too many cases- their lives to insure the growth and the security of Israel.

May this Yom Ha’atzmaut bring Israel peace and joy. May we see an end or at least an easing  of the internal divisions that divide the state. But,may we  also see Israel continuing to strive sincerely and passionately for a shared vision of peace through the region. May this year see a resolution to the conflicts between Israelis and Palestinians with the hope for a settlement which will lead to justice and security for all. May Israel be able to focus on its own growth and strength while Palestinians also gain the blessings of self-determination.

This Yom Ha’atzmaut, I have been thinking about one particular moment from one of my 13 trips to Israel. In 1999, I took a trip  that was truly among the most remarkable I have ever taken. It was an interfaith clergy tour in which Rabbis were asked to bring a non-Jewish clergy person with them in order to learn about the possibilities of taking more general Interfaith trips. It was a wonderful experience and in fact in 2000, we did take an Interfaith group from Ann Arbor under the auspices of the Interfaith Round Table of Washtenaw County.

As our group of 25 sat at our final dinner, our guide asked us each to say a few words about what the trip had meant to us. I can still remember exactly what I said. I said that coming to Israel makes me feel young for two reasons.  First, I felt young because we did things on this trip as on most tours that I don’t normally do: climbing through caves, riding donkeys, singing songs on a tour bus, eating food that I know isn’t good for me and other such things. That is one way being in Israel made me feel young again.

But, that particular trip made me feel particularly young because it gave me a shot of youthful idealism that I so badly needed. For the week that our group had traveled together, Israel had been the place where we had bridged differences, learned from each other, prayed together, laughed together and cried together. That trip gave me hope, a fleeting vision of an idealistic time, one that made me feel young and optimistic again. While I believe I could have felt that sense of hope any place we might have traveled together, I felt that doing so in Israel made it that much more meaningful and that much more memorable.

That brings me to today. The aspect of Israel today that most concerns me (at least as I see it from a distance and I haven’t visited since 2009) is that reading the news from Israel doesn’t make me feel young, I don’t see the spirit, the proverbial gleam in the eye, the joy, the passion of what it means to have a dream and make the dream a reality.

Some of that is natural. Israel is a comparatively young country but it has had to grow up very fast in a difficult region and one can hardly expect the attitude of the country to be as  passionate and as idealistic as it once was. But, if I had one additional wish for Israel, it would be that Israel rediscover its youthful passion for the ideals and values on which it was formed. That I feel young when I go to Israel is not as important as it is for Israel to rediscover the joy of youth while still pursuing its mature, adult responsibilities.

May this year be a year of joy and peace and hope for all in Israel and the region.

 

Yesterday, the Conference of Presidents of Major Jewish Organizations rejected an application from J Street to join the organization.

One can only surmise that those who voted against the application presumed that J Street did not sufficiently represent “mainstream” Jewish opinions and that its opinions and actions are dangerous to Israel and to the Jewish people. It is only fair to note that there are various political voices represented on the Conference including those of  progressive organizations but this decision regarding J Street strikes me as a significant statement and a statement which concerns me deeply.

I want to leave aside for the moment any consideration of the issue of the views of J Street vs. those of any other Jewish organization which voices opinions on Israel. That is not my issue at this moment.

My issue is rather an issue of inclusion.

We are currently seeing efforts by all denominations within Judaism to be more inclusive: to be more respectful and more welcoming to people who would have been ostracized from communal Jewish life in the recent past. Whether it is outreach to interfaith families, LGBT individuals and families, those without financial means, those who have been estranged from Jewish life and have not had Jewish experiences in their lives, those in prison, those who suffer from addiction or those in countless other situations, we have realized as Jewish leaders that we must be open to all. We profess that all Jews who strive for Jewish life should be welcomed into communities and embraced in the name of Jewish tradition. This is the way it should be because all of us, at some point in our lives, find ourselves in a situation which might have been a basis for exclusion in the past. Our community is healthier when we all realize that all of us belong in the tent sitting next to each other, learning from each other and celebrating with each other.

It is in this context that the decision of the Conference of Presidents concerns me most deeply.

Suddenly, in this very symbolic gesture, a group of leaders has decided that those who profess a “pro-Israel, pro-peace” stance through J Street are not worthy of sitting at the table.

