by Rob Dobrusin

SERMON FOR PARASHAT KI TISSA 2019

SIGNS OF OUR FAITH

When my friends in Ann Arbor heard I was coming to Arizona in late February, many commented that I must have planned it so I could be here for the beginning of baseball spring training. That they would say this surprised me a bit because my friends should have known that I have absolutely no interest whatsoever in baseball spring training… in Arizona, that is. My team, the World Champion Boston Red Sox, has spring training in Fort Myers, Florida and, to quote Yehuda HaLevi, in an absolutely irreverent way, when it comes to this weekend regarding baseball libi b’mizrach v’ani bisof ma’arav“ “my heart is in the east and I am in the furthest reaches of the west”. 

         I mention this because, as you will probably hear on more than one occasion in our study session later and you might even hear it in the remnants of my accent, I am a proud Bostonian and proud New Englander and the fact that I have lived in the Midwest for over 30 years doesn’t change that. 

         But, I also mention it because I want to take you for a moment to a particular spot in New England that I hope many of you have visited. It is my starting point today for a discussion on one verse, in fact one word, in today’s parasha. 

         One of the most iconic symbols of New England was found in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. There, on the edge of a mountain cliff, nature had carved the unmistakable image of the face of a man staring resolutely over the valley below. The Old Man of the Mountain was the symbol of the state and a popular destination of pilgrimage for families like ours who drove the three or four hours to visit the Old Man once every summer. 

         Sadly, in 2003, the Old Man disappeared. The stones which had made up the profile fell off the mountain due to erosion and the passage of time. It was such a sad event that it inspired me to write a Yom Kippur sermon on loss and memory, a sermon which I treasure to this day. 

         But, today, I mention it because I want to share some beautiful words written by American statesman and author Daniel Webster about the Old Man that curiously are echoed in a particularly meaningful traditional commentary on Ki Tissa. Daniel Webster wrote, in words which are not inclusive by today’s appropriate standards but I will share them as he wrote them: 

“Men hang out their signs indicative of their respective trades; shoe makers hang out a gigantic shoe, jewelers a monster watch and the dentist hangs out a gold tooth; but up in the mountains of New Hampshire, God almighty has hung out a sign to show that there He makes men”.

         Now, let’s move from New Hampshire to 19thcentury Belarus and the famous Torah commentator and ethicist Israel Meir Kagan, better known as the Chofetz Chaim. I doubt very much that he read Daniel Webster’s words but he might as well have. Writing about the observance of Shabbat, he wrote (and this is my translation): The Shabbat is a symbol and a visible sign that the Torah dwells in the heart of the person who observes it. A sign hanging on a house makes known the business or craft of the person who lives there. As long as the sign is on the house, even if the person is away, we know the person is still performing the craft. When the sign is taken down, it shows that the person is no longer living or working there.  Similarly, he writes, as long as we keep observing Shabbat, the sign of being a serious and committed Jew is present in our homes.

         If he hadn’t read Daniel Webster’s words, what prompted the Chofetz Chaim to talk about signs and symbols hanging outside a home relating to Shabbat? He is reacting to the fact that in two places in our parsha, one of them the paragraph we recognize as the Veshamru, Shabbat is referred to as an “ot”, a sign, between ourselves and God of the deep relationship that we have and observance of Shabbat is a visible and tangible symbol that we take that covenantal relationship seriously. There are other mitzvot that are referred to as “ot” the tefillin, and brit milah for example but the words are expanded in the veshamru paragraph: baynee uvayn binai yisrael ot hee l’olam,it is an eternal sign between me, says God, and the people of Israel. 

         I am going to take issue with the commentary of the Chofetz Hayim in one particular way but before I do, let me say that I think he is absolutely correct in one very important way. Shabbat isa sign, a sign that we are willing to compromise one of the most precious commodities we have as 21stcentury human beings- time- and dedicate it to observance of our ancient tradition. It is a sign that we are willing to let other aspects of our lives wait- that they aren’t of that utmost importance that they can’t be postponed or missed altogether. Whatever one’s relationship with Shabbat is: whether you observe Shabbat fully according to halacha or make some smaller compromise, having a family or personal custom of making Friday night special or coming to shul on Shabbat morning, or in any way making a sacrifice to observe even part of Shabbat, it makes a critical statement in the face of a world which seemingly can’t wait for anything or anyone, a reality which, in the internet and instant communication age has had such a deep and often negative impact on our lives and our relationships. Shabbat tells the world: we can wait.

