Israel: Tourist Destination or Homeland, Delivered Erev Rosh Hashanah 5771

play just before sermon: http://www.we7.com/#/song/Teapacks/HaTikvah

As long as deep in the heart,
The soul of a Jew yearns
Towards the East
And eye looks to Zion
Our hope is not yet lost,
The hope of two thousand years
To be a free people in our land
The land of Zion and Jerusalem.

‘Our hope – tikvatenu – is not lost!’
Allow me to share a story about which I read recently. Perhaps you’ve heard or read about it too. It’s about two girls who have attended the same school and have become good friends but who are now required by a locally sanctioned order to be separated. In school, they are required to wear uniforms of (to be marked by) different colors, and they have been forbidden to come into contact with each other. In order to make the prohibition concrete, a fence covered with an opaque cloth (a michitza of sorts) has literally been stretched between them. They preserve their friendship by passing notes through a hole in the fence. These girls did nothing wrong. This forced segregation is no punishment for bad behavior; rather, this segregation, which was reported and discussed by Israeli author and civil rights activist Sami Michael in Haaretz this past June in an article entitled “The Colors of Racism,” is one that is now impacting an entire community and perhaps, tikvatenu, our hope as well.

Mind you, Michael was not reporting on the days of South African apartheid, pre-civil rights America, or even the segregation and discrimination pointed directly at the Jewish community throughout much of Europe during World War II. Rather, he was reporting on what is becoming a disturbing trend within Israel today. The two schoolgirls wearing uniforms of different colors are both Jewish girls from the Israeli settlement of Immanuel in the West Bank. Immanuel (spelled w/ an ‘I’ and double ‘m’), a religious settlement populated by both Ashkanic and Sephardi Jews is, as Michael reminds us, flourishing under the Israeli flag and armed protection of the IDF, the Israeli Defense Forces, and the school these girls attend is a public school. It was at this public school that a significant number of parents of Ashkenazic descent refused to allow their children to attend classes while those of both Ashkenazi and Sephardic descent were allowed to study together. They demanded that the school, a public, government funded school, be completely segregated along these lines, and shockingly, they took the case to the Israeli Supreme Court in an effort to have their 'religious freedom' protected.

A reminder -- the only difference between an Ashkenazi and Sephardi Jew is one of regional descent: Ashkenazi, a term used to refer to those hailing originally from the regions of the German Rhineland that was later extended to those from areas of Eastern and Central Europe as Jews migrated out from Germany after the Medieval period; Sephardi instead refers to those whose ancestry can be traced to countries in and around the Iberian peninsula. Differences in custom and practice have certainly developed over time between these two groups, but let’s be clear, the distinction being made in Israel is ultimately one of race as well as practice.

Thankfully, Israel's highest court did not rule in favor of the parents’ demands and insisted that the integration of Ashkenazi and Sephardic students continue at this school. However, in response to the Supreme Court’s action, not only did the Ashkenazi parents proceed to reject the court’s decision, refusing to allow their children to return to school, but they organized a mass demonstration which, according to Militant Ginger, an admittedly left wing blog…perhaps rant), drew 100,000 supporters of such forced segregation within the Jewish community, that’s a lot of people for this small Jewish state.

I can only imagine the outrage Michael feels, an Israeli whose own grandchildren are both Ashkenazi and Sephardi at the same time, a product of the integration of both of these rich cultures that exist and thrive in Israel. But, we should feel outrage too. Just imagine our reaction if such a large assembly gathered here in defense of any type of formally imposed public school segregation! Would any of us be anything less than appalled?

It might be easy to dismiss the situation in Immanuel – a town whose name is as is ours despite the difference in spelling, inspired by Isaiah’s prophetic imagination: “God is w/ us,” -- as simply a reflection of the geographic hot bed of ultra Orthodox haredi attitudes that have settled into the West Bank; but sadly, Israel is increasingly becoming less welcoming of democracy and more hostile to liberal and pluralistic values. And this should concern us.
Perhaps we should have expected that it would only be a matter of time when the forced segregation of men and women based on a fundamentalist reading of Jewish Law would extend now to the creation of mechitzas, ritual barriers, based on other criteria such as race. As I shared on earlier occasions this year, forced segregation is no new phenomenon in Israel. The government backed expropriation of the Western Wall by the ultra-Orthodox, for example, lead to the arrest of a woman last November whose official crime was wearing a tallit, a not entirely uncommon feature of women choosing to daven together at the Wall but one which violates the Orthodox mandated and government enforced dress code of the Kotel area. Of course, the real issue of contention between the Women of the Wall and the Orthodox establishment is less about clothes and far more about who gets to define the parameters of Jewish expression. But when those in leadership roles call women “stupid” for coming to the wall to pray with a tallit as did Shas party spiritual head, Ovadia Yosef in November, any prospect of open dialogue between liberal and traditionalist factions seems far, far off on the horizon if not sheer fantasy. And, are we surprised then at the level of vitriol Yosef and those of his ilk express towards the Palestinians in his region when he levels such indignations to his fellow Jews.