If you go to the website of J Street, you will find a list of hundreds of Rabbis and Cantors who are part of the “J Street Rabbinic Cabinet”, those Rabbis who support the positions of J Street or at the very least support the idea that wide ranging dialogue concerning Israel must take place in the Jewish Community.  I know many of these Rabbis and Cantors. They are proud to be known as Zionists, proud to take congregants on trips to Israel, proud to support the State and proud to teach and preach about Israel and its importance to all of us from the pulpit. I am proud to be one of those Rabbis.

But, the specific of the political opinion aside, can our Jewish community afford to make a statement that a particular viewpoint concerning Israel is sufficient grounds to consider a person as outside of the tent of the Jewish community? Are we prepared as a community to send a message to all of those Rabbis and Cantors and all of those who agree that they are “beyond the pale”?

I have talked with many people, including most importantly, many young people, who are concerned that they are not being listened to when they express concern for some of Israel’s policies. As those who know me know, I agree with many of those concerns. But even if we disagree, are we prepared to allow this discussion to be the wedge that drives people away from organized Jewish life in an era in which we are doing all we can to send the sincere message of inclusion to those who have been ostracized in the past?

Whatever one thinks about the pragmatic effect J Street has on the dialogue regarding Israel, I believe it is counter-productive and dangerous to exclude based on political viewpoints those who profess and live out a love and concern for the Jewish people.

The tent must continue to be enlarged.

 

 

One week from tonight, we will sit at the Seder table and celebrate once again the Exodus from Egypt. We will consider the ideas of slavery and freedom and study and learn together.

One of the most memorable parts of the Seder is, of course, the asking of the four questions. The asking of questions to begin, in fact to inspire, the telling of the story of the Exodus has its origin in the Mishna. For over 2000 years, Jews have been asking questions to begin the storytelling. The questions have changed over the years reflective of what would appear to a child to be “different on this night” but the questions were always there as the means to begin the evening.

But, the child’s role in the Seder is not limited to the asking of questions. Ideally, the answers to the questions must  be directed to the child. The entire Seder was intended to teach the children about the ancient story of slavery and redemption. Of course, there should be time at the Seder for adult discussion but when the children who are present are excluded, either actively or passively, in deference to adult discussions, the Seder has gone in the wrong direction. It is not enough to look at the child who asks the question and knell with satisfaction at his or her performance. It is the ability to look him or her in the eye and tell the story in words he or she will understand that makes this night truly special and one on which we have fulfilled our responsibility.

But, what if the child can not ask the questions? According to the Mishna, if the child did not have the capacity to ask, his father would teach him.

Presumably, this means, he would teach him to ask.

One of the greatest gifts we can give to our children is the ability and the freedom to ask questions. When a child asks, as long as the question is sincere, as long as it reflects a desire to better understand something that puzzles or disturbs him/her, it is a marvelous moment. No question is “tref” if it asked sincerely and one of the greatest hopes we should have as parents or as teachers (we are all teachers of course) is that our children continue to ask.

May our Seders inspire not only a night of questions but a lifetime of asking and seeking.

NOTE:  We will be discussing this idea at our Shabbat Limmud study group this coming Shabbat morning, March 15 at 9 a.m. at Beth Israel. All are welcome.

It is traditional on two holidays to add the prayer: “Al HaNisim”, “For the Miracles” to the Amida. On Hanukkah and on Purim, the prayer is inserted into the Amida in the section known as Thanksgiving. Each day we thank God “for the miracles that are around us always” but on these  holidays, we make special mention of the miracles that God has performed, describing the story of the miracle in detail. (It should be noted that many have adopted the tradition of saying Al HaNisim on Israel Independence Day as well).

The Hanukkah Al HaNisim describes in great detail God’s role in bringing victory for the Maccabees. The prayer is written from a very “God-centered” perspective: “You stood by Your people…You defended them…You delivered the strong into the hands of the weak, the many into the hands of the few…” In this formulation, the Maccabees are the instrument by which God insures the survival of the people but they would never have been able to succeed on their own. In fact, while Al HaNisim acknowledges that the Maccabees were “pure in heart”, the prayer doesn’t give them much credit at all.