Shabbat has followed our people for millennia and we have held onto it with joy and commitment. One more baseball reference, I promise the last one: baseball pitcher Jim Bouton once wrote: “You spend half your life holding on to a baseball and then you find out it was the other way around all along”. Well, he must have listened to the thinker Ahad Ha’am who said: “More than Israel has kept the Shabbat, the Shabbat has kept Israel.”  It has kept us distinct. It has kept us returning to our origins, once a week and Shabbat has kept us recognizing the potential for sanctity, patience and a slower pace in an increasingly rushed world. 

And so, we stand firm on this beautiful overlook reached by our weekly pilgrimage. We stand resolutely holding this ancient, yet renewed tradition as the world passes by.

         But, there are limitations to this idyllic picture of Shabbat and I believe that the statement of the Chofetz Chaim, as beautiful and meaningful as it may be, is a bit dangerous or at least lacking in one sense. While it is true in so many ways that a commitment to Shabbat is a sign of a sincere and committed Jew, we must be careful. 

As important as ritual is, we need to train ourselves to look far beyond ritual traditions as the evidence of our commitment to Judaism. As important as they are, as essential as they are, we need to look beyond Shabbat, beyond brit milah, beyond tefillin, beyond kashrut. We need to look elsewhere as well: to the ethical and moral traditions of our faith for they must be every bit the reflection of our seriousness about being a Jew as the observance of any ritual commandments. They must be an “ot” as well.

         We may not want to put a flag out on our front porch to advertise our ethical behavior but, as individuals, and as a people, adherence to our human values of seeking justice and peace and mutual respect among human beings which are rooted deeply in our tradition must also be every bit the “ot”, the clearly visible sign of a well led Jewish life. Without these, the rest lose all meaning. 

         Shabbat is only important if it inspires us to prepare for the other 6 days of the week to fulfill our responsibilities to community and to the world. 

And, that raises one other aspect of this discussion. The paragraph of veshamru indicates that the Shabbat is a sign between God and the people of Israel. The truth is that Shabbat represents a “private” celebration between the Jewish people and God. This isn’t to say that only Jews are welcome in shul or that we reject the idea of sharing the day with those outside the Jewish community. It means that the concept of Shabbat as a commandment, as a mitzvah, as an “ot”, a sign of the covenant, only applies to Jews.

         But, when we turn to the issue of ethics and values and make reflection of those values a sign of our seriousness about our faith, we can more easily join hands with those of other faiths as equals to work for the betterment of the world. Shabbat unites the Jewish people and that is crucial. But ethical behavior is a way to reach out our hands to others and unite with all to improve the world. 

         All of Judaism is a balance. We need ritual and we need ethical behavior. We need our moments as a people and we need to be part of the story of a world in search of repair.  

         Shabbat is a great place to start and an essential part of a Jewish life. But, neither it, nor the other ritual aspects of our tradition, can exist in a vacuum- are the be all and end all Shabbat must inspire us to move forward in our lives observing the ethical traditions as keenly as we observe the ritual traditions. The Torah speaks of returning lost objects, helping animals in distress, honoring our parents as it teaches about observing Shabbat and the holidays. The Torah intertwines and them so must we. 

         Let me conclude then by paraphrasing and giving a bit of a Rashi to Daniel Webster’s words: There in the mountains of New Hampshire, God almighty hangs out a sign to show that there God makes resolute human beings of strength. 

         Shabbat allows us to hang out a sign saying that here we have a Jewish home. 

         That is important to be sure. 

         But, we must hold just as dear, just as important, the elements of our tradition which declare to the world: here, in our homes, here in our communities, here in our lives, God almighty has created a human being and each of us is responding to that creation by resolutely acting like a mentsch.  

A LONG RIDE

by Rob Dobrusin

                

This morning, the New York Times ran an obituary for Jacqueline Steiner who, along with Bess Lomax Hawes wrote an unforgettable song in 1949. The song has become so popular throughout the US and throughout the world that it is hard to believe that it actually had its beginning as a campaign song for a political candidate.

         According to the Times story, the candidate was named Walter A. O’Brien who ran on a platform which included opposing a fare increase on the Boston transit system. That proposal included a small fare which one would pay to get off the subway or trolley car. So, in order to dramatize the burdensome nature- and stupidity- of this system, Steiner and Hawes wrote a song for his campaign about a poor guy named Charlie who paid to get on but didn’t have the extra nickel to get off the train. 

