Today, Ann Arbor officially broke the record for these snowiest winter in our history. After two spring-like days and the first sighting of “bare ground” since January, we got hit with about 5 inches of snow, strong winds and tonight the temperature is supposed to go below zero.

Our office was closed  so I had the chance to catch up on some paper work, read , take a nap, play with the dog and the cats and in between, of course, answer some email.

There is something about a snowstorm which makes staying home extra special. Looking out the window and enjoying the relative peace and quiet has been wonderful although I am getting a bit impatient as the day is nearing an end.

The comforts of home are a wonderful blessing and never more so than on a day like this.

But, this storm brought one additional comfort. A comfort food that took me back to my youth.

The other day, Ellen and I were reminiscing about comfort foods from when we were kids. Then, I happened to mention one that I had introduced Ellen to shortly after we were married but we hadn’t had in a long time, that being one of the classic comfort foods of New England: Grapenut Custard.

Now, I’m perfectly prepared to hear that this wonderful recipe is found in other places but in several places on the Internet, Grapenut custard is called the quintessential New England Comfort Food so I make no apologies.

It’s a simple recipe: Eggs, Milk, Sugar, vanilla, nutmeg and, of course, Grape Nuts cereal. The result is a dessert with mushy grape nuts at the bottom of the bowl, sweet custard on the top. Put some whipped cream or ice cream on the top and it rivals any dessert anywhere.

So, last night, Ellen surprised me with a huge bowl of Grapenut custard. And, it wasn’t easy. I shouldn’t eat eggs so she used Egg Beaters. I have had to, sadly, cut down on dairy (one of the prices we pay for getting older) so she made it with almond milk, and when I came home from work last night at 9:45, it was all ready but it hadn’t quite set. So, we had a little, pronounced it: “pretty good” and went to bed.

Then, this morning, with the snow beginning to swirl, I went to the refrigerator, took it out and it had set beautifully and the taste took me back 50 years and 500 miles. It was magnificent.

If you haven’t tried it, you should and you can easily find the Yankee Magazine recipe which is the best. But, if you didn’t eat it growing up, it might not live up to my raves. Such is the beauty of local foods.

But if it isn’t Grapenut Custard, I’m sure there is another food that just screams out: “Home” and what better way to celebrate a Snow Day then with a comforting taste of home.

I wrote a blog post in November, 2011 about my achieving the goal of being in each of the 50 states (full disclosure: I do count airports as long as I am in the terminal). It was quite an accomplishment and since then, I’ve been searching for new travel goals to set for myself.

I currently am working on two such goals. The first is to visit the burial sites of our presidents. I’m making progress on that goal: my most recent journey was to Marion, Ohio to visit the memorial to Warren G. Harding. Lots of sites remain and I’ll keep you posted on my progress.

The other goal is to visit each of the state capitals. I’m making slow progress on that goal and that promises to be a very difficult goal indeed because some of the state capitals are, frankly, a bit difficult to get to.

Having grown up in the capital of Massachusetts and being accustomed to seeing the grand  State House overlooking the Boston Common on the edge of Beacon Hill in the middle of the largest city in the state, you could forgive me for thinking, as a kid, that each capital was the same.

But, as I grew, I realized that wasn’t the case. Albany might be  a nice city but it would never be mistaken for New York City. Harrisburg sits somewhere between Philadelphia and Pittsburgh. You can’t even reach Juneau by car from any significant distance.

And as I have found big cities that I’ve found fascinating: Chicago, San Francisco, Kansas City, Detroit, to name just a few, it never made sense to me that the capitals of those states were to be found in far away corners, or hiding in plain sight in the middle of the state. Those cities are smaller and less exciting in most cases and frankly, it’s hard to justify making a long journey to go to Jefferson City, Bismarck or Springfield.

But, there is still something exciting about being in a state capital and some of the smaller ones that I have been in: Augusta, ME, Concord, NH and Dover, DE to name a few still are interesting places to see, if for no other reason than that they are the capitals.

A couple of weeks ago, I spent a lovely weekend at the Conservative Synagogue in Tallahassee, Florida as a scholar in residence. I spent the vast majority of my time in the synagogue and felt very much welcomed by a group of wonderful people. I even had the surprising pleasure of seeing old friends I hadn’t seen for many years. But, the last piece to the weekend, a trip to the airport through the center of the city was important too as it reminded me that  I could add one more state capital to the list of those I visited. Passing by the state capitol building in Tallahassee was the piece de resistance of a wonderful weekend.

It’s fairly clear to me why I am so fascinated with state capitals. I love geography and maps. I love to travel and I am have discovered more and more of an interest in American history in the past few years. So, I hope I can continue my travels and maybe, one day, reach all 50.

For now, I’ll have to be satisfied with some good memories: stopping in Concord NH for a few minutes when Avi was 2 years old so that we could get him out of the car for a few minutes to play at a playground; taking advantage of the public restrooms at the state capitol building in Juneau, Alaska, a  stop which turned out to be fortuitous as we turned a corner shortly afterward our unscheduled stop and bumped into the only people we knew who lived in Juneau; the two days of our honeymoon that Ellen and I spent in Santa Fe, NM, a place we have promised each other we would return to but haven’t yet; and, a quick visit to the capitol in Honolulu, HI as we explored the city.

