THOUGHTS AND PRAYERS

 

One of my favorite phrases in the Siddur is: Va’ani Tifalati. Taken from Psalm 69, the words can be translated in many different ways. I have always found great meaning in this translation: “As for me, this is my prayer.”

As I considered the topic of my sermon for this week, I thought about a line from a song written by the late Jim Croce. In a song entitled “Which Way Are you Going?”, he wrote these words: “Words once honored turn to lies.”

It is true that there are certain words that once seemed perfectly honorable and acceptable to say suddenly begin to resonate poorly and can even become the object of ridicule. Such is the case today in many circles with these 3 simple words: “thoughts and prayers”.

After the horrendous tragedy which took place in Sutherland Springs, Texas this past Sunday, it seems that anyone who dared to say those once honored words: “our thoughts and prayers are with the families”, was being chastised. “We don’t need thoughts and prayers. We need action.”

And I agree 100% we most definitely do need action.

But, thoughts and prayers can help as well.

Let me share with you once again, as I know I have done many times before, my favorite thought concerning Jewish prayer. I do not know where I heard it stated as simply and clearly as I intend to do this morning although a lengthy commentary by the 19^th century Torah commentator, the Malbim, seems to get to the same point in a rather roundabout and subtle way. You can find that commentary in Nehama Leibowitz’ Studies in Bereshit.

When Eliezer, Abraham’s servant, is sent by his master to find a wife for Isaac, he says a prayer “may the one who offers water not only to me but to my camels as well, let her be the one you, God, have chosen for Isaac”.

What kind of prayer is this? What is this prayer about?

Reading it closely, we discover that Eliezer is not asking God to pick the woman and let him know who it is by having her ask to water the camels. Rather, he is saying to God: ”I have made my choice. I will choose the one who is kindhearted enough to offer to water my camels and I hope you agree”. In essence, he is saying that he is making this choice because it is consistent with the values that his master had taught him and he feels it will find favor with God.

Eliezer is not asking for a magic sign. He is instead reaching deep inside and deciding which course of action is best and hoping that it coincides with God’s will. He is not praying to God to release him from the responsibility to act. He is praying that he be wise enough to make a good choice. The object of the prayer is not to make God act, rather to have the wisdom and the courage to act in accordance with what he believes God would want.

 

So, prayer need not entail asking for external, divine help for our problems. Prayer really means marshalling our own forces, convincing ourselves that we can at least attempt to solve a problem and building up strength and courage to overcome the obstacles in the way. It isn’t always enough but, as part of a bigger package, it is definitely worthwhile. As Abraham Joshua Heschel said; “Prayer may not save us but prayer may make us worthy of being saved”.

Telling someone who is in pain that he or she is in our thoughts and prayers after suffering a loss is truly a compassionate thing to say and I will not refrain from saying it. It does mean something essential to some people and it brings a sense of support and concern which can be so deeply helpful to an individual in pain.

And when we face a difficult issue, while prayer is not a substitute for action, prayer can encourage us to face the challenges of life, gather up our strength and do what must be done.

Prayer is not a replacement for action, it is a call to action.

When we gather here on Shabbat morning and when any congregation gathers in any faith, the community expresses a yearning for more meaningful lives and for a better world. We reach out to God to inspire us to try harder, to dig deeper, to see more clearly and to act more decisively.

Gathering in prayer is a call to action.

And we so desperately need action. Our nation’s leaders must face up to the terrible plague of gun violence in our society and do what has to be done to effectively address the issue of the horrible proliferation of guns in our nation, especially guns the types of which no individual should have any access to.

How many more tragedies will it take before our leaders act?

Action speaks more loudly than prayer. But, let’s not be so quick to dismiss the power of prayer. Prayer allows us to reach deeper to find the wise way to act and in this case thoughtful, considered introspection can, I believe, lead to only one conclusion, that we must change the way we think and act about guns in our nation. There is no choice. There is no option. It is what God would want and it is what we must do.

Those mourning in Texas, in Las Vegas, in Charleston, in Connecticut and on and on and on and on must always be in our thoughts. They inspire and demand our prayers and our actions.

May we have the strength to stem this terrible tide of violence and death. May our leaders and all of us gather the courage and the strength to do what must be done.

As for me, that is my prayer.

And I know I share it with so many of you.

May the words of our mouths, the meditations of our hearts and, most importantly, the works of our hands that those meditations inspire, be acceptable to you O Lord.

Amen.

KOL NIDRE 2017

A MOST ESSENTIAL VOW

Kol Nidre touches us in many different ways.

There are many well-known stories about what it has meant to individual Jews over the centuries.

Here is one famous story.

At one time in his life, the famed Jewish philosopher Franz Rosenzweig had decided to convert to Christianity. He went to synagogue one last time. It was Kol Nidre night. He heard the prayer and it touched him so deeply that he changed his mind about conversion.

What is particularly fascinating about this story is that, to my knowledge, this prolific author never explained why Kol Nidre moved him to reaffirm his Jewishness. He left it as a mystery. But, he later is said to have taught that hearing the Kol Nidre prayer helps us all to measure how we have grown as Jews over the past year.

Tonight, I will speak about what I believe to be the best mechanism we have to grow as Jews. It is the aspect of our faith that, more than any other, has kept me spiritually energized in my choice of career for over 40 years. To this day it continues to bring me a thrill and the joy of discovery. It is a pursuit that I will carry with me no matter where my future travels take me.

That pursuit is the study of Torah.

 

Kol Nidre: All vows.

