Author: Rob Dobrusin

A Journey to the Border. Sermon for Parashat Vayishlach 2018

by Rob Dobrusin

I have always found one specific aspect of the story of Jacob’s wrestling match with the angel to be particularly fascinating. The Torah records that “Vayavayk esh eemo”, a man wrestled with him. It is not Jacob who initiates the wrestling match. It is forced upon him. He doesn’t seek it out as troubled as he might have been. The fight comes to him.

I had not anticipated traveling to Texas last week. While I have expressed great concern about many of the administration’s policies and perspectives and shared my disdain for the language and the rhetoric that we have heard, I hadn’t anticipated traveling 1,700 miles to stand in a desolate field next to the Mexican border protesting one specific administration policy. But, having heard the story of the camp in Tornillo, and considering that we were nearing Thanksgiving, the holiday which is supposed to reflect the highest of our values as an American people, I felt deeply that in many ways that, as a nation, our ideals, and our values are being threatened and I had to accept the challenge to join this struggle in a more active way.

Before I describe the experience and share my thoughts, I want to share two disclaimers. First, there were many, many more, including Rabbi Josh Whinston from TBE who did all the hard work to make this happen and who made the long drive from Ann Arbor doing the important work of raising awareness along the way. I sacrificed very little to make this trip but I was proud to join the group and to represent Beth Israel Congregation in this critical journey.

And secondly, I do not want my  remarks this morning to be considered a general presentation on the issue of immigration and asylum. These are very difficult issues and I do believe our nation needs a reasonable, responsible policy in these areas. This morning, I am referring only to some specific aspects of these issues in which I feel we are on the wrong track and the policies which are wrong and must be changed.

So, what happened and what did I learn?

There were three major elements to the one day “action”. The first was a visit to the Mexican border at El Paso/Juarez. We were greeted at the border by several clergy who were working with immigrants and those seeking asylum and heard from a member of El Paso city government, Peter Svarzbein. He is the grandson of Holocaust survivors and he talked to us about how closely intertwined the two communities- El Paso, Texas and Juarez, Mexico- are and how the rhetoric that attempts to encourage fear among US citizens concerning immigrants and asylum seekers is damaging this long standing relationship that both communities depend upon. He said that he was proud of us for standing up for a more fair and more ethical policy at the border and then, while we stood under the entrance to the Paso Del Norte Bridge which connects the two cities over the very narrow Rio Grande, he led us in a familiar song he learned from camp,“Kol Haolam Kulo Gesher Tzar M’od”. The words of this song: “The entire world is a narrow bridge and the important thing is not to be afraid” sounded so ironic. Singing that song while standing in the shadow of the bridge connecting the two cities and countries was jarring.

We then proceeded to walk across the bridge into Mexico. We did so because our guides in Texas wanted us to see the migrant asylum seekers who camp out on the bridge because, due to pre-screening,  are not able to get close enough to the US border to declare their intentions to seek asylum to escape the danger they face.

It came as a surprise to everyone, including the individuals leading us on this part of the journey that there were in fact, no asylum seekers on the bridge. Some said that perhaps they had been sent to shelters because of the cold (temperatures in the 30s). Others though speculated that the advance publicity of our journey with the accompanying press might have led to the removal of individuals. We will never know. But, I consider the latter to be more likely.

What we do know is that this nation is severely restricting the granting of asylum to individuals fleeing threats of death in their home countries. I do not believe in an open border nor do I believe that the US should accept every individual for asylum without investigating their situation but the entire tone of this administration to be so increasingly restrictive as to allow so few to be granted asylum goes against the concept of asylum and the principles and values of this nation. It is inhumane and completely insensitive to the realities so many people face.

After we crossed the border back into the USA, I asked one of our guides, Diego, what the one thing he would like me to tell people when I returned. He said: “We’re used to the fence, we’re used to the guards. But, we’re not used to the soldiers and we’re not used to the increasingly confrontational and horrendously disrespectful language used at the border even to US citizens.” Diego, a US citizen, born in El Paso said that on several occasions, he has been stopped in his hometown at traffic stops and asked to show his identification. He said, pointedly, that I would never be stopped.

We then moved on to the principle purpose of our journey; to stand witness outside the gates of the tents set up to house teenagers at Tornillo 45 miles away. Many of those children were brought to Tornillo in the dark of night from other shelters which had become overcrowded. While we were there, several busses with their windows covered drove through the gates so they continue to come. Many of these young people have contact information for their family members in the US but, in most cases, the connection has not been made and restrictions are placed on such contact. And, for some who can make contact, family members are fearful to reunite with their children because of a change in policy which, as they seek this connection, may leave them open to having their status in the US threatened So, as a result, even though the “family separation policy” is said to have stopped, it is de facto still happening and more than 1,000 children sit indefinitely in this tent city. There is supposed to be a limit on how long they should be separated but because the tents are on federal land there is a loophole that permits longer, indefinite stays.

So, we were there to demand that these children be reunited with family. They are not criminals. They do not deserve this type of incarceration and separation. Some were old enough to have traveled to the US alone, some who came with families and were separated from them. Now, they are in a tent city and we know very little about what is truly happening inside. There are some very unsettling reports about what is in fact happening in these camps but entrance and observation is restricted so it does remain a mystery.

The scene for us at Tornillo was truly both heartbreaking and uplifting. There were about 75 people as part of the group led by the rabbis and other clergy from Michigan and cities along the way of the caravan. We were joined by others, including clergy from the area and, most impressively by a large group of high school students from a Catholic school in El Paso. They walked in behind a banner holding the most beautifully worded signs calling for more respect for immigrants and for the unification of families.