I hope to get to the others. But, again, it might be difficult to plan a trip to Pierre or Cheyenne when there is so much more of this country to see. Still, I dream of the day when I can do what a couple of my friends have done: get behind the wheel of their car and drive as long as it takes to fulfill this particular goal. With Tallahassee added to the list, I’m a little bit closer and  it’s time to plan for a next trip.

I’ll gladly take suggestions!

 

 

This morning, I read with great interest Thomas Friedman’s column in the New York Times concerning “Israel’s Big Question”. It brought to mind a sermon I gave in 2010 and I wanted to reprint that sermon here. I believe it is long since time that this question is discussed openly and honestly.

Two years ago, we participated in the Hartman Institute’s Engaging Israel program which touched on many of these questions and, ultimately, the question of how Israel can best reflect the meaning of a “Jewish State”. That was a very powerful experience and I believe the discussions must continue in Israel and in the Diaspora.

Sermon for Kol Nidre 5771

Rabbi Robert Dobrusin

Beth Israel Congregation Ann Arbor, MI

Yom Kippur is a time for questions: questions that must be asked and that demand thoughtful, serious answers.

Here is one question you could think about over Yom Kippur and probably for months after: “What does it mean to me when I call myself a Jew?”

I want you to take a couple of moments to consider how you would go about answering that question and form the beginning of an answer in your mind. What does it mean to me when I call myself a Jew?

        Tonight, I want to discuss a different question, an essential question which every Jew throughout the world should be asking. As you will see, I believe this question is very closely related to my first question.  It too is not an easy question to answer. In fact, you should know that you are about to hear version 9.0 of my sermon this evening.

        I do not expect my answer will be the same as your answer. I hope you will listen to my answer, and naturally I hope it will influence your thinking; but I want my answer to be part of a larger conversation on this issue, a conversation I would like to begin here at Beth Israel, but one which needs to be taking place throughout our community and throughout the Jewish world.

Before I tell you what the question is and before I give you my answer, I want to tell you something about who I am.  I am the child of parents born in this country. No one in my close family suffered in the Holocaust. I was raised in a moderately liberal home, my parents were both Roosevelt Democrats. I grew up in Boston in a traditional Jewish community focused much more on study and ritual observance than on concerns for Jewish identity and “peoplehood”. My parents were active members of our Conservative shul and I was active in our youth group and religious school, and spent most every free hour at the shul or with my shul friends.

        Still, I went to public schools. I was taught at home to respect diversity – even though we didn’t call it that yet – and my parents always stressed that we were part of a bigger world which would respect us and include us as long as we were mentsches, and that being a mentsch was the most important Jewish value of all.

        I grew up under the influence of the anti war movement and heard my older brother singing protest songs for years before I really understood them. I saw him and his contemporaries heartsick over Vietnam; and when I turned 18, although there was no draft, I filed an application as a Conscientious Objector. It seemed natural to me then, as an extension of everything I had been taught. I could not do it today.

        As I’ve grown I’ve held on to my ideals and perspectives, not giving up on my idealism and my faith in this world.  But to be sure, over the years, I have had experiences that have changed me: a few harrowing days in the former Soviet Union while visiting Refuseniks taught me about the reality of anti-Semitism and the need to fight for what we hold dear.

Six years living in a delightful community in Pennsylvania farm country, where many pastors were willing to tell me to my face quite often that I was going to Hell, taught me the sad truth that not everyone wants to be your friend.

Of course, my world and my idealism – and, frankly, my naivete – were rocked by September 11^th.   And, lihavdeel – which is a word we use when we make a separation between events which are of such different magnitude that they should not in any way be mentioned one after the other – the past 7 years of harassment here in Ann Arbor have made me a bit more cynical and much more cautious.

These experiences have dimmed a bit of my innate idealism but haven’t destroyed it.  And I still stand here week after week believing and teaching from my heart that being Jewish means more than just being part of a community of Jewish people needing to fight for our lives, constantly endangered by those around us.

I believe that what makes us unique as Jews and makes our people’s survival essential is the perspective we bring to the world, our faith in God, our commitment to tradition, our passion for education, our dedication to helping to bring this world closer to redemption and our belief that that day can come to pass.

        So, that is who I am. And with that in mind, here is the question that I believe each of us must answer and we will no doubt answer it based on who we are and from where we have come and what we think it means to be Jew.

        My question is about Israel. What should and what shouldn’t it mean when Israel calls itself a Jewish State? That question is not asked nearly enough in Israel or throughout the Jewish world, and it really needs to be.

Some may wonder: Is this really the time to talk about this? With so much anti-Israel feeling in the world, with Israel being so alone and so isolated? Who cares what a “Jewish State” means?”

It must be asked and we should care because Israel faces critical decisions which will affect not only those who live within Israel but which will affect, as well, how all of us as Jews, in this generation and beyond, view the State. And, because of Israel’s prominent role in the consciousness of our people, these decisions may well shape how future generations understand what it means to be a Jew.