The prayer that begins the Yom Kippur service, the prayer whose melody moves us so deeply and brings such deep and lasting memories, the prayer that touched Franz Rosenzweig’s heart and touches our hearts as well, is not a prayer at all. It is, in actuality, a dry legal statement releasing us from vows we might have taken last year or might take in the year just begun, depending on how we interpret it.

The vows referred to are those vows between ourselves and God. The vows are those that might have been made in a moment of distress or even sincere spiritual fervor. Apparently, our rabbis felt that God understands that some promises made to God are made in the moment and should not have lasting repercussions.

But there are some vows to God that we can’t be released from and one of those is the vow our ancestors made in our name at Mt. Sinai: the vow to love and to learn Torah.

On several occasions in the past few years, I have dedicated a High Holy Day sermon to teaching Torah. Tonight, on the holiest night of the year, I will do so again.

But, unlike past years when I used the text as a way of demonstrating how rich Torah study can be, this year I will teach a text which puts that study into a context: a context of faith and of ideas. I am doing this because I sincerely hope that my words will encourage you to embrace the study of Jewish text more deeply than you have done to this point in your life.

To do so is absolutely incumbent on every Jew.

Be assured I’m not suggesting that you spend inordinate and unreasonable amounts of time fully absorbed in study denying personal responsibility and refraining from interacting with the world. That would be a desecration of all the good that Torah can do as the life we live in the world, the good works we do are much more important than the time we take studying. But, taking time to study and wrestle with our traditional texts provides a grounding that inspires us to take our responsibility in the world more seriously and gives everything we do a foundation of deeper meaning.

Studying Torah is the quintessential Jewish act.

Besides, I sincerely believe that it gives God great pleasure when we fulfill our vows to study Torah and anything that pleases God is good by me. There is an old story about a woman who wanted to wish God something for the new year and she finally decides that the best she can come up with is to wish that God should have “nachas fun de kinder”, satisfaction from the children. I firmly believe that God sheps nachas, gets great satisfaction when we do good things, when we act with compassion and when we study Torah.

So, on this Yom Kippur evening, let us fulfill our vow.

Please open up the machzor to page 99 and you will find the text at the bottom of the page: the blessings that are said when one has an Aliyah to the Torah. You will hear them 8 times tomorrow morning as you do every Shabbat. But, this evening, I want you to listen to them more carefully and understand and appreciate them more deeply.

So, I am going to chant them slowly. You are welcome to join me but keep in mind that I am going to chant them very slowly.

How many times have we heard those words and that melody?

In fact, the first question people often ask is: “Why do we have to hear it so often? It just makes the service longer. It seems the only reason to say them over and over is to give more people a chance to be up on the bima”.

That’s what I hear often and believe it or not, that is exactly the reason we say the blessing so many times.

Obviously, reading from the Torah, like any Jewish ritual merits a blessing. But, originally, during Talmud times, the blessing was only said once during the Torah reading. Each section of the Torah was read by a different individual. The first to read would say the opening blessing before he read while the closing blessing would be said by the last reader after he read. The blessings bracketed the Torah reading, beginning and end and were chanted only once.

But, over time, fewer people had the ability to read from the Torah and the process was changed: the Torah reading was done by one particular reader or a group of specially trained individuals. Then, in order to make sure that the Torah reading still reflected a truly communal celebration of the covenant, people would be called up to say the standard and easily learned blessings before and after each reading. So, by structuring the reading this way, more people participated.

But, the repetition doesn’t in any way minimize the role of the person saying the blessings.

When you stand next to the Torah reader and hold on to the scrolls, the atzei hayim, the “trees of life” as they are called and say these familiar words, you are providing the theological and spiritual context for the reading. You aren’t telling everyone what is in the Torah. The reader does that. But, you are announcing what Torah means and that is just as important as what is written in the scroll.

I want you to look at the three most important words in these blessings, words which I will translate more literally than the way they appear in this translation.

Those 3 words are the 3 past tense verbs that appear in the blessings: bachar, in the first blessing natan which appears in both blessings and nata in the second blessing. We say that God bachar chose us from among all peoples; God natan, gave us the Torah; God nata, planted within us eternal life.

These three verbs are central to the understanding of the blessings and unite them into a consistent theme.

And I believe they are in chronological order.

Let’s look at each of them individually.

The first: Asher bachar banu God chose us from among all peoples.

This concept of the “chosen people” is so important yet so unfortunate when its importance is minimized and so dangerous when it is misused.

Many are uncomfortable with the “chosen people” concept in our egalitarian world and feel it is inappropriate. How can we claim that God chose us from the other nations and faiths with the implication that we’re better than others? This concern has led some to change the wording of the traditional blessing and to eliminate completely the concept of chosenness.

Alternatively, there are those who embrace the concept with great enthusiasm and boundless pride, leading to a sense of entitlement and superiority, believing that whatever they do is fine with God because they are Jews and that the universe has to adjust itself to the desires and dreams of God’s chosen ones.

I believe that both of these approaches are dangerously wrong. We shouldn’t deny this concept and we should never use it as a cry of triumphalism.

My teacher at JTS, Rabbi Neil Gillman, once said something that I have never forgotten about the chosen people idea. I’m not sure he would have taught the same thing months or years later but he did teach it to us back in the 1981 and it’s the answer I still used when I am asked what I think it means.

Rabbi Gillman taught us that he believed that every serious adherent to a theistic religious faith by definition believes he or she is among God’s chosen people in the sense that they are worshipping and acting in the way God has chosen.

