I posted two postings on Facebook yesterday and today about how horrendous President Trump’s tweets of Sunday morning were. But, then this morning, he tweeted that the people whom he was speaking of “hate Israel”.

Here was my response today on Facebook:

While I am not by any means enamored with some of the comments made by the 4 members of congress whom Trump apparently has targeted, I am infuriated by his using; “They hate Israel” as a justification for his racist tweets. He is clearly trying to leverage the support of the American Jewish community and claiming it is out of concern for Israel that he makes statements like these.

A few months ago, I wrote a piece on my website entitled; “An Open Letter to President Trump” in which I said that I would certainly consider a candidate’s stand on Israel when I decide whom to support in 2020 but: “My vote will also be based on a candidate’s and party’s positions on health care, immigration policy, gun violence, tax policies, environmental concerns and civil rights for minorities of all types, to name a few. I will also consider whom I feel represents the United States best in the world community. These domestic issues are what motivate me as an American as I consider the future of my country.”

President Trump’s use of Israel in this way is, I believe, disingenuous as well as dangerous. As much as we are legitimately concerned about Israel’s future and our country’s policy in the Middle East, we can’t be swayed by statements like this to ignore how horrendous his racist rants and his alliances with the far right and White Nationalists are. In no way are those good for the Jews or good for America.

This past Shabbat, Shabbat Parashat Korach, I had the opportunity to deliver a d’var Torah at Beth Israel. The story, from the book of Numbers, focuses on the rebellion of Korach, Datan, Aviram, On and 250 others against the leadership of Moses and Aaron.

The story is fascinating in and of itself but there is one aspect of the story which continues to attract my attention. When Korach and his band approach Moses with their complaints, Moses says that the matter will be settled the next morning. The commentaries consider why Moses and God didn’t respond on the spot.

There are many answers that are given, some more fanciful than others. But, the answer that has always resonated most clearly with me is the idea that Moses wanted to give the rebels an opportunity to take back their words. He wanted to give them a chance to do teshuva, to repent.

If, in fact, that was the goal, it was partially successful. The man named On is never mentioned in the rest of the story and the rabbis imagine that either he himself decided to stay away or, as we read in a great aggada, his wife prevented him from joining the rebellion the next day by filling him with food and drink during the night so that he slept through the entire affair the next day.

I examined this story in more depth during my d’var Torah and related it to a sad chapter in American history which I had been reading about the past few weeks.

I love reading biographies of presidents and I have just finished the biography of Ulysses Grant by Ron Chernow. It’s a fascinating book about a very complex man who, by the end of his second term, had a reputation of concern and respect for all people, including blacks and Jews. He had brought more Jews into his administration than any previous president and had publicly stood up against Russia and Romania where Jews were being persecuted.

What was particularly surprising about his relations with the Jewish community is that in 1862, while he was in charge of the “department” of Tennessee, then General Grant had issued the most blatantly anti-Semitic order in American history: General Order no. 11 which called for the eviction of Jews from the entire area. Grant was furious about war profiteering and smuggling that had been taking place and, swayed by general anti-Semitic attitudes in the nation, issued the order that Jews “as a class” were required to leave immediately. The order was quickly revoked by President Lincoln and Grant rescinded his order shortly after. But, the fear that the order raised among Jews was not easily calmed and the chilling words resonated for many years.

You can read more about the order in Chernow’s book or in a great book called: “When General Grant Expelled the Jews” by Jonathan Sarna. There is so much more to say about this entire affair and it is fascinating to consider how Jewish leaders responded and, particularly how and why many Jews decided to support Grant in his bid for the presidency despite the order. Part of that decision might be attributable to Grant’s explanation of his act. Whether it was because of political expediency or spoken from the heart, Grant later said these words which resonate today: “It would never have been issued if it had not been telegraphed the moment it was penned and without any reflection.”

Think for a moment about those words.

And now, think about today.

If, in 1862, Grant was a victim of speaking without thinking twice, how much more is that a danger for us today?

In this era of instant communications, we constantly are telegraphing our thoughts without reflection in the perceived need to have our opinions or feelings “out there” before any others. And, it is more difficult than it was in Grant’s day to have any repentance we might feel accepted by our listeners or readers because those words, once written, are constantly brought up again and again thanks to the Internet. Nothing is forgotten. Nothing can be cancelled out. And, it also seems that no apology is enough even if it is backed up, as it was in Grant’s case, by action.

When Moses gave Korach time to “think it over”, it was an encouragement to realize that in his situation perhaps the words could be taken back. Somehow, in 1862, Grant’s statement of regret was enough.

Today, it is even easier to fall into the trap of speaking or writing without taking a moment or two to reflect. And it is certainly more difficult to take back our words when we do.