The gathering lasted about an hour and the scenes will remain in my memory for a long, long time and you can watch them online. We heard emotional speeches by people who have been to Tornillo every day for months to stand witness and inspiring messages by the clergy. The group consisting of many faiths and all ages sang songs in Hebrew and English and most, including notably these high school students, wiped away tears as we contemplated what was happening in our name.

The group asked to enter the camp but, as expected, this request was denied. But, we were there. And those in charge knew we were there.

It is not easy to get to Tornillo. Look online and see it what it looks like. It is a desert, which of course evokes memories of our own history. It is no coincidence that this is where the children are housed- far away where few see even the structures which contain them. But, we made the trip there to tell them, even if they could not see, that they were not forgotten.

We then returned to El Paso and spent hours in service projects directly aiding those who were in shelters awaiting resolution of their situation. I was part of a group which shopped for and served a dinner to more than 100 people of all ages who looked so tired, so desperate and yet, as you might anticipate, so grateful that someone cared.

I recognize that immigration is a very difficult issue.

But, some things must change.

The belligerent, hate mongering, divisive and racist tone, the militarization of the border and the use of the issue for political advantage can not be the American way.

And, for God’s sake- and our own-, there are the children, left alone in tents. How can we stand idly by and not respond?

And so we did, but we must do more. We must raise our voices as I did in the meeting of the Interfaith Round Table this past week. We must address this issue, as we will do, with our elected officials in meetings beginning this week.

This is not America. The lighted lamp that shines beside the golden door that our ancestors entered, can not be allowed to be extinguished.

We can be wise without being cruel.

We can be protective of our nation while still living up to our better angels.

And, we can never punish or abuse children in this way.

It is interesting that Jacob’s son, Joseph, also had an experience with a stranger which we will read in next week’s Torah portion. The Torah says that a stranger found him and told him that in order to find his brothers he must walk a different path. It is interesting that just like with Jacob when the stranger wrestled with him, this stranger found Joseph and told him a new path was needed.

We didn’t see these children. But, we felt their presence.

In a sense, they found us to tell us that we need to follow a different path as a nation.

We must listen.

 

Note: The organization that the group partnered with in El Paso is Annuniation House. You can read about their work and how to make donations to support this work at/annunciationhouse.org

 

In Solidarity

by Rob Dobrusin

Remarks Delivered at Beth Israel Congregation  Shabbat morning, November 3, 2018

 

Shabbat Shalom and B’ruchim Hab’aim.Welcome! It is truly a blessing to see so many from the community here this morning at Beth Israel.

In the Jewish tradition, mourning is a process, a journey. In the wake of last week’s attack in Pittsburgh, I want to share some thoughts on where I believe this journey of mourning the unspeakably tragic murder of 11 of our brothers and sisters should lead us.

Our rabbis taught that the Jewish people can be compared to a lamb. A lamb is so tender, so delicate, that if it slightly injures even one part of its body, its entire body quivers with pain. Kol Yisrael Arevim Zeh Ba Zeh, All of our people are intertwined one with the other and we feel the pain of one as the pain of all. It is that value, that principle, which motivates us to care for Jews anywhere our people are in danger. It is why we felt and continue to feel the attack on Tree of Life Synagogue as an attack on all of us. Deep in our kishkes, deep in our hearts and deep in our souls, we feel the pain, the mourning, the agony.

But, what is taught about Jews is not unique to our people. It is one of the values this great nation claims to be built on. It is what it should mean to be an American, this one nation “indivisible with liberty and justice for all”. Each of us is an integral part of the fabric of this nation and the pain of one individual or one community should bring pain to all of us.

Many in our American Jewish community have expressed deep concern about how this horrible attack affects the future for Jews in America, this country which has been so good to us for so long. We see a nation that looks different to us, as Jews, than it did last week or last year or two years ago and different than the nation most of us have known throughout our adult lives.

That is absolutely true. It is different.

However, it is important that we realize the truth that it is not just different for us; it is different for everyone. We don’t recognize this country in so many ways. The United States today is a nation infected by blatant and open hatred, baseless suspicion, extreme nationalism and relentless gun violence and this atmosphere affects every person who has ever been thought of as the “other” and therefore it affects each and every person who lives in this nation.

My friends, I will say it simply. As a Jew, I am not going to give up on this country or our place in it. I believe that we absolutely have a strong, secure future in America. But, that assumes that as we respond with tears, with anger, with resolve, we do it not just for our people and our community but also with concern for the future of everyone in this nation. And that means that while we obviously should react to this horrendous crime as Jews, we must react just as passionately as Americans, for this was not only a Jewish tragedy, it, like so many other horrendous attacks was an American tragedy.

We must commit ourselves to standing with every threatened community just as we have welcomed their standing with us and certainly the experience of the past week has been so comforting and heartening. We must commit ourselves to feeling the pain of others, as we feel the pain of our own.  We must work for not only our own security but for the security, equality and dignity of all. We must stand up against the rhetoric, whether openly hostile or more subtly code-worded language. We must take a public and vocal stand against actions, in place or proposed, that vilify or ostracize or demonize people, whether because of religion, race, gender identification, sexual orientation, or ethnic origin.

We mourn for the victims as Jews. It was a terrible tragedy for our people. But, it was more than that. We must move forward from this point joining hands with all who have been victims or may be victims in the future.  They are us.

And, now we know, if we didn’t before last Shabbat, we are them.

Finally, let me add one last point. Solidarity Shabbat is a fantastic idea and I am glad so many are here to show solidarity with our people.

But, we must not only show solidarity with a people, we must also show solidarity with the covenant that is our gift to the world, the millennia-old obligations which link our people to greater heights and welcome in our better angels.