I believe that as important as it is that we recognize, embrace and support Israel’s role reflecting our national aspirations,  providing a haven for Jews in distress and demonstrating our acceptance of active responsibility for insuring our survival as a people, that is not enough in and of itself to live up to the title of a “Jewish State”.

I want to see Israel always reflect what we consider important about being a Jew. And while I certainly recognize that on political matters the voices of those who live in Israel and put their lives on the line matter more than what I have to say, as a Jew I have a vested interest in hoping that Israel continues to reflect what that word means to me and how I have taught Judaism from this bima.

        Each of us has a different understanding of what it means to be a Jew and that is why a conversation on this question is so important. So let me begin the conversation this evening.

On Rosh Hashana, I presented two texts which portrayed our focus as Jews in completely different ways: one very much centering on God, one very much centering on our human lives. I stressed the fact that these aren’t conflicting principles, rather we need to find a balance between the two. That is often my starting point when I speak and teach about Judaism: that as Jews we are supposed to always be wrestling, trying to find our place between conflicting legitimate priorities.

The structure and the content of my thoughts about Israel will reflect that perspective on life we share as Jews, namely that we recognize – not deny, but accept – and work with the tensions that exist in our lives.

        I am going to discuss three such tensions, although clearly there could be more.

        The first tension is a tension as old as Hillel and probably much older. Hillel taught: “If I am not for myself, who will be for me? And if I am only for myself, what am I?” Each of us wrestles between the commitment and responsibility we feel towards fellow Jews and the recognition of the absolute principle in Judaism that each human being is of equal importance and value in the eyes of God. We have to find our place as part of a Jewish community and as part of a larger diverse world. And that prompts me to ask: How should Israel conduct itself regarding Jews and non-Jews living in the State?

To be meaningful as a Jewish State, Israel must continue to nurture its special relationship with the Jewish people at home and throughout the world. It should continue to be a “Jewish” State in its symbols, in its calendar and in the commitment it expresses to standing up for Jews at home and abroad. The Law of Return, guaranteeing Israel as a haven, must always be in place and must be extended to all who are considered Jews in the eyes of their community. We need to know that Israel is there for all of us as a “Jewish State”.

But Israel must stand for more.

In the Declaration of Independence, the founders declared that the Jewish State “will ensure complete equality of social and political rights to all its inhabitants irrespective of religion, race or sex; it will guarantee freedom of religion, conscience, language, education and culture”.

        There can be no compromising between these two values. Israel must find a way to be both dedicated to Jews and the Jewish people and completely reflect democracy and equality for all of its citizens.

        In many ways, Israel has lived up to that lofty goal especially in comparison to other nations.  Citizens can vote and hold office regardless of faith or ethnic background. People do have equal rights to be heard in the court system or to sit as judges. And, the efforts at coexistence between Jews and Israeli Arabs are models that the entire world could watch and learn from.  As  I have said time and time again from this bima, I am so proud that our community – led by our Jewish Federation – has supported so many of these co-existence efforts. We should be proud of these facts in a region and in a world in which such equality is rare.

        But the reality on the ground is that there is not equality within Israel’s borders. One trip into an Arab village or neighborhood will demonstrate that there are vast gaps in the services offered and opportunities presented. This is not right and not reflective of Jewish values.

        In addition to the “on the ground” reality, we hear statements and proposals made by government officials, and notably as well by Rabbis, in Israel which are not reflective of such equality and which, in fact, fly in the face of it – statements stereotyping all Arabs or statements of exclusion against those who aren’t Jews, or even, occasionally, those who aren’t a particular type of Jew. These ought to infuriate all of us who have been taught to believe – as I was, and as most of you were, and as most of you teach your children and grandchildren today – that all are equal in the eyes of God and should be equal in the eyes of the law.

        This principle needs to guide Israel as it makes decisions for its future. As surely as a Jewish State must stand for us as Jews, it must stand for equality and democracy for all. It must condemn statements of racism or exclusivity made in its name by leaders of any kind as surely as it condemns violence and terror against the State, and it must seek to provide equally for all within its borders and under its control. Otherwise, it might be a State for Jews but it would not be a Jewish State.

The second tension needs to be addressed differently because one can’t simply say, as in the last case, that both priorities need to be observed at all times.  This tension is addressed by finding a place on a continuum between two legitimate concerns, and I am fully aware that there are many, many different points on this line.

        The tension is one presented constantly in Jewish law: at what point do the demands of survival obviate the ethical demands of Judaism? This prompts me to ask: How does Israel balance between the conflicting priorities of survival and the demand Judaism places on us to act according to the highest ethical standards?

        It is important to say right from the start that from the perspective of Judaism, there is no value in doing good if the inevitable result of doing good is your own demise. Jewish law permits us to do almost anything necessary when survival is at stake, since life is the ultimate value in Judaism and no one else’s life take precedence over our own.

        But to claim, as some do, that ethics do not matter or that they don’t matter as much as they once did – since Israel lives in a tough, threatening neighborhood – is inconsistent with what Judaism demands of us.

A Jewish State must constantly be engaged in self-evaluation and teshuva, showing unending concern for its ethical standards, not because Jews have to be better than anyone else, but because any State which calls itself in the name of Judaism must answer to those ethical requirements of our faith.

