This week’s parasha contains what is, by far, my favorite narrative in the entire Torah. The story of the scouts sent out by Moses to scout out the land of Canaan is a great story in and of itself but the Rabbinic midrashim on the story turn it into a morality tale about self image, faith in God or lack thereof, optimism, courage and the willingness to stand up for what one believes. The commentaries are truly fantastic and elevate this story to one of great significance for all of us.

A few years ago, though, I noticed something a bit less serious about the parasha and decided to approach it a bit playfully from the bima. It seemed to me that this parasha gives some very good advice about how to enjoy a good family vacation. We are reading this parasha quite a bit earlier in terms of the civil calendar than we reading it that year and so the timing worked out a bit better as it was closer to summer vacation but given that most of us are always ready for a good vacation, I’ll share the idea here.

If you’re unfamiliar with the portion, you might want to read it before continuing. But, in honor of the reading of Parashat Shelach L’cha, here are the rules for a successful summer vacation:

First, the Rabbis interpret the word Shelach L’cha, “you send” scouts as implying that sending the scouts was for Moses and the people’s benefit. So, before anything else, recognize that taking trips are for your benefit: take time for them, enjoy them, delight in them.

Second, Moses tells the scouts to go up through the Negev together and they do but then the text says vayavo (in the singular), “he went to Hevron”. While the singular might be intended to imply that the scouts went as a group, the Rabbis claim that Caleb, one of the loyal scouts took a side trip to Hevron to pray at the grave of the Patriarchs and Matriarchs to be saved from the evil plans of the 10 disloyal scouts. Lesson: make a good plan but be willing to take a spontaneous side trip when the spirit moves you to do so. Being unwilling to break away from your carefully planned itinerary robs you of the opportunity to truly enjoy a significant experience.

Without going into detail concerning the midrashic source for my next teaching, suffice it to say that the Rabbis teach that God said: “I meant something to be positive and you took it as a negative”. The lesson to be drawn from this is that the occasional disruption in travel or detour can lead to great results if you keep a positive attitude and look for the good that can come out of an unexpected change in plans. When we were visiting Juneau, Alaska, one of the members of our family needed to find a bathroom. It took several minutes and a walk a couple of  blocks out of our way to handle the situation. But, if we hadn’t done so, we would have never actually entered the Alaska State Capitol building (the closest rest rooms) and if we hadn’t taken that side trip,  we would have missed one of the great coincidences in my traveling life. Coming out of the capitol building a few minutes later, we turned a corner and bumped into the only people we knew who lived in Alaska as they were just arriving back at their house. That gave us an opportunity to see old friends and they took us for a personal tour of the city which we never would have received had we not had to make that bathroom stop. Even the unexpected delays and detours can lead to fantastic opportunities if you take them as positives instead of negatives.

Next, one of the great moments of the story of the scouts is when they bring back a huge bunch of grapes to show the productivity of the land. The scene of two scouts having to share in the carrying of one bunch of grapes is so famous that it became the symbol for the Israel Ministry of Tourism. That leads to the simple lesson: Bring back souvenirs and the simpler, the better. We have a separate box in our basement for every trip we have ever taken as a family. Each one contains receipts, menus, newspapers, you name it. When winter sets in, nothing is as refreshing as reliving one of our great vacation experiences.

And finally, take  a lesson from what the scouts should have done. When you get back, don’t gather everyone you know and give them all of the details of your trip. Inevitably, someone will get mad at you. Instead, just tell them exactly what the scouts should have said and had they done so, 40 years of wandering in the desert would have been avoided. Just tell them: “We had a great time. You ought to see it for yourself”.

 

Happy travels!

 

 

 

 

When I began to write this blog almost two years ago, I did not envision that I would write about the past as often as I have. I have written my share of comments on current events and shared some material from classes I have taught or sermons I have delivered but I have found that more often than not, my blog has become an opportunity to share reminiscences and nostalgia about events, people and places from my past.

This posting is no exception.

In June of 1977, a few weeks after my graduation from Brandeis University and two months away from beginning Rabbinical School, I was sitting at home in Boston frustrated that I hadn’t found a job for the summer and looking desperately for something to occupy my time. Suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, I received a phone call from a good friend, Debby Cantor (now Rabbi Debby Cantor) whom I knew from Brandeis. She asked me what I was doing that summer and I admitted that I wasn’t doing much. She told me to pack a suitcase and come up to Camp Ramah in New England as they desperately needed counselors.