Love your neighbor as yourself.

Remember that you were once slaves.

Care for the stranger and the orphan.

Care for the children.

Seek peace and pursue it.

What is hateful to you do not do to your neighbor.

Recognize the image of God in every person.

Care for our earth.

Do justice, love mercy and walk humbly with God.

This is where our solidarity must be expressed. Solidarity with those obligations and so many other principles is the challenge we must accept and reflect in our daily lives. We must join hands with others in this nation and in this world, who, even if they use different language, share the same basic hope in a better future.

May God grant strength and safety to our people and grant peace to our people and all who live here in the United States.

May the memory of the victims of the attack in Pittsburgh and all of those who have been victims of hatred anywhere in the country serve as a constant inspiration and a perpetual reminder that we have so much work to do. Let us do the work with passion, perseverance and strength.

 

Hearing Torah

by Rob Dobrusin

 

Having retired from the full time pulpit rabbinate a few months ago, I am once again becoming accustomed to something I haven’t done for about 40 years: going to shul on Shabbat morning with no professional responsibilities.

The most significant challenge for me has been to train myself to sit in my seat as opposed to wandering around the sanctuary and going up to the bima to make announcements or give sermons or explanations. I think I am doing fairly well with that aspect. I do occasionally get up to go greet a friend I haven’t seen for a while but that is something all of us should do at appropriate times. Honestly, I’ve enjoyed sitting in my seat even more than I thought I would.

There is, however, one additional aspect of life “in the pews” that I am thoroughly enjoying and finding tremendously meaningful.

I especially love the weekly reading of the Torah.

I have always loved the reading of the Torah but I am loving it in a different way now and it is a way I actually spoke about on Yom Kippur evening several years ago.

My sermon that evening was about the importance of listening. I spoke at length about how critical it is that we listen rather than only talk, concentrate on what others are saying rather than consider our own response and truly listen with all of our concentration and attention.

These are critical issues for our lives today and certainly worthy of discussion from the pulpit.

But, as I do with any sermon, I came to the topic of listening from perspective of Jewish tradition.

My starting point in the sermon was this question: What is the purpose of the Torah service on Shabbat morning?

The easiest answer, of course, is that we read the Torah on Shabbat morning in order to learn Torah.

But, as is often the case, the easiest answer is not really correct.

The reading of the Torah on Shabbat morning is not primarily intended to give us an opportunity to learn Torah.

I say this for two reasons. First, we are supposed to be studying Torah every day. While the commentaries in the Hummash are meaningful and thought provoking and rabbis love to see congregants discussing a commentary during the reading, there are six other days a week to study this way. Certainly it is better to study during Shabbat morning services than not to study at all but it still is not the ideal time.

And that is because this is not how Jews teach or learn Torah. We don’t teach by standing up in front of a group of people reading the words from a scroll or a book. We learn by engaging, discussing, challenging, responding.

This “frontal”, one directional ritual couldn’t be seen as an example of Torah education.

So, if the Torah service is not intended to be a time for study, what is it intended to be?

The public reading of the Torah on Shabbat morning is intended to be a re-creation of the giving of the Torah at Mt. Sinai. It is a public ritual in which we commit ourselves to the words which our ancestors committed themselves to at the foot of the mountain. As they listened to the words of the Torah, without responding with their own interpretation, without asking for clarification and without argument, so, ideally should it be for us.

Without any intention to encourage a “fundamentalist” reading of Torah or denigration of centuries of inspirational and necessary rabbinic interpretation, the ideal behavior during the reading of the Torah is to sit quietly and listen to the words of Torah.

I know that to do so is antithetical to so much of who we are as contemporary Jews but, presuming we have taken the time to study Torah properly at another time during the week, the emphasis of the Torah service should be to listen, to hear, the words of Torah.

So, after 36 wonderful years of standing on the bima and acting as gabbai,carefully following each word in the hummash, I can now have the experience of sitting during the Torah reading with the book (and sometimes, my eyes) closed and hear Torah. I have the experience of hearing the beautiful, poetic, inspiring, challenging words of Torah, saving my own interpretations and those of our honored teachers for another time.

As I have written many times, those years on the bima were so meaningful and I look forward to future opportunities to lead services in various settings.

But, I also look forward to each Shabbat morning sitting in my seat and hearingTorah.

It is a marvelous and inspiring experience and one which I encourage everyone to try.

 

 

 

A Knock on the Glass

by Rob Dobrusin

This has certainly been a different type of High Holy Day season for me. I always enjoyed being on the bima on Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur but “to everything there is a season”s and I know that the time had come for me to make some changes. So, having retired from the position of rabbi at Beth Israel in June, I spent Rosh Hashana as a congregant rather than on the bima.

It really was not too difficult to make the change. I had to restrain myself a couple of times from calling out page numbers and I actually think I nodded off for a moment at one point- something which never happened to me while leading services. But, all in all, it was a very meaningful and inspirational experience. Most importantly, it felt right.

I had resisted using the word “retirement” for months. But, after speaking with so many people who had gone through this transition, I realized that “retirement” doesn’t mean sitting and watching TV or playing golf all day. For most that retire, it is a time to explore new opportunities and have more time to be selective about what one wants to do and to = sit and think much more patiently and quietly.

So, here I am, sitting in my home office on a day between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur taking deep breaths and reaching down every so often to scratch Sami who loves to sit on the floor next to the desk.

Every day hasn’t been so idyllic. But, each day has brought something new.

One of my goals for this period of my life was to try to try to discover some “spiritual experiences” beyond Jewish ritual and prayer. That is not meant to be a rejection of ritual and prayer. But, it is true that after being a “professional Jew” for over 40 years, there is a yearning for something wider as well.