SPOILER ALERT: If you haven’t seen Toy Story 4 and intend to do so (and I would certainly recommend seeing it, please stop reading and come back after you have seen the film. I don’t want to spoil the ending for anyone.

We enjoyed Toy Story 4 tremendously. We’re big fans of the series of films and were really looking forward to seeing the fourth, and perhaps final, chapter in this remarkably creative story.

I thought the film dragged a bit in the middle but besides that, thought it was as imaginative and fun as the first three.

But, a few days after seeing it, the ending of the film continues to fascinate.

I know it will seem a bit ridiculous to some to put a lot of thought into a movie of this kind but as one of the young people whose reviews were included in a New York Times article said: “maybe the message (of the ending) …is important for older people.” For this older person , that 11 year old could not have said it better.

So, what happens at the end? In the end of the film, Woody, who was the favorite toy of Andy, the original Toy Story central human character, decides to leave the rest of the toys that now belong to Andy’s young friend, Bonnie, and become “a lost toy”, traveling with his girlfriend Bo Peep and some other toys. Woody had been the leader of this troop of toys and they depended upon him to lead the way. In Toy Story 4, Woody in fact initiates a new toy into the group and convinces him to relish in the fact that he is needed by his new little friend, Bonnie.

Woody’s decision to leave the group broke the hearts of many moviegoers, including I’m sure, most children. How could he break up the family? How could he follow his own heart rather than stay with the group?

While I had that same sense of sadness, there was a different emotion that took over when I saw this ending and yes, the ending made me cry.

Bo Peep urges Woody to recognize the fact that more than his friends needed him, he needed to be needed by them. But in a critical scene at the beginning of the movie, it was clear that Woody had been relegated to the closet and was not Bonnie’s favorite. His time had passed in many ways and Bo told him that it was time to be “for himself”.

I’m not suggesting at all that families should not stay together and that one should walk out on his or her family or group of friends. But, time does change relationships and at some point, it is important to realize that by defining ourselves by others’ expectations of our presence and our role could be selling ourselves short. At some point, we need to be ourselves and do “our thing” even if it means changing certain relationships. Again, I would never say this about family relationships where we should gladly push aside our own desires for the good of the family. But, to a greater or lesser extent, each of us must, in a small way, express our independence at some point and not leave all of our dreams behind. When Woody went away with Bo, my first reaction was “good for him”! Like every young adult who leaves home, Woody’s family was right behind him, recognizing it was time for him to take that step.

Finding the right balance between being there for others and living our dreams is a life long pursuit and at certain times in our lives, we need to consider what has happened to our pursuit of those dreams and what we can do to recapture them.

But, then a few days later, another thought came to mind. As I thought about Bo Peep beckoning and the family encouraging him to go by smiling and saying in essence: “We’ll be OK”, I realized that I recognized that scene as I had lived through it, in fact orchestrated it, many times.

Often, when a family gathers around a beloved family member who is near death, I, as most clergy will do, encourage the family members to “give permission” to their loved one to die. We tell them to loosen their grip on their loved one and allow the person to move to the next world. Especially if there is a belief in an existence for the soul after death, this will bring a small smile to the faces of the loved ones to imagine their beloved moving towards “infinity and beyond” holding the hand of one whom they had lost before.

With that image in mind, my perspective on the last scene changed completely and I think that, even though I didn’t realize it until a day or two later, that was where my tears came from.

As the credits rolled, they were interrupted by brief vignettes of life after this big transition. The final one showed Bonnie’s new favorite toy, Forky, meeting another toy like him with a look of love in his eyes. It was an unmistakeable statement that life for the family goes on and that the legacy Woody had left would inspire and guide those who came after him.

What a wonderful movie! And the ending led me to think about decisions I have made in my life and times of great emotion that I have had the privilege to experience with others.

Thank you to the writers of Toy Story 4. You really made us all think about real life and the transitions we all face.

                

         The Titanic hit an iceberg and sank on April 15, 1912. Five days later, Fenway Park, the oldest ballpark still in use in the major leagues opened its doors for the first time. 

         Fenway Park is a Boston institution. Like many other ballparks, it is an integral part of the atmosphere of the city. Located a couple of miles from the center of town, the Boston Common, Fenway is in bustling Kenmore Square, right near the campus of Boston University, several other colleges and many of Boston’s famed hospitals. Fenway’s beloved unique angles and features are evidence of the fact that the park was designed to fit into the geography of the streets which surround it. 

         A day at Fenway is not only about seeing a ball game. It is an experience of camaraderie and a celebration of a city and of New England. To see a game at the ballpark is to celebrate a heritage passed down from generation to generation of Bostonians and New Englanders.