I recall hesitating for a moment but with no other options, took her up on her offer.

I was familiar with Ramah, the camps sponsored by the Conservative Movement because my brother had been a staff member for several years, first at Ramah in England and later at Ramah in Wisconsin. I had never wanted to go to camp, either as a camper or a staff member. But,this seemed to be the right time.

I spent that first summer working as a counselor with 12 and 13 year old campers and when the summer was over, I told myself I would never do it again. It was just not my style, it was too hard, the pay wasn’t sufficient etc. etc. But, two days after I returned home from the summer, it dawned on me that I had learned more, experienced more and grown more in two months at Camp than I had in any other experience in my life and I couldn’t wait to return.

I went back to camp for 13 consecutive summers, first as a counselor, then as a Rosh Edah, a Division Head, then for my first 8 summers after ordination as an advisor, teacher, occasional camp driver, baseball umpire and whatever else was needed.  I, like most of the kids, waited an entire year just for the opportunity to spend all or part of the summer at camp.

I know that what I did at Ramah influenced a lot of kids. I’ve heard from many of them over the years and they’re grown now with careers and families of their own. I know some of my campers who became Rabbis or Jewish professionals were inspired by what we taught them at Camp. I know that the experiences at Ramah helped develop a generation of Jewish adults who are guided by sensitivity and emotion and love for Judaism.

But, whatever the kids got from what I and others gave at Ramah, I received just as much if not more.

It was at Ramah that I learned how to talk with kids, how to teach, how to find Jewish lessons in everyday experiences and how to transmit them. It was at Ramah that I learned what the word “community” really meant as all of us, staff and campers, had to learn to co-exist in an environment that required cooperation and sensitivity. It was at Ramah that I was able to reach beyond my comfort zone and paddle a canoe for the first time, sleep out in the woods, climb a mountain and do any number of other things that a city kid just never had to do.

This weekend, Ramah in New England is celebrating its 60th birthday with a reunion weekend at Camp. Sadly, I could not go because of prior commitments. But, I have spent quite a bit of time in the last few weeks thinking about my experiences at Camp. I have thought about my favorite images of Ramah: the small pine grove in the middle of the camp, the shore of the lake as the sun rose on a late summer morning, the row of trees behind the basketball court where we had Friday night services silhouetted against a blue sky as the sun began to set, the porch of building 32 where I ran staff meetings for my counselors when I was a Division Head, the quiet of the field near the campers’ bunks at night as the kids slept after a long day, and the noisy, raucous hadar ochel (dining hall) which, on Friday evening was set with white plastic tablecloths and filled with the joyous noise of singing and laughing. The places and the experiences all come back to me and they are all precious memories.

Working at Ramah was intense and tiring to say the least. It was not easy. But it was worth every bit of the effort because it prepared me for my life, professionally and personally, in ways that are too numerous to count.

And, it was a whole lot of fun.

So, I’ll take this opportunity as Ramah in New England celebrates its 60th birthday to say todah rabbah, thank you for all it has meant to me.

I will never forget those years.

When I arrived at the synagogue this morning, there was a letter waiting for me. The envelope indicated that it was “personal” for me. As I have received several letters from friends and colleagues in recognition of tonight’s celebration in honor of my 25th year as Rabbi of Beth Israel, I opened it expecting to read a letter similar to the others.

However, this letter was different.

The writer of the letter identified himself as the son of friends of my parents from Boston. I definitely recognized his name and remember the family. He wrote in the letter that his father had recently passed away and that, in the process of going through papers for his estate, he found a savings bond made out to me. He assumed it was meant to be a Bar Mitzvah gift and he wanted me to send it to me. He kindly wrote that after 45 years it probably is worth more than face value.

When I opened up the accompanying gift envelope, yellowed with age, bearing the words: “A gift for you…A Share in Freedom” in a late 1960’s style font, I found a $25 US Savings Bond dated the day before my Bar Mitzvah made out in my name “or Gertrude Dobrusin”.

My first reaction was to laugh and to marvel at the coincidence of a $25 bond arriving on the day of my 25th anniversary celebration and, in fact, 6 days before the 45th anniversary of my Bar Mitzvah. For the fun of it, I went to the US Savings Bond Website and found that it is now worth some $135 , quite a Bar Mitzvah present for one whose younger child celebrated her Bat Mitzvah more than 5 years ago.

