I promised another in my endless series of nostalgic ramblings and here it is- another tribute to a lost art form, lost in the new and better technology.

This past week, we learned of the death of Casey Kasem, radio personality best known for his “American Top 40” weekly radio show. Each week, Kasem would run down the top 40 songs from the Billboard Magazine charts and make comments or tell stories about the artists who performed them. I read this past week that he really didn’t like the style of music he was popularizing and I always suspected that as he always seemed just a bit detached from the songs he was playing. But, one way or the other, it was fun to listen to that show. I associate it with Sunday mornings during my summer vacation in 1974 when I worked in a delicatessen washing dishes and doing other related work by myself in the kitchen with only my radio to keep me company. Thanks for the memories, Casey and especially thanks for the original theme song to American Top 40 which I can never get out of my mind. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6WAgZKHJtjg

But, the art form I want to reminisce about is not American Top 40, per se. Rather I want to reminisce about  the entire phenomenon of Top 40 radio on a local AM station. Who even listens to AM radio anymore for music (or maybe for anything)? But, when we were growing up in the 60s and early 70s, that is what you did. You listened to the local AM top 40 music station.

In Boston, there were two – or perhaps more- but the one that I and most of my friends listened to during those first years of music awareness was WRKO 680 or as it was called in the endless jingles you heard at least 20 times an hour: 68 RKO, Boston (you can find the melody such as it was on the Internet).  The station was my constant companion when at home in the morning or after doing homework (or during) or on weekends or whenever we needed to hear what the latest song to hit the charts was. And we really cared. We cared what the #1 song was. We cared about the latest hit from Three Dog Night or Creedence Clearwater Revival or any of the other favorites. We cared when a song we liked was suddenly dropped from the play list because it wasn’t selling. We cared when a song with suggestive lyrics would suddenly show up and we would all laugh at school the next day: “Have you heard…”?

I know young people still listen to music today and that’s great. And, I know there are still some FM stations which you can get around the country on Satellite Radio or on the Internet and they influence the music industry and inspire loyalty. But, it’s not quite like it was then when you just wouldn’t listen to another station or care about anything else on the radio (except of course Red Sox baseball) and you knew the DJs- or “personalities”- by their distinctive style and the inside jokes.

I miss those days and often go back to websites which contain “airchecks”- brief recordings of WRKO and other stations. But, they don’t satisfy my urge for nostalgia, especially since I recorded many hours of WRKO on our reel to reel tape recorder when I was a teenager. However, I threw  out the tapes when our tape recorder broke and we switched to cassettes. It never occurred to me that I might be able some day to transfer them to another medium. What a loss.  I can’t blame my mother for throwing them out like she threw out my baseball cards. This one was my fault. I wish I had them back.

I’d be glad if anyone with similar memories would respond to this posting with your own memories of the Top 40 station from your city. It’s part of my youth and I know it’s a part I share with many others. It’s all different today and that’s OK. I like being able to have my own playlist on my iPhone which connects to the bluetooth in my car and insures that I don’t have to listen to something I don’t like. But, that was part of the charm of Top 40 radio. You didn’t like everything you heard but it didn’t matter. It was what you were supposed to be doing.

I have an idea for another in my continuing series of “nostalgia” pieces for this blog. I plan to post it by the end of the week. But, now is not the time for light, humorous writing.

The  kidnapping of three Israeli teenagers in what by all accounts is  an act of terror is on all of our minds and legitimately pushes away any attempt at humor. It is a despicable act and our anger and disgust at those who performed the act and those, including leaders of Hamas, who have defended it or glorified it are legitimate and appropriate.

I pray for the safe return of these three students and for comfort for their families and communities. I can not imagine the pain that these families must endure and I hope that the government of Israel will be able to find them, return them safely to their homes and that those who perpetrated the act are brought to justice.

It is a time for anger, tears and for sadness.

But, as much as we legitimately focus our sadness and our tears on these young men and their families, we need to remember as well that so many other families on both sides of the conflict have suffered so deeply over the years. Deaths in war, terrorism, the persecution that comes from occupation, kidnapping, arrests, home demolitions.. the list can go on and on. And, while I will say again that at this moment, our anger and our pain is focused on this act, our tradition and our humanity calls on us to see the big picture as well and realize that suffering is found in so many, many places in Israel and the Occupied territories (and yes, I do use the word “occupation” as do so many in Israel and throughout the world). These three young men are uppermost in our minds right now but there are countless other people of all ages who have suffered so deeply from the conflict and lack of progress in peace negotiations.