The Al HaNisim prayer for Purim also takes a very “God centered” perspective: “You, in your great mercy thwarted his (Haman’s) plans, frustrated his plot and visited upon him the evil he planned to bring on others. ”

This prayer has always struck me as particularly problematic. As uncomfortable as I might be seeing the Maccabees’ courage and passion minimized by the words of the Hanukkah Al HaNisim, I do not understand at all how the Rabbis could take the story of Purim, which is all about the courage of Mordecai and Esther and reduce their role to the simple statement: “In the days of Mordecai and Esther in Shushan…:”, God saved the people.

It is stunning that given that Megillat Esther  never mentions the name of God and celebrates the courage of the heroes of the story, the Rabbis would have downplayed their role to an incidental comment while giving God all of the credit for the salvation of the Jews of Shushan.

It is clear from this and certainly from other traditions as well (such as the Talmudic emphasis on the story of the “miracle of the oil” on Hanukkah rather than emphasizing the victory of the Maccabees) that the Rabbis had an agenda of  focusing on divine miracles rather than the role of humans in the redemption of the Jewish people. But, here, regarding Purim, it is especially difficult to understand what the Rabbis saw as a Divine miracle.

While there are rabbinic legends about the roles that angels had in orchestrating the finale to the story (Michael is credited with pushing Haman onto the bed that Esther was lying on, an act which resulted in his being hanged), the story is clearly a human story of courage, of taking risks for one’s people and of standing up against tyranny. One can only wonder why the Rabbis who included Al HaNisim in the liturgy might have chosen to downplay the human element of this story.

I think that this is an issue which deserves a great deal of thought. Even those who believe, as I do, in a God of creation and a God who continues to inspire and teach us must focus on our human abilities to affect the world around us rather than wait for God to save the day. According to a beautiful midrash about the Exodus, God says to Moses at the Sea: Why are you standing there screaming out to me? The hour waits only for you. Move the people forward”. Similarly, even if one believes  that Mordecai and Esther were inspired by their Creator to perform courageous acts and to have faith in the future of their people, they still had to take action  and they deserve to be remember for their efforts.

I believe that there is a miracle reflected in the Purim story. That is the miracle of the creation of the human being, capable of thinking, feeling and acting courageously. We should thank God for that miracle every day. But, we should also recognize  our fellow human beings who use the spirit of God within them to perform actions that are deserving of honor and praise.

Happy Purim!

Today, Ann Arbor officially broke the record for these snowiest winter in our history. After two spring-like days and the first sighting of “bare ground” since January, we got hit with about 5 inches of snow, strong winds and tonight the temperature is supposed to go below zero.

Our office was closed  so I had the chance to catch up on some paper work, read , take a nap, play with the dog and the cats and in between, of course, answer some email.

There is something about a snowstorm which makes staying home extra special. Looking out the window and enjoying the relative peace and quiet has been wonderful although I am getting a bit impatient as the day is nearing an end.

The comforts of home are a wonderful blessing and never more so than on a day like this.

But, this storm brought one additional comfort. A comfort food that took me back to my youth.

The other day, Ellen and I were reminiscing about comfort foods from when we were kids. Then, I happened to mention one that I had introduced Ellen to shortly after we were married but we hadn’t had in a long time, that being one of the classic comfort foods of New England: Grapenut Custard.

Now, I’m perfectly prepared to hear that this wonderful recipe is found in other places but in several places on the Internet, Grapenut custard is called the quintessential New England Comfort Food so I make no apologies.

It’s a simple recipe: Eggs, Milk, Sugar, vanilla, nutmeg and, of course, Grape Nuts cereal. The result is a dessert with mushy grape nuts at the bottom of the bowl, sweet custard on the top. Put some whipped cream or ice cream on the top and it rivals any dessert anywhere.

So, last night, Ellen surprised me with a huge bowl of Grapenut custard. And, it wasn’t easy. I shouldn’t eat eggs so she used Egg Beaters. I have had to, sadly, cut down on dairy (one of the prices we pay for getting older) so she made it with almond milk, and when I came home from work last night at 9:45, it was all ready but it hadn’t quite set. So, we had a little, pronounced it: “pretty good” and went to bed.

Then, this morning, with the snow beginning to swirl, I went to the refrigerator, took it out and it had set beautifully and the taste took me back 50 years and 500 miles. It was magnificent.