         And so, the legend of Charlie of the M.T.A. was born. 

         The candidate lost and the song disappeared until the Kingston Trio revitalized it in 1959. They decided to change the name of the candidate to “George O’Brien” especially since Walter O’Brien was, according to the Times article, deemed to be a communist and was blacklisted. But, the other lyrics remained the same and the legend grew as the song hit Number 1.

         As the article points out, it is so much ingrained in Boston culture that the “T”, as the Boston transit system is now called, chose “CharlieCard” as the name for the automated fare card needed to ride the subway. Today, if you go to Boston and travel on the “T”, you have to buy a CharlieCard. Brilliant. 

         The song is so much fun and you can hear it here if you don’t know it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S7Jw_v3F_Q0

         Whenver I hear the song, I think of so many hours I spent on the M.T.A. and later the “T” going to Boston Latin School each school day and on trips to Brookline or downtown. I’m not going to claim that it was perfect then or that it is now. Those who have the ride the T today, I’m sure, can tell horror stories as can be told about any transit system. But, for now, I’m filled with nostalgia as I think of the “streetcars” on the Boston College line which I rode so often as they dipped into the subway at Kenmore Square right near Fenway Park and continued into the center of downtown. 

         And, we did have to pay to get off the train. 

         The system eventually changed but, when I was kid, you had to pay a higher fare- on the honor system, I guess- if you entered the train above ground and intended to get off in the subway than the fare you would pay if you planned to get off before the subway. 

         And, on the way “outbound” from the subway, you would pay a quarter to get on and then had to pay a dime to get off above ground. 

         It was a crazy system and it made no sense and that’s exactly what the song is about. 

         Of course, the Times raised the obvious question that arises when someone hears the song for the first (or hundredth) time. If, as the song goes, Charlie’s wife could hand him a sandwich each day through the open window as the train rumbles through the station, why didn’t she hand him a nickel to get off the train? It is one of the eternal questions which continues to defy an answer. 

         I love subways and make it a point when visiting a new city which has a subway to ride even if just for the experience. I spent many hours in New York riding the subways especially with friends who shared my interest when they visited from out of town. I love looking at subway maps and am fascinated with a website called nycsubway.org which has pictures and descriptions of subways throughout the world. 

         But, beyond my love of other subways is the nostalgia I feel as I remember the sharp turn as the green line rumbles out of Boylston Street station, the great view of the Charles River as the car approaches Science Park and the memory of standing outside waiting for the streetcar to come to take me to school on cold winter mornings (when we couldn’t convince my mother to drive us). 

         As I wrote, I’m sure that if you have to ride it every day, the T can be horribly frustrating, expensive and not very worthy of nostalgic reveries. But, for this born and bred Bostonian, it is the stuff of fond, warm memories.

         Good luck Charlie! Meanwhile, enjoy the ride!

Maple Street

by Rob Dobrusin

         Last month, after I had been reminded of one of my favorite episodes of The Twilight Zone, I decided to watch all of the episodes in order while I exercised at home in the morning. I have been making good progress and am more than halfway through the first season. 

         This morning, I had the opportunity to watch an episode  called: The Monsters are Due on Maple Street.

         The story begins relatively simply. The residents of Maple Street hear a mysterious noise and see a flash of light. As they gather to try to figure out the source of the noise and flash, they find that the power is out, cars won’t start and the phone system is not working. 

         Immediately, they start to speculate what could have caused these problems and, naturally, they link them to the noise they have heard. Then, one young boy, basing his theory on a story he had read in a comic book claims that not only was the noise and the flash an alien spacecraft but that the aliens had obviously planted an advance party in the neighborhood. He claims that someone on the street must be an alien and that they had to find out who it was.

         What follows (spoiler alert) is predictable. Different people are identified as being aliens and baseless accusations are thrown back and forth. Eventually, the situation boils over as people are shot and killed and the neighborhood completely disintegrates into chaos.

         As the story closes, we see two aliens on a hill overlooking the town. They talk about the best way to defeat human beings: take away some of their conveniences, plant a seed of doubt in their minds about their neighbors and watch the chaos that erupts and the destruction that follows. 

         This episode, shown for the first time in 1960, was most likely a reaction to the baseless accusations that typified the “red scare” of the 40s and 50s. But, as I watched it today, I was left with the stark realization that we are all potentially living on Maple Street. 