There are those who will argue that a two state solution would result in increased acts of this kind and that Israel would be foolish to ever agree to a Palestinian state. There are those who will take the position, as I have done, that an end to the occupation and self-determination for the Palestinians is not only right morally but pragmatically as well.

We can leave all of those discussions for another time. That is not important today. What is important is the return of these young men and the ability for all  Israelis and Palestinians,  to feel safe in their homes with the dignity, human rights and security that all deserve.

May Eyal Yifrah,Gil-Ad Shaer,  and Naftali Frenkel return home safely and may the families of all of those who suffer from violence, persecution and terror find comfort in a dedication of leaders, against all of the roadblocks that exist, to find a way to live peacefully with each other.

32 years ago this month, the movie E.T. the Extraterrestrial premiered in movie theaters across the country. I knew that fact without looking it up because I know that  I saw E.T.  just before moving to Lansdale, PA for my first job as a Rabbi.

I was absolutely mesmerized by E.T. While I’m not sure  it has stood the test of time as well as some other classic  movies I love, I remember being absolutely enthralled with the story- so much so that I made E.T. the subject of my first Rosh Hashana sermon as a Rabbi.

I don’t think I gave very much thought to how risky that might have been. A first High Holy Day sermon can leave a permanent impression on a congregation. I didn’t consider that. I just came up with the idea and ran with it. Thankfully, the congregation responded very positively.

As an aside, I should mention that the congregation’s positive response to the sermon encouraged me to continue to write sermons which were midrashim on aspects of popular culture: movies, tv, music etc. This approach has been a staple of much of my Rabbinic writing over the years. I shudder to think what I would have been writing about all of these years had the folks in Lansdale reacted differently to my sermon on E.T.

So, what did I write about this movie? I wrote about the last line (or at least the last line of importance) in the film. As E.T. is saying goodbye to his friend Elliott, he looks at him and points to the boy’s head and says: “I’ll be right here”.

I was fascinated by that line. What E.T.  was telling Elliott was that the memory of his visit on earth would always be with him and that what he taught him about friendship, loyalty and the importance of “home” would always remain.

I compared this to the giving of the Torah.

God comes down to earth at Sinai and leaves us with rules to live by and values to embrace and God tells us: “Study and follow my Torah and I’ll be right here”.

I’ve learned a lot about writing and delivering sermons over the past 32 years and probably would write the sermon differently today. But I still embrace the basic point: that the Torah is our connection with that moment in the past which we need to bring into our lives today. “I’ll be right here” says God.

When we seek the presence of God, we can find that presence in many places: in the beauty of the world, in the eyes of someone we love, in the hope that persists even in the darkest of times and in the wisdom of our tradition. That last source of God’s presence is sometimes overlooked and that is unfortunate but if we seek God’s presence in our lives, one of the simplest places to look is right in the Torah itself.

I’ll be right here says God. Right here in our hearts and our heads. Always.

Each Wednesday, I look forward to the Food Section of the New York Times. I love to read the restaurant reviews even if I can’t or shouldn’t eat the vast majority of the foods that are described. I love to read the descriptions of contemporary cuisine specialties even though I probably wouldn’t eat them even if I could. Still, the descriptions of the elaborate entrees, appetizers and desserts are fascinating to me.

Occasionally, one of the other articles in the section will also interest me. I remember, particularly, an article a few years back which talked about some “comfort foods” unique to various parts of the country. One that was mentioned was a “pie shake” which was a local delicacy in, I believe, Iowa. You make a regular milk shake but before mixing it up, you  add big chunks of fruit pie, crust and all of course, into the blender. It sounded great and we did make a few using Entenmann’s fruit pies. They were pretty good although I’m sure the Iowans did it better.

But, this week there was an article which appeared in the Food Section which really caught my attention. It was called “Everything New is Old Again” and described the reawakening of interest in traditional Eastern European Jewish “deli” cuisine. The article documented the new twists that are taking traditional foods to a new, exciting, contemporary level.

You can read the article and decide for yourself whether these new creations sound good to you but I’m going to use the opportunity of the article to pay tribute to the old style of Jewish deli food. I happen to be an expert in such things as I was a  waiter in a kosher delicatessen for a few years during high school and college.