So far, despite the success of those Ashkenazi parents in the West Bank community of Immanuel to rally support among their own, the government has wisely refused to submit to their pressure. But, with the growing influence of the right wing fundamentalist faction in Israel, can we be so sure that the Israeli government will remain on the one hand, so level headed, but even more importantly, effective in implementing this expectation that the public schools in this Haredi conclave remain integrated?

The case of Israel’s public bus system stands as an uneasy case in point.

Beginning in the 1990s, Egged, Israel’s primary mode of public transportation, began offering segregated bus service to areas heavily populated by Haredim, the most fervently Orthodox, in order to encourage their use of public transportation. What started as a limited practice to accommodate a minority population has expanded to the extent that, according to IRAC, Israel’s Religious Action Center, there is no choice but to use segregated buses on at least 5 intercity routes. Moreover, where there are still options, the segregated alternative is often the cheapest and fastest. As I shared in a sermon on this issue this past February, a trip from Jerusalem to Petach Tikva (a trip I took regularly 20 some odd years ago w/ no challenges) now requires two buses with a 15 minute layouver between and a fare of over 28 shekels, that is unless I don’t mind a segregated bus. The segregated bus still offers a non-stop ride costing under 20 shekels. Travelling from Ashdod to Arad? The segregated choice offers a 2 hour ride for 24 shekels. The non-segregated option demands a 4 hour ride at a fare of 60 shekels! (is that a choice?)

While the High Courts in Israel scolded the transportation minister last February for not following committee recommendations that segregation be fully voluntary and not at all compulsory on any public bus, no attempts have been made by the Israeli government to outlaw or even curb this practice. As long as there are options, the government’s resistance to enforce integration may seem harmless; but, we know better. We’ve experienced segregation in America. A reminder of what a segregated bus looks like: separate entrances in this case for men and women with women seated squarely at the back of the bus. And for those Rosa Parks of Israeli society who resist such degrading treatment, there are those who have taken it upon themselves, using physical force when necessary, to enforce this supposed ‘voluntary’ segregation.

The Israeli government claims to be a democracy and as such has a responsibility to protect the rights of all of its citizens, yet, as in this case, it far too often allows its hand to be forced by the religious right. How can we remain confident that despite official censure, the demands for religious and racial segregation in Immanuel (or elsewhere ba-aretz) won’t succeed in practice? And perhaps a question being pondered by many of us as we sit comfortably in our American, liberal congregations, why should we care? We live here, in America – by choice… the difference in spelling may be no accident: our vision of Emanuel is clearly different than theirs.

The most recent conversion bill raised in the Knesset, Israel’s parliament, this past summer by a leader of the right wing Yisrael Beitenu party reminds us that we must care and we must remain full of hope. Such divisive efforts to further empower the Chief Rabbinate in Israel in their attempts to define who is a Jew by their limited yardstick impacts not just Israeli Jews, but American Jews and all of world Jewry and could frankly have disastrous implications for the relationship between Israel and the diaspora. This bill which was actually originally aimed at expanding conversion rights in order to help the multitude of Russian immigrants in Israel gain legitimacy quickly became a political lightening rod with the ultra-Orthodox objecting to any leniency or broadening of power and the American Jewish community then fearing invalidation.

The bill has been tabled until winter – sent to a committee tasked with finding compromise between factions. In the meantime, there has been no dearth of commentary in the dense world of blogosphere. In his anger over the controversy that arose over this bill, for instance, former Knesset member and Israeli peace activist, Avraham Burg, pointed to us, the American Jewish community as having some culpability in the growing authority of the religious right in Israel, a powerful force that is beginning to threaten the values of democracy which we hold dear not only as Americans but as liberal Jews. Burg may often spout seemingly radical ideas –if you’ve read any of his literature: his vision of Zionism involves replacing the ideal of Israel as a “Jewish State” with Israel as a “state for the Jews,” and he is passionate in his concern for the Palestinian agenda (one could argue overly-passionate). However, whether we choose to agree with him on these sensitive hot-button issues or not, we must take significant note of his accurate observation regarding the lack of involvement and concern for the future of Israel among most liberal American Jews. That’s us by the way!

Several studies over the past number of years have revealed that support for Israel is declining among non-Orthodox youth in America. While these studies have generally focused on college age cohorts, I doubt the outcomes would be all that different taking a look at not so youthful non-Orthodox Jews in America. Peter Beinart, a not too young, but not so old (I believe nearing 40 years old) journalist and former editor of The New Republic wrote a compelling analysis of the situation for The New York Review of Books this past June (6/10/2010) noting that “ …fewer and fewer American Jewish liberals are Zionists; [and] fewer and fewer America Jewish Zionists are liberal.” Rather than actively engaging with the many challenges that face Israel – both religious and political – most liberals have opted out thus allowing the Orthodox to define American Zionism. Beinart, himself an Orthodox Jew is, as we should be, gravely concerned about the future if such a trend continues. He imagines all too clearly an American Zionist movement that does not even, in his words, “feign concern” for the for the impact of a fundamentalist religio-political agenda; and, he fears a broader American Jewish population that does not even “feign concern” for Israel.