I had found some of those experiences during my years in the rabbinate. I have often written about my love of astronomy and watching the movement of the stars and experiencing the glory of creation from New England mountain tops, the cliffs above Lake Michigan or countless other places has always stirred in me those spiritual feelings that we need as human beings.

But, there is more time now and I have started to pursue some other avenues.

I’ve been trying to learn more about classical music and found moments in an introductory lecture series I watched online when I truly felt elevated by the beauty of the music and complexity of the orchestra.

I’ve been trying to read and understand more about science in order to more deeply appreciate the connection between the natural world and my belief in God.

And, finally, and perhaps most dramatically, there are the primates.

One of the first things that I did when I ended my full time rabbinate was to register as a volunteer at the Toledo (Ohio) Zoo. I’ve always wanted to work in a zoo and now I have the chance. So when they asked me where I’d like to work as an “exhibit guide”, there were so many good options. I listened to the list and jumped when I was told I could work in the primate exhibit.

And, what an experience it has been.

While I only am there once a week and  have no more direct contact with the animals than any other zoo visitor, I have learned to recognize the different personalities of the gorillas and orangutans and after a few visits, I  am starting to feel part of some wider family.

Each day I am there, that feeling grows stronger. I feel more and more of a connection with these majestic, beautiful creatures and I find myself saying the blessing: “Blessed are You O Lord our God ruler of the Universe who varies the creations”.

Becoming more intimately familiar with these animals has solidified even further my belief about creation.  If, as I believe, human beings were the purposeful and deliberate act of a creator, so were these magnificent animals. How could I think otherwise?

And, then something happened yesterday which I will always cherish.

I was spending some time in the orangutan exhibit area watching one of the males, Bajik, as he sat eating fruit right up against the exhibit glass. He was very calm and kept looking at me and I kept looking at him. Then, I started to walk away and heard a strange noise. I turned around and Bajik was knocking on the glass quietly with his hand. When I walked back to him, he looked at me and stopped. Then I walked away again, and he knocked again. I walked back to him and he stopped and looked at me.

I was stunned and filled with joy.

Finally, we went our separate ways.

When I got home, I was telling the story to the family and I know there was some feeling that maybe I was exaggerating. So, I looked up some information about Bajik online and read this sentence: “A common thing he does is sit at the window and tap on the glass when visitors are near.”

I don’t care if Bajik had done this hundreds of times before.

That one was for me.

And, I will never forget it.

After so many years of connecting with human beings on a very meaningful level and after so many years of forming bonds with our animals in the house, this was something that I never expected.

I am humbled and in awe.

I love to teach Torah and am glad that I will be doing so at Beth Israel and several other places over the year to come. I hope I can continue my writing on Jewish issues and while I’m taking a step back from making comments on current events and issues, eventually that will come too.

But, I will forever remember that knock on the glass and seek to deepen this new connection that is out there for me.

It’s been a great start to the new year.

Israel’s Nation State Law

by Rob Dobrusin

Over my years as a Rabbi, I have embraced, and when necessary, defended the term: “Jewish State” in reference to Israel. But, I always acknowledged that this term means something different to each individual and that it was important that, as a Jewish people, we engage in discussion about what that term should mean.

In 2010, I delivered a Kol Nidre sermon on the subject and spoke about my own interpretation of those two words. You can read the sermon here: https://robdobrusin.com/497/

This month, Israel passed a law referred to the Nation State Law which identified Israel as the nation state of the Jewish people. I am not alone in my belief that the passage of this law was a tragic moment in the life of the country.

You can read the text of the law here: https://www.timesofisrael.com/final-text-of-jewish-nation-state-bill-set-to-become-law/

It has been argued by some that nothing changed with the passage of this law and that all that it did was put on paper what has been true all along.

But, that is not true.

It is not true for two major reasons. The first is that this law omitted any reference to equality and justice for all citizens. These thoughts were certainly found in Israel’s Declaration of Independence: ” (Israel) will foster the development of the country for the benefit of all its inhabitants; it will be based on freedom, justice and peace as envisaged by the prophets of Israel; it 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”

Many members of the Knesset urged that some echo of this language should have been included in the nation-state law but it was not and its absence is glaring. Stating that self-determination applies only to the Jewish people within Israel excludes Israel’s minority citizens, including the Druze who fight in the Israel Defense Forces, from being equal citizens within the state. The message sent was clearly an additional exclusion of Israeli Arabs who, while enjoying certain benefits that minority groups do not in other countries, including representation in the parliament, are clearly victims of discrimination. The reduction in the status of Arabic which was once an “official” language of the state sends another negative and exclusionary message.

Discriminatory and exclusive language have harmed our people through the centuries. It is shameful that the “Jewish State” should use language of this kind.

But, there is another reason why I consider the passage of this law as tragic and I referred to it earlier and in my sermon.

As long as the term Jewish State was not defined, there was always the option to “spin” the term in a very positive way: a state whose symbols were Jewish, which was dedicated to supporting and caring for endangered Jews throughout the world and one which endorsed Jewish values among them the belief in the equality of all people. That may not have been everyone’s interpretation and I respect that. But, as long as it wasn’t “codified” in law, there was at least the option to interpret it this way.

Now, with the passage of the law, the amorphous term has been defined and in a way which, I believe, is contrary to the principles of our faith and will be dangerous and harmful to the State.

It is certainly a sad moment in the history of the State of Israel.

Jerusalem 2018

by Rob Dobrusin

A personal thought on this historic day:

As a rabbi, I have given many sermons on the importance of Jerusalem to our people and our faith and how shameful it is that the US does not recognize Jerusalem as Israel’s capital. After all, a nation should be able to decide on its own capital.