          We have heard the false accusations all too often over the past two years. We hear about the enemies across the border trying to infiltrate our nation: the rapists, murderers and gang members that make up the majority of those trying to enter our nation. We hear about the Muslims in our communities and our government who are trying to undermine our wholesome values. We hear about the members of the LGBTQ community who are determined to corrupt our young people. We hear about those who disagree with the administration as being unpatriotic.

         And it goes on and on. 

         The language of division, fear, suspicion and hatred which our current administration and others use so freely is horrendous and offensive. The use of racist and xenophobic language intended to instill fear in our nation is a disgrace. 

         And it goes on and on.

         While it does seem that it has had the desired effect among some as they turn against their neighbors across the street or across the border in an attempt to protect themselves, it seems that more and more Americans are seeing this language and this fear-mongering for what it is and are uniting to stand against those who tell us that the monsters are among us or around the corner. 

         The Monsters are Due on Maple Street was produced in 1960. One would have hoped we would have grown wiser since then. Hopefully, we have grown wiser and will make our voices heard more loudly and clearly as the days go along.  

Sermon for Parashat Vayiggash.

by Rob Dobrusin

COMING NEAR

 

This week’s Torah portion begins with a rather simple phrase which carries with it significant opportunity for discussion. Vayiggash Eilav Yehudah, “Judah came near to Joseph.” I have interpreted this phrase in the past in many ways but today, I want to use it in a different way inspired by several commentaries which offer this idea.

By coming near to Joseph, Judah in fact may be viewed as crossing a line, intruding upon Joseph’s space in a way that protocol would not allow for someone appearing before a person of power. By coming near, Judah reaches beyond his space and, in a sense, forces Joseph to confront him.

It is reasonable to consider whether Joseph would have revealed his identity at this moment had Judah stayed in his place. Perhaps he wouldn’t have. Perhaps Judah crossing the line forced the issue and led to Joseph’s action.

Ramban, Nachmanides, offers a beautiful interpretation of the phrase that we say prior to beginning the silent Amida. Adonai Sifatay Tiftach: “God, open my lips and my mouth shall speak your praise”. He says that the word sifatay can be understood not only as “lips”, which is the p’shat, the intended meaning, but as related to the same Hebrew word which is used for “the banks of a river”. He says that we must widen our banks and reach beyond what we perceive as our limitations and must break through barriers if we are to truly find new and meaningful ways to praise God.

Over the past five months, the first months of my retirement, I have been doing many classically rabbinic duties. I have been teaching here at Beth Israel and in Detroit and planning for scholar in residence opportunities. I have also had the sad duty of officiating at funerals here at Beth Israel. But, in addition to all these, it has been Ramban’s interpretation which has inspired me over the past few months and will hopefully, God willing, in the years ahead.

I have had the opportunity to reach beyond some boundaries which the full time rabbinate present in order to seek new ways to respond to the spiritual yearnings which sometimes can get shunted aside when doing the critical, meaningful day to day synagogue work that must be done.

I’ve found that meaning by taking some time to learn more about subjects that interest me through online courses in classical music and art history. I have taken time, and this has been easier since the baseball season ended, to do some reading and studying on subjects which have interested me from a spiritual standpoint in recent years: areas of science such as astronomy and genetics and considering how these affect my concept of faith in God. I’ have also pursued a bit more deeply an interest in an area which has fascinated me since I was a teenager: the phenomena that are referred to as “paranormal experiences” and to more seriously consider whether our minds and our “consciousness” can actually cross boundaries that we might have thought impossible.

But, through it all, one experience has meant the most to me and any of you who are Facebook friends of mine or who have asked me the simple question: “What are you doing these days?” and seen my face glow when I share the answer know full well which experience I’m referring to.

I have the greatest volunteer job I could ever imagine. I have become an exhibit guide at the Toledo Zoo, working mainly in the primate exhibit. Who hasn’t dreamed of working at a zoo? And, the other day when a young girl asked her mother a question about one of the animals while I was standing nearby and the mother said; “I don’t know, why don’t you ask the zookeeper?” and pointed to me, I almost cried.

I can not cross the boundaries set up at the zoo to protect the visitors and the animals. I still stand on the outside. But. by visiting often and helping those who come to the zoo to understand the animals better and to help them enjoy their visit, I am able to celebrate a spiritual experience of a different kind once a week.