If you haven’t tried it, you should and you can easily find the Yankee Magazine recipe which is the best. But, if you didn’t eat it growing up, it might not live up to my raves. Such is the beauty of local foods.

But if it isn’t Grapenut Custard, I’m sure there is another food that just screams out: “Home” and what better way to celebrate a Snow Day then with a comforting taste of home.

I wrote a blog post in November, 2011 about my achieving the goal of being in each of the 50 states (full disclosure: I do count airports as long as I am in the terminal). It was quite an accomplishment and since then, I’ve been searching for new travel goals to set for myself.

I currently am working on two such goals. The first is to visit the burial sites of our presidents. I’m making progress on that goal: my most recent journey was to Marion, Ohio to visit the memorial to Warren G. Harding. Lots of sites remain and I’ll keep you posted on my progress.

The other goal is to visit each of the state capitals. I’m making slow progress on that goal and that promises to be a very difficult goal indeed because some of the state capitals are, frankly, a bit difficult to get to.

Having grown up in the capital of Massachusetts and being accustomed to seeing the grand  State House overlooking the Boston Common on the edge of Beacon Hill in the middle of the largest city in the state, you could forgive me for thinking, as a kid, that each capital was the same.

But, as I grew, I realized that wasn’t the case. Albany might be  a nice city but it would never be mistaken for New York City. Harrisburg sits somewhere between Philadelphia and Pittsburgh. You can’t even reach Juneau by car from any significant distance.

And as I have found big cities that I’ve found fascinating: Chicago, San Francisco, Kansas City, Detroit, to name just a few, it never made sense to me that the capitals of those states were to be found in far away corners, or hiding in plain sight in the middle of the state. Those cities are smaller and less exciting in most cases and frankly, it’s hard to justify making a long journey to go to Jefferson City, Bismarck or Springfield.

But, there is still something exciting about being in a state capital and some of the smaller ones that I have been in: Augusta, ME, Concord, NH and Dover, DE to name a few still are interesting places to see, if for no other reason than that they are the capitals.

A couple of weeks ago, I spent a lovely weekend at the Conservative Synagogue in Tallahassee, Florida as a scholar in residence. I spent the vast majority of my time in the synagogue and felt very much welcomed by a group of wonderful people. I even had the surprising pleasure of seeing old friends I hadn’t seen for many years. But, the last piece to the weekend, a trip to the airport through the center of the city was important too as it reminded me that  I could add one more state capital to the list of those I visited. Passing by the state capitol building in Tallahassee was the piece de resistance of a wonderful weekend.

It’s fairly clear to me why I am so fascinated with state capitals. I love geography and maps. I love to travel and I am have discovered more and more of an interest in American history in the past few years. So, I hope I can continue my travels and maybe, one day, reach all 50.

For now, I’ll have to be satisfied with some good memories: stopping in Concord NH for a few minutes when Avi was 2 years old so that we could get him out of the car for a few minutes to play at a playground; taking advantage of the public restrooms at the state capitol building in Juneau, Alaska, a  stop which turned out to be fortuitous as we turned a corner shortly afterward our unscheduled stop and bumped into the only people we knew who lived in Juneau; the two days of our honeymoon that Ellen and I spent in Santa Fe, NM, a place we have promised each other we would return to but haven’t yet; and, a quick visit to the capitol in Honolulu, HI as we explored the city.

I hope to get to the others. But, again, it might be difficult to plan a trip to Pierre or Cheyenne when there is so much more of this country to see. Still, I dream of the day when I can do what a couple of my friends have done: get behind the wheel of their car and drive as long as it takes to fulfill this particular goal. With Tallahassee added to the list, I’m a little bit closer and  it’s time to plan for a next trip.

I’ll gladly take suggestions!

 

 

This morning, I read with great interest Thomas Friedman’s column in the New York Times concerning “Israel’s Big Question”. It brought to mind a sermon I gave in 2010 and I wanted to reprint that sermon here. I believe it is long since time that this question is discussed openly and honestly.

Two years ago, we participated in the Hartman Institute’s Engaging Israel program which touched on many of these questions and, ultimately, the question of how Israel can best reflect the meaning of a “Jewish State”. That was a very powerful experience and I believe the discussions must continue in Israel and in the Diaspora.