Now, right here, I have to remind you that I grew up in Boston and even though there were a couple of what might pass for “New York delis” in our area (does anyone remember Jack and Marion’s?), most Boston delis were not quite up to the standards set by the Big Apple. In addition, the kosher delis didn’t sell the New York brands of deli meats  but mostly sold Morrison and Schiff, the local Boston Kosher purveyor of kosher meats. They were certainly very  good although when I moved to New York for Rabbinical School, I discovered how bland our local brand was in comparison.

But, still, deli is deli and my years working in a kosher deli were unforgettable.

While I don’t think that I could write a book called: “Everything I Learned about Being a Rabbi, I learned in the Deli” (that distinction would more properly be attributed to what I learned working as staff at Camp Ramah), but I learned a lot of skills that I remember to this day.

More about that later. First, the food.

The memories came back to me as I read the article and thought about the menu. Is there really such a thing as “lean corned beef” and if there is does anyone really want to eat it? What is really the difference between corned beef, pastrami and what used to be called rolled beef?  Does anyone eat p’tcha any more (look that one up if you have to)? And, finally, does anyone make real kishka anymore or is all artificial?

But, the major attraction of the deli I worked in was the food that came out of the kitchen. The owner’s sister, a woman in her 70’s, cooked meals every day and I can still taste them as I think about them. But, they all carried with them a story.

For example, the deli offered a “Hot Meat Ball” Sandwich. That was a potted meat ball squashed between what Bostonians called a “vienna roll”, a crusty bakery roll. The meatball was incredibly moist and spiced just right. But, imagine the surprise a customer would receive if they came in and ordered expecting an Italian meatball sub smothered in tomato sauce. I didn’t want to apologize to one who ordered the sandwich before bringing it to them but felt the need to do so if I wanted to ward off any complaints. Occasionally, I would forget and I can still see the face of the customer who got something entirely different than they expected.

Then, there was the Stuffed Cabbage. When my Grandmother made stuffed cabbage, she would not put any sauce on it, just the cabbage stuffed with meat (and her special touch: ground up ginger snaps). I rarely ate it when she made it. It tasted OK but I kept thinking something was missing.

Then when I started at the Deli. I saw that the cook made stuffed cabbage with a sweet and sour tomato sauce and I thought it was great. When I told my grandmother about it, she said; “I never heard of such a thing” and stormed away.

One night, our family came to eat at the deli (the only time I remember serving them) and I brought out a piece of stuffed cabbage just so my grandmother would taste it. She took one bite and started yelling  my mother: “I told you, Gertrude, this is the way you make stuffed cabbage and all these years you’ve been telling me to make it without any sauce”. My mother didn’t argue. But, from that moment on, stuffed cabbage in our house came with tomato sauce

But, my favorite moment at the deli, the one I remember most dearly came one night when there was only one vegetable in the kitchen. So, the line on the menu which read: “choice of vegetable” did not apply.

When one regular customer came in and asked what the choice of vegetable was, I said: “Peas and Carrots”.

He said: “Peas or Carrots?’

I said: “No, peas and carrots” referring of course to the legendary canned mixture of peas with cubes of carrots.

The customer said: “So what’s the choice?”

And I, knowing he was a steady customer who didn’t mind being kidded, said: “You want ’em or you don’t want ’em”. He thought it was funny. thank God.

But I use that line often to this day. Sometimes someone will ask me about a particular point in Jewish law and say to me: “But, isn’t there a choice?”

It is then that I tell them the story of the deli. Sure there’s a choice: “You follow the law or you don’t follow it”.

Actually, that is a bit unfair since change is built into Jewish law but sometimes that is the only answer that one can give when confronted with a person who doesn’t like a position of Jewish law. I want people to observe Jewish law as it is but obviously, in the end, if the law can’t be changed, it is up to the individual to decide.

That is one of the lessons I learned about being a Rabbi from working in the deli. There were many others, the most important being that each customer needed to be treated with respect and patience. That may be the most important lesson of all.

I would come home smelling like pickles, would wake up in the middle of the night after a busy day and find myself still taking orders in my dreams and I really never quite had the same taste for deli after serving it for so long. But, the article reminded me of how much emotion and memory is wrapped up in the foods we love.

Gotta go, it’s time for lunch.

I have written previously in this blog and in other media about my admiration for Pope Francis.  It is not my place to comment either on Catholic theology or to expect that church doctrine will follow the priorities or positions I hold which I believe are reflective of Jewish values but I do believe that how the Pope presents religion in general and the values he chooses to espouse are critically important to the world in general.