I started to write something about this on my Facebook page. I wanted to write how the celebration of a bar mitzvah continues for many years, how sometimes good things happen to us long after they were intended and how kind it was for this man to take the time to look me up and find me after all of these years.

But, as I was writing, it hit me. Even though all of that is true, there is much more to this story.

Over the past few years, I have begun to believe much more deeply in the afterlife and especially because of one experience coinciding with another milestone in my life, to believe that those with whom we were closest in life do in fact send us signs that they are still with us. So, as I sat in my office a few hours before this wonderful event celebrating a milestone my parents would have been so proud of, I can not simply believe that this letter was a coincidence.

Before we went to sleep last night, remembering the incident before that other milestone event, I said to Ellen: “I wonder if there will be some kind of sign tomorrow to show my parents are celebrating this event with me.”

Now I know the answer to that question. And the evening will be even more of a celebration.

 

In Sunday’s New York Times, Ross Douthat wrote a piece about one of my favorite subjects: the consideration of the existence of life elsewhere in the universe. I have always been fascinated by this subject and, in fact, three of my favorite movies: Close Encounters of the Third Kind, E.T. and Contact all are based on this idea.

Douthat brought the subject up in connection with the news this week that scientists had discovered two planets which they feel are “promising candidates” to contain water and thus, perhaps, some form of life. As he points out, these were not the first of such planets to be identified but they have risen to the top of the list of prospective locations for life based on some criteria that I do not completely understand but am willing to accept without argument.

The columnist raised the issue to encourage us to expand our horizons and to look beyond the tragedies of the past week. Truly, one of the ways that human beings have endured difficult times or continued to have faith despite acts of unspeakable evil is to look to the heavens and realize that we are part of something bigger, allowing ourselves to imagine and to dream. We can not allow such speculation and search to divert our attention from the work we need to do to advance the causes of goodness and to seek justice and peace in our world. But, such visions of exploration and or imagination can inspire us to better things.

I was particularly interested in one specific point that Douthat raised. Writing about the theological implications of discovering life elsewhere, he alluded to the negative view: that even considering life existed elsewhere would be to doubt the uniqueness of human beings created in the “image of God” and would in some way diminish our unique standing in the eyes of our Creator.

But, he also considered the supportive view. A believer in God might hope to find life elsewhere because the idea “that the cosmos might be as empty as it is vast raises troubling questions about what, exactly, its Designer had in mind”.

This is an intriguing thought and one which was captured in very simple language in the movie Contact. “if it is just us…seems like an awful waste of space.”

I am drawn to that idea. I have no theological qualms about believing that could be “others” out there. It is  difficult to imagine why God would create such a massive universe and have only one intelligent being populating one infinitesimally small corner of one galaxy. It is somewhat arrogant to think that God would choose to share his “image” with only one creation.

While I do believe that such life exists and that we should continue the search for another form of intelligent life in the universe,  the thought that we could communicate or even just relate in any way is, in many ways, a fantasy and I say this despite how much I love those movies I referred to above. But, it is an important fantasy because it derives from  the loneliness we feel as human beings alone in the vast universe.

As our scientists search for that intelligent life, we, as human beings, God’s creations on this earth, should search for another way to feel we are not alone- and that is by seeking God’s presence in our life.

It would be a terrible waste of space if we are the only “intelligent” being created by God. But, maybe that space is not empty after all. To believe in a God whose presence fills the vastness of the universe helps us realize that we are not alone in this universe. Whatever is happening on some other planet in some other galaxy is a fascinating question to consider and to research. Maybe, we’ll discover intelligent beings out there some day and, despite my doubts, be able to communicate with them. But, one way or the other, it is also worth considering with great seriousness and equal or greater dedication the search for a relationship with our Creator who might or might not have created other intelligent beings as well.

That is most certainly not a waste of time.

The tragic, uncivilized act of terror which took place in Boston on Monday has left us all shocked, saddened and angry. And,  it should leave us determined to continue to live life as we want to live it in this country in defiance of those who wish to undermine our hope, our freedom, our optimism for the future. We grieve for those who have been killed, reach out in compassion and comfort to their families and to all of those who have been wounded. And, we are once again filled with awe and appreciation for those who have bravely and tirelessly done all that they can do to protect and to heal. May we learn from the courage and compassion shown in the last 48 hours.