Sermon for Kol Nidre 5771

Rabbi Robert Dobrusin

Beth Israel Congregation Ann Arbor, MI

Yom Kippur is a time for questions: questions that must be asked and that demand thoughtful, serious answers.

Here is one question you could think about over Yom Kippur and probably for months after: “What does it mean to me when I call myself a Jew?”

I want you to take a couple of moments to consider how you would go about answering that question and form the beginning of an answer in your mind. What does it mean to me when I call myself a Jew?

        Tonight, I want to discuss a different question, an essential question which every Jew throughout the world should be asking. As you will see, I believe this question is very closely related to my first question.  It too is not an easy question to answer. In fact, you should know that you are about to hear version 9.0 of my sermon this evening.

        I do not expect my answer will be the same as your answer. I hope you will listen to my answer, and naturally I hope it will influence your thinking; but I want my answer to be part of a larger conversation on this issue, a conversation I would like to begin here at Beth Israel, but one which needs to be taking place throughout our community and throughout the Jewish world.

Before I tell you what the question is and before I give you my answer, I want to tell you something about who I am.  I am the child of parents born in this country. No one in my close family suffered in the Holocaust. I was raised in a moderately liberal home, my parents were both Roosevelt Democrats. I grew up in Boston in a traditional Jewish community focused much more on study and ritual observance than on concerns for Jewish identity and “peoplehood”. My parents were active members of our Conservative shul and I was active in our youth group and religious school, and spent most every free hour at the shul or with my shul friends.

        Still, I went to public schools. I was taught at home to respect diversity – even though we didn’t call it that yet – and my parents always stressed that we were part of a bigger world which would respect us and include us as long as we were mentsches, and that being a mentsch was the most important Jewish value of all.

        I grew up under the influence of the anti war movement and heard my older brother singing protest songs for years before I really understood them. I saw him and his contemporaries heartsick over Vietnam; and when I turned 18, although there was no draft, I filed an application as a Conscientious Objector. It seemed natural to me then, as an extension of everything I had been taught. I could not do it today.

        As I’ve grown I’ve held on to my ideals and perspectives, not giving up on my idealism and my faith in this world.  But to be sure, over the years, I have had experiences that have changed me: a few harrowing days in the former Soviet Union while visiting Refuseniks taught me about the reality of anti-Semitism and the need to fight for what we hold dear.

Six years living in a delightful community in Pennsylvania farm country, where many pastors were willing to tell me to my face quite often that I was going to Hell, taught me the sad truth that not everyone wants to be your friend.

Of course, my world and my idealism – and, frankly, my naivete – were rocked by September 11^th.   And, lihavdeel – which is a word we use when we make a separation between events which are of such different magnitude that they should not in any way be mentioned one after the other – the past 7 years of harassment here in Ann Arbor have made me a bit more cynical and much more cautious.

These experiences have dimmed a bit of my innate idealism but haven’t destroyed it.  And I still stand here week after week believing and teaching from my heart that being Jewish means more than just being part of a community of Jewish people needing to fight for our lives, constantly endangered by those around us.

I believe that what makes us unique as Jews and makes our people’s survival essential is the perspective we bring to the world, our faith in God, our commitment to tradition, our passion for education, our dedication to helping to bring this world closer to redemption and our belief that that day can come to pass.

        So, that is who I am. And with that in mind, here is the question that I believe each of us must answer and we will no doubt answer it based on who we are and from where we have come and what we think it means to be Jew.

        My question is about Israel. What should and what shouldn’t it mean when Israel calls itself a Jewish State? That question is not asked nearly enough in Israel or throughout the Jewish world, and it really needs to be.

Some may wonder: Is this really the time to talk about this? With so much anti-Israel feeling in the world, with Israel being so alone and so isolated? Who cares what a “Jewish State” means?”

It must be asked and we should care because Israel faces critical decisions which will affect not only those who live within Israel but which will affect, as well, how all of us as Jews, in this generation and beyond, view the State. And, because of Israel’s prominent role in the consciousness of our people, these decisions may well shape how future generations understand what it means to be a Jew.

I believe that as important as it is that we recognize, embrace and support Israel’s role reflecting our national aspirations,  providing a haven for Jews in distress and demonstrating our acceptance of active responsibility for insuring our survival as a people, that is not enough in and of itself to live up to the title of a “Jewish State”.