I believe that this pope has identified and clearly expressed certain values which should be at the heart of all religions: less emphasis on amassing wealth and power and more emphasis on human interaction and concern for all. There are still, to be sure, trappings of the church and we may still have disagreements over certain positions taken by the church and the pope, but Pope Francis’ humility and concern should inspire us all.

Pope Francis’ trip to Israel and the West Bank this week raised a lot of eyebrows and concern to both Israelis and Palestinians. But many were significantly impressed. I, quite frankly, was moved by his recognition of the Palestinian people and their struggles and touched by his kindness and compassion to holocaust survivors and to the families of victims of terror. His quiet and gentle manner provided a much needed opportunity for a deep breath as the conflict continues without, apparently, hope for resolution.

But, it was his invitation to President Abbas and President Peres to come to the Vatican for prayer that touched me most deeply. That offer was accepted and I am optimistic that such a moment will take place. I do not believe that prayer will solve this crisis. It will take much more than quiet meditation to bring peace, security and justice to Israelis and Palestinians. But, it is important to note as Heschel wrote “that prayer may not save us but prayer may make us worthy to be saved”.

Perhaps the moment of prayer is just what our leaders need to remind them of what is at stake here. The author Yossi Klein Halevi is quoted in today’s New York Times as saying that: “what we’re missing around the negotiating table are chaplains…I’d like to replace some of the diplomats with genuine religious leaders, people who understand that this conflict is primarily about intangibles and not a line on a map”. The injection of a spiritual element to attempts to solve a political crisis is risky especially if it turns out to be nothing more than a photo opportunity. But, if there is any religious leader in the world today who could inspire a renewed effort at negotiations, I think it is Pope Francis and I admire him greatly for taking this step.

Today is Jerusalem Day, a day of celebration in many ways. It is a day when Jews were able to return to the Western Wall and to the Old City of Jerusalem and the border which ran through the city for 19 years was dismantled. It is a day of celebrating what has been called the “reunification” of Jerusalem.

I have written extensively in this blog of my love for the city of Jerusalem which I have been visited on 13 occasions and truly was privileged to call my home for an entire academic year. Jerusalem Day brings back many inspiring memories for me. But, as much as we celebrate the ability to return to holy sites closed to Jews for years and as much as we legitimately proclaim our people’s and our faith’s more than 2000 year old love affair with Jerusalem, it is difficult to celebrate Jerusalem Day today with a full heart. The city is not “unified”. As long as Palestinians are evicted from the homes in deference to Jewish settlers; as long as Palestinian neighborhoods are neglected while Jewish neighborhoods flourish and as long as the voices of racism and bigotry and violence are heard on both sides of the conflict, Jerusalem will not be the city of our dreams.

Whether the simple gesture offered by Pope Francis bears fruit or not, it is worth a try and I will pray along with him and those gathered around him for peace and coexistence in the holy city.

This Shabbat, I will be celebrating the 46th anniversary of my bar mitzvah. It will be hard to top the 45th as I wrote about in this blog last year. You can read that story (and I hope you will) at http://rabbirobdobrusinblog.wordpress.com/2013/04/28/a-bar-mitzvah-present-to-cherish-45-years-later/

But, when I look back at my Bar Mitzvah itself, there are three presents which stick out in my mind. First, the gold watch my parents gave me which I still have. Second, the autographed Red Sox baseball which still sits on my desk. And, third, the most inspired  present any 13 year old could receive in 1968: a 2 year subscription to MAD Magazine.

I can still remember the stunned sense of joy and appreciation I felt when I opened the letter from a  friend of my father’s to see that that was the present he had given me.

From the time I was in 5th grade until the early years of High School, I devoured MAD Magazine as did most of my friends. The satire ranged from somewhat funny to absolutely brilliant. The subject matters sometimes resonated with my adolescent mind and sometimes didn’t. But, it didn’t matter. Every bit of the magazine from “The Lighter Side of…” to the movie satires to “Spy vs. Spy” to the song parodies to what were called the “Drawn Out Dramas”, the miniature cartoons scattered around the margins which sometimes required magnifying glasses to read, MAD was the epitome of teenage humor.