What a great answer! God has chosen different faiths to teach different lessons.

Other religious traditions have been chosen to bring other ideas to the world: for example, absolute faith in God, the importance of meditation and introspection or a commitment to universalism. We can learn from all of these by respecting and learning from other faiths.

While I believe that other faiths can teach the world so much, I firmly believe that the gift we have been chosen to bring to the world is the inspiration that comes from reading a sacred text, discovering its mysteries and its depth, and taking its message of justice and the potential holiness of a community to a world in desperate need of redemption. This is our gift from God. This is our charge as Jews. This is what we are chosen to do: to study Torah and to use what we have learned to do our part in bringing the world to a better place.

I’m not at all hesitant to say it. I believe God bachar, chose us to learn and act on Torah.

Now, the second verb, natan, God gave us the Torah.

I don’t know what happened at Sinai. But, I believe something monumental did and we must believe in that moment of revelation and then find the inspired texts which elevate us, which inspire us, which move us to something greater. When we allow those texts to move and challenge us, we demonstrate our desire to be more than just a physical being. We commit ourselves to being a mentsch with a conscience, with a heart, with a soul. Every day that we leave our sacred books closed, we deny the importance of a gift that has been given to us however we imagine the source of this gift. And even those who don’t believe in God the way I am speaking tonight can find great meaning in Torah. There is never a theological litmus test when it comes to engaging in Torah study. Everyone can learn.

While you will hear in a few minutes that I believe that we are justified in using a present tense verb, that God is still giving us Torah, the past tense here is critical. By using the past tense: God “gave” us the Torah, we recognize that we are not starting from square one. We are truly standing on the shoulders of giants who can inspire us with words that were written for our benefit, whether 2500 years ago or last week. We remind ourselves that we are not walking an entirely new road but taking possession of an inheritance intended for us. We remind ourselves that the moment that united all of us as Jews occurred when we all stood together at Sinai. We all started from the same place and moved forward in our own way so no Jew’s approach to Torah is more valid than any other.

Each of us has the memory of Sinai inside of us because God natan gave us the Torah.

But, I believe we have another memory about Torah, a mythic, legendary memory.

That is reflected in the third verb, nata, God planted within us life eternal.

What could that mean?

As I mentioned, I believe these three verbs were placed in chronological order. God chose us, at the time of creation, or Abraham or Moses, it doesn’t matter which. God then gave us the Torah at Sinai. So, when, after that, did God plant within us life eternal?

Let me tell you my answer by means of a bubbe meise, an old story.

How many of know what a philtrum is? The philtrum is the small ridge under the nose. I read some interesting ideas as to why we have a philtrum from an anatomical perspective but many of you know the real reason why we have one.

We have a lovely legend that just before a baby is born, an angel comes along and strikes her right there, leaving this depression.

Actually, this bubbe meise has its origin in the Talmud.

There is a beautiful Talmudic legend that while a fetus is in the womb, it is taught the entire Torah and just before birth, an angel comes along and strikes the fetus on the lips and the Torah is forgotten.

I absolutely love that legend about us learning Torah in utero and I believe that the phrase in the Torah blessings which says that God planted within us life eternal could actually be a reference to that story. There couldn’t be a more dramatic expression of “planting within us”.

So, Torah was within each of us from our earliest days. Before we became an independent life, before we had even the status of being fully alive according to Jewish law, our tradition tells us that Torah was planted in our kishkes.

It’s just a legend so don’t take it literally. But, take it seriously enough to ask one question. If it’s so important, why did the angel take the Torah away from us?

It is simply because were it left inside of us, it wouldn’t be our Torah. Had the angel left the Torah we were taught there, it wouldn’t be our Torah, it would be the Torah of the teacher who put it there. Even if the teacher who put it there was the Kadosh Baruch Hu, the Holy One, as the text in the Talmud seems to imply, it wouldn’t be ours.

In simple computer terms we all can understand, I believe the angel hit select all and delete and left the empty file there.

The file named Torah lies there waiting to be filled. There is something empty inside of us that has to be filled and it has to be filled with our Torah.

It has to be our Torah and it becomes our Torah when we refill that file, that vessel that once contained the holy words, with our own view of Torah, our own understanding of the words of our tradition.

When our b’nai and b’not mitzvah stand on this bima and tell us how they understand the section of Torah they just chanted, they create their own Torah. And so it is for anyone who comes up with a new understanding or who adamantly disagrees with a text: who screams out at God for commanding Abraham to sacrifice Isaac, or reinterprets the archaic and misguided approach of Leviticus regarding homosexuality. It is the same when a couple chooses a beautiful phrase from Song of Songs and places it on their wedding invitation or on their ketuba as Ellen and I did or analyzes a traditional text from a modern psychological perspective. When we put our personal stamp on one of the stories or teachings of our tradition, we refill the Torah file with our own thoughts and we make Torah our own.

This is our legacy.

When we refill that vessel with our own version of Torah, we are doing exactly what every human being does in the course of his or her life. We start with the DNA given and move forward as individuals affected by environment and experience. When a Jew studies Torah, she takes the DNA from the past, not just the communal past, but the past that has been planted in her kishkes and uses that foundation to become the person she chooses to be.

This is why the blessings end with a present tense verb: notayn, God gives the Torah. The Torah is constantly being given. It is an ongoing process that each of us must fulfill in our lives, it is a vow from which can not be released.

 

So, why have I chosen to speak about this tonight on this Yom Kippur?

It is because this Yom Kippur is, needless to say, particularly emotional for me.