         In 2012, Fenway Park celebrated its 100^thanniversary. The Red Sox offered an opportunity to fans to purchase a commemorative brick to be placed in the concourse within the stadium. My brother and I, the children of two loyal Red Sox fans, decided to purchase a plaque in memory of our parents. 

         We were sent a replica of the brick for display at home. The wording we chose celebrated our parents’ love of the Red Sox and the fact that my father, Manny Dobrusin, was always “being Manny”. That’s a reference to an ex-Red Sox player, Manny Ramirez, who was had so many idiosyncrasies that his acts were referred to as “Manny being Manny”. That phrase became popular only after our Dad died or we might have put it on his headstone as Manny Dobrusin was every bit as idiosyncratic in an endearing way. 

         So, last Wednesday, my cousin Dave and I met at Fenway Park to see a game together. It was the first time I had been at Fenway since 2011 and the first time Dave and I saw  a game there together since the 6^thgame of the 1975 World Series which was the most famous game ever played at Fenway Park.

         I had never seen the commemorative brick that we bought so I planned to look for it before the game. But, when the day came, I had forgotten all about it until just before game time when I suddenly remembered. 

         With the first pitch fast approaching, Dave and I hustled over to the Right Field concourse and found the section of the concourse where the brick had been placed. The only information we had was that it was in the “Dave Roberts” section, named for the Red Sox player whose stolen base in the 9^thinning of game 4 of the 2004 League Championship Series was the turning point in a tremendous comeback against the New York Yankees. Later that month, the Red Sox won their first World Series since 2004. 

         So, there we were, searching madly for a brick on the ground. People were walking all over the section of bricks and I had to ask several people to move so that I could look where they had been standing. The sun was bright and the engravings were a bit worn so it was not easy to read them. Time was passing and the first pitch was approaching. 

         Suddenly, I looked down and was stunned. 

         There, right underneath my feet was a brick that stopped me cold. It wasn’t our brick but it was one placed in honor of a man named A. Arthur Giddon who was chosen to be an honorary bat boy for the Red Sox on his 100^thbirthday. He had been a bat boy for the old Boston Braves in the 1920s and the Sox honored him by bringing him onto the field in tribute to his being a life long baseball fan. 

         It’s a beautiful story, written up in several newspapers including the New York Times. But what made it stunning was the fact that A. Arthur Giddon was my father’s first cousin. His mother and my maternal grandmother were sisters and while I never met his mother, my father’s Aunt Sadie, I had heard many stories about her including the fact that she used to walk, with her rabbi, to Braves Field on Saturday morning after services to watch the Braves play. It may be an apocryphal story but, as with all great family stories, it’s worth retelling.

         As I took pictures of the Giddon brick, I started to back up a bit to get a better view and then turned around and saw, right under my feet, our plaque. It was only a few bricks away, on the same line, in the same section. 

         Family is family. 

And members of a family have a unique bond which can transcend time and space.

         I’ve had reason over the past year to see many of my cousins, some for the first time in many years and the feeling of standing with them, talking with them, hugging them and laughing with them has been so refreshing since we have no close family in Ann Arbor. 

Even after many years, family is family.

A few years ago, my mother-in-law came to visit us in Ann Arbor for the first time since we adopted our dog, Sami. Sami loves everyone but the minute my mother-in-law walked in the house, Sami behaved like she had never done before, not only greeting her, but sitting beside her and looking right into her eyes.

Even our faithful pup knows that family is family.

         No one on the Red Sox staff knew that the Giddons and the Dobrusins were mishpacha but I have to thank them for placing the bricks right near each other and for giving me a moment to reflect once again on the magic of family.

   In memory, and even more so, in life, family is magical. 

I posted this on facebook this morning:

Packing to go away overnight and made sure to pack my toothbrush and toothpaste and other toiletries. It made me think again. I’m privileged to be able to buy these items to stay healthy. But, staying healthy under someone else’s care is a right not a privilege. How can this nation be so cruel and heartless to deny toothbrushes and soap and clean diapers to little children and babies under our supervision? This is despicable and has to stop.

I can not adequately convey the disgust that I feel when I read the accounts that are coming out of these “detention centers”. I don’t care what words are used to describe them or any comparisons, accurate or otherwise, which are made. I only care about the fact that this is an absolute abomination for the United States.

The immigration issue is not a simple one. Traveling to the border back in November, I saw a lot of different sides to the issue. But one part of the entire situation is quite simple: denying children- or adults for that matter- the bare necessities of cleanliness and personal care is horrendous and heartbreaking.

This has to stop.

The Torah portion which we read this coming Shabbat, Shelach Lecha, tells the story of the 12 scouts sent by Moses to scout out the land of Canaan and report back to the people on how beautiful it is.