        Time and time again Israel has proven itself to be dedicated to ethics and morals, and there is so much in this area to be proud of: Israel’s quick and immediate response to disasters elsewhere in the world, Haiti for instance; or the policies of Israeli hospitals to treat people regardless of their religion, nationality or political views or activity. Israel’s Supreme Court has often ruled against government policies which were deemed unethical: the route of the separation barrier or punitive home demolitions, for example.

And, just this summer, a former brigadier general of Tzahal spoke to a group in Ann Arbor and showed us video evidence of Israel’s decisions during wartime to try to fight as ethically as possible. But, more important than the video was his statement: “We have to do this because there is a ‘Jewish way’ to fight a war.” Imagine, using the word “Jewish” to refer to ethics. What a concept!

        I am proud of Israel for these stands. They have to continue if Israel is to live up to its responsibility as a Jewish State. Of course, survival is the greatest ethical responsibility of all; but it is becoming more frequent for Israel and its supporters to be too quick to respond to criticism from within or without with a claim that security trumps ethical issues or that any criticism is unfair and reveals an anti-Semitic intention.

Those knee-jerk reactions are wrong and they are damaging to Israel, and threats we hear from some within Israel that the country should limit the activities of human rights groups or limit freedom of the press or expression cannot be allowed to become reality in a Jewish State.

        I am proud to be a member of the board of Rabbis for Human Rights North America (author’s note: now called T’ruah: the Rabbinic Call for Human Rights) , which supports the work of those fighting for human rights in Israel. I am proud of the work done by Rabbis for Human Rights in Israel and am a strong supporter of that organization. I believe that Rabbis need to lead the way in expressing the hope that Israel always considers the ethical implications of its policies even as it seeks to defend its citizens and insure its future.

There are so many areas in which a greater concern for ethics must be applied. Some cannot be argued away by concerns for security such as the absolute shanda – the absolute disgrace – that there are so many poor and hungry in the Jewish State with no plans to address this problem. This must be addressed and there can be no excuses.

In contrast, there are areas where, I will admit, security concerns do come into play, such as in the way in which Israel acts with regard to Palestinians in the West Bank.

But those security concerns do not excuse unnecessarily extreme security measures. They do not excuse the support of unnecessary provocations in Palestinian neighborhoods disregarding the sanctity of a home. They do not excuse police turning a blind eye when there is violence perpetrated against people engaged in legal protest or simply trying to harvest their olives in their own groves. They do not excuse excessive disruption of daily life.

I want to see Israel continue to appropriately balance the ethical concerns with the demands for survival. That is what any nation should do. Of course, there are nations whose violations of human rights deserve far greater condemnation but a nation which calls itself a Jewish State needs to be sure to continue to live by ethical principles to the greatest extent possible.

It is only when Israel shows itself to be truly committed to protecting the human rights of all people under its control to the greatest extent possible – given the reality of life in the Middle East – that the name “Jewish State” can be comfortably used. That goal will never ultimately be achieved until the occupation ends and a true mutually negotiated secure peace is achieved and God willing it will happen this year.

        Then we have a third tension, and it is different from each of the first two. My discussion on Rosh Hashana about Ma’oz Tsur and Mi Yimallel and the respective role of a divine-centered and human-centered perspective in our lives prompts me to ask: How can Israel manage to remain a secular state while calling itself by the name of a religion? What should be the role of religion in the Jewish State?

There has to be some role. But Israel cannot be allowed to become a theocracy. Believe me, you don’t want Rabbis running the country. As in any free country, Israelis must be able to choose which, if any, approach to Jewish law and tradition they want to follow; and there should be no pressure of any kind placed on anyone to observe Jewish tradition in any particular way or at all.

Israel was founded as a secular State and should remain so. But one of the greatest resources Israel has to define its future is found in the spiritual yearnings of so many of its people and the abundance of serious Jewish observance and study taking place throughout the country are evidence of such yearning.

This is important for us, as Diaspora Jews, to recognize. It disappoints me deeply that almost all of the conversations we have about Israel center on politics. We rarely talk about Israel as a center of Jewish religion; and when we do talk about religion in Israel, it seems always in the negative, notably, our absolutely legitimate anger as Rabbinic leaders in Israel viciously condemn non-Orthodox Judaism and women who wish to participate equally in Jewish life.

These attitudes are horrendous. But, the fact is, there is positive reason to talk about religious faith in Israel. There are many expressions of Jewish faith and practice, as well as serious, contemporary Torah study evident in the country, and we, as Diaspora Jews, need to better acquaint ourselves with these efforts and support them more strongly. Whether it is in secular communities like our own partnership community of Nahallal with its thriving Friday evening Shabbat celebration or in serious intellectually-based Torah study bringing together secular and religious Jews, or in different types of minyanim flourishing throughout Israel, there is evidence everywhere of Israelis trying to find something more meaningful in Judaism.  We should be constantly keeping that in mind and feeding off that spiritual energy.