Watching these animals, in particular, the gorillas and the orangutans, has left me absolutely ecstatic at times. I love watching the two babies, Wakil, the 3 year old orangutan  and Mokonzi, the gorilla who recently celebrated his first birthday as they explore their limited world and interact with the others in their family grouping. But, while they’re funny and delightful, there is something else going through my mind.

I think about the sense of wonder that they display- and that I’m feeling- and realize that some of that sense of wonder has been dulled over the years by the routine of daily life and this experience has reignited in me that sense of childlike awe in God’s creation. Abraham Joshua Heschel said we should live our entire life in awe and wonder. I like to think I have fulfilled that instruction to a degree. But, I know it hasn’t been as prominent in my mind as it should have been and I’m glad to let these animals  inspire me to remind me of the wonder of the world.

And then, there is Leela, the favorite animal of many frequent Toledo Zoo visitors. Leela is a 15 year old orangutan and she is beautiful. But, what is most important about Leela is that she interacts with visitors. When I comes to visit her, she comes over and sits down and knocks on the glass, sometimes offering what looks like a kiss, and graphically shows me the food she has partially eaten which I take to be a gesture of friendship.

Frequent visitors and volunteers know that Leela is fascinated with cell phones and loves to watch videos, staring intently at the pictures. But, what has astounded me is that when I look into her eyes, I feel like I’m crossing some kind of boundary between my world and hers.

I sit on the little bench against the glass where she often sits and I talk with her and I believe she listens and maybe even understands. This isn’t unusual as I feel that way about looking into our dog, Sami’s eyes and, when they let me, our cats’ eyes as well. But, I didn’t expect it from an orangutan and it has touched me in ways I can’t describe.

Each time I go to the zoo, I say a bracha which our siddur tells us we should say when we see a creature of outstanding beauty: Baruch Atah..Shekacha Lo B’olamo, “Blessed be God who has provided such beauty in the world”.

This is a critical bracha because it reminds us that we should not relate to God only as the God who gives the Torah but also as the source who created the world, in whatever way we imagine that.

 

There is a beautiful commentary on the phrase from the creation story when God says: “Let us make the human being in our image according to our likeness”. The plural, say some commentators, indicates that God was talking to the animals asking them to contribute the physical characteristics to the creation of the human being.

Usually when we think of crossing spiritual boundaries, we think of reaching further away from our physical bodies and reaching to more “heavenly” realms. I do think that way, of course, but  I have also found that the opposite, reaching out to build a relationship with these and other animals, our physical relatives, has touched me on a deeply spiritual level that I didn’t not expect.

As much as I love Torah and cherish that which distinguishes us as Jews, I also cherish the world around us and I embrace that which unites us with all other people and the animals which surround us. My trips to the zoo as well as my reading on scientific issues focus my mind on the God of creation and I find that tremendously spiritually satisfying.

None of this is meant to imply in any way that I have given up working with human beings. I love to teach and study Torah and I have begun to work on a second book which I know Leela will not be able to read.

Still, there is something about those eyes that have helped me look more deeply into my soul and for that I am deeply grateful.

There is an ancient Jewish text called Perek Shirah, which suggests a Biblical verse for each element of the natural world, sun, stars, plants and, of course, many animals.

For example, the book  teaches that the elephant says words from the Shabbat psalm, psalm 92: “How great are your works O God, how profound are your designs”.

The Lion says: God will go forth like a mighty warrior.

And the final animal mentioned in Perek Shirah is the loyal dog who says words we recognize from Mah Tovu: Come let us prostrate ourselves and bow down.

The book does not contain a verse for a gorilla or an orangutan. But, I will suggest one word: Vayiggash, “He came near”.

I came near and in doing so, something significant was revealed that might not otherwise have been.

 

 

Another favorite TV show

by Rob Dobrusin

I have written several pieces over the years which describe coincidences which may not really be coincidences. Those pieces usually are focused on issues relating to the “afterlife” and my evolving conviction that some unusual events can in fact be viewed a window into contact with those who have died.

But, some coincidences are just coincidences.

The other day, I received an email from a good friend telling me about a podcast he had discovered called The Twilight Zone Podcast. He knew of my interest in the classic TV series because, years ago, I had replied to his Facebook posting in which he referred  somewhat subtly to the Twilight Zone episode: “A Stop at Willoughby”, one of my favorites.