But, watching today’s ceremony, I found myself terribly troubled and could not feel any of the euphoria or satisfaction that so many in Israel and in the Jewish world seem to be feeling.

Hearing the speakers praise President Trump as standing for moral values, hearing Prime Minister Netanyahu and Israel praised as following the highest traditions of human rights and justice and hearing Israel praised as a place where all religions are respected (as long as you’re not a non-Orthodox Jew) and hearing a Minister who said recently that Jews were going to hell and that Islam was by its nature an obscenely  immoral tradition offer a prayer (in the name of Jesus, by the way) just were impossible for me to tolerate.

And all of this while dozens of Palestinians were being killed and hundreds wounded on the Gaza border.

Yes, Jerusalem absolutely should be the capital of Israel (I believe of both states) and yes, the embassy should be there  but not now and not this way.

 

SERMON FOR THE SPECIAL SHABBAT OF REFLECTION AND CELEBRATION

by Rob Dobrusin

This past Shabbat, I was honored during the Shabbat morning service as I prepare to retire from the position of rabbi of Beth Israel Congregation. The service included special group aliyot and participation from members our Interfaith organization, the Interfaith Round Table of Washtenaw County. It was a truly an unforgettable morning for me.

Here is the sermon that I delivered.

FROM 1968 to 2018 

First, I want to take this opportunity to thank the members of the planning committee for your efforts in planning this morning’s service. I am truly honored and deeply appreciative.

Fifty years ago this morning, I stood as a bar mitzvah on the bima of Congregation Kehillath Israel in Brookline, Massachusetts. KI, at the time, was one of the strongest congregations of the Conservative movement and I will say some more about that during our conversation following the kiddush. However, a Bar Mitzvah at KI was not such a big production. The Bar Mitzvah said the Torah blessings, chanted the Haftarah and read an original prayer. That was all. There were no exceptions.

Compared to Beth Israel where the bar or bat mitzvah is encouraged to lead more of the service and to share his or her personal thoughts in a d’var torah, the process of writing the bar mitzvah prayer at KI was somewhat perfunctory as I recall. We had a meeting with the assistant Rabbi who, in essence, told us what to say and, more importantly, what not to say. And, each prayer was very much the same.

Believe it or not, I found my prayer a few months ago as we were going through some old family documents and I will share it with you this morning.

God, king of the universe:

         On this Shabbat as I take my place as a Bar Mitzvah, I am proud to become a part of the long and wonderful Jewish history. I pray that I may live a meaningful life based on the Torah and the Jewish traditions. As I grow older, I pray that I may be able to continue my studies so that I can become an active member of the Jewish community.

         I pray that my parents, grandmother, brother and my teachers who have taught me about my heritage and have given love and guidance, will be blessed with long life and peace.

         May I be able to help my fellowman while I strive to improve myself. I pray that the day will come when all men will learn to help their neighbors and respect one another so that there may be peace and progress in the world.

         Amen.

I love that line about becoming an “active member of the Jewish community.”

The prayer is certainly nice. But it is not very personal. It probably could have been given by any of the 30 or so b’nai mitzvah that year.

But, it was a start.

14 years later, almost to the day, I was given another opportunity to read a personal prayer as I was chosen by my classmates to write and read a prayer during our Jewish Theological Seminary ordination ceremony.

Reading it today, on this Shabbat, as I look back on 36 years as a congregational Rabbi, and 30 years here at Beth Israel, one sentence is particularly important to me.

Avinu shebashamayim, tzur Yisrael v’goalo

Our Heavenly Father, Rock and Redeemer of Israel.

We stand before You and before Your people prepared to assume the awesome responsibility of leadership. Before we take our first steps, we pause to ask that Your blessings of health and peace be upon our teachers whose dedication will be reflected in each word of Torah which we teach. We also ask Your blessings upon our families whose love and support have brought us to this day.

And, finally, for ourselves, we ask for patience, respect and dedication. May we, who began the road to this day with dreams, ideals and aspirations, remain dedicated to those dreams and goals. May you grant us the wisdom to realize that we can best achieve the goals we set for ourselves by remaining dedicated to our responsibility: teaching our communities by example the values of Torah, Avodah and Gemillut Hasadim, Torah, service to God and acts of lovingkindness.

         Amen.

The line that means the most to me, 36 years later, is “May we who began the road to this day with dreams, ideals and aspirations, remain dedicated to those dreams and goals.”

While I won’t claim that each and every hour of every day of the past 36 years has been a spiritually elevating moment and reflective of Torah, Avodah and Gemillut Hasadim, I can honestly and sincerely say to my 27 year old self that I have never forgotten that that goal is what the rabbinate is about.

And, for that, I am proud. But, more than proud, I am grateful.

I am Grateful to God and I am grateful to you.

You have inspired me to teach Torah. You have continued to make our services and religious ritual the centerpiece of the congregation and you have responded to the call to make this congregation known for acts of loving-kindness and efforts for tikkun olam, repairing the world.

I have not done it alone. I could not have done it alone. I want to thank the staff of the Congregation, present and past for all that you have done for our synagogue and the community and all you have done to inspire me personally.

I want all of you to know that when those days came when I was tired or a bit cynical or just not living up to the challenge I set for myself in that prayer, it was your encouragement, your smiles, your questions and challenges, and even the sadness that you trusted me enough to share, that reminded me of why I chose to be a Rabbi and how fortunate I am to have come to Beth Israel.

I can never put into words all that you mean to me.

I have written another prayer, a special prayer for this morning, a prayer of thanks and with that I will conclude.

Boraynu shebashamayim,our creator, modeh ani lifanecha, I am grateful to You.