         In that spirit, I wish to propose an idea for our next Congregation trip to Israel. This trip will not focus on politics, not on history, not on beautiful scenery, but will focus on matters of the spirit and matters of faith, bring us into contact with the spiritual yearnings within the land. We will go to Israel to study Torah, pray in synagogues and among communities of all different types, and learn more about communities of all kinds – Jewish and non-Jewish, as well – which are studying and praying and observing faith in ways which can inspire us here at home. If you are interested in such a trip, please let me know. I think it would be a phenomenal experience and would be a way of sending a different message about the potential Israel has to improve and enhance our lives as Jews.

I hope and pray that Israel, in the years to come, will find the right balance between being the secular State it was created to be – and must remain – while continuing to be a place of great and varied spiritual yearning which can continue to inspire us.

        This, then, is my answer to what a Jewish State should be: committed to the Jewish people but unquestionably democratic and respectful of all, committed to ethical behavior even as it seeks to insure its survival, and committed to more deeply meaningful Jewish life at all levels as it remains a secular institution. These reflect the wrestling with priorities that is an absolute foundation of our lives as Jews.

        Talk about wrestling … I began to write this sermon almost 31 years ago. As a 3^rd year Rabbinical student in November, 1979,  one month after arriving in Israel for the first time, I wrote a long letter to my father which I still have. It was one of the most heartfelt things I have ever written.

The upshot of the letter was: “What am I doing here? I cannot figure out what this place has to do with me. It’s militaristic. It’s arrogant. There’s no baseball. Why can’t I just come home and go back to work at Camp Ramah, my promised land?”

Well I stayed, thank God; and over the year, my thoughts began to change as I got to know Israel and Israelis better.  And with each successive visit – I now have been to Israel 13 times – I found more and more to connect with.

I found people that thought like I did or challenged me respectfully to re-consider my priorities. I encountered organizations that saw Judaism like I did. I found great places to daven and to study and, sure enough, I became more attached to a sense of history and to a sense of peoplehood that had not been a focus of my upbringing. I became more aware and respectful of the obligation which Israel fulfills.

I hope, for my children’s and grandchildren’s sakes and for Israel’s sake, that my voice and voices of all of us who love Israel, even from afar, will be heard to lead the country to further reflect what it truly means to be a Jew.

In that way, I believe it will always be a Jewish State in the truest sense of the word, and one which future generations of serious and committed Jews will not only find connection with but one which they will love and believe in deeply and see as a reflection of their commitment to the principles of our faith.

        We pray for a year of health and life for ourselves. We pray no less for Israel’s physical well being. And, as we pray for a year in which our lives will reflect the values of our faith, we pray for that for Israel as well.

28 years ago this week, the Space Shuttle Challenger exploded shortly after take off from Cape Kennedy. I remember  one aspect of that that day very well: it seemed to me that everyone heard the news before I did. I was at lunch with a colleague, then in my car driving back to my office without turning the radio on. I sat in the office for an hour or two writing up a plan for a class when the phone rang. I was expecting a bat mitzvah student for a lesson that afternoon and her mother was calling to find out if I still wanted to meet. I asked her why. She said: “Haven’t you heard the news?”. That was how I found out what had happened hours before.

I mention this part of the story because one thing that I always think about when considering the Challenger disaster was how different life was even only 28 years ago. It would be absolutely impossible for someone not to hear the news almost immediately upon an event like this taking place today. We are bombarded by news and information in so many different forms and it would seem impossible to even imagine that so much time would pass before we would hear news.

But, that is just an aside. The most intense and important memory I have of that terrible day is the realization that what seemed so routine, so fascinatingly easy, was in fact terribly dangerous and unpredictable. Looking back that day, it struck me that the fact that this was the first time American astronauts had been killed while flying (remembering of course the tragic fire aboard Apollo 1 and the loss of three astronauts on the pad) was truly remarkable. While there had been “close calls” before, we had become accustomed to flights taking off and splashing down or landing and the astronauts, the heroes, climbing out perfectly healthy. This was such a shock but when looked at realistically, the real shock was that it hadn’t happened before.

These 7 brave men and women, including of course Christa McAuliffee, “teacher in space”, took such a great risk in the name of science and adventure and to this day, I can remember their names and see their faces as they appeared in the pre-flight photographs. They, as well of course, as the victims of the Space Shuttle Columbia are remember with respect and honor.

But, there is one other memory I have of that day and it is much more personal.

I remember thinking to myself as I watched the news that night: “Now, I will never fly in space”. I was 30 years old when I woke up on the day of the disaster and I honestly, truly believed that one day I would fly into space. Why not? Surely, the world was advancing technologically and while I never could have pictured a computer in my pocket or so many other advances of the 21st century, at that moment, I honestly believed that I would one day fly into space.

But, as I watched the news that night, I realized that space travel would never be easy, never be simple, never be available to all except the best trained and most daring, neither category applying to me. I realized at that moment that if I wanted an adventure, I would have to find it here on earth.

Losing those 7 brilliant men and women was a horrible loss to our nation and the world. But, I also felt a personal loss that day, not as important but every bit as emotional.

May their memory be for a blessing.

I regularly follow a Facebook post called: “Originally From Brighton 02135” which features pictures and stories from my old neighborhood in Boston. It is a great source of nostalgia and good memories.