As I enter my final year as rabbi of this wonderful Congregation, I have been thinking quite a bit about what has been most important to me over the past 30 years.

Of course, being with you, supporting and guiding you through joyous and lihavdeel, difficult times, has been the most important. But, right behind it and very close, has been the joy of teaching of Torah in many different settings from this bima to religious school, to lunch and learn, to divrei Torah on the bus during our many memorable trips to Israel to our Shabbat morning Shabbat limmud, to adult education classes.

A Rabbi’s job is to be a teacher and the thirst for knowledge and the respect for learning among so many of you in this community has made teaching Torah here a delight for me and I sincerely thank those of you who taken advantage of the many opportunities for us to learn together. You have challenged me to continue to think, to search for interesting sources more diligently, to analyze the text more deeply and to listen to many different perspectives more respectfully. It has been such a privilege to learn from you.

 

I am so grateful because of all the vows a Rabbi makes, the one to learn and teach Torah is the one I cherish most deeply.

But, the vow is not just for Rabbis.

God chose us, gave us a gift and planted within each and every one of us and we must respond.

May you continue to come to the bima and praise God as the one who planted the love of Torah within us. Then, may you act on it.

On this Kol Nidre night, may we all commit ourselves to fulfilling that ancient vow to study Torah and thus, always, always, continue to grow as Jews.

 

 

SERMON FOR ROSH HASHANA 2017

TO WRESTLE AND TO DREAM

 

The song consists of only six simple words: six words sung over and over again.

But those words have been sung at such significant moments.

– in the life of the State of Israel when the existence of the state lay in the balance.

– by Jews in the former Soviet Union who sang them, quietly at first and then more loudly and defiantly as the years went along.

– at bar and bat mitzvah and wedding parties as guests twirl around in a hora.

And, three weeks from tonight, on Simchat Torah, we will sing them out with pride outside the synagogue so that everyone will hear.

Six short words.

Sung over and over again.

Place after place, time after time, year after year.

Please join in singing them with me.

Am Yisrael Hai. Od Avinu Hai.

The people of Israel, The Jewish people live.

They are words of exultation and joy celebrating that our people’s glorious past, as important as it is, has led to something more critical: a present and, God willing, a strong future. And, now more than ever, we need to sing those words and embrace those words and live that promise.

I only translated the first phrase Am Yisrael Hai. That phrase we understand.

But, what do we make of the second phrase?

Od Avinu Hai. Our father still lives.

What does this mean? Who is “our father” that is being referred to?

Look it up and you’ll very likely find the explanation that “our father” refers to God.

But, it does not.

Avinu, “our father”, in this phrase does not refer to God. It refers to the patriarch Jacob, our patriarch, who was also known as Israel.

The phrase is a reference to a Talmudic text. In the Talmudic tractate of Ta’anit, we read that Rabbi Yochanan said something very strange: “Our father Jacob never died”.

Rabbi Nachman answered him bluntly: “So why did they waste time eulogizing, embalming and burying him?

Rabbi Yochanan responded metaphorically: “There is a verse in the prophet Jeremiah which compares Jacob, Israel, to his descendants. So, as long as his descendants remain alive, Jacob, Israel, remains alive”.

Thus, am Yisrael hai, od avinu hai.

The people of Israel live and therefore, our father, Jacob, Israel lives.

We keep Jacob alive when we, as a people, stay alive.

That’s what the song says.

At least the way we sing it.

But, I disagree.

I think the song, and Rabbi Yochanan, have it backwards.

We do not keep Jacob alive.

Jacob keeps us alive.

It is only if we keep the spirit of our patriarch alive that our people’s future, at least its meaningful and vital future, will be assured.

We can only live meaningfully as Jews if we truly live as the descendants of Israel.

This is my thirtieth Rosh Hashana on this bima. Twenty-nine years ago this Rosh Hashana, I delivered my first two High Holy Day sermons at Beth Israel and I still believe deeply in the message of those sermons.

I spoke that year about Jacob, Israel, and the two aspects of his life that should define who we are as Jews.

On the first day, I spoke about Israel the wrestler. On the second day, I spoke about Jacob the dreamer.

Jacob, our father, was given the name Israel, the one who “wrestles with God”, when he struggled with an angel on a dark lonely night. He serves as a model for us to always wrestle with the world, to confront difficult questions in the name of our tradition and faith, to not be satisfied with simple answers to complex issues or reduce Judaism to a children’s game.

And Jacob, our father who dreamed of a ladder rising to heaven is also a model for us. He calls on us to set our sights higher, to rise above the disappointments and cynicism of today to believe in and work for a better tomorrow for us and for the world.

As long as we keep Jacob alive, as long as we keep wrestling, as long as we keep dreaming, our people will truly stay alive.

That was my message on Rosh Hashana 1988 and it is my message today.

However, in my first moments as rabbi here, I didn’t want to be specific about which issues we should be wrestling with. I had to get to know the congregation and the congregation had to get to know me before I went too deeply into specifics. So, I spoke more in generalities.

That was wise then.

But, today, I want to go far beyond the generalities and speak about four issues which I have been wrestling with for years and which I believe we, as Jews must wrestle with now and in the future, here and throughout our Jewish world.

There are so many issues to choose from but I have chosen four, representative of different aspects of what it means to be a Jew.

Four issues that are worthy of wrestling with.