Certainly, we must not check our modern sensibilities or our liberal values at the door when it comes to supporting Israel. We must demand of her what we expect in our own country namely a fully democratic state that recognizes the validity of Progressive Judaism and the plurality of Jewish life. Religious pluralism has marked Jewish life since its inception and has enriched Judaism leading to the growth of a wealth of literature, differing point of views, and cultural expressions. As Reform Jews in particular, we must, as Rabbi Amy Perlin so eloquently expressed in a recent URJ commentary, “…be the voice of social justice and fairness, [teaching] and [defending] the values of Torah, promoting gender equality and communal civility…" in Israel. At the same time, we cannot simply abandon Israel when it doesn’t meet our ideals and expectations.

Tikvatenu - we must remain hopeful, and we must speak out with the confidence in knowing that our voice matters. Yes, our American Jewish voice matters. As Americans, we may feel un-entitled to a voice when it comes to Israel. True, what happens there doesn’t impact us in nearly the same manner it does to Israelis. We don’t live there. Yet, even as we make our homes here in America, Israel is far more than simply a tourist destination for us. We do have a stake in this land – in part because we are Jews and have an historical connection to (as do others), a covenantal relationship with, the land. In part because we know too well from experience that there is a need for a place that will open its borders to any Jew in need. But also, we must care about Israel because despite Hezbollah’s opinion to the contrary, as Theodore Herzl reminded us in the 19th century, the world benefits from Israel’s participation in international dialogue.

We may not be Israeli citizens. Few of us will ever make aliyah. Yet, still, despite our frustration with much of what we read, we must continue to care and engage. And, we must continually work to remind ourselves of all that this young country has to offer despite its current challenges – all that never makes headline news. Tikvatenu. We must support our Jewish homeland. There are a myriad of ways in which we can support Israel from here. Three stand out:

• First and foremost, remain or if not already, become informed. Read, pay attention – seek out information, take note of what is happening in Israel and form an opinion. Be capable and more importantly willing to speak intelligently and lovingly about Israel even when disagreeing with her actions. Like our own children, we must not abandon Israel when we disagree with decisions and policies made; rather, it is incumbent upon us to work harder at trying to understand so that we can help inspire compassion and change.

• Two: include Israel in your Tzedakah budget - give, generously as able, but wisely. We must do our homework and research the organizations to which we give, so that the monies we send to Israel don’t serve to further a right-wing religious or political agenda. As Reform Jews, we must be careful to support institutions that forward, as oppose to silencing, the progressive voice in Israel.

• Three: support Israel’s economy. Whether through buying Israeli products – of which there are a plethora available in various American retail outlets and on-line - or by picking up and travelling to Israel. Tourism is one of, if not the major, industry in Israel. Israel needs us to visit. But, as importantly, we need to visit. Supporting Israel requires activism on our part. It requires of us – the diaspora Jew, the liberal diaspora Jew – to not just pay lip service to Israel, but to make the commitment – financially and physically to get on a plane, and take advantage of all that this rich country has to offer. It isn’t about making permanent aliyah, but it is all about showing Israel that not just the Orthodox are willing to visit and spend time there. We must also. It is imperative that Israel be more than a region about which we read about in the paper or in textbooks – we must experience the land, taste the food, try out the language, meet those who live there – engage with the land and the people.

I hope there will be enough interest in our congregation so that we can again travel together to Israel in June of 2012. Whether for the first or umpteenth time, visiting Israel is a remarkable experience and to do so in the context of a congregational family trip is nothing short of a treat. There really is no other way to fully appreciate the incredibly rich history and culture of this land that Theodore Herzl dubbed, The Promised Land save by going and experiencing it firsthand among friends and family. I hope you’ll join me in going – please look forward to an informational meeting in early spring and in the meantime, please feel free to talk to me personally about your interest in going or about any questions you may have.

Hope. How fitting that the words penned by Naphtali Herz Imber in the late 19th century in a poem entitled Tikvatenu, our hope, became the foundation for Hatikva, a song universally accepted despite the fact that it has never been officially sanctioned as such by the Knesset, as the national anthem of Israel. Its haunting folk melody and hopeful lyric stirs the heart of almost all who hear it. Though it was originally written and set to music with the ideals of national restoration in mind, on this eve of a new year, 5771, may the lyrical strains of our beloved Hatikva remind us that despite the difficult challenges contemporary Israel presents for the liberal American Jewish community, we must remain committed to the possibility – the Tikva - the hope - that Israel can become an example of a more perfect democratic and pluralist state.