So much has been written and spoken over the two days about the attack and I have found myself listening less and less to the endless news stories and reading the paper more quickly than I usually do. As the hours have gone by, one thought keeps coming to my mind and it is that thought that I want to write about. It is not about violence, terror and pain or even about the uplifting actions of the brave law enforcement and medical personnel. It is about love: the love of a city, the love of this city.

I don’t question for a moment that any city can inspire love and dedication among those who were born there or lived there. Hopefully, all of us feel a strong, inspiring connection with the place of our birth or the place we call home. But, I also believe that there are some cities which inspire a greater sense of connection: a pride, a uniqueness, a more intense sense of belonging. And, Boston is one of those cities.

If you’ve never been there, if you’ve never lived there, you might pick up some of that sense by listening to the incessant ramblings of Red Sox fans or picking up on the elitist academics who talk about the intellectual environment of the city. But, if you have lived there, and even more importantly, if you were born there, you know that it goes much deeper than that. To be a Bostonian means to believe without apology that you were truly privileged to call such a place home.

So, over the last couple of days, I’ve asked myself why we feel this way.

It is not because the city is perfect. While I was growing up, we saw more than our share of racism and bigotry in this “Athens of America”. There is poverty such as you would find in any city. On a lighter note, the accent can be maddening and the drivers can cause you to want to leave town immediately (but you wouldn’t be able to find your way since the roads are impossible to follow). Still, there is no place like Boston.

Maybe it’s the mixture of history and contemporary life. The “Freedom Trail” which features revolutionary war era graveyards and buildings winds its way through the middle of the main shopping district. Maybe it’s the beautiful views like the one from Storrow Drive coming out of town when you come out of a “s” shaped curve and find yourself for a moment looking right down the Charles River. Maybe it’s the many institutions which are the “oldest” this and the “first” that that are all over the city from the world’s oldest subway to the nation’s oldest public school (yay Boston Latin!) to the oldest ballpark still being used in the Major Leagues. Maybe it’s the way everything has to be just a little different than the rest of the civilized world- candlepin bowling, milk shakes made without ice cream to name just two. Maybe it’s because one of the greatest attractions in the city is taking a ride on the Swan Boats in the Public Gardens, the most “low tech” and least exciting ride you will take in the 21st century but one you will never forget.

Why do I love this city so deeply?

Maybe it is all of these things.

Maybe it’s one I haven’t mentioned.

But, maybe it just is because it is home.

That’s the most important reason of all.

I  wrote this posting before the tragic, horrendous events which took place at the Boston Marathon today. My thoughts and prayers go to the families of those who were killed and to all who were injured and to their families.The day of the Boston Marathon is a holiday in Boston and throughout Massachusetts and a day full of activity and celebration. What a terrible tragedy.

 

 

I know that today, April 15, is “tax day” But, in Massachusetts, today, the 3rd Monday in April is Patriots Day, celebrated as the anniversary of the battles of Concord and Lexington at the beginning of the Revolutionary War. Patriots Day is marked by two major events in the Boston area, the running of the Boston Marathon and the annual Patriots Day Red Sox game at Fenway Park which begins each year at 11 a.m. The reason for the early starting time is that back several decades ago, there was a doubleheader played on this day and the idea was that people would leave Fenway Park after the first game, walk a couple of blocks to Kenmore Square, watch the lead runners in the Marathon as they approached the finish line and then go back to the 2nd game. But everything changes over time. The marathon times keep getting faster and baseball games take longer. So no one can get out to see the marathon runners (unless the game is a rout). And yet, the 11 a.m. starting time stays. Such is the value of tradition.

When you grow up in Boston, you have to at least have a passing interest in American History and I have found that my interest in the subject has grown over the last years especially as a result of a hobby I picked up. I have always been interested in the Presidents and decided I would try to read a book about each of the Presidents and learn a lot of history in the process. I’m actually making good progress through my list although I have a long way to go.

I loved David McCullough’s biographies  John Adams and Harry Truman and found Robert Caro’s volume on LBJ’s presidency: The Passage of Power to be fascinating. I’ve read books about the alleged fraudulent election of Rutherford Hayes, the attempts to hide the illness of Grover Cleveland, the assassination of William McKinley and others. It’s been a great project and I’m glad I took it on.