The other day, a member of the Facebook group posted a picture of the fire station up the street from our house when it was dedicated in the early part of the 20th century. The picture immediately brought back memories, from my childhood and beyond.

We used to drive or walk by the fire station every day and I can still remember my mother, at that time a cub scout “Den Mother” taking my older brother’s cub scout group up there to meet the fire fighters and learn about the station. I was too young to be a cub scout but came along for the fun.

I also remember that the field behind the fire station was a great place to play baseball until construction of apartments forced us to move to other places to play.

Of course, as I grew older, the fire station became less interesting and when I left for college, I forgot it was there.

Then, many years later, I found it again.

When our son, Avi, was 5, he and I took a trip to Boston to visit my parents. He had been there with us before but this was the first time that just the two of us had gone together and I promised him we would do a lot of fun stuff. We went to the aquarium in Boston and several other places but the place that attracted most attention for him was the old fire station.

We live down the street from a fire station here in Ann Arbor and Avi and I spent many summer afternoons walking to the station and talking with the firefighters but this station was different, with an old bell system, with a higher pole to slide down and, most importantly, with a truck with a ladder that reached 5 or 6 stories. We spent several mornings during that trip hanging around the station, watching them test the ladders, waiting for the firefighters to come back from a call and just enjoying the atmosphere.

The picture on Facebook brought back memories of my youth but even more cherished memories of those moments with Avi.

Avi turned 21 this week. But, the memories are as vivid as always.

Happy Birthday Avi! Thanks for the memories and, God willing, for the many memories still to come.

I’m not a huge movie fan but when I find a movie that sounds intriguing, I try to get out to see it before it falls into the category of “I’ll see it when it becomes available on demand”. (That never seems to come soon enough.) It so happens that there are now 3 or 4 movies that I really want to see and last night, Ellen and I went to see the one that was first on my list: “Saving Mr. Banks“.

Having grown up in the era of  the film: “Mary Poppins” and still, to this day, being able to sing most of the songs by heart, I couldn’t wait to see the movie. Actually, I should mention here that not only can I sing the songs in English but I can also sing some of them in Hebrew as our division put the play on  in Hebrew at Camp Ramah in New England in 1980. I had forgotten much of the story- and that was unfortunate since remembering the story a bit better would have helped at the film last evening- but the songs are unforgettable and made me anxious to see the new film.

I’m not going to “review” the movie here. I don’t know how to do that without revealing the plot but I can only say that I found the movie to be everything I expected it to be- and more. In fact, truthfully, I didn’t expect it to be anywhere near the emotional experience it was. Go see it and, when you do, make sure you stay until the end of the credits.

But, I can tell you the basic premise of the movie without revealing any of the details. The story is about how Walt Disney convinced the author of Mary Poppins, P.L.Travers, to allow the movie to be made. As it turns out, there is so much behind the story of Mary Poppins and in the process of cooperating in the production of the film, the author is forced to confront much of the pain and sadness in her life through the story she had written. I’ll leave the rest up for you to find out for yourself- except to quickly add that the tears were shed during the movie Were both tears of sadness and happiness.

But, I want to point out one aspect of the movie that has motivated so much of my thinking about my writing, especially the sermons I write.

I believe that a sermon provides two functions, one much more important than the other. The first and the more important of the two, is to impart some information, inspiration or thought provoking material to the congregation. But, the other relates more to the writer than to the congregation.

I find that many of the sermons I write are inspired by stories that happened to me or conflicts I find within me and that the process of writing the sermon actually helps me find meaning in the stories or even, God willing, resolve some of the conflicts. Just as Mrs. Travers discovered about her book and Walt Disney helped her to see in the process of the production of the film, the sermons sometimes serve as a release or as an opportunity to write a different ending to something that is disturbing or just incomplete in my life.

I think this is true of anyone who delivers a sermon and I think it is what makes the whole process of writing such material so fascinating and so vital for those of us who have chosen this career or for those given the opportunity to deliver a d’var Torah or any kind of meaningful presentation.

I am hoping to soon complete a project I have been working on for several years: a book which will contain some of the stories of my life and the sermons that those stories inspired. The connections are sometimes obvious, sometimes more subtle but any writer writes from his or her heart and his or her experience but then tries to make the material stemming from those experiences meaningful to those who listen to his or her words.

Go see the movie Saving Mr. Banks and you will realize what a wonderful process it is to write from the heart.

Despite the fact that I am among those who have expressed deep concern about the violations of human rights which occur under Israel’s occupation of the West Bank,  I believe that the  recent decision by the American Studies Association to boycott Israeli universities because of human rights abuses  is misguided, inappropriate and offensive.

Singling out Israel for human rights abuses unfairly targets Israel. The fact that there are nations which have worse human rights records doesn’t release Israel from the responsibility of addressing those human rights issues and those of us who are concerned about those issues must continue to speak out against the occupation.  But, it makes no sense to me that an academic body would seek to “punish” academics in Israel (many of whom also speak out against the occupation) for the government’s human rights abuses especially given the state of the world in which so many people in countries not singled out by groups such as the ASA suffer deeply from government action.