Yamim Noraim - The Fear - full Days, delivered Erev Shabbat Ki Tavo, 8/27/2010

Erev Shabbat Ki Tavo – 18 Elul, 5770

One of the feature articles in the most recent Reform Judaism magazine discusses the challenges of reading ancient text in translation. Joel Hoffman, the author and an expert on semitic languages, encourages us to think twice before accepting the pshat, the simple meaning, of the English placed before us even in our valued Plaut translation and commentary and to consider the context and nuances of the original language – Hebrew. A challenge for most of us even those among us with a certain facility and comfort level with the Hebrew language. A challenge made all the more interesting, as Dr. Hoffman points out, by the fact that Biblical Hebrew is no longer a living language…it is strikingly different from the modern Hebrew spoken freely in Israel today.

Reading through this article this past week – during these final days of preparation leading to our yamim hanoraim and when we are reading parashat Ki Tavo in our Torah cycle – caused me to ponder on the word Nora…this word for AWE that we use to describe these days ahead of us.

Awe: Nora – is drawn from the root yarei ירא – to fear, to dread. ירא is not the only Hebrew word for fear, however, pachad פחד also connotes fear or dread.

So why are the upcoming days understood in Hebrew asימים נוראים and not פחדים ימים ?

The difference in meaning between these words for fear is subtle yet significant, and our Torah portion, Ki Tavo, and indeed the entire work of the Deuteronomist, can give us insight into our task during these days.

Now,I have not done a detailed lexical study – that is comparing the use of these two words throughout the biblical text; yet from my initial perusings, I sense that a primary difference in these words has to do with our behavior in response to whatever is provoking fear. Pachad appears to imply a paralyzing fear, one that can be so thoroughly overwhelming that that it cause physical symptoms of dread, but at the same time, sticks us to our place/immobilizes us. And, used as an adjective, pachadim can imply terrifying and unfit for action.

Yarei, on the other hand, appears to be used in situations that on the contrary require action. The fear – most often used in connection with God – is to inspire doing!

The author of our Deuteronomic text understood the motivating power of fear. The litany of curses contained in this week’s portion, as dreadful as they are, were not intended to paralyze the community with trembling, but rather were intended to inspire proper behavior and commitment to the centralized leadership of the day (expressed through commitment to God).

Yamim Noraim – These days of Awe, these fear filled days, should be difficult and perhaps cause fear. The process of tshuvah of looking inward at ourselves and evaluating how our actions have impacted others is challenging; it can freeze us in our places. Recognizing our faults and that we have hurt ourselves and others can cause us so much pain and fear, that we are prevented from moving forward. But that is precisely NOT the point of this holiday season, rather the goal is for that ‘awe’ that ‘fear’ yarei, to propel us to action – to seek repentance from those we hurt, to recommit ourselves to communal goals even at the risk of trumping a few of our individual ones, to strive to do better.

Nothing wrong with a little fear as long as we use it and respond to it wisely - may the upcoming ‘Days of Awe’ be a little 'fear filled' - just enough to inspire us to meaningful action and change.

The Right to Choose: A VIew on Intermarriage

Parashat Re’eh opens with an interesting imperative:
ראה אנכי נתן לפניכם היום ברכה וקללה

Take note!! I am placing before you today blessing and curse: blessing if you obey God’s commandments and curse if you do not obey. The imperative expressed by the verb ראה – literally, see or look here! – is in actuality the implied message “choose!” A rigid system of divine retribution is presented, but free will is always present - ultimately the choice is ours.

Let’s be clear that the biblical author was most concerned with idolatry. As we’ve discussed before, when viewed in light of historical events that took place at the time when scholars believe the Deuteronomic tradition was written down, the text can be read as a “how to consolidate the masses” manual. The centralization of the worship cult and the eradication of all idolatry were the primary and necessary goals; so much so, that this understanding of the text has endured over time. Even as late as the medieval period, Rashi understood the verse, if you do not obey the commandments of God as referring specifically to one who serves idols.

Today, the word “choose” when used within the context of Jewish tradition and תשמעו אל מצות יהוה אלהיכם ‘guarding God’s commandments’ rarely conjures up images of idolatry or any form of the cultic worship described in our portion; yet, still the word “choose” particularly when used within the context of the Reform movement’s mandate of informed autonomy, compels us to consciously formulate our public and private expressions of Judaism. No one can be Jewish for us – it will not be mandated for us - the free will is ours; yet, we must be cognizant of the consequences of our actions. And, in a very real sense, for Judaism to remain compelling in the 21st century and beyond, we must all become Jews by conscious choice.

This past week, our nation has been fixated to a large degree on the marriage of former President Bill and current Secretary of State Hilary Clinton’s daughter Chelsea to Marc Mezvinsky. It was dubbed by the Huffington Post (among other media outlets) as “America’s Wedding.” Now perhaps the marriage of a former President’s daughter is always big news (particularly when said daughter has dealt so gracefully with the less savory events of her dad’s presidency), but it seems to have consumed our attention – particularly our Jewish attention - in part due to the fact that Chelsea’s beau is Jewish and she, of course, is not.