First, and this one is the proverbial elephant in the room, I have been wrestling with the issue of rising Anti-Semitism throughout the world and here at home. I have steadfastly maintained optimism regarding our nation and the safety it provides for us as Jews and I still trust in the safety and security of our peoples in this nation despite recent trends. I still trust in the political and judicial systems and the good will of the majority of Americans.

But, even I have begun to wonder in ways I never thought I ever would. When I entered rabbinical school Anti Semitism was, for the most part, far away and back then. Not any more. Hatred of Jews seems to be much more common and we must confront it and must accept its deepening reality.

We must protect ourselves.

We must be vigilant.

But, I believe that as we wrestle with our fears, we must keep two thoughts in mind. First, we can not become insular and care only for ourselves. We need to continue to be involved in community efforts, to know our neighbors, to share their fears and concerns, to build alliances and to be part of the American society. We must respond and join hands and stand up and speak out when anyone in this nation is targeted.

And secondly, we can not teach our children that our Jewish identity is wrapped up in potential victimhood. No matter how much we may fear, we need to concentrate on making Judaism mean something elevating and sanctifying in our lives, not just a flag waving identification in defiance of a hate-filled world. How we balance our needs for self-preservation with a determined effort to deepen our appreciation for Jewish learning, for spirituality, for observance of the mitzvot is absolutely one of the most important struggles we face.

On a completely different subject, I believe we must wrestle with scientific advancement and new scientific realities, particularly in the area of the life sciences.

For more than 10 years, I have been involved in two different groups comprised of scientists and faith leaders. We have met monthly to explore and wrestle with questions concerning the intersection of faith and science.

During many of our sessions, we discussed new techniques and discoveries in the life sciences: the human genome and genetic therapies, advances in medical treatments, theories concerning genetic basis of human behavior and so many more. These discussions eventually brought us to questions concerning what it means to be a human being, and what, if any, limitations there should be to scientific exploration and human experimentation.

These fascinating discussions about scientific progress have not diminished my belief in God as creator. Rather, the discussions have deepened that belief. Every new piece of scientific information I have been exposed to has made me believe even more in the purposeful creation of the human being and as evidence of the divine.

And, at the same time, I have marveled at the intellectual curiosity and dedication of scientists to reveal and better understand so much of what makes human beings and the world work.

But, the question that comes up again and again for me is how do we remain appropriately humble as human beings, holding firm to our values and our ethics and recognizing that we are not all powerful while at the same time taking advantage of procedures and discoveries which can enhance or extend or better explain our lives. And, how do we decide when to say that progress can be dangerous: just because we can do something, is it necessarily good for us and for the world to do it?

I believe that thoughtful Jews must actively engage in questions such as these. We need to wrestle with what it means to be a thinking, creative human being while still believing in the divine and in the essential importance of the soul.

Thirdly, Jews and especially Conservative Jews have to wrestle more seriously with the reality of intermarriage.

Currently, the Rabbinical Assembly of the Conservative movement prohibits rabbis from officiating at interfaith marriage ceremonies. I respect the authority of my rabbinic organization and will not do so.

But, like many of my colleagues, I have been wrestling with this issue for years and, as some of you have heard me imply in the past, my thinking has gradually been changing.

I believe without question that the sharing of a religious faith and identity is a great advantage in a marriage and I do believe our future would be significantly more secure if we find ways to lower the rate of interfaith marriage among Jews.

I believe that without question but I also see the world changing and synagogues changing.

We have made many changes here at Beth Israel over the last 30 years as we have wrestled with the reality of intermarriage. We now welcome all family members as members of the shul. We have begun to say mazal tov and to announce interfaith marriages in our bulletin. We will, within the halachic standards of our Torah service, perform an aufruf for an interfaith couple should the couple desire it.

I consider these all to be positive changes.

But, as a Conservative synagogue, we can’t make one critical change: the rabbi can’t stand with the couple and bring the spiritual element to the sacred moment they begin their married life.

So, I have wrestled with this reality for years and I have come to the conclusion that the status quo is wrong.

Let me tell you why.

Let me ask rhetorical questions. Once an interfaith marriage becomes a reality in your family, how many of you have chosen not to embrace the future family member who is not Jewish? How many of you have not done your best to make that individual feel welcome in your family? How many of you considered doing what Jews used to do and sit shiva for the one who intermarries?

I don’t even have to wait for answers. I know what most of you would say because you’ve told me and you’ve shown me.

As parents, as grandparents, you do what you should do and what I’ve told you to do if you have asked: you reach out and embrace.

 

And you hope that your friends and extended family do the same.

So, why should the only person that alienates a Jew and his or her beloved be the one person who could most effectively serve as a positive influence in their feelings about communal Jewish spiritual life?

Why is it the rabbi who has to be the bad guy?

When an interfaith couple approaches a rabbi because they sincerely want him or her to officiate, we should be able to say yes.

We shouldn’t sign a traditional ketubah. We shouldn’t have the language of kiddushin, halachic marriage said under the huppah. We shouldn’t say all of the sheva brachot, the 7 wedding blessings. I believe we shouldn’t co-officiate with a clergy of a different faith. But, after all of the “no’s” we could work out something beautiful and spiritual and we need to.

I honestly have no idea how this will affect us demographically or sociologically. Time would tell. But, I believe it is the right thing to do.

 

Finally, let me bring up one final issue.

We need to keep wrestling with issues facing the State of Israel.

Let me be absolutely clear although I sincerely hope you don’t need me to tell you how I feel after all these years.

There is no wrestling with the question of the legitimacy of Israel.

There is no wrestling with the question of the importance of Israel to our lives as Jews.