But, one of the reasons why I wanted to do this is because I am fascinated by some of those men who have held the office of President who are less well known to try to understand more about these somewhat “footnote” characters in our history.

It was with this in mind that I recently read a short biography of Chester Alan Arthur, the 21st president, written by Zachary Karabell. Arthur was the surprise “compromise” choice for vice President to run with James Garfield, one of the most unexpected of all Presidential nominees in the election of 1880. The Garfield/Arthur ticket won and Arthur became President when Garfield was assassinated. He is perhaps best known for the comment made about him by one of his allies from New York who upon hearing that Arthur had become president said: “Chet Arthur, President of the United States? Good God.”

But, in his biography, Karabell presents a sympathetic and appreciative portrait of this man who never wanted to be President, was derided by friends and rivals alike, faced severe issues of loneliness and depression in the White House and battled an illness that grew worse as his presidency went along. The author notes that Arthur made significant decisions on which legislation to support and which to veto and was able to rise above the issues of party loyalty to conduct an honest administration.

I was particularly moved by the final sentences of the book. Karabell writes; “For those who want presidents to be heroes, and, failing that, villains, for those who expect them to be larger than life figures, Arthur’s tenure in office isn’t satisfying…And yet, in spite of what Shakespeare wrote, some men are neither born great, nor achieve greatness, nor have it thrust upon them. Some people just do the best they can in a difficult situation, and sometimes that turns out just fine.”

Think about that quotation. While we honor the heroes of our history as Americans, we also recognize that many many people have played their part in the story of our great nation who are not as well known. Arthur, at least, is “on a list” and his name will not be forgotten. But, there are so many others who are not on any list but who have done the best they can in a difficult situation and they deserve our praise and respect. That final quotation in Karabell’s book has stuck with me since I read it and I think will stay with me for a long time.

Happy Patriots Day!

Today was the 12th anniversary of my father’s death, according to the Hebrew calendar. This day, his 12th yahrzeit has brought back so many memories- but then again, the memories are always there. My father, Manny Dobrusin, died on March 16, 2001 at the age of 79. I’d like to offer these words in his memory.

My father was a teacher- at times in his life by profession, always by avocation. He taught or tried to teach me so many things and one of them  was  the importance of proper grammar.

I distinctly remember that one of his lessons during my teenage years was about the proper distinction between the word “will” and “shall”. I thought of it the other day and remembered the lesson had something to do with someone drowning and screaming out: “I will drown” or “I shall drown”, I couldn’t remember the specifics  and so I tried to reconstruct it by going to google.com- a shortcut my dad would certainly object to. Sure enough, I found the very lesson he taught me, courtesy of wikipedia.org:

An illustration of the supposed contrast between shall and will (when the prescriptive rule is adhered to) appeared in the 19th century, and has been repeated in the 20th century and in the 21st:

• I shall drown; no one will save me! (expresses the expectation of drowning, simple expression of future occurrence)
• I will drown; no one shall save me! (expresses suicidal intent: first-person will for desire, third-person shall for “command”)

Apparently, therefore, the difference that my father was trying to teach me between “will” and “shall” is that “will” is a statement about what one expects to happen while “shall”, when used in the third person as in the second sentence above, implies a command. When the swimmer says: “no one shall save me”, he or she is instructing the people in the vicinity to stay away. A command is being issued: No one is to save me.

Wikipedia makes it clear that very few use this distinction today (not that that would not have bothered my dad) but I’d like to assume for a moment that there is this clear difference between “will” and “shall” to illustrate a point from this past week’s Torah portion.

One of the familiar sections of the Torah begins with the words; “Veshamru B’nai Yisrael et Hashabbat”. It is usually translated as a commandment and all of the translations I have seen use the word  “shall” to indicate this: the people of Israel shall keep the Sabbath”. In context, this makes perfect sense. God is commanding the people using the future tense as a way of determining future behavior: “The people of Israel shall keep the Shabbat”.

The paragraph beginning with these words is found in our Siddur (prayer book) in several places. One of them is in the amida, the silent prayer for Shabbat morning where it is preceded by a paragraph which reads:

Yismach Moshe bimatnat helko…

Moses rejoiced at the gift of his destiny when you declared him a faithful servant…two tablets of stone did he bring down inscribed with Shabbat observance (saying): “Veshamru bnai yisrael et HaShabbat”.