Intermarriage has always been a touchy subject among us Jews. How many of us were raised with warnings of getting too involved with a non-Jew…ok to be friends, maybe to date, but to marry? Shame, shame. Two messages seem to be contained in that sense of shame. One, ‘they’ will never truly accept ‘you/us’, and two, ‘your’ action may bring ruin, albeit slow painful ruin, to the entire Jewish people. The Jewish Telegraphic Agency (JTA), the self subtitled Global News Service of the Jewish People, echoes such sentiment in its commentary this week on the Clinton wedding with what reads to me like a scolding tone of concern, “Is it possible that the first iconic Jewish picture of the decade is of an interfaith marriage?”

Honestly, isn’t it time we get over it? Choice. The power to choose. In the 19th century period of European enlightenment that followed on the heels of the French revolution, Jews worldwide demanded the rights of national citizenship. We chose and fought hard to leave the ghetto, and we succeeded! We chose to be a part of mainstream society even when others didn’t want us there. When we came to America, we consciously liberated ourselves from the constraints of the Gemeinde, the state sponsored body of authority over religious matters. As contemporary Reform Jews, we demand the right of informed choice in all religious and ritual matters both here and abroad, and we expect the separation of church and state to protect this right to choose. And yet, when we discuss the prospect of intermarriage, there still often arises a swell of panic. Yes, we want to participate fully in American society and culture, but if we intermarry, we fear we may be swallowed up whole (not unlike Jonah) by that same choice.

Our Torah portion is clear, choices have consequences. No debate here. But the choice to intermarry need not be followed by choices that lead to the evaporation of Jewish life. There are more choices to made after that brief wedding ceremony, and it’s those choices that the Jewish community should be concerned about not only for those who chose to marry non-Jews, but also for Jews who marry Jews. Far too often, we view marriage as an end point. A Jewish wedding marks success, and interfaith wedding, even if unspoken,feels on some level to be some sort of failure. On the contrary, if we are truly concerned with Jewish survival and the opportunity to pass on the blessings of Jewish life to future generations, then we should be less concerned with condemning marriages that frankly are a natural outgrowth of our choice to live and participate fully in an integrated and pluralistic society and instead provide welcoming and supportive opportunities for those couples to get involved. Every marriage that involves a Jewish partner should be viewed as an opportunity to create a new and vibrant Jewish household. A marriage should be viewed as the start – an open door, not the end.

Choices have consequences. Our choices and the choices of those who come before us have enabled us to live well and with little persecution (particularly when compared to state-sponsored anti-semitism of previous generations). Indeed, Chelsea Clinton and Marc Mezvinsky’s very public wedding can be viewed, as sociologist Steven Cohen notes, as marking “the full acceptance of Jews by the larger society…” In what other generation could such a wedding take place with really so little fanfare, and as far as I can tell virtually no criticism accept from the far religious right (the Jewish righ)?

The tough choices are still ahead for this young couple, as they would be for any young couple – Jewish, non -, or as in this case, one of each. Hopefully, they will approach the choices they have in front of them with sensitivity, reason, and a look both to past history and future posterity. To quote the Union of Reform Judaism’s head Rabbi Eric Yoffe, with whose sentiment I most fully agree with regard to all couples married under a chuppah, “I hope they will make a choice to raise their children in a single religious and tradition, and second, as a Jew and as a Rabbi, I hope it will be Judaism.”

Re’eh – Look! We have choices. Those choices demand thoughtful, open, and informed conversation – only then will we and our future progeny be blessed with the opportunity to choose a life of Torah, Avodah, and G’milut chasadim.

In honor of Richard Fishkin on the Occasion of his Retirement, delivered Erev Shabbat Naso 5/21/2010

וזאת תורה הנזיר ביום מלאת ימי נזיר יביא אתו...

This is the ritual for the nazirite on the day that his days as a nazirite are fulfilled: The person shall be brought to the Tent of Meeting, and shall make an offering לחטאת as an atonement offering.

Why, we might wonder – as plenty of Torah scholars before us have – would the nazirite be required to bring an atonement offering on the occasion of his retirement from service? A thanksgiving offering would be understandable, a general, all-purpose olah perhaps, but atonement? Why after a period of dedicated service would an individual need to make atonement?

In his trying to understand the perplexity of this seemingly odd requirement, Moses Maimonides, that well-known Medieval commentator who hailed from Cairo, in his Guide of the Perplexed comments on the difference between the nazarite, about whom we read in this week’s parashat Naso, and the sage. Separating themselves from the community and consciously refraining certain basic pleasures and comforts, the nazirite chooses an ascetic form of divine service. Such dedication to self-denial might be viewed as commendable, exemplary even (particularly in our Western culture of over-abundance), but as Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, the Chief Rabbi of the UK, notes in his comments on the text (cited in this week's Dov-Ray Torah compiled by Rabbi Dov Peretz Elkins), such pursuit of self perfection is not at all exemplary in the context of community.

In stark contrast, the sage remains fully engaged with society in his effort to perfect it. The sage, as Maimonides explains, recognizes and remains involved with others as he seeks to serve: he remains involved with members of one’s own family; he works together with his colleagues; he participates along with the fellow members of his community; he recognizes the need to defend and serve his country in addition to his own people.