The entire mission turns into a disaster as the scouts return with glowing reports of the beauty of the land but 10 of them make it clear that the land is inhospitable and could not possibly be conquered by the Hebrews. Upon hearing the report, the people side with the 10, against Joshua, Caleb, Moses, Aaron and God and express a strong desire to return to Egypt.

The sins of rejecting the land and expressing a lack of faith in God and in themselves results in God’s decision that this generation would not enter the land but would wander in the desert for 40 years.

The story is fascinating especially when read with the rabbinic commentaries. It becomes, for many commentators, a story about self-image and self-respect. It becomes a story about the leadership decisions of Moses and Aaron and the qualities of the land itself. Just how serious these commentaries are taken is reflected in the fact that it is one of the only stories from the Torah in which midrashei aggada, commentaries on a narrative in the Torah, are found in one place in the Talmud as the entire story is interpreted verse by verse in the middle of a discussion on another subject in the Talmudic Tractate of Sotah.

So, it’s a great story with many serious implications.

But, I want to look at the story a bit differently here. A few years ago, I gave a much more “playful” sermon on Parashat Shelach Lecha, taking a break from the more serious issues to talk about summer vacations. It occurred to me that we could learn five important lessons about vacations from the text and the commentaries of this parasha.

So, as we enter vacation season, here are the five lessons:

Lesson number 1: The story begins with the words Shelach Lecha. God says to Moses: Shelach Lecha, “You send scouts”. The word Lecha is superfluous. It is unnecessary in the Hebrew. The commentaries say that it implies that the sending of the scouts was for Moses’ benefit. Do this, says God, for your benefit.

That is the first point about vacations. You deserve them. Take time away for your benefit. Enjoy them and don’t feel guilty.

Second point: The Torah says that the scouts came up to the land as a group but then, curiously, it says, that “he” went to Hebron. While it is easy to conceive of the “he” in the singular as meaning “the group”, many of the rabbis say that the singular refers to Caleb, one of the 2 loyal scouts. The tradition is that he, Caleb, broke away from the group which he sensed was going to undermine the conquest of the land and went alone to Hebron to pray at the grave of the Patriarchs hoping that they would protect him.

It’s a great story and it can teach us that all of the planning of our trips shouldn’t prevent us from making spur of the moment decisions to break away from a planned itinerary to do something a bit “out of the box”. A few years ago, when our family took a trip to South Dakota, we were sitting in a restaurant before doing what we had planned for the afternoon when our waitress casually mentioned that it was only a 2 hour drive to Devil’s Tower in Wyoming. How could we resist? Every plan we might have had for that afternoon disappeared and off we went to see this fantastic place, so central to my favorite movie: Close Encounters of the Third Kind. It was one of the highlights of the trip.

Lesson 2: Don’t stick to the planned script. Break away from your plans and follow your instincts.

In the Torah story, the spies come back and say: “It is a land which devours its inhabitants.” According to the commentaries, the scouts say that every town that they went to was having a funeral when they got there. God was furious at this because, say the rabbis, God had meant this all for good and they had interpreted it as a negative. God had arranged to have a leading figure in each town they went to die just before their arrival so that they could scout surreptitiously while everyone else was at the funeral.

Regardless of what you think of that story, it can teach us a very basic lesson. If something happens to disrupt your trip (hopefully something less catastrophic of course), look at it as the possibility of an adventure rather than complain about it. This takes tremendous patience but being re-routed or getting lost may give you a great story to tell

I still remember a trip we took when we were kids. My father took a wrong turn off a highway and we ended up in a small town in upstate New York. As he was trying to find his way back to the highway, my father suddenly gasped and slammed on the brakes. He pointed to a sign on a building nearby which said: “Dobrusin real estate agency”. My father just was elated as it led to more attempts to unravel our family history when we able later on to contact this person and try to piece together the connection.

Lesson #3: Don’t begrudge the minor (or more major) interruptions to your trip. Sometimes, great things can come from them.

Next, when the scouts return, they bring back a huge bunch of grapes (you’ve seen that image most likely on Carmel wine bottles or the Israel Tourist Bureau).

So lesson #4: Bring back souvenirs!

In addition to whatever we bought in overpriced gift shops, I always managed to bring back simpler souvenirs: newspapers, menus, maps etc. They are great reminders of where you were and can bring back the spirit of a trip. Now, as we are going through some initial steps at downsizing (giving away or throwing away clutter), it is those souvenirs which I am finding it hardest to part with because they remind me of great days of traveling together as a family.

Finally, in the Haftarah reading for this week, Joshua sends scouts to Jericho and the entire mission has an air of secrecy about it. He learned his lesson from the disastrous mission of the 12 scouts. Moses apparently charges the scouts in public with their mission and they report back to the people in public. This was a horrible mistake as mob psychology took over.