I tend to think one of the secrets of the success of the magazine was that it was just over the edge enough to keep our interest but not so “dirty” that our parents would have been forced to throw it out. In fact, I distinctly remember being able to convince my father that in fact it was tremendously creative as he threatened to throw out an issue that he found offensive for some reason. That was fortunate because that was the issue that actually contained a record you could play on your record player at home, a song called: “It’s a Gas”.  (I’m not going to give you the link but you can find it on Youtube if you don’t remember it- just remember we were 13 at the time, but I have to confess it still makes me laugh hysterically.)

I didn’t realize how lasting the memories of MAD magazine were to me until a couple of years ago when I was trying to find an appropriate 60th birthday gift for my older brother. I was looking around in the bookstore  when I came upon a 50th anniversary collection of the best of MAD from the 60s. I bought it and read most of it before I sent it to him and realized that I remembered much of what was in the collection even though I hadn’t seen the magazine (except for a few I bought at a used bookstore a while back) for several decades. All I had to do was read the title of the feature and it all came back to me immediately. And, my brother had the same feeling when he opened it. Whether the material in MAD stood the test of time could be debated but it certainly stood the test of memory.

At the end of April, Al Felstein died. He  was editor of the magazine for some 30 years including the years I was an avid reader  There was an obituary about him in the New York Times. It was a rather long obituary and a lot of it was a celebration of MAD. The accolades were well deserved. He must have been a genius.

So, another piece of my youth is gone. But, it gave me a lot of great memories. MAD together with Rowan Martin’s Laugh In epitomized for me my growing sense of “maturity” (God help us) and appreciation of the higher forms of culture. If you remember MAD as I do, take  a minute to think about how it inspired you. I know it made me laugh but I also think that reading the humorous, creative twists of language, might even have helped me develop as a writer of sermons.

Whether or not that is true is immaterial or as Alfred E. Neuman would say; “What me worry?”

May the memory of Al Feldstein be for a blessing.

 

Today is  Yom Ha’atzmaut, Israel Independence Day. As one who has dedicated many words, much time and much energy expressing deep concern over certain policies of the government of the State of Israel, it is important to express the  other piece of my feelings about Israel loudly and clearly and what better time than Yom Ha’atzmaut to say it.

The creation of the State of Israel is one of the greatest blessings in the history of our people. The Jewish people are immensely safer and richer since the State was founded and we owe a tremendous debt of gratitude and respect to all of those who have given of their energy, their passion, their resources and- in far too many cases- their lives to insure the growth and the security of Israel.

May this Yom Ha’atzmaut bring Israel peace and joy. May we see an end or at least an easing  of the internal divisions that divide the state. But,may we  also see Israel continuing to strive sincerely and passionately for a shared vision of peace through the region. May this year see a resolution to the conflicts between Israelis and Palestinians with the hope for a settlement which will lead to justice and security for all. May Israel be able to focus on its own growth and strength while Palestinians also gain the blessings of self-determination.

This Yom Ha’atzmaut, I have been thinking about one particular moment from one of my 13 trips to Israel. In 1999, I took a trip  that was truly among the most remarkable I have ever taken. It was an interfaith clergy tour in which Rabbis were asked to bring a non-Jewish clergy person with them in order to learn about the possibilities of taking more general Interfaith trips. It was a wonderful experience and in fact in 2000, we did take an Interfaith group from Ann Arbor under the auspices of the Interfaith Round Table of Washtenaw County.

As our group of 25 sat at our final dinner, our guide asked us each to say a few words about what the trip had meant to us. I can still remember exactly what I said. I said that coming to Israel makes me feel young for two reasons.  First, I felt young because we did things on this trip as on most tours that I don’t normally do: climbing through caves, riding donkeys, singing songs on a tour bus, eating food that I know isn’t good for me and other such things. That is one way being in Israel made me feel young again.

But, that particular trip made me feel particularly young because it gave me a shot of youthful idealism that I so badly needed. For the week that our group had traveled together, Israel had been the place where we had bridged differences, learned from each other, prayed together, laughed together and cried together. That trip gave me hope, a fleeting vision of an idealistic time, one that made me feel young and optimistic again. While I believe I could have felt that sense of hope any place we might have traveled together, I felt that doing so in Israel made it that much more meaningful and that much more memorable.

That brings me to today. The aspect of Israel today that most concerns me (at least as I see it from a distance and I haven’t visited since 2009) is that reading the news from Israel doesn’t make me feel young, I don’t see the spirit, the proverbial gleam in the eye, the joy, the passion of what it means to have a dream and make the dream a reality.