Accordingly, one could argue that the nazirite requires atonement upon the completion of his days of service because of his eager willingness to pursue such a solitary life exclusive of family and community. Mainstream Judaism demands that we serve God by actively participating in the world. Liberal Judaism adds to this model that by doing so, we naso, we lift ourselves up as God’s partners in the ongoing creation of our world. To do so requires that we strive to create a balance among the conflicting pressures on us, working not to focus on some while neglecting others. To do requires a valuing of communal cooperation over and above the solitary pursuit of perfection.

There is no question that Richard exemplifies Maimonides’ sense of a sage. Did anyone notice that even in his remarks this evening, Richard drew attention not to [excuse the Kennedy-esque language] what he has done for Temple, but what our community has done together. He draws pride not from his solitary achievements but from that of which he has been an integral part. One of Richard’s greatest strengths is his loyalty and devotion to the Jewish community; and we should be so grateful that for the past 8 years, Temple Emanuel – both the building and its people – staff and congregants, we have been recipients of his steadfast devotion.

More significantly, the lesson that we can all learn from Richard is that like the sage model, he expresses his commitment to his task without secluding himself from the very people who form that community. Yes, he loves his work, his professional activity. As those of us share office space with him know, Richard is not eager for a leisurely retirement, he wants to work and to be involved. But, work alone does not define him. A devoted husband, father, and in more recent years, grandfather, Richard balances both family and vocation. Actively involved in Baltimore Hebrew Congregation, his home congregation, where I understand he will be installed as member of the Board for an upcoming term, active in Brotherhood – the Men of Reform Judaism, not just at his own congregation, but in quad-Temple activities and on the regional and national levels, a regular giver of blood and platelets – these are just a few of the many ways that Richard eagerly extends his hand out far beyond himself and into the community.

The Psalmist, in his quest to define מי האיש החפץ חיים, "who is the man who desires life?" notes, אהב ימים לראות טוב...ועשה שלום ורדפהו, "one who loves days so that he may seek good…seek peace, and pursue it.” One traditional understanding of this text is that the author was urging the community to do just that – to use one’s days towards the pursuit of goodness, peace, and the betterment of their lives. I don’t think the Psalmist had a better model than Richard Fishkin. Indeed Richard is one who, at least from my vantage point, uses his days to pursue goodness, to foster community, and to strive towards making this world a better place. Mi ha-Ish he-chafetz chayim - to you Richard, in honor of all that you have given us in your pursuit of goodness.
Temple Emanuel's volunteer choir, Kol Zemer, concluded my presentation by singing Mi Ha-Ish (music: B. Chait/arr. C.Heller)

Congratulations to the Temple Emanuel Confirmation class of 5770 - Remarks delivered Erev Shavuot

Swimming, swimming in a swimming pool, when days are hot, when days are cold, in a swimming pool…
The Talmud teaches, gentlemen, that among the obligations a father, and by extension at least I’d argue in the modern world at least, both parents have towards their sons is to teach them to swim. Yes, to swim. In a fairly well-known passage in tractate Kiddushin of the Babylonian Talmud it states, האב חייב בבנו למולו, ולפדותו, וללמדו תורה, ולהשיאו אשה, וללמדו אומנותֹ וי״א: אף להשיטו במים “The father is bound in respect of his son, to circumcise him, redeem (him if first born), teach him Torah, to get him wife, and teach him a craft; and there are those that say, to teach him to swim.”

While the Talmud then goes on to provide fairly detailed commentary and explanation of each of the other obligations, obligations that may on the surface seem more self-explanatory, the text provides just two Hebrew words regarding the command to teach our children to swim, “חיותיה הוא” ‘it may indeed save his life.’

There has been much discussion throughout the ages regarding why the Talmud choose swimming from a number of other very useful skills upon which to focus. One could argue that our lives may depend on a number of physical skills or test of endurance. If someone is pursuing us on foot, running – indeed sprinting - would be a far more useful skill than swimming, no doubt. So why the specific mention of swimming?

It is quite possible, that our sages were referring to the actual physical skill of swimming. I learned to swim as a very young child. I was taught by my mother – well she actually took me to the local Y - indeed because my physical existence may have been threatened otherwise. No, both my mother and father were hardly familiar with the Talmudic injunction regarding swimming, rather, my parents had just bought a house with a pool in the back yard that went up to 10 feet deep. There was a concern about my physical safety. While the geographical region of the middle east is surrounded by various bodies of water, no archeological evidence has shown that there was a sudden rise in pools or watering holes in Babylonian neighborhoods of the 2-4th centuries that would have made parents feel like mine did. It seems much more likely that our Talmudic sages were offering a metaphor for living.