So, learn from this that you should resist any temptation to gather everyone you’ve ever known to tell them about your great trip at great length. In all likelihood, that will be a disaster. Just smile and say; “It was great, you should go there and see for yourself”. That will prevent any mass rebellions among friends and family.

This is a great parasha with so many critical things to consider.

But, on this beautiful Michigan summer morning, it’s worth thinking about one of the simple pleasures of life: the summer vacation and realizing that the Torah can teach us about that too.

Nesiah Tovah! Happy journeys!

There are many issues that are on my mind these days. From the terribly restrictive abortion laws being passed in so many states to the increasing threat of anti-Semitism in Germany and throughout Europe to the overwhelming concerns of climate change, there is so much to think about and so much to speak out about.

And I have done and will continue to do that.

But, this morning, there is something else on my mind.

It has to do with a school building that I have seen literally thousands of times but never entered.

The school is called the Edward Devotion school and it is located on Harvard Street in Brookline, Massachusetts. The reason that I have seen it thousands of times is that it is located directly across the street from the synagogue I grew up in and the Hebrew School I attended five days a week during elementary school and beyond.

Now, it turns out that the person for whom the school was named, Edward Devotion, owned a slave in the 18th century and a decision has been made to change the name of the school.

Changing the names of schools or other facilities because of the history of the person for whom it is named is a rather controversial issue. But, in this particular case and for the purpose of this piece, I will push aside that aspect of the discussion and focus instead on the other question facing Brookline’s decision makers. Assuming the name is changed, what will it be changed to?

There have been several suggestions made for a new name for the Devotion School and among those, there is one that is fascinating to me and, while I don’t live in Brookline and there have no real say in the matter, I would vote for the school to be named after this individual.

Her name was Ethel Weiss.

Who is Ethel Weiss, you ask? I have written about her on several occasions and dedicated a few paragraphs of my book to tell her story. But, it deserves some elaboration.

Ethel Weiss died a few years ago at age 101. Back in the 40s, she and her husband opened a small candy and toy story across the side street from the Devotion School. The store, Irving’s, was a focal point of the community, especially for the kids from Devotion School and Kehillath Israel Hebrew School until it closed after Ethel’s death. Irving’s was such a constant part of our lives.

The store was small, just a proverbial hole in the wall kind of establishment selling penny candy, soda, snack items, greeting cards and simple toys. But, Ethel’s love of her customers, particularly the children, was so remarkable that anyone who frequented Irving’s will never forget it.

Ethel showed patience and care for each customer. She reinforced the students’ math skills while helping them make change. She knew so many by name and encouraged them when they had had bad days. She loved her work and loved her store and all that it represented in the community.

And, she had a phenomenal memory.

When I stopped by Irving’s with a group of friends as we toured Brookline on a break from our rabbinical convention during the 90’s, she recognized me and stunned me and my friends by calling me by my last name. It had been over 25 years since I had made my daily visit to Irving’s to buy a snack before Hebrew School but she knew my family from the synagogue and connected me with them with ease.

Several years later, I brought my own kids into Irving’s to buy something and to stand with them in this place that had meant so much to me.

What makes a place special?

A place is special when it is a place where you feel honored, respected and cared for. A place is special when it finds a spot in your memory that can’t be swept away.

Irving’s was that kind of place for me and Ethel was what Irving’s was all about.

So you wouldn’t think that this is only this writer reminiscing about his lost youth, take a look at this video. Ethel was featured a few years back on a national news program: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JnzF2Rjtje8

In the long run, naming a school after a woman who ran a candy store may not make the most sense. But, naming a school after a woman who personified love, respect for kids and an amazing energy and dedication to those who counted on her may in fact make perfect sense.

I assume the school will not be named for Ethel Weiss.

But, I hope the powers that be in the town of Brookline will find a significant place to name after her. But, one way or the other, she will hold a place in the hearts of thousands of grown up kids.

May her memory be for a blessing.

         THOUGHTS ON PARASHAT BEHAR

          

         This week’s Torah portion is entitled Behar, meaning “on the mountain”. The parasha gets its name from the first phrase which indicates that the laws mentioned were given on Mt. Sinai. The laws deal with diverse issues, most of them agriculturally based. 

         Whenever the reading of Behar rolls around, I find it difficult to get past that first phrase because of my love of mountains and all the memories that mountains bring.

         One of my favorite sermons, and one which I included in my recent book, was dedicated to the memory of the “Old Man of the Mountain”, the symbol of the state of New Hampshire, a rock formation in the face of an old man. The collapse of the rock formation was a shocking and sad event for so many in New England and it brought to mind many thoughts concerning loss and mourning.          