The juxtaposition of these two paragraphs have always puzzled me. We are not used to thinking of Moses as a happy person. Why would Moses rejoice at hearing a commandment concerning Shabbat observance? Why would that, of all things, make him happy?

I believe the answer lies in the word veshamru, usually translated “shall observe”. I think that the author of the paragraph about Moses’ happiness was translating the word veshamru differently. Veshamru is, after all, a simple future tense verb and I think the author of that paragraph translated Veshamru b’nai Yisrael as: the people of Israel will observe the Sabbath, seeing it not as a commandment but as a statement of reality for the future.

I believe that the author envisioned Moses rejoicing at hearing from God that in the future, for all generations, the people of Israel would, in fact, observe the law he was bringing down to them. That it was a commandment was not a source of joy. The source of joy was the promise that they would observe the commandment. I believe the author understood the “shall” as a “will” and Moses’ joy came from a realization that the teaching he was bringing to the people would always stay with them and would make an impact in their lives. For this author, the commandment word “shall” was replaced by the simple statement of future reality: God’s assurance that the people will observe the Sabbath.

There is no greater satisfaction for a teacher than to know that what he or she teaches would impact the students and generations to come. May the memory of all of our teachers, including those closest to us, be for a blessing. And in that spirit, may the memory of my teacher Haim Mendel ben Yoel V’Rivka be for a blessing as it always has been.

 

 

 

 

We are not used to thinking of Moses as rejoicing and

Now, there’s an interesting title for a blog post. Actually, let me explain the context. I have been teaching a class this year in which we have been studying  teshuvot, Rabbinic legal rulings, of the Conservative movement and the last teshvua that we studied was written by Rabbi Alan Lucas on the subject of Tattoing and Body Piercing. The teshuva was written back in 1997 and was approved by the Rabbinical Assembly Committee on Jewish Law and Standards.  As with all of the teshuvot we have studied, I am interested not only in the specifics of the law but in more general questions that the subject raises.

With regard to tattooing, Rabbi Lucas concludes, and I agree 100%, that tattooing is against Jewish law. He gives many reasons for this and to all of those I would add one more which he implies but does not state in detail. The fact that so many Jews were tattooed against their will by the Nazis should compel us to avoid willingly being tattooed. It seems to me that the very association of this act with the savage, inhuman cruelty of the Nazi makes tattooing wrong for Jews.

However, Rabbi Lucas  also brings up one critical point. He says that under no circumstances should the fact that person has a tattoo be a reason to restrict their participation in the Jewish community, whether we talk about ritual roles such as reading Torah for the congregation or, and this is the most frequent question asked on the subject, burial in a Jewish cemetery. Despite what thousands of well intentioned Jewish parents have told their children, having a tattoo does not prevent one from being buried in a Jewish cemetery.

I find this to be a critical point because to teach otherwise is to imply that one act performed over the course of one’s life could possibly disqualify someone from being part of our community.  With the possible exception of those who denigrate Judaism or the Jewish people publicly and do not express any regret- and even this is debatable-  a Jew who “sins” is still a Jew. So, even if one were to consider getting tattooed a sin which it is in the strictest definition of the word, it would not condemn a person to a life outside of the Jewish community in life or in death. We believe in teshuva, in repentence which, in this case, might be hard to “undo” in that tattoo removal is so difficult. But, we also need to keep perspective that as much as one might find tattooing objectionable and advise and teach against it, it should not today  be viewed necessarily as a sign of unethical or immoral behavior and we should be more concerned about other actions that do have more serious implications for the world.

Then, Rabbi Lucas turned his attention to body piercing which of course is even more of an issue today than in 1997 when he wrote the teshuva. Here too, I agree with what he teaches.

He argues that there are many precedents in Jewish law for body piercing, usually restricted to the ear and nose, all the way back to the Torah. And, he reasons, besides our own sense of what “seems right”, there is no reason to make any distinction between the piercing of an ear or any other part of the body. If one accepts piercing ears as being appropriate, then it is hard to draw the line someplace else unless, and he correctly argues this point, there is an increased danger of infection because of the particular part of the body being pierced.