Swimming is one of those rare activities that takes us fully out of familiar territory (it is one of the reasons I still love to swim) – surrounded and literally suspended solely by water, we have to teach our limbs an entirely different set of tools for mobility and survival. Moreover, swimming is a skill that requires a range of skills beyond sheer athleticism; it requires balance, trust, endurance, and consistent & steady rhythm - all necessary skills for successful living. Certainly there are basic tools, a skill set that is required to swim – how to cup one’s hand so it functions efficiently as a paddle, how to turn or lift one’s head for a good breath, how to kick in useful manner that actually serves to propel and not just splash, … but what really makes someone a confident swimmer is the ability to trust the density of the water and allow oneself to balance or float instead of panic and to pace oneself in a consistent and confident rhythm that enables one to get where they are going even if they can’t always see the way through the murky water.

You have been given a skill set – it’s called Torah! You have learned the basics over these many years of religious school and synagogue involvement that can serve to keep you afloat if you nurture them and use them. There may be times in your life when you feel like you are drowning. One of the first rules of swimming is to replace panic in those moments with a calm use of learned skills. Draw on the skills that you’ve been taught. Use Torah as a resource. Draw on the Jewish community to support you and to provide you continual skill development and nourishment.

There is no question that a good swimmer must continue to work on those basic skills – in swimming they’re called drills. They can, frankly, seem dull and cumbersome, but they are necessary for continued growth. So too with Jewish learning. You’re not done. You have each reached an incredibly important milestone of which you should take a great deal of pride. This evening’s Confirmation ceremony is an opportunity to pause, reflect upon, and celebrate your achievements, but it is not a time to stop. It is incumbent upon you to continue learning. Don’t stop practicing the skills that will enable you to not only be confident in your Jewish identity in future months and year, but that will also help to keep you afloat as you venture further and further out into the world.

You have each expressed the ties that you have to our congregational community, so I invite the entire congregation to rise and join me in offering blessing from our tradition upon you. Words to the priestly benediction can be found on the back cover of your supplements, please join me in these ancient words of blessing.

BaMidbar: The Need to Plug-in, delivered Shabbat morning 5/15/2010

I love my iPod. That’s probably no surprise. As a music lover I simply can’t imagine living without it. It keeps me motivated at the gym during those indoor workouts when I don’t have the scenery, sounds of nature, or my running buddy Alan, to inspire me. It keeps me company in the car when the talking heads on NPR have tried my patience. It provides me a convenient way for me to keep up with various podcasts that no one else in my living or work space really cares to listen to. It really is an ingenious invention. Do parents today ever have to yell at their kids for having their stereos too loud? And, like, I’m sure, many sitting in this sanctuary this morning, my ipod allows me to always have tons of music and information (perhaps way more than I ever really need) nearby whether tucked in a small pocket of my purse, jeans, or gym shorts. No records, no CD holders, no bulky players and accompanying components that were so popular a generation (or two) ago when those battles over music volume and style were so commonplace.

But as an article in Monday’s New York Times noted, there is a significant cost to all of this digital portability and the cost isn’t just the reduction of friction between parent and child over music played in the house. As the article noted, “the ease of loading songs onto a computer or iPod has meant that a generation of fans has happily traded fidelity (aesthetic quality) for portability and convenience.” Perhaps more troubling is that our ears have been trained to accept such mediocrity – we are, generally speaking, no longer interested in having the quality restored. Audio engineers have found that portability is a far more revered quality than sound quality. In other words, we consumers will pay big bucks for convenience and compactness far more than we will for increased quality. Pity, really. And it is not just the aesthetic quality of sound that is lost in our desire to perpetually be on the move; portability of our music has greatly impacted the quality of the listening experience itself. How many of us just sit down and make listening to music its own activity (outside of a concert hall). I for one am someone who treasures music, listens often and considers myself a critical listener, yet more often than not I’m doing something else while listening: cooking, running on a treadmill, driving,… I am old enough to recall when just listening to music, perhaps while analyzing and perusing the album covers and lyrics was an activity all to its own. Ok – it was the late 70’s -early 80’s, maybe we got up and danced, but you get the idea. Gathering around our music was not saved for the public concert hall or stadium. We gathered with our friends in our homes where daily music appreciation was far from the private ear plugged affair it is today. And while we 21st century parents may rejoice in the peace and quiet, there just may be a vital aspect of relationship building that is lost along with those conversations, even arguments, over sharing musical space in the household. A disturbing down side to the digitization of music is that so much of music listening has become an activity for not only for the individual, but for the individual who no longer needs a home to plug into.

Bamidbar. This Shabbat we begin recalling our journey through the wilderness. Scholars who study the bible from a critical, scientific lens argue that the Book of Numbers/Bamidbar was originally the final book of a canon known as the Tetrateuch. According to this theory, parts of the original Numbers were moved to the end of Deuteronomy by the final editor in order to make the entire canon a seamless literary unit after the addition of the Deuteronomic text. This is a compelling editorial hypothesis (particularly if we accept its assumption regarding dating); for, at the end of the book of Bamidbar we are eager for, we expect the Israelites to get to Canaan – that Land of milk and honey they’ve been promised and for which they’ve been waiting. Let’s face it, nobody would read all of the regulations of Deuteronomy if the fulfillment of that land promise was placed at the end of Bamidbar. What would be the point? The drama would be over. This period of wandering in the desert of which we now read for a number of weeks is a temporary destination, the goal is Canaan; the goal is to make permanent roots – to get some place and stay there. Yes, Abraham was instructed to lech l’cha, to go forth, back in Genesis, but that command had the full intent of propelling Abe and his family to a settling place.