         But, all of the other connections I have with mountains are happy ones, many of them quite spiritually moving. 

         I have recently been organizing and cataloguing many of my sermons and writings in preparation for having them archived in a library in Ann Arbor. This has been quite an interesting experience as I have been able to see how my thoughts on many subjects have changed over the years. But, one concept in my writing which has not changed is a focus on the inspiration I find in the natural world: the meteor showers, rainbows, sunsets and, of course, mountains. Ever since my days in rabbinical school, I have found that connecting Torah to natural phenomena has been a passion.

         One of the pieces that I “re-discovered” after many years was an article I wrote for a short-lived student publication at JTS which was entitled “Ikka D’amrei”, an Aramaic Talmudic term meaning; “There are Those Who Say…” During my senior year, I was asked to submit a piece based upon my work at Camp Ramah in New England and I focused on mountains, including those I had visited during my school year in Israel in 1979-1980.

         Here is the beginning to that article from 1982: 

         
         Among all the natural wonders of the world, the mountain has always held a special place in the Jewish tradition. So many of the great events in our people’s history have taken place on or near mountains. Mt. Sinai, Grizim and Ebal, he Temple Mount- all of these were places where man (sic) elevated himself while God reached down to provide man with inspiring, spiritual experiences. The mountain has thus been a symbol of man reaching for the heavens and all they symbolize. 

         I have had the privilege of visiting each of the mountains which I mentioned above and sharing in some way in the inspiration they provide. Mount Sinai (or at least Jebl Musa) was an unforgettable sight, framed by the stars of the Big Dipper at 3 a.m. The fog rolling into the valley between Grizim and Ebal lent an eerie quality to the Samaritan Pesach sacrifice. The view of the Temple Mount from the Mount of Olives speaks for itself.  

         But, this article is about another mountain; not as tall as Jebel Musa, not the site of a religious ceremony like Grizim, not as remarkably beautiful as the Temple Mount. Yet for me the site of this mountain is every bit as inspiring as the others. The mountain is called Mt. Holyoke and is located in South Hadley, Massachusetts. 

         I’ve climbed Mt. Holyoke twice- each time with over 100 eleven and twelve year-old campers from Camp Ramah in New England. Both times we sat and stared at the placid Connecticut River, said the bracha “oseh ma’aseh bereshit” (Blessed be God who does the acts of creation), sang “esah aynay el heharim” (I will lift up my eyes to the mountains; quietly said birkat hamazon after our picnic and then sat for thirty seconds in total silence. 

         If you’ve never heard the silence of eleven year-olds, you’ve missed a great spiritual experience. I have a picture taken on that day- a photograph of a camper wearing a kippah staring silently into the expanse. To me, that picture symbolizes the potential of Judaism to shape our children’s spiritual lives…

         I went on in that article to write about the meaning that Camp Ramah had for me, a connection I was able to continue for several years after I became a rabbi. I believe I would not have finished rabbinical school had it not been for the meaningful experiences I had at Ramah and I will be forever grateful for those years. 

         But, for the purpose of this piece, I want to move away from Ramah for a moment and just think about the meaning that mountains can bring to our lives.

         As I wrote, so many of the spiritual experiences of our people happened on or near mountains and this concept that the mountain is a connecting point between our earthly lives and something on a higher plane is one that continues to move me.

         I miss the mountains. I do love Ann Arbor and Michigan has its beautiful spots but traveling to any place with mountains is almost a must for me whenever I have the opportunity. There is no experience that matches the meaningful journey up to the top of a mountain and I am glad that I have been able to take such trips often with my family. Ellen and I climbed Mt. Willard on a trip to New Hampshire and we took the tram up Sandia Peak in New Mexico while on our honeymoon. We have stood with our kids on the top of Mt. Mansfield in Vermont, the mountain high above Jackson Hole, Wyoming and in Israel, Avi and I climbed Masada together. We all stood far below Denali in Alaska hoping for a break in the clouds and had a great trip up Haleakala in Hawaii before fog forced us back down. 

         These not only bring back great travel memories. They also were symbolic opportunities to reach for something a bit higher, to stand in silence looking out on the valley below and quietly saying a bracha which reminds us of the glory of God’s creation. These trips and all of the thoughts of mountains remind us of our obligation to rise above the valleys we find ourselves in at times to reach for something higher and greater. 

         So, this week as we read Behar, take a moment to focus on that first line and then go find a mountain to climb, drive or ride up. 

         The experience has never changed for me after all these years. I’m sure that many others feel the same. If you’d like, I invite you to share your own “mountain memories” by replying to this post. I’d love to hear your stories.

       

Thank you for the invitation to speak at this wonderful event. Mazal Tov to the graduates and to all who are part of the JCLP program.