I want to see Israel always reflect what we consider important about being a Jew. And while I certainly recognize that on political matters the voices of those who live in Israel and put their lives on the line matter more than what I have to say, as a Jew I have a vested interest in hoping that Israel continues to reflect what that word means to me and how I have taught Judaism from this bima.

        Each of us has a different understanding of what it means to be a Jew and that is why a conversation on this question is so important. So let me begin the conversation this evening.

On Rosh Hashana, I presented two texts which portrayed our focus as Jews in completely different ways: one very much centering on God, one very much centering on our human lives. I stressed the fact that these aren’t conflicting principles, rather we need to find a balance between the two. That is often my starting point when I speak and teach about Judaism: that as Jews we are supposed to always be wrestling, trying to find our place between conflicting legitimate priorities.

The structure and the content of my thoughts about Israel will reflect that perspective on life we share as Jews, namely that we recognize – not deny, but accept – and work with the tensions that exist in our lives.

        I am going to discuss three such tensions, although clearly there could be more.

        The first tension is a tension as old as Hillel and probably much older. Hillel taught: “If I am not for myself, who will be for me? And if I am only for myself, what am I?” Each of us wrestles between the commitment and responsibility we feel towards fellow Jews and the recognition of the absolute principle in Judaism that each human being is of equal importance and value in the eyes of God. We have to find our place as part of a Jewish community and as part of a larger diverse world. And that prompts me to ask: How should Israel conduct itself regarding Jews and non-Jews living in the State?

To be meaningful as a Jewish State, Israel must continue to nurture its special relationship with the Jewish people at home and throughout the world. It should continue to be a “Jewish” State in its symbols, in its calendar and in the commitment it expresses to standing up for Jews at home and abroad. The Law of Return, guaranteeing Israel as a haven, must always be in place and must be extended to all who are considered Jews in the eyes of their community. We need to know that Israel is there for all of us as a “Jewish State”.

But Israel must stand for more.

In the Declaration of Independence, the founders declared that the Jewish State “will ensure complete equality of social and political rights to all its inhabitants irrespective of religion, race or sex; it will guarantee freedom of religion, conscience, language, education and culture”.

        There can be no compromising between these two values. Israel must find a way to be both dedicated to Jews and the Jewish people and completely reflect democracy and equality for all of its citizens.

        In many ways, Israel has lived up to that lofty goal especially in comparison to other nations.  Citizens can vote and hold office regardless of faith or ethnic background. People do have equal rights to be heard in the court system or to sit as judges. And, the efforts at coexistence between Jews and Israeli Arabs are models that the entire world could watch and learn from.  As  I have said time and time again from this bima, I am so proud that our community – led by our Jewish Federation – has supported so many of these co-existence efforts. We should be proud of these facts in a region and in a world in which such equality is rare.

        But the reality on the ground is that there is not equality within Israel’s borders. One trip into an Arab village or neighborhood will demonstrate that there are vast gaps in the services offered and opportunities presented. This is not right and not reflective of Jewish values.

        In addition to the “on the ground” reality, we hear statements and proposals made by government officials, and notably as well by Rabbis, in Israel which are not reflective of such equality and which, in fact, fly in the face of it – statements stereotyping all Arabs or statements of exclusion against those who aren’t Jews, or even, occasionally, those who aren’t a particular type of Jew. These ought to infuriate all of us who have been taught to believe – as I was, and as most of you were, and as most of you teach your children and grandchildren today – that all are equal in the eyes of God and should be equal in the eyes of the law.

        This principle needs to guide Israel as it makes decisions for its future. As surely as a Jewish State must stand for us as Jews, it must stand for equality and democracy for all. It must condemn statements of racism or exclusivity made in its name by leaders of any kind as surely as it condemns violence and terror against the State, and it must seek to provide equally for all within its borders and under its control. Otherwise, it might be a State for Jews but it would not be a Jewish State.

The second tension needs to be addressed differently because one can’t simply say, as in the last case, that both priorities need to be observed at all times.  This tension is addressed by finding a place on a continuum between two legitimate concerns, and I am fully aware that there are many, many different points on this line.