Some of that is natural. Israel is a comparatively young country but it has had to grow up very fast in a difficult region and one can hardly expect the attitude of the country to be as  passionate and as idealistic as it once was. But, if I had one additional wish for Israel, it would be that Israel rediscover its youthful passion for the ideals and values on which it was formed. That I feel young when I go to Israel is not as important as it is for Israel to rediscover the joy of youth while still pursuing its mature, adult responsibilities.

May this year be a year of joy and peace and hope for all in Israel and the region.

 

Yesterday, the Conference of Presidents of Major Jewish Organizations rejected an application from J Street to join the organization.

One can only surmise that those who voted against the application presumed that J Street did not sufficiently represent “mainstream” Jewish opinions and that its opinions and actions are dangerous to Israel and to the Jewish people. It is only fair to note that there are various political voices represented on the Conference including those of  progressive organizations but this decision regarding J Street strikes me as a significant statement and a statement which concerns me deeply.

I want to leave aside for the moment any consideration of the issue of the views of J Street vs. those of any other Jewish organization which voices opinions on Israel. That is not my issue at this moment.

My issue is rather an issue of inclusion.

We are currently seeing efforts by all denominations within Judaism to be more inclusive: to be more respectful and more welcoming to people who would have been ostracized from communal Jewish life in the recent past. Whether it is outreach to interfaith families, LGBT individuals and families, those without financial means, those who have been estranged from Jewish life and have not had Jewish experiences in their lives, those in prison, those who suffer from addiction or those in countless other situations, we have realized as Jewish leaders that we must be open to all. We profess that all Jews who strive for Jewish life should be welcomed into communities and embraced in the name of Jewish tradition. This is the way it should be because all of us, at some point in our lives, find ourselves in a situation which might have been a basis for exclusion in the past. Our community is healthier when we all realize that all of us belong in the tent sitting next to each other, learning from each other and celebrating with each other.

It is in this context that the decision of the Conference of Presidents concerns me most deeply.

Suddenly, in this very symbolic gesture, a group of leaders has decided that those who profess a “pro-Israel, pro-peace” stance through J Street are not worthy of sitting at the table.

If you go to the website of J Street, you will find a list of hundreds of Rabbis and Cantors who are part of the “J Street Rabbinic Cabinet”, those Rabbis who support the positions of J Street or at the very least support the idea that wide ranging dialogue concerning Israel must take place in the Jewish Community.  I know many of these Rabbis and Cantors. They are proud to be known as Zionists, proud to take congregants on trips to Israel, proud to support the State and proud to teach and preach about Israel and its importance to all of us from the pulpit. I am proud to be one of those Rabbis.

But, the specific of the political opinion aside, can our Jewish community afford to make a statement that a particular viewpoint concerning Israel is sufficient grounds to consider a person as outside of the tent of the Jewish community? Are we prepared as a community to send a message to all of those Rabbis and Cantors and all of those who agree that they are “beyond the pale”?

I have talked with many people, including most importantly, many young people, who are concerned that they are not being listened to when they express concern for some of Israel’s policies. As those who know me know, I agree with many of those concerns. But even if we disagree, are we prepared to allow this discussion to be the wedge that drives people away from organized Jewish life in an era in which we are doing all we can to send the sincere message of inclusion to those who have been ostracized in the past?

Whatever one thinks about the pragmatic effect J Street has on the dialogue regarding Israel, I believe it is counter-productive and dangerous to exclude based on political viewpoints those who profess and live out a love and concern for the Jewish people.

The tent must continue to be enlarged.

 

 

One week from tonight, we will sit at the Seder table and celebrate once again the Exodus from Egypt. We will consider the ideas of slavery and freedom and study and learn together.

One of the most memorable parts of the Seder is, of course, the asking of the four questions. The asking of questions to begin, in fact to inspire, the telling of the story of the Exodus has its origin in the Mishna. For over 2000 years, Jews have been asking questions to begin the storytelling. The questions have changed over the years reflective of what would appear to a child to be “different on this night” but the questions were always there as the means to begin the evening.