How ironic -- now that we are so settled, that we have established roots not only in Israel (that historic land of which the text speaks) but also in communities throughout the world - that we seek to fight against that which roots us. We want to unplug, to go wireless – to free ourselves from what we define as the burden of permanence.

The opening portion of the Book of Bamidbar, about which our Bar Mitzvah, Matthew, will speak in a moment, gives us a glimpse into the desire for roots, a desire for a sense of connectedness and home during a period when in a sense the entire community is unplugged – in a state of wandering with nothing more than a verbally stated – one could say ‘wireless’ promise of future rootedness. In truth, we, as humans, require a balance. Even as we strive to cut the cords that connect us to our homes and offices, and perhaps all the more so, we demand to be connected – I’d say even hyper-connected. Who among us doesn’t feel even a mild sense of frustration or anxiety when our wireless gadgets are disabled for whatever reason or when we simply choose to turn them off.

The example of the current state of the music industry underscores that the ability to free ourselves from that which keeps us rooted is not without consequence. As we continue to seek those wireless conveniences that free us from being bound to our homes, offices, and physical structures, let us allow the wanderings of our Israelite ancestors to remind us of the value of seeking a grounding place to settle and establish roots…even if it means plugging in every once in awhile.

Parashat Behar: A Lesson in Materialism, delivered Shabbat Behar/Bechukotai 5770- 5/8/2010

Of all our readings in our cycle, particularly our Levitical cycle, its the earlier chapters of Leviticus with their emphasis on the sacrificial cultic system that we so often think of as providing the greatest affront to our modern sensibilities. The idea of schlepping animals to and slaughtering them on the Temple altar as a form of worship or spiritual cleansing ritual certainly flies in the face of our modern concepts of worship. We certainly don’t think of Parashat Behar containing the well known verse וּקְרָאתֶם דְּרוֹר בָּאָרֶץ לְכָל-יֹשְׁבֶיהָ, ‘Proclaim LIBERTY throughout all the Land unto all the Inhabitants thereof’ as its translated on the Liberty Bell as offensive to our modern values. On the contrary, this verse’s appearance on such an icon of American history has made this biblical mandate a symbol of the American values of liberty and democracy.

Yet, I’d argue that the rules of the shmita and yuval outlined here force us to confront our modern sensibilities as readily if not more so than the details of the Temple worship system, specifically with regard to the American values of materialism and capitalism.

Parashat Behar recognizes the inherent value of work. שֵׁשׁ שָׁנִים תִּזְרַע שָֹדֶךָ וְשֵׁשׁ שָׁנִים תִּזְמֹר כַּרְמֶךָ וְאָסַפְתָּ אֶת-תְּבוּאָתָהּ: “Six years you may sow your fields, and six years you may prune your vineyard and gather its yield.” Recall, this was an agrarian society, a society fully and directly dependent on the land; our biblical ancestors’ survival depended on their agricultural skills, skills applied in a manner in which made them and the land productive. Yet contrary to our contemporary capitalistic notions, parashat behar places clear limits on material productivity. וּבַשָּׁנָה הַשְּׁבִיעִת שַׁבַּת שַׁבָּתוֹן יִהְיֶה לָאָרֶץ שַׁבָּת לַיהוָֹה שָֹדְךָ לֹא תִזְרָע וְכַרְמְךָ לֹא תִזְמר ….. “but in the 7th year, the land shall have a Sabbath of complete rest, a Shabbat to Adonai; your field, you shall not sow, and your vineyard, you shall not prune.

We are commanded to stop, to stop working the land. Remarkable in and of itself, but all the more so when read in context with that verse that appears just before it: שֵׁשׁ שָׁנִים תִּזְרַע שָֹדֶךָ וְשֵׁשׁ שָׁנִים תִּזְמֹר כַּרְמֶךָ וְאָסַפְתָּ אֶת-תְּבוּאָתָהּ: “Six years you may sow your fields, and six years you may prune your vineyard and gather its yield; but in the 7th year, you must not sow or prune.” Note the pronouns (you know from my passion for such details that the grammar matters). While the text refers to the field and vineyard as being ‘ours,’ (שדך\כרמך – your field, your vineyard), the yield, the product, of our field and vineyard is not. It would have been far more poetic to continue using the 2nd nominal pronoun: תבואתך (read it aloud) but rather our writer chooses to break the poetic pattern and uses the 3rd person: תבואתה. The use of the 3rd person stands out in this sentence that otherwise is fully personalized by the 2nd person: you shall sow your field; you shall prune your vineyards, so that you can