        The tension is one presented constantly in Jewish law: at what point do the demands of survival obviate the ethical demands of Judaism? This prompts me to ask: How does Israel balance between the conflicting priorities of survival and the demand Judaism places on us to act according to the highest ethical standards?

        It is important to say right from the start that from the perspective of Judaism, there is no value in doing good if the inevitable result of doing good is your own demise. Jewish law permits us to do almost anything necessary when survival is at stake, since life is the ultimate value in Judaism and no one else’s life take precedence over our own.

        But to claim, as some do, that ethics do not matter or that they don’t matter as much as they once did – since Israel lives in a tough, threatening neighborhood – is inconsistent with what Judaism demands of us.

A Jewish State must constantly be engaged in self-evaluation and teshuva, showing unending concern for its ethical standards, not because Jews have to be better than anyone else, but because any State which calls itself in the name of Judaism must answer to those ethical requirements of our faith.

        Time and time again Israel has proven itself to be dedicated to ethics and morals, and there is so much in this area to be proud of: Israel’s quick and immediate response to disasters elsewhere in the world, Haiti for instance; or the policies of Israeli hospitals to treat people regardless of their religion, nationality or political views or activity. Israel’s Supreme Court has often ruled against government policies which were deemed unethical: the route of the separation barrier or punitive home demolitions, for example.

And, just this summer, a former brigadier general of Tzahal spoke to a group in Ann Arbor and showed us video evidence of Israel’s decisions during wartime to try to fight as ethically as possible. But, more important than the video was his statement: “We have to do this because there is a ‘Jewish way’ to fight a war.” Imagine, using the word “Jewish” to refer to ethics. What a concept!

        I am proud of Israel for these stands. They have to continue if Israel is to live up to its responsibility as a Jewish State. Of course, survival is the greatest ethical responsibility of all; but it is becoming more frequent for Israel and its supporters to be too quick to respond to criticism from within or without with a claim that security trumps ethical issues or that any criticism is unfair and reveals an anti-Semitic intention.

Those knee-jerk reactions are wrong and they are damaging to Israel, and threats we hear from some within Israel that the country should limit the activities of human rights groups or limit freedom of the press or expression cannot be allowed to become reality in a Jewish State.

        I am proud to be a member of the board of Rabbis for Human Rights North America (author’s note: now called T’ruah: the Rabbinic Call for Human Rights) , which supports the work of those fighting for human rights in Israel. I am proud of the work done by Rabbis for Human Rights in Israel and am a strong supporter of that organization. I believe that Rabbis need to lead the way in expressing the hope that Israel always considers the ethical implications of its policies even as it seeks to defend its citizens and insure its future.

There are so many areas in which a greater concern for ethics must be applied. Some cannot be argued away by concerns for security such as the absolute shanda – the absolute disgrace – that there are so many poor and hungry in the Jewish State with no plans to address this problem. This must be addressed and there can be no excuses.

In contrast, there are areas where, I will admit, security concerns do come into play, such as in the way in which Israel acts with regard to Palestinians in the West Bank.

But those security concerns do not excuse unnecessarily extreme security measures. They do not excuse the support of unnecessary provocations in Palestinian neighborhoods disregarding the sanctity of a home. They do not excuse police turning a blind eye when there is violence perpetrated against people engaged in legal protest or simply trying to harvest their olives in their own groves. They do not excuse excessive disruption of daily life.

I want to see Israel continue to appropriately balance the ethical concerns with the demands for survival. That is what any nation should do. Of course, there are nations whose violations of human rights deserve far greater condemnation but a nation which calls itself a Jewish State needs to be sure to continue to live by ethical principles to the greatest extent possible.

It is only when Israel shows itself to be truly committed to protecting the human rights of all people under its control to the greatest extent possible – given the reality of life in the Middle East – that the name “Jewish State” can be comfortably used. That goal will never ultimately be achieved until the occupation ends and a true mutually negotiated secure peace is achieved and God willing it will happen this year.

        Then we have a third tension, and it is different from each of the first two. My discussion on Rosh Hashana about Ma’oz Tsur and Mi Yimallel and the respective role of a divine-centered and human-centered perspective in our lives prompts me to ask: How can Israel manage to remain a secular state while calling itself by the name of a religion? What should be the role of religion in the Jewish State?