There is no wrestling with the sacred responsibility Israel has to ensure the security of her people given terrorism and threats the nation faces.

There is no wrestling with the pride we should feel at the thrilling accomplishments of the state in 70 short years.

Those are givens.

But, if we think that we can ensure a love of Israel among Jews of future generations by merely repeating those well-rehearsed givens while stifling questions and dissent about critical issues, we are wrong.

We teach our children to be actively engaged in ethical, political and philosophical questions of all kinds here at home and then we rush to close off debate when it comes to Israel. And, while it is true that we need to remember and account for the difference between living on the front lines in Israel and living on the sidelines in the Diaspora, how Israel acts does matter to all of us.

And so, we must wrestle with the difficult questions.

How do we react to the exclusion of and discrimination against non-Orthodox Judaism which is often accompanied by horrendous libelous speech by government officials?

How do we speak out against the terrible disruption of daily life of Palestinians in the West Bank and Bedouin in the Negev beyond any legitimate security demands?

How do we respond to events in the holy city of Jerusalem when, instead of being a place of dreams, the holy city becomes the setting for an extremist form of triumphant nationalism which denigrates the humanity of the other?

How do we reconcile our justifiable pride at the democratic ideal of Israel with the increasing limits placed on freedom of expression and protest?

Before you criticize me for raising these issues, and I know some of you will, talk to young Jews about what they’re thinking.

We do our children and, I believe, Israel, no favor if we stop wrestling with these and so many other issues and doing so openly and respectfully as a sign of love and concern. I would rather our young people hear those questions from those who love and support Israel rather than from other people in other settings.

And, if we consider Israel to be our spiritual home, not just our political home, rabbis must be role models for wrestling with these issues.

That is and always has been the role of a rabbi.

 

Four areas of wrestling. And there are so many more that I have been wrestling with.

What is the meaning of prayer in today’s world?

Should we make changes in our Shabbat observance to account for the different pace of life today or do we need the “Temple in time” as Heschel called Shabbat even more deeply today?

How should we respond philosophically and ritually to deeper and more complicated questions of gender identification that are being raised throughout our society?

And, the most important question: what do we do about the eighth day of Pesach?

These and so many other questions need to be wrestled with and we can not accept simple answers.

But, Jacob didn’t only wrestle. He dreamed as well and we sometimes have to stop wrestling in the night and take time to dream in broad daylight as well.

Let me tell you a story again. I’ve told it many times.

During my first year in Ann Arbor, I was invited to speak to a class of 13 year olds at the humanistic Jewish Cultural School. I was asked this question by one of the children:

“I’m a secular Jew. You’re a religious Jew. Is there anything we both can believe in?”

I thought for a while and said that there certainly is.

I said that every Jew has to believe that the story human beings are writing in this world will have a happy ending. Every Jew has to believe that the world can be perfected. Every Jew has to believe with perfect faith that there will come a time when all of our precious, most glorious, most impossible dreams, actually come true.

Im lo machar az machratyaim:

If not tomorrow, then the day after.

We must believe.

More than forty years ago, I decided to become a rabbi for three practical reasons and one more general reason. First, I wanted to study and teach Torah. Second, I wanted a career that would enable me to work directly with people. Third, I wanted to find a job which would permit me more easily to live a deeply satisfying personally meaningful spiritual life as an observant Jew on my own terms.

As the song says: “Two out of three ain’t bad.”

But, seriously, I also chose to become a rabbi for a more conceptual reason.

I chose to become a rabbi because I am an optimist, an idealist and a dreamer and I really do believe that this world is worth believing in and dreaming for and that Judaism as a faith can help the world be redeemed.

And that hasn’t changed.

So, even as we wrestle and question and debate and struggle, we must continue to imagine that ladder leading ever upwards with us, each and every succeeding generation, climbing one step further up.

As a Jew, I refuse to give up on my dreams.

As a Jew, I refuse to give up on the world.

Sometimes, I feel like I’ve wrestled too long and just want things to be simple.

Sometimes, I feel like being a dreamer is for children or fools.

We all feel that way sometimes.

But, when that cynicism surfaces, I think we should close our eyes and imagine that our father Jacob comes along and taps us on the shoulder and says: “without my inspiration, the Jewish people will not stay alive or at least, their lives won’t be as meaningful. Wrestle and dream, just like I did and our people will flourish and our future will be even better than our past”.

So, that’ brings me back the beginning.

Six simple words. We sing them so loudly.

But we don’t sing them correctly.

 

We don’t keep Jacob alive, Jacob, Israel, the wrestler and dreamer, keeps us alive.

So join with me once again in singing that simple song. But, this time let’s sing it the right way: the other way around.

Od Avinu Hai, Am Yisrael Hai.

Let us proclaim that as long as our father, Jacob, lives and inspires our hearts and minds, we will live a meaningful existence as Jews and our people will truly live.

If our father lives, we will live as well.

 

 

 

 

 

                           LIGHT AND SHADOW

It can be said about almost everything that occurs in this world or any action that we may perform: “There’s a bracha for that”. “There’s a blessing for that”.  Jews have a blessing for almost everything in our world.

         So, naturally, many people have asked me recently: “Is there a blessing for a solar eclipse?”

         The answer is, traditionally, no.

But I disagree.

         I have been eagerly anticipating this coming Monday for a year or so. Under different circumstances, I would be getting in my car and driving to Southern Illinois to experience the total eclipse. I can’t. So I’ll have to be satisfied, weather permitting, with the 70% or so we’ll see here.