But, the child’s role in the Seder is not limited to the asking of questions. Ideally, the answers to the questions must  be directed to the child. The entire Seder was intended to teach the children about the ancient story of slavery and redemption. Of course, there should be time at the Seder for adult discussion but when the children who are present are excluded, either actively or passively, in deference to adult discussions, the Seder has gone in the wrong direction. It is not enough to look at the child who asks the question and knell with satisfaction at his or her performance. It is the ability to look him or her in the eye and tell the story in words he or she will understand that makes this night truly special and one on which we have fulfilled our responsibility.

But, what if the child can not ask the questions? According to the Mishna, if the child did not have the capacity to ask, his father would teach him.

Presumably, this means, he would teach him to ask.

One of the greatest gifts we can give to our children is the ability and the freedom to ask questions. When a child asks, as long as the question is sincere, as long as it reflects a desire to better understand something that puzzles or disturbs him/her, it is a marvelous moment. No question is “tref” if it asked sincerely and one of the greatest hopes we should have as parents or as teachers (we are all teachers of course) is that our children continue to ask.

May our Seders inspire not only a night of questions but a lifetime of asking and seeking.

NOTE:  We will be discussing this idea at our Shabbat Limmud study group this coming Shabbat morning, March 15 at 9 a.m. at Beth Israel. All are welcome.

It is traditional on two holidays to add the prayer: “Al HaNisim”, “For the Miracles” to the Amida. On Hanukkah and on Purim, the prayer is inserted into the Amida in the section known as Thanksgiving. Each day we thank God “for the miracles that are around us always” but on these  holidays, we make special mention of the miracles that God has performed, describing the story of the miracle in detail. (It should be noted that many have adopted the tradition of saying Al HaNisim on Israel Independence Day as well).

The Hanukkah Al HaNisim describes in great detail God’s role in bringing victory for the Maccabees. The prayer is written from a very “God-centered” perspective: “You stood by Your people…You defended them…You delivered the strong into the hands of the weak, the many into the hands of the few…” In this formulation, the Maccabees are the instrument by which God insures the survival of the people but they would never have been able to succeed on their own. In fact, while Al HaNisim acknowledges that the Maccabees were “pure in heart”, the prayer doesn’t give them much credit at all.

The Al HaNisim prayer for Purim also takes a very “God centered” perspective: “You, in your great mercy thwarted his (Haman’s) plans, frustrated his plot and visited upon him the evil he planned to bring on others. ”

This prayer has always struck me as particularly problematic. As uncomfortable as I might be seeing the Maccabees’ courage and passion minimized by the words of the Hanukkah Al HaNisim, I do not understand at all how the Rabbis could take the story of Purim, which is all about the courage of Mordecai and Esther and reduce their role to the simple statement: “In the days of Mordecai and Esther in Shushan…:”, God saved the people.

It is stunning that given that Megillat Esther  never mentions the name of God and celebrates the courage of the heroes of the story, the Rabbis would have downplayed their role to an incidental comment while giving God all of the credit for the salvation of the Jews of Shushan.

It is clear from this and certainly from other traditions as well (such as the Talmudic emphasis on the story of the “miracle of the oil” on Hanukkah rather than emphasizing the victory of the Maccabees) that the Rabbis had an agenda of  focusing on divine miracles rather than the role of humans in the redemption of the Jewish people. But, here, regarding Purim, it is especially difficult to understand what the Rabbis saw as a Divine miracle.

While there are rabbinic legends about the roles that angels had in orchestrating the finale to the story (Michael is credited with pushing Haman onto the bed that Esther was lying on, an act which resulted in his being hanged), the story is clearly a human story of courage, of taking risks for one’s people and of standing up against tyranny. One can only wonder why the Rabbis who included Al HaNisim in the liturgy might have chosen to downplay the human element of this story.

I think that this is an issue which deserves a great deal of thought. Even those who believe, as I do, in a God of creation and a God who continues to inspire and teach us must focus on our human abilities to affect the world around us rather than wait for God to save the day. According to a beautiful midrash about the Exodus, God says to Moses at the Sea: Why are you standing there screaming out to me? The hour waits only for you. Move the people forward”. Similarly, even if one believes  that Mordecai and Esther were inspired by their Creator to perform courageous acts and to have faith in the future of their people, they still had to take action  and they deserve to be remember for their efforts.

I believe that there is a miracle reflected in the Purim story. That is the miracle of the creation of the human being, capable of thinking, feeling and acting courageously. We should thank God for that miracle every day. But, we should also recognize  our fellow human beings who use the spirit of God within them to perform actions that are deserving of honor and praise.

Happy Purim!