I am grateful for the inspiration you have given me. I am grateful for the health that I have been blessed with and the energy and patience to continue to try to fulfill the obligations I took on decades ago.

I am grateful, O God for your Torah and for the ability to teach and inspire others with its wisdom: the most important gift we have, as Jews to share with the world.

To my family: Ellen, Avi, Mickie and all of the animals as well, Modeh ani lifnechem, I am grateful to you in more ways than you will ever know for your patience with me, your inspiration to me, for the glow in your eyes which reminds me every moment of every day that I am so fortunate. You remind me every day that life is a miracle and that we must find ways to make the most of that life every single day.

And to the members of Beth Israel Congregation, Modeh ani lifneychem, I am so, so grateful to you for giving me the opportunity to be the rabbi that I always dreamed of being.

As you take your first steps to the future with a new leader, I pray you will never forget that a synagogue is about Torah, Avodah and Gemillut Hasadim. Learn Torah together, serve God together, change the world for the better and most importantly, take care of each other and treat each other well.

 

 

 

Sermon for Yom Ha’Atzmaut, Israel Independence Day 2018

by Rob Dobrusin

 

WE MUST SPEAK

 

 

Occasionally, I have written a sermon which started out appearing to be about one subject when, in fact, it was really about something else altogether.

I used that approach on my first Kol Nidre at Beth Israel 30 years ago. My sermon began with some thoughts on prayer but it really was heading in a completely different direction.

I began by focusing on a single word which is added to one of our most familiar prayers during the High Holy Day season. In the Kaddish we usually say that God is l’ayla mikol birchata above all of our attempts at praise. But, on the High Holy Days, we say God is l’ayla u’layla, above and beyond any attempts at praise.

I discussed in that sermon why we express an increased distance from God on the days when we are supposed to be closest to God, standing in judgment.

I asked: Is this merely another paradox to wrestle with, another contradiction to add to the long list of conflicts in Judaism?

I don’t think so.

I think those words are meant to remove obstacles to prayer rather than discourage us.

Here is how I explained it then: “If we keep in mind that God is l’ayla ul’aya,if we express the idea that that the words do not do justice to praising God, it helps us to feel more comfortable to say the words in our hearts that must be said. For by admitting that nothing we say will even begin to serve as proper prayer and praise, we realize that there are no magic words and with that pressure removed, we have no excuses, we feel free to express our thoughts.”

Then, continuing with the prayer theme for just a few more minutes, I provided four excuses that people who claim to want to pray might use for not saying words of prayer, none of which I believe, are legitimate excuses.

First: “:I don’t know the words to say.” In that case, say the words in your heart.

Second: “I may say something wrong.” There are many traditional Jewish texts which teach that there can be nothing wrong when we speak the words in our heart.

Third: “I can’t say what I hear others saying so I just don’t think about God.” There is no uniform belief about God in Jewish tradition. We are all over the map in how we conceive of God and of prayer and no matter how strange you may feel your theology or view of prayer is, I can guarantee you that someone in Jewish tradition has voiced the same thoughts.

And, finally: “Who am I to say anything to God? I’m not worthy”. We have every right to praise, to scream out, to be angry, to be thankful. We are God’s creation and we can, in fact, I believe we must, speak to God.

I expressed my belief that despite all of the obstacles, we must continue to try.

But, it was at that point that my sermon took a surprising turn.

I told the congregation that although I hoped that people found that thought provoking, my goal that evening was not really to talk about prayer.

 

I pointed out that those same four excuses: “I don’t know what to say, I may say something wrong, I believe something different, I have no right to speak”, are excuses that Jews often use for not talking about another subject, near and dear to our hearts, and that is the State of Israel.

My sermon that night changed direction and became a plea for people to express their opinions about Israel. I said that not talking was a way of losing connection with something important to us: “We must speak the thoughts lest the feelings disappear. We must speak in order to keep the emotion flowing or we will begin to lose the emotional attachment to Israel”. We will, if we are silent, stop caring. And I believe that today even more strongly.

I absolutely believe that it is essential that we talk about Israel and what it means to us as Jews. We must express our pride and praise and our disappointments and concerns.

And of the many things that have brought me great satisfaction over the past 30 years, Beth Israel’s reputation as a place where people can express their thoughts on this critical part of our lives as Jews is high on the list.

I am proud that we have done what synagogues should do. We have taken 5 congregation trips to Israel, co-sponsored an interfaith tour, participated in several federation missions, given scholarships to dozens of young people to travel and study in Israel, hosted an annual Yom Hazikaron, Israel Memorial Day ceremony, for the community, taught our religious school students about Israel and proudly proclaimed our emotional connection and concern for the state. We have strengthened our connection in the face of the horrendous vigil that has been such a horrible burden for all of us.

But, through it all, we have done something else. We have provided opportunities for people to talk, freely, to each other. We sponsored a class from the Hartman Institute called Engaging Israel which addressed some of the most thorny issues facing the State and our relationship with it. We have hosted a monthly conversation with members of Zeitouna, a Palestinian and Jewish women’s dialogue group. We have brought in speakers to speak about various human rights issues facing Israel, including Rabbi Arik Ascherman who will be in Ann Arbor at the beginning of May, and I have frequently used my time on this bima to praise Israel for all of its accomplishments and it all means to us and to raise critical moral and ethical issues which we, as rabbis, as Jews, can not ignore.

I know the latter point hasn’t sat well with everyone. Some ask: why should people hear criticism about Israel in the synagogue? My answer always has been that I would much prefer that these issues be raised here in what I hope is a spirit of love and concern rather than only being raised by those who seek to defame the State. I want our young people, especially, to know that those who say that Jews all express a “party line” about Israel are wrong: that there are vibrant conversations about Israel going on in many areas in the Jewish community, including the synagogue.