         And, I can’t wait.

         I am fascinated by all things astronomical and see in them both the creative powers of God and the wisdom of human beings which allows us to explain and predict the orbits and movements of the heavenly lights.

         I read something the other day regarding solar eclipses that I had never read before.

         Apparently, the only reason that we can experience a total solar eclipse with the brilliant ring that shows around the sun at totality is because even though the sun is 400 times larger than the moon, the moon is 400 times closer to the earth. That enables the moon to cover the disc of the sun perfectly from our perspective. If the sun was bigger or the moon further away, there would be no total eclipse as we know it.

         What a coincidence.

         Or is it?

         I don’t claim that God created the sun and the moon of a particular size just to delight us every few years. Our world could exist very well without this experience.

         But, I do believe in a world which has been created with a certain symmetry, balance and intricate structure which enables it to continue to exist in a largely predictable way. And, as you have heard me say many times, while I believe completely and with perfect faith in the idea of the big bang theory and the scientific realities of the world as it is, I also believe that the hand of God, at the very least, started this process going. I do not want to look at anything in the natural world and say, for example: “What a lucky break that human beings can think and feel and dream of great things”. The further I look into the scientific realities of life, the more I am inclined to see a God who dreamed of a world in which thinking, feeling human beings could function.

         So, I will celebrate the eclipse with a bracha: Oseh Ma’asei Beraysheet: acknowledging God who fashions the work of creation. I urge you to consider taking a moment during the eclipse to do the same and recognize the truly wondrous world in which we live.

         But, as I said before, traditionally, a bracha is not said over an eclipse. This is because it was considered a bad omen for the world to see the sun darkened.

         I don’t consider it a bad omen. I know it will only last for a few minutes and we’ll go back to sunlight so I will say a bracha.

         But, I do think that during the eclipse we should consider what it means when a light falls into shadow.

         There is a beautiful legend about the sun and the moon which teaches that when they were created, they were created to be equal size and each with a light of its own. But, the moon complained to God that there couldn’t be two equal size rulers, one had to be superior. So, God took the moon at its word and lessened it because it rejected equality. The sun, which was satisfied in sharing glory, was given superiority.

         We have another bracha in our tradition, said when one sees a human being of notable physical stature or unique appearance. We acknowledge that God is mishaneh habriyot: varies the creations.

         While different in appearance, each of us is created with an equal piece of the image of God. We are instructed by our tradition to acknowledge and celebrate the distinctiveness of human beings.

         But, some people can’t accept this.

         Some say we can’t all be equal. Like the moon, some say, a choice should be made.

         And when people say this, they disgrace our creator. They sow seeds of hatred and eclipse any potential light that their society and community could offer.

         And that brings us to this moment in our nation’s history.

It must be said clearly by every American of good will and with any moral compass, from the very top of the power structure to each and every one of us here. The threat posed by White Supremacists, those racists who feed on Nazi rhetoric and actions and who terrorize and threaten people whom they deem to be different, including you and me, must be called out and opposed in the strongest possible terms. There can be no equivocation and no attempt at moral equivalency when those with such hatred are involved.

         Our nation has seen a rise in rhetoric and actions, notably in Charlottesville, but other places as well, which are drawn from the most despicable, hate-filled ideology. This hatred has always been present in America, usually somewhat under the surface. But, it has been brought into the open by many factors notably the many expressions of divisiveness and code words of hatred which were spoken or tolerated by candidate then President Trump.

These can not be what America is about.

         The people who claim that there isn’t room in this country for equality must be rejected and ostracized and can not be given even the slightest hint that there is any tolerance for what they believe or what they seek to do.

         It is absolutely true that there in intolerance on all sides of the political spectrum. I’ve personally encountered it. But, here and now, this is the battle that is raging and this horrendous viewpoint must be answered with unified voices of rejection without any hesitation or mincing of words.

         Our nation can be a light unto the world. But, that light is eclipsed when those who believe in this poisonous ideology, a way of “thinking” that has led to persecution of so many in this country and resulted in the murder of six million of our people and millions of others in Europe, are allowed even for a moment to think that it has a place in this nation.

         I have heard thousands of statements by presidents in my lifetime. Some I have agreed with. Some I have disagreed with. Some have angered me. Some have served as an inspiration to me throughout my life. But, President Trump’s assertion that there were “very fine people” among those who stood with those who held Nazi flags, shouting anti-Semitic and racist chants is the most offensive and despicable statement I have ever heard from a President of the United States. How dare anyone call someone showing any support or tolerance for such an agenda a fine person?  Unbelievable and completely unacceptable.

         Every day, we must live out our responsibility never to let the light of freedom and equality that our patriots, our soldiers and our citizens, fought for and died for be darkened by hatred and bigotry.

         And, we must demand that our elected officials take responsible action to see that we, and all communities threatened by hatred, will be safe in this great country.

         Let me close with words of hope and comfort, especially to the young people here.

         I believe deeply in the goodness of the majority of people of this nation in which we are blessed to live. I believe, and I have received many calls and emails over the past few days to demonstrate this, that there are people of good will all around this nation ready to stand with us, just as we must be ready to stand with others who are threatened.

         There will be some battles ahead. I pray that these battles will only be battles of words, God forbid we see more violence. But, we must be ready to stand alongside other people of good will to insure our and others’ safety. We will have plenty of allies. There is good all around us.

Our parasha begins: See I set before you blessing and curse, life and death. Choose life. It is a clear choice but a choice which must be made.

Choose life, not death.