There has to be some role. But Israel cannot be allowed to become a theocracy. Believe me, you don’t want Rabbis running the country. As in any free country, Israelis must be able to choose which, if any, approach to Jewish law and tradition they want to follow; and there should be no pressure of any kind placed on anyone to observe Jewish tradition in any particular way or at all.

Israel was founded as a secular State and should remain so. But one of the greatest resources Israel has to define its future is found in the spiritual yearnings of so many of its people and the abundance of serious Jewish observance and study taking place throughout the country are evidence of such yearning.

This is important for us, as Diaspora Jews, to recognize. It disappoints me deeply that almost all of the conversations we have about Israel center on politics. We rarely talk about Israel as a center of Jewish religion; and when we do talk about religion in Israel, it seems always in the negative, notably, our absolutely legitimate anger as Rabbinic leaders in Israel viciously condemn non-Orthodox Judaism and women who wish to participate equally in Jewish life.

These attitudes are horrendous. But, the fact is, there is positive reason to talk about religious faith in Israel. There are many expressions of Jewish faith and practice, as well as serious, contemporary Torah study evident in the country, and we, as Diaspora Jews, need to better acquaint ourselves with these efforts and support them more strongly. Whether it is in secular communities like our own partnership community of Nahallal with its thriving Friday evening Shabbat celebration or in serious intellectually-based Torah study bringing together secular and religious Jews, or in different types of minyanim flourishing throughout Israel, there is evidence everywhere of Israelis trying to find something more meaningful in Judaism.  We should be constantly keeping that in mind and feeding off that spiritual energy.

         In that spirit, I wish to propose an idea for our next Congregation trip to Israel. This trip will not focus on politics, not on history, not on beautiful scenery, but will focus on matters of the spirit and matters of faith, bring us into contact with the spiritual yearnings within the land. We will go to Israel to study Torah, pray in synagogues and among communities of all different types, and learn more about communities of all kinds – Jewish and non-Jewish, as well – which are studying and praying and observing faith in ways which can inspire us here at home. If you are interested in such a trip, please let me know. I think it would be a phenomenal experience and would be a way of sending a different message about the potential Israel has to improve and enhance our lives as Jews.

I hope and pray that Israel, in the years to come, will find the right balance between being the secular State it was created to be – and must remain – while continuing to be a place of great and varied spiritual yearning which can continue to inspire us.

        This, then, is my answer to what a Jewish State should be: committed to the Jewish people but unquestionably democratic and respectful of all, committed to ethical behavior even as it seeks to insure its survival, and committed to more deeply meaningful Jewish life at all levels as it remains a secular institution. These reflect the wrestling with priorities that is an absolute foundation of our lives as Jews.

        Talk about wrestling … I began to write this sermon almost 31 years ago. As a 3^rd year Rabbinical student in November, 1979,  one month after arriving in Israel for the first time, I wrote a long letter to my father which I still have. It was one of the most heartfelt things I have ever written.

The upshot of the letter was: “What am I doing here? I cannot figure out what this place has to do with me. It’s militaristic. It’s arrogant. There’s no baseball. Why can’t I just come home and go back to work at Camp Ramah, my promised land?”

Well I stayed, thank God; and over the year, my thoughts began to change as I got to know Israel and Israelis better.  And with each successive visit – I now have been to Israel 13 times – I found more and more to connect with.

I found people that thought like I did or challenged me respectfully to re-consider my priorities. I encountered organizations that saw Judaism like I did. I found great places to daven and to study and, sure enough, I became more attached to a sense of history and to a sense of peoplehood that had not been a focus of my upbringing. I became more aware and respectful of the obligation which Israel fulfills.

I hope, for my children’s and grandchildren’s sakes and for Israel’s sake, that my voice and voices of all of us who love Israel, even from afar, will be heard to lead the country to further reflect what it truly means to be a Jew.

In that way, I believe it will always be a Jewish State in the truest sense of the word, and one which future generations of serious and committed Jews will not only find connection with but one which they will love and believe in deeply and see as a reflection of their commitment to the principles of our faith.

        We pray for a year of health and life for ourselves. We pray no less for Israel’s physical well being. And, as we pray for a year in which our lives will reflect the values of our faith, we pray for that for Israel as well.