That Israel is not perfect is, in and of itself, no shame.  No country is. The shame occurs when the issues are not addressed and when those who honestly feel that Israel can do better don’t say it because they don’t know what to say or they fear may cause disunity or they may say something wrong or they fear they have no right to speak. These are not valid excuses. We can and must talk. And, even more importantly, we must listen. Even if we hear words that we don’t agree with, as long as they are expressed respectfully, we must listen.

Today’s parsha begins with the words: Vayihee Bayom Hashmini“And it came to pass on the 8thday”. The 8thday, the day after the tabernacle was dedicated was a day of celebration until Nadav and Avihu offered strange fire and it consumed them.

 

As Israel begins its 8thdecade, it is time for a great celebration, so much has been accomplished, so much to be proud of.

But, as Israel enters its 8thdecade, the existence of the state is at stake. It is at stake not only because of legitimate and real external security concerns but also because of misguided internal policies. And, it is not only Jews who would label themselves progressive saying this. Ronald Lauder, president of the American Jewish Congress, wrote a piece in the New York Times a few weeks ago called “Israel’s Self-Inflicted Wounds” and was subtitled: Why I fear for the Nation I Love. This article made it clear that issues of concern, including, among others, the settlement policy, the failure to achieve a solution to the conflict with the Palestinians and the extreme power wielded by the ultra orthodox in disenfranchising non-Orthodox Jews are not left vs. right issues and are not raised only by people who are ambivalent about Israel. More and more staunch supporters and lovers of Israel are raising the same issues that some of us have been speaking about for years. I am encouraged by this trend and pray that it continues.

There is a Midrash that says that Nadav and Avihu’s sin was that they each brought incense separately and didn’t communicate with each other, standing apart from each other, each in their own world.

There is a great lesson here.

I believe that what is needed to prevent disaster in Israel is a determination on the part of all sides to talk to and listen to each other: Jews and Israeli Arabs, secular and religious Jews, Israelis and Palestinians. This is not naive. In some places it is happening and those sparks must grow in the years to come to be a positive constructive flame and to avoid destructive fire.

And, here, we must speak to each other from our hearts and be willing to raise the issues that others shy away from.

As with prayer, there are no excuses that should keep us from talking.

I hope and pray that this will always be what Beth Israel stands for.

I hope and pray that we will always talk.

And I hope and pray that more will listen.

 

Sermon for Shabbat Hagdol 5778

by Rob Dobrusin

THIS NIGHT WILL LAST FOREVER

 

Towards the end of this week, we observe the great spring holiday.

Then, a night later, we observe Pesach.

Seriously, it’s great to have baseball back.

So, in honor of that great spring holiday of opening day, let me begin with a baseball quotation.

When the Boston Red Sox won the World Series in 2007, three years after having won for the first time in 86 years, the chairman of the team, Tom Werner, was asked whether this World Series championship felt different than the one before. And, Tom Werner said these beautiful words: “2004 was for our parents and our grandparents…this one is for us and our children.”

Those words touched me deeply and made me think about my own life.

As many of you know, I recently published a book which I had been working on for 15 years. It was a book of personal stories and sermons but it really focused on looking back and was, in fact, my way of honoring the memory of my parents and my grandparents. In many ways, I felt that my late parents were pushing me to finish that project. It really was for them.

I am now thinking about writing another book, while I’m not sure what it will be. One thing I know is that it will be for me and the future.

One idea I have is to write a book about Pesach. There are, of course, a seemingly infinite number of books about this most wonderful and most important of all our holidays and I have to find the niche. But, I think it’s there somewhere.

If I do write about Pesach, there is an idea that I thought of a while ago that I know will find its way into a prominent place into the book and I want to share that idea with you this morning. I taught it before from the bima, many years ago, but I want to teach it again because to me, it represents the great meaning of the Seder night, a meaning which we don’t always consider or are even aware of.

I’ll begin with a question: what are the most important words of the haggadah? I am sure that there are at least as many answers to that question as there are people in this room: avadim hayinu, dayenu, ha lachma anya and so many others. But, I want to share my answer with you and you may be surprised because the words I think are the most important seem so incidental.

We say these words 6 times during the ritual sections of the Seder. They sound so simple. The words are: halaila hazeh, this night.

We say these words during the introduction to the 4 questions and during each of the questions themselves. Mah nishtana halaila hazeh which I like to translate as: Wow! This night, halaila hazeh, is different from all other nights and in each question, we compare halaila hazeh, this night, to all other nights.

And then in the blessing immediately before the 2nd cup of wine, we say that God brought us out of Egypt and brought us halaila zeh, brought us together on this night to eat matza and maror, unleavened bread and bitter herbs.

Why do I think these two words are so important?

Here is why. In Exodus, chapter 12, we read the instructions from God to Moses and Aaron preparing the people for the night of the Exodus. In verse 12, we read v’avarti bieretz mitrayim balaila hazeh. I will pass through Egypt on this night, the night of the Exodus. These words were said, according to the text 2 weeks before the Exodus and so God should have said: “that night” rather than “this night” and that’s what the English says. But, the Hebrew says: “this night”.

That is strange. And, what is very strange is that the phrase Halaila hazeh, this night, is only used in the Torah to describe one particular night, the night of the Exodus.

The night of the Exodus is the only “this night” in the Torah. And those words are so important that the Torah tells us that God calls the night of the Exodus halaila hazeh. In verse 42 of the same chapter, the English says: “that same night is the lord’s one of vigil for all the children of Israel throughout the age”. But, look at the Hebrew. Hu Halayah Hazeh L’ado–nai, which I will translate as: “the night of the Exodus for God is “this night”. For God, and therefore for us, the night of the Exodus has a special name: “this night”.