Choose equality, not hatred.

Choose light, not darkness.                  

Choose light and choose it loudly and clearly.

 

 

Our journey through the year can be defined by the holidays which we observe and Parashat Emor includes one of the lists of the cycle of those holidays. Shabbat and the festivals are described in great detail as are the days which we have come to know as Yamim Noraim, the Days of Awe, the High Holy Days.

Regarding those days, the Torah’s description of Yom Kippur resonates with us in its commandments regarding self-denial and the promise of atonement. But the holiday described just before it is not as familiar. There is no mention of t’shuva, repentance. There is no mention of turning the page on the calendar to a New Year. There is no mention of apples and honey and not even a reference to the name Rosh Hashana as that is a term applied to this day much later in our history. So, what is mentioned? That day is called Yom Zichron Teruah, a day commemorated with loud blasts of a horn.

Of course our Rosh Hashana wouldn’t be the same without the blowing of the Shofar but the development over history has taken the holiday far beyond whatever its original meaning was. The Torah is not clear as to exactly what the blast from the horn was supposed to mean. But, for two thousand years now, the blast has meant the call to action, the awakening of the conscience, the determination to build a better life and a better world.

And, while the Torah uses the word T’ruah to refer to all the sounds that are blown from the Shofar, one of the series of three sounds that we blow is known specifically as T’ruah:  9 staccato notes which in the mystical tradition convey the sense of brokenness, the sense of a world desperately in need of repair. T’ruah also conveys the sense of urgency as it sounds like an unrelenting alarm clock which will not give us rest until it is heeded.

For many in the Jewish community, the word T’ruah now symbolizes something else as well. It symbolizes rabbis, cantors, rabbinical and cantorial students and laypeople from all the movements within Judaism who have come together determined to work for human rights here in the United States, in Israel and in the territories. T’ruah was the name taken by the organization that was once called Rabbis for Human Rights-North America. While continuing to hold great respect for the Israeli organization of Rabbis for Human Rights, the North American organization ended its formal relationship with the Israeli group several years ago in order to focus on human rights issues here at home in addition to those in Israel. A new name was chosen: T’ruah: the Rabbinical Call for Human Rights.

I had been a member of the board of RHR-North America for a few years when I was asked to serve as national co-chair of this new organization with a new name, an expanded vision and a new executive director, Rabbi Jill Jacobs.

I served in the role of co-chair for two years and since my term ended, I have served on the board. It has been an honor and a privilege to have done so and while my term on the board will be complete as of June and I will be stepping down I do so with only the greatest respect and admiration for Rabbi Jacobs, the T’ruah staff, for the organization and for the work that T’ruah continues to accomplish.
Among other efforts, T’ruah has taken American Jews physically and spiritually to the tomato fields of Florida to support the work of the Coalition for Immokalee Workers who have had great success in righting some of the terrible wrongs that had literally enslaved farm workers in the tomato industry.

T’ruah has awakened American Jews to wrestle with the complicated, delicate and critical issue of policing and to strongly oppose the disgraceful expansion of solitary confinement.

T’ruah has successfully brought to light the use of funds by charitable organizations to support efforts that evict Palestinian residents of East Jerusalem from their homes in deference to Jewish settlers.

But, most importantly T’ruah has reminded us that human rights has to be high on the agenda of the Jewish community. As we face issues of immigration and refugee status and sanctuary here at home and as Israel faces the 50th anniversary of the Six Day War which brought such tremendously positive results in terms of security and the return to the kotel and the Old City of Jerusalem but which has carried with it for the Palestinian people ramifications  which can not be ignored or minimized, the questions of human rights become even more critical.

I am proud to have been part of the leadership of T’ruah: and I will continue to support and encourage your support for this vital, sacred work.

The foundation of our commitment to human rights as Jews is found throughout our tradition. It is found in Beraysheet which reminds us that we are created equally in the image of God.  It is found in Leviticus which as we read last week we are called on to love our neighbor as ourselves. It is found in the Mishna which commands that the honor of another be as dear to us as our own. It can even be inferred from our counting of the omer which urges us to see freedom as carrying with it obligations responsibilities as we move towards the mountain top.

As a people, we can not ignore the commitment to human rights.

And, what applies for us as Jews applies for all people.

I will close therefore with the eloquent and courageous words of Senator John McCain who, in a recent essay, criticized Secretary of State Rex Tillerson who had claimed that conditioning our foreign policy too heavily on values creates obstacles to advance our national interest.

In response, Senator McCain, no stranger to the horrendous effects of human rights abuses, wrote: “I consider myself a realist. I have certainly seen my share of the world as it really is and not how I wish it would be. What I’ve learned is that it is foolish to view realism and idealism as incompatible or to consider our power and wealth as encumbered by the demands of justice, morality and conscience. In the real world, as lived and experienced by real people, the demand for human rights and dignity, the longing for liberty and justice and opportunity, the hatred of oppression and corruption and cruelty is reality. By denying this experience, we deny the aspirations of billions of people.”

Thank you Senator McCain for those brave, inspiring words and thank you for reminding us that human rights is not a partisan issue. We can disagree on specifics but we can not ignore our responsibilities as human beings.

And thank you to T’ruah for what you have taught me and what you continue to teach all of us: that, as Jews,  must always be committed to principles of human rights.

Each day must be a Yom T’ruah, each day we must listen to the sound of a world desperately in need of repair and we must listen to the cries of those who depend upon us to insure their rights as human beings.

It is a call we must heed every day as we continue our journey through the years.