I am opposed to what is called the BDS movement: Boycott Divestment and Sanctions against Israel. I do not believe that this is an effective way of addressing the situation involving Israelis and Palestinians. But, this particular boycott strikes me not only as being ineffective and biased but also as being illogical and simply wrong. Israel’s academic institutions which are open to so many have provided the world with such important scientific advances and academic research should not be the target of a boycott. There are  more effective ways of expressing opposition to policies of a government than to boycott educational institutions.

For our parents’ generation, it was December 7, 1941. For our children, it is September 11, 2001. For those of my generation, it was November 22, 1963, 50 years ago this Friday.

It was the day the world changed. It was the day our nation changed forever. Daniel Moynihan said it best when he said:  “We will laugh again but we will never be young again”.

And, those of us above the age of 55, will never forget that day.

For those who were old enough to understand the nuances of politics and society, it was an end to Camelot. The assassination of President Kennedy brought a sudden and abrupt shocking end to the young, smiling Presidential family which had seemed to corner the market on good looks and culture. But, they knew that it was more than that. It was also an end to the youthful, joyous, spring in the step early 1960s which had survived the Cuban Missile Crisis and the beginnings of involvement in Vietnam.

For kids like me,  8 years old at the time, it was something simpler. It was the first time many of us saw our parents- and perhaps even more dramatically, our teachers- cry. It was the cancelled parties and games. It was the horror of watching, over and over again, the man who had made our parents and our nation cry killed on live TV. It was seeing the flags at half staff and having to ask why over and over again.

I saw President Kennedy in person  a few months before the assassination when he came to Boston College  to deliver an address. The motorcade  passed one block from  our house. The line was two or three deep but someone pushed me right into the front and he waved right at me. I will never forget his smile.

As I got to college,  with the memories of the motorcade and of November 1963 buried in the back of my mind, my interest in TV news and journalism in general sparked a fascination in the assassination. I suppose it  began in earnest when I heard Mark Lane speak at Brandeis. He was the first to make a name for himself in claiming that there was a conspiracy that was being covered up. He brought all his pictures and his films (but not the Zapruder film to be sure) and it was just what all of us wanted to hear, another thing to be cynical about in the era of Watergate. It was also a great detective story and I wanted to search for clues. And, it brought to the surface those emotions of that weekend, emotions which still felt fresh after all  the intervening years.

So, as the years have gone along, I have become even more deeply fascinated with the assassination. I have read countless books, watched all of the TV specials and in 1999, I finally made the trip I had wanted to make for many years, to Dallas, to stand in Dealey plaza and to visit the “6th Floor Museum”.

It was a pilgrimage in every sense of the word. I stayed in a hotel a few blocks away and walked towards the plaza and suddenly and sooner than I expected, I looked up and saw the Texas School Book Depository. I stopped in my tracks and just stood staring, as so many do. I did not expect to cry but I did. It was truly a cathartic experience to stand in that spot and I spoke about the lessons that I learned from that experience at Kol Nidre services the following Yom Kippur. If you’d like a copy of that sermon, just let me know at rdobrusin@bethisrael-aa.org and I’ll send it along.

But, through it all, through all of the studying and the watching and the speculating and through all of the realization of the impact this moment had on our nation and the world, the memories I remember today are the simplest ones: my mother leaning out of the 2nd floor window as I arrived home from school to tell me the news; my father taking me with him to pick up my grandmother who was at the movies and hadn’t heard (it’s interesting that they didn’t stop the movie) and hearing him say to the people gathering around him as he told my grandmother what had happened: “I’m not going to be a God damned town crier”; walking with the members of our synagogue which was the closest house of worship to Kennedy’s birthplace to lay a wreath at his childhood home; and most emotional of all: seeing my mother staring out the window into the darkness and then turning to tell me, with a tear in her eye, that it would all be all right.

I still think that there are some aspects to the story of the assassination that we just don’t know enough about and, maybe 50 years later is a good time to let those questions go. But, honestly, I still find them compelling and still think we may learn something new sometime in the future.

But, that doesn’t seem important today. The most important thing to remember today is that while it was a day that will live in infamy, as happened in 1941 and in 2001, our nation survived, sadder, perhaps wiser or at least less naive, still able to smile but not quite in the same way.

I wonder what the 60s would have been like had John Kennedy lived. I wonder what our world would have been like if we hadn’t cried that weekend. We will never know.

May the memory of John F. Kennedy be for a blessing. May we who remember that weekend continue to move forward while the memories stay with us.

We continued our Talmud class on the holidays of the year last evening and this class was dedicated to two issues relating to Pesach.

The first issue we discussed with the tradition of bedikat Hametz, searching for the hametz on the night before the holiday begins. We looked at the Talmudic section which discusses why the search is supposed to done by a ner, which we translate as candle, but probably in Talmudic times was a small lamp.

The tradition of using a ner is based on the reading of several Biblical verses which connect the words “search” and “find” and “candle” concluding with a verse from the prophet Zephaniah in which it is said that God will “search Jerusalem with nerot, candles” to determine the sins of the people. Then a verse from Proverbs is mentioned which says that God searches with a candle the innermost parts of a person.