So, I believe that when we say these words at the Seder, we are not talking about this night of Passover 5778, we are talking about the “this night”, the night of the Exodus. When we sit at the Seder table, we are not supposed to just think of ourselves or, as some read, display ourselves as freed slaves, we are to think of the Exodus as still happening and we are part of it.

This night is unique in that it is an eternal night, one which we step back into each year, one which stands apart from time as we always experience it. The word eternal does not only mean everlasting, it also means “outside of time” and this is an eternal night not subject to the natural flow of time.

The Seder night is when we take our place with our ancestors in the first experience of closeness with God, the first time we were together, as it were. As we begin to count the Omer, we count towards the holiday of Shavuot which celebrates the moment when we entered into a covenant with God at Mt. Sinai. But this night, before the counting of the omer begins, halayla hazeh, this very special night, is the night of beginning the relationship. It is night of “falling in love” and we are all part of the glorious, miraculous beginning of the relationship.

That is why some people have the tradition at the Seder of reading from Song of Songs: the great love song which the rabbis interpret as a love song between the people of Israel and God.

And that is why, whenever I think of this idea, I think of a beautiful love song written by Billy Joel called: This Night. Part of the melody of that song was based on a Beethoven Sonata and Billy Joel did give Beethoven credit as one of the writers, but the lyrics were his and contain the words: “This Night is ours, it’s only you and I… this night will Last Forever”.

That part of the song could have been written about the Seder night.

So, halaila hazeh, this night, this special night of family, friends, food, song, wine, study, ritual and joy is even more than that. It is a night which lasts forever. It is a night when past, present and future all come together in one glorious moment.

For many things in Judaism, we can say: “That one was for our ancestors and this one is for us”.

Not the Seder night.

God redeemed us and our ancestors from Egypt says the Haggada.

This one is for all of us, we and our ancestors and our descendants are all sitting together at the table at the same time.

And what a glorious night it is.

 

 

Sermon for Shabbat HaHodesh 5778

by Rob Dobrusin

A NEW BOOK

And so, we begin the book of Vayikra, the book of Leviticus.

The first half of the book, contains, in so many ways, too much information about a tradition whose time passed centuries ago. One might ask: why do we need so much detail about the sacrificial tradition?

It is a legitimate question. Even though so many of our traditions have their roots in the sacrificial system: the Ner Tamid -the Eternal light- the Musaf service, the shankbone on the Seder plate just to name a few, we still don’t seem to need to read all these details.

And yet, we read them because they are part of our Torah and, in fact, despite the archaic details, the book holds a unique place in our tradition. It is well known that from Talmudic times right through to today in some circles that young children began the study of Torah with the book of Leviticus. They didn’t start from Bereshit, from creation, but from Vayikra, from Leviticus.

Why?

One Talmudic rabbi offers an answer. Rav Assi said: “Surely children begin with Vayikra because children are pure and the sacrifices are pure, therefore let the young children come in purity to study purity.”

On a simplest level, I understand Rav Assi as saying that there is a childlike element to the sacrificial system which children can best understand: “I will give you something if you will be my friend”.

But, many understand him as saying something deeper. I read a quotation online attributed to Rabbi Ari Israel who wrote: “Youth, who represent our past, present and future are first taught the book of purity and spirituality. Children, filled with optimism, can readily look at the world with hope. They start out sans any preconceived biases. God is pure. Children are pure. Leviticus is pure. Let them all find each other and holiness can spring forth.”

And so, according to this intepretation, the children understand more than the adults because, in their naïve optimism, they can see further or more deeply.

This is a beautiful thought. It is truly beautiful.

I don’t know when Rabbi Israel wrote this but I assume it was not recently.

I say that because our children today are not filled with optimism. They have seen too much in their young lives. They have read too many stories. They have seen too many news reports. They are not naïve. They know quite a bit and they don’t have confidence that theirs parents and grandparents, no matter how good our intentions, no matter how much we love them, have done enough to stem the horrible tide that has taken the lives of so many of their contemporaries.

And so, they closed their books and took to the street to say to us that their time of innocence and hope has been threatened and that they must be the ones to move our nation to open a new book. We must open a book which is not filled with violence, one which tells us to open our eyes to suffering and make wise decisions now, a book which seeks holiness and wholeness in a nation by doing all we can to putting an end to the horrendous plague of gun violence.

And, they have something to say to all of us.

Far from being naïve, these young people are saying to each and every one of us, that we are the naïve ones. We have sacrificed our moral compass to political expediency. We are guilty of allowing endless political squabbles focusing on technicalities to drag on interminably while more die.

I know the problem is too big to solve with good will alone. I know the epidemic won’t be stopped with catchy slogans or symbolic actions.

But, the young people know that too.

They know that walking out of school won’t solve the problem. But, they are telling us all loudly and clearly that, for their sakes, in memory of the victims and in the name of everyone whose future lies ahead: Dayenu. It’s enough. It’s time to act.

It is long since time to open that new book. And, far from telling our children to get out the way, it is time to let our children lead us to do what we, the “responsible” ones, need to do.

I’d like to ask all the young people here who walked out of class this past Wednesday and those who couldn’t do so but supported those who did to stand up so that we can recognize you and thank you. (A spontaneous burst of applause from the congregation as many middle school and high school students stood up.)

Thank God, you’ll be voting in a few short years.

More than saying thank you, we promise you to your face that we respect you, we hear you and we will act.

May you go from strength to strength and teach us what we must learn.