         Mazal Tov to spouses and partners, parents, grandparents, siblings, good friends. 

         I want to begin by thanking all of you for not saying what my father used to say, in jest. But, he said it nonetheless. He used to say about my decision to become a rabbi: “What kind of job is that for a Jewish boy?” He was kidding but there are many who say it seriously when they hear that a daughter or son, husband or wife, partner or friend plans to serve in the Jewish community in whatever capacity. Thank you for not saying it (or thank you, graduates, for not listening if they did say it.) Seriously, thank you for encouraging in whatever way you did the graduates to see the meaning in sharing their talents within our community. And, thank you to the graduates for investing your time, efforts and expertise in the future of the American Jewish community. Speaking as part of the generation which is starting to step aside in deference to a new generation of leaders, we are counting on you to shape our future. 

         I have never delivered a commencement address before but I’ve heard my share of them. Most of them were very nice but somewhat unremarkable in the long run. However, one was absolutely unforgettable for me because of one sentence which has echoed in my mind since I heard it at a graduation several years ago. 

I won’t tell you who said it as perhaps he regrets it, perhaps not, but trust me it was a well known individual. At a university graduation which I had quite a personal stake in, the commencement speaker urged the graduates to be the generation which took a different path than its predecessors.

         In and of itself, as you’ll hear from me later, that’s not bad, of course. But it was the focus of the divergence that he proposed that was stunning. 

He said: “It’s shocking how many Americans swallow that old story. Maybe you’ll be the generation that moves past the ancient fiction.”

         The fiction he was referring to was belief in God.  

         We happened to be sitting near those receiving graduate degrees in theology. There were a couple of gasps and one graduate actually fell off his chair.  

         I was astounded and furious. 

         Now, let me be clear. I have no interest in turning this into a speech urging faith in the divine. Faith is an intensely personal issue and as we all know belief in God doesn’t necessarily correlate with a life of ethics and certainly should never affect one’s status in the Jewish community. But, while it really doesn’t concern me whether one does or doesn’t believe in God. I do care deeply that the lessons that belief and our other ancient foundational principles have taught us survive for untold numbers of generations to come. 

         So today, I want to talk about foundational principles that I hope you will continue to perpetuate and those that I hope you will in fact move past in the work you do.  

         So, let me offer three foundational principles that I hope you never abandon. 

We have chosen to believe as Jews that human beings are inherently equal as we have each been created with the spark of something greater. 

         So, graduates. endeavor to treat every individual you come into contact within your work as your equal. Learn from them as you teach them. Let them inspire you as you seek to inspire them. Stand with them, not above them. Recognize in each of them the spark of humanity and the spark of holiness and, if you will, the divine spark.

         And, that leads to a second principle. From the Torah’s description of Moses’ relationship with God and the rabbinic tradition of Aaron as peacemaker between individuals, we have chosen to believe as Jews that panim el panim, face to face, is the best way to interact with others. Stand up for that principle. I’m not going to ask you to lead a revolution against technology because it can be such a great help in reaching people and in uniting people. But, it can’t be the whole story. Take the time to look people in the eye face to face and recognize that a handshake or, in the proper circumstances of course, a hug, can do much more than a text message ever could. 

         Finally, and most importantly, we live in an era in which the increase of forces of hatred and division have torn our hearts and put Jews in danger and have endangered the lives of so many of our brothers and sisters of so many different communities whom we must stand with and stand up for. Given this reality, it is even more critical that we remember always that we have chosen to believe as Jews that the redemption of our world is in our hands and that it can and will happen. 

“If you will it, it is not a dream” could be said about every aspect of our world. No matter how bad things seem, and we have every reason to be apprehensive and fearful, never give up on this world. Never stop being an idealist, rooted in pragmatism and reality, yes, but believing in the greatest dreams that you or anyone could imagine. 

         These basic foundational principles, of equality, of humanness, of faith and hope in the future are in fact what I believe our tradition meant when it talked about belief in God. But, with or without the theological element, they are what should motivate every individual who works within the Jewish community or who takes the principles learned in a Jewish environment into the world at large. 

         Never give up on them. 

         But, as much as it is your role to embrace foundational principles of mythic proportions, it is your role as well to be descendants of Abraham who break the idols of the past. 

         One of my favorite sermons that I ever delivered was about recognizing that our parents were wrong about some things and to accept that. If that weren’t the case, if we didn’t admit the wrong in what we have been taught, there would be no progress in the world.

         So, let me tell you about some of the idols I hope you break, whether you choose to use a sledgehammer or a chisel, knowing full well that my generation has been responsible for spreading some of these givens and hoping you will not be reticent to change them. 

Some of these are already on the way to being broken but each generation of leaders needs to commit itself to pushing the boundaries further and opening our community beyond the ideas of the past.