There is then an interesting statement about why that extra verse from Proverbs is added. The text reads that one might think that God (being merciful) would choose to search Jerusalem with a ner in order not to discover the minor sins but only to see things which were very visible and therefore would be lenient towards minor indiscretions in judging people. This idea is then ruled out based on the verse from Proverbs which clearly states that God seeks out the innermost parts in great detail.

While the Talmud doesn’t state this clearly, it is apparent that the reason this discussion arises is because of those people who might think  that searching with a candle (especially the very small candles that are given to people today in “searching for hametz”packets) means that only the biggest pieces of hametz would be found. The text from proverbs is used to eliminate that approach in favor of the idea that using a candle allows one to see into the cracks in the wall and floor and eliminate even the smallest piece of hametz.

But, I believe that the fact that the interpretation based on Zephaniah that God searches only for the major sins is brought up does, in fact, justify this approach as legitimate. And the fact that the Mishna in other section points out the fact that at a certain point “eyn lidavar sof”, there is no end to Pesach cleaning if you go too far makes me believe that there is on some level a justification for seeing bedikat hametz, searching for the hametz, as more of a ritual than an actual cleaning and the use of the candle enables us to put a finishing touch on the major cleaning with a ritual which only focuses on big pieces of hametz. Don’t forget, following the ritual, we say a declaration that whatever hametz which we might have missed is “hefker”, ownerless like the dust of the earth.

I believe that the entire discussion in the Talmud can be read as reminding us that we need to be realistic about Pesach cleaning and not go overboard beyond what could be reasonably expected.

We then studied the section in the Talmud concerning the 4 cups of wine which are drunk at the Pesach seder. There is a tradition that, in fact, 5 cups of wine are drunk and that tradition is ascribed to Rabbi Tarfon although in our texts of the Talmud, Rabbi Tarfon does not refer to the 5th cup. Apparently there was a tradition that the text of Rabbi Tarfon’s statement has been corrupted and that he did in fact designate a 5th cup.

There are several interpretations as to the entire issue of the number of cups but the one that I like the best relates the 4 cups to the 4 Divine promises made in one short section of the book of Exodus: “I will bring you out”, “I will take you”, “I will redeem you” ” I will save you”. There is a 5th promise made in that same section: “I will bring you into the land”. According to this interpretation, there was a debate among the Rabbis whether that 5th promise had been fulfilled or whether it is referring to the ultimate redemption at the time of the Messiah. Those who felt the promise had not been fulfilled mandated only 4 cups. The others called for 5 cups.

According to this interpretation, a compromise was reached. There would be 5 cups but the 5th would not be drunk. That would remain for Elijah, the herald of the Messiah and the one who according to the Rabbis would answer all outstanding Jewish legal questions when he arrived (including of course the question of how many cups of wine should be drunk). So, we have Elijah’s cup not only to hope for the Messiah but to hope for an answer to the difficult questions of our lives.

 

I am proud to be one of 775 American, European and Israel Rabbis, Cantors and Rabbinical Students to sign a letter to Prime Minister Netanyahu asking him to withdraw what is known as the Prawer/Begin bill which would result in tens of thousands of Bedouin citizens of Israel being forcibly removed from the land on which they live and being relocated to urban areas in the Negev. You can find the text of the letter at http://org2.salsalabs.com/o/5149/p/dia/action3/common/public/?action_KEY=14782

This is a critical moment for Israel as this bill would result in the dislocation of so many citizens against their will.

At issue are “unrecognized” Bedouin settlements  in the Negev which do not receive government services. The government proposes to move the Bedouin residents of these settlements into urban areas where they can receive government services.

While on the surface this may seem appropriate and beneficial to the Bedouin in some ways, it must be noted the urban areas into which they would be moved already have high poverty levels and unemployment. In addition,  the plan does not take into account the desires of the Bedouin. There has not been consultation with the Bedouin themselves who deserve, as citizens of Israel, equal treatment under the law.

This is not to say that life for the Bedouin  can not be improved. It can. But, it can best be improved by developing a plan which works together with the Bedouin instead of one which imposes a solution on them. Respect for life style and for connection with land calls for Israel to work to deliver services to these people where they currently live.

There are many reasons for the plan and one of the reasons  is to allow Israel to further  economic development in the Negev. However, as the letter points out, allowing the Bedouin to stay on the land on which they live would still allow for plenty of room for growth in the Negev and for the establishment of industry and military bases as are needed.

This is clearly a very emotional issue and I urge you to watch a video featuring noted actor Theodore Bikel who likens the planned  expulsion of the Bedouin to the story of Fiddler on the Roof and the Jews leaving Anatevka. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fLeWQ470G6o  This video puts this plan into a context which should concern all of us.

I urge you to learn more about this issue by going to Truah.org or rhr.org.il/eng  to read about the action taken by Truah: the Rabbinic Call for Human Rights and Rabbis for Human Rights. You can also read more about the plan and the knesset debates in the Israeli press at jpost.com or haaretz.com

If you would like to write a letter to members of the knesset, you can do so by going to http://www.truah.org/issuescampaigns/bedouin.html  and clicking on “take action”.

One of the hallmarks of Israel has always been equal treatment for all citizens. The Prawer/Begin plan ought to trouble  all of us who love and care for Israel. Please take a moment to consider this issue seriously and make your voice heard.