The coincidence here was that just last Shabbat in speaking from the bima about my trip to the border in Texas, I had ad-libbed a reference to the Twilight Zone. I mentioned that the most stressful part of the trip for me was that the airline had cancelled my return flight because they claimed I hadn’t taken the second leg of the incoming flight to El Paso and, as a result, my return reservation was cancelled automatically.

The fact that I was standing in El Paso talking to the ticket agent and that my luggage still had the bar code which showed I had picked it up in El Paso didn’t seem to convince him. He steadfastly claimed I was not on the flight. I knew that I was but couldn’t  convince him.

I mentioned to the congregation that it was at that moment that I thought Rod Serling was going to come out from behind the counter and, in that haunting voice, start the introduction to this week’s episode: Picture a man who knows where he was…”

The congregation responded with the laughter I had hoped for before we got to the more serious matters at hand and by the way, the airline eventually agreed that in fact I was on the flight.

My friend hadn’t heard my sermon and the posted text does not include the reference to the show. Still, it was after all, just a coincidence that he would write to me two days later about the Twilight Zone.

But, his email brought me to the Podcast which is fascinating and gave me a new idea for what to watch on TV while I exercise in the early morning. I have the entire series on DVD so, this morning I started at Season 1 Episode 1 entitled “Where Is Everybody” and plan to watch them all in order.

The Twilight Zone is a masterpiece and I know I speak for many fans when I say that I can quote lines over and over again from my favorite episodes and truly am amazed at how they have remained so clear over the years.

The episode that my friend referred to: “A Stop at Willoughby” is one of my favorites and I actually did have a reference to it in the early drafts of my book: “The Long Way Around”, a reference which I decided to omit in the final draft.

In a description of a trip I had taken through the South many years ago when our kids were very young and life was extremely hectic, I wrote of my drive through the small town of Belcher, Louisiana early on a December morning. The town was beautiful in the early light: a woman walked her dog through the leaf filled streets and a little girl waved to me sweetly as she waited for the school bus.

I was so taken by the surrealistic quiet of the town, a throwback it seemed to an earlier, more relaxed time that I was tempted to park the car and stay there a while longer. Then, I remembered “A Stop at Willoughby” and just kept driving.

As they say in Hebrew hamayveen yaveen, those who understand will understand. I will not post any spoilers in this piece. If you haven’t seen the episode, you can find it online and then you will understand as well.

One Twilight Zone episode did find its way into the final draft of the book, the episode called: To Serve Man. Again, I will offer no spoilers (although I did spoil it in the book), but I have always seen that episode as a anti-religious polemic which, while I disagree with the premise, is absolutely fascinating in its attempt to discourage us from trusting mysterious books brought from the sky.

Last night, I listened to the host of the podcast talk about another of my favorite episodes: Five Characters in Search of an Exit. It is an absolutely engrossing story which ends, as the host discussed, with an appropriately mysterious ending. We understand who the people in the story are. But, so much is left unexplained, open to our imagination and our thought.

Just as an aside, there is an old episode of the children’s show Arthur, which actually featured a slyly written tribute to this classic episode. I remember watching that Arthur episode for the first time with our kids when they were young and screaming with delight when I saw the scene. I scared the daylights out of both of them and the dog as well. Such is the power of good TV.

And there are so many others that I will never forget including the one that really terrified me the first time I saw it as a young boy: “Twenty-Two”. (I swear there is a subtle reference to “Twenty-Two” in an episode of another favorite: “Fawlty Towers” but I can’t prove it.)

For me, the magic of the Twilight Zone is that many of the episodes leave us with deep, unanswered questions at the same time as it opens up to us the possibilities in our existence that we might never consider or take seriously.

I am beginning to make some progress on an idea for a second book which I won’t discuss in detail now but part of the book would involve a wonderful commentary on the siddur by the 13thcentury commentator, the Ramban, Nachamanides.

Nachmanides comments on the verse from Psalms which we say before beginning the silent amida: “God, open my lips and my mouth shall speak your praise”. He notes that the word for “lips”, sfatai comes from the same root as the word for the bank of a river.He says, in essence, that we should ask God to help us go beyond the finite boundaries that we have accepted and be willing to explore new possibilities.

This is what the Twilight Zone did and continues to do. It is an inspiring work that encourages us to open our minds to ideas we might dare not consider.

I’ll keep you informed of my progress as I begin a daily watching of this fantastic show. And, if you have a favorite episode, I encourage you to let me and everyone else know by replying to this posting.

It was, after all, only a coincidence… Right?

 

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.