         Break the myth that still exists out there that no Jews face mental health issues, that no Jews are financially unstable, that no Jews are in prison, that abuse couldn’t exist in a Jewish home. 

         Very few actually believe this fallacy but too many of us act like we do, closing our eyes to the problems that exist within the Jewish community. You know they are there. And, they must be addressed. Take pride in the work you do with people who are in need and make sure that the leaders you work with confront the issues that face our people, acknowledging them when considering budgetary priorities and acknowledging them with the very language that they use each day.

         Secondly, break the fiction that we need to have firm red lines, firm uncrossable boundaries whether political or otherwise in order to keep our values strong. 

         We have, as an American Jewish community, been too eager at times to close people out who express opinions we don’t want to hear or who from whatever perspective we feel should be outside the fold. 

         You need to break this fiction. Yes, there are ideas which are counterproductive to our future but we have drawn our red lines much too firmly and not wisely enough. We can address difficult questions and differences of opinion without exclusion. Break the fiction that we need to build firm unbreachable walls around us.

         And, finally, break the fiction that says about our Jewish community and of Judaism itself that, in the words of one my favorite songwriters, Jim Steinman (and I’ll give extra credit to anyone who knows which song this comes from): “It was long ago and it was far away and it was so much better than it is today”. 

         Too many people look at the Jewish community and lament the lack of this or the lack of that, whether learning, dedication, seriousness, whatever. 

         This fiction certainly needs to be broken. 

         There are so many positive signs that people are finding meaning in Judaism, in Jewish values, in belonging. They are seeing new opportunities and new reasons to embrace rituals, study, social action in a Jewish context. Don’t let anyone tell you our best days are behind us. The days ahead might be vastly different but they can be every bit as great or greater. 

         You have too much to do than to listen to long speeches so I’ll end by saying help us to widen and strengthen our tents. 

Thanks for listening and thank you for all that you have done and will do. Hizku v’Imtsu, be strong and courageous and do good work every day. 

                  

Just before the end of the Maggid, the storytelling section of the Seder, we read a famous statement of Rabban Gamliel which has its source in the Mishna. 

         Rabban Gamliel hayah omer: Rabban Gamliel used to say that anyone who does not mention these three things on Pesach has not fulfilled the obligation. Which are these? Pesach (the symbol of the Pesach sacrifice), Matzaand Maror(Bitter Herbs). 

         I have always wondered why Rabban Gamliel would have been so insistent on saying it so often (the language: hayah omer, rather than the simple past tense amars eems to imply that he said it quite often). How could he think that we would have reached that point in the Seder and not have thought to refer to these three basic Pesach symbols? 

         I believe that the statement fulfills a very important function, especially in our world today. 

         When we sit down at the Seder, we are asked to remember a story which, despite our attempts to personalize the experience of slavery and redemption, is still ancient history. We only need to go as far as the front page of today’s newspaper or the lead story on a news website to know that the issues of hatred and suspicion, persecution, slavery, welcoming strangers or failing to do so, seeking hope among the darkness of oppression and so many of the other themes of the holiday are still at issue today. 

         It is impossible to consider sitting at the Seder table in 2019 without confronting some of these issues. How we can gather without reading our issues into the rituals of the Seder and, in fact, without adding our own rituals to reflect today’s vital questions? 

         And, we should do this. If we didn’t, we would be missing a great opportunity to have the wisdom of the past shed light on our lives today. 

         So, I am all in favor of talking about contemporary issues at the Seder. 

         But, I want to offer a caveat. 

         While we can and do discuss the burning of issues today each and every day, how often do we have the opportunity to talk about the Exodus itself and its role in our history and theology? Our rabbis tell us we should remember the Exodus from Egypt every day and every night. But, how many of us really do that? 

         My point here is that we should be very careful not to focus our Seders only on today’s issues. We should discuss them and commit ourselves to the values of our tradition which teach us to care for the stranger, to fight oppression wherever it is found and to never lose hope in a better world. 

         But, if these Seder evenings are our best opportunity each year to celebrate tradition, find meaning in ancient texts and rituals and truly appreciate the taste of the matza and maror, we must make the most of the opportunity. 

         Like everything else in life, the Seder takes balance. If you are leading a Seder, be stubborn in bringing the discussion back to Egypt as often as you can. If you are participating, try to find a way to appreciate the traditions for what they tell us about our eternal past. 

         Rabban Gamliel shared his teaching about the Seder often (“he used to say”). I wonder if he said it not only year after year but more than once during the course of each Seder evening when participants were focusing too deeply on the issues of the day. So, perhaps we should say a few times at each of our Seders, reminding ourselves the essential reason we are together on that special night: to remember the foundational story in the history of our people.