He argues that there is really no foundation to forbid body piercing according to Jewish law. One can say that it doesn’t show respect for the body, an important principle within our tradition, but if one says that they see in such piercing beauty and an enhancement of their body, it is hard to say objectively that they are wrong.

But, then he brings up one other point saying that he knows many people think there is just something that doesn’t seem right about it and it doesn’t seem like the way a Jew should act even though it is permitted.

I am fascinated by this line of reasoning. Whether we talk about body piercing or any other subject, the fact that Jewish law might permit something doesn’t mean that it is necessarily positive. This brings up a very serious discussion of Jewish law: are there moral guidelines that exist outside of Jewish law? Can a person who observes halacha scrupulously still fall short of moral or ethical standards for being a mentsch? And, if that is true, how could Jewish law endorse an action which is less than perfect?

These are very serious questions indeed and I would urge you to think about them. The example of body piercing, permitted in Jewish law, but to some objectionable, brings this question into focus. However, there are many more questions that could come from this same discussion.

Eating meat is permitted according to Jewish law, but perhaps being a vegetarian is, as some Rabbis have argued, the ultimate ethical response to our needs to eat.

Sharing your limited supply of water with someone when you both are lost and near death from thirst  is wrong according to Jewish law if you are putting yourself in more grave danger without any guarantee that either of you would survive. Yet, would it be wrong to violate Jewish law in this case and share the water thinking it is a more ethical decision?

We’re a long way from body piercing when we discuss questions of this kind but this is what is fascinating about studying Jewish law. Even the most specific question can lead to very serious issues conceptually and philosophically as we strive to sanctify our lives to the highest degree possible.

 

As we prepare for Purim,  a cast of staff members and congregants have been working feverishly to perfect the Peanuts characters we will be portraying on Saturday evening.

Actually, that’s not really true. We have been working hard and preparing quite diligently for the evening but there is a certain characteristic to Charlie Brown and company which has struck all of us in our preparation. The charm of Peanuts is found in its low key atmosphere, in its simple portrayal of life. But, in that low key, quiet way, it not only finds its way into our hearts but into our minds as well.  So, we’ve been working hard but tapping into something a little less hassled and hurried than preparing for a synagogue Purim evening usually brings. And, it has been very refreshing.

One could argue whether the Peanuts characters are really children or whether Charles Schulz tapped  into the childlike piece of all of us and portray adults in all our aspects as approaching the world with a childlike wonder and curiousity, not to mention occasional dreams and certainly frustrations.  I believe it is the latter and I feel that the quiet wisdom these “children” teach us is a gift that all of us who have taken the time to read, watch and enjoy the gang have benefitted from.

Besides that, of course, they are very, very funny.

I hope you’ll be with us on Saturday evening for some nostalgia and some unique twists on the Purim story and more as  seen through the eyes of Charlie Brown, Lucy, Schroeder, Snoopy and all the rest.

In the meantime, I want to share with you a prayer I wrote for Rosh Hashana a few years ago. It is as appropriate for this or any Shabbat as it was as we entered a new year.

 

As we look for role models around us, let us learn from those whose example shines for us in our contemporary world as well as those who came before us. And, let us always look for role models in unexpected places.

And, so let us learn.

From Schroeder, who played the most beautiful piano music with his talented hands on a toy piano, let us learn to take the simple instruments we have: our hands, our voices, our hearts, and make the most beautiful music, rising above all of our limitations to make the best use of the talents we have been given.

From Linus, who carried his security blanket everywhere, let us learn to treasure the things which bring us security in the world: holding tight to family, friends and faith to help us to steer our way through the difficult days ahead.

From Lucy, who showed brash chutzpah, let us learn to face this world with confidence but let us figure out a way to leave the arrogance behind and make room for others and respect them.

From Pig Pen, who perpetually walked in a cloud of dust, let us really be a part of this world, let us get dirty doing good deeds, let us feel the earth between our fingers and our toes and let us rejoice in a love of the world we live in.

From Charlie Brown, who always came back for more, let us learn to trust even if we get hurt on occasion, learn to dream even if the rest of the world laughs and learn to get back on the pitcher’s mound again even after we get hit so hard that it knocks us over.

And finally from Snoopy, let us love our meals, let us love our homes , let us always dance with joy and always, always let us dream great things.

Shabbat Shalom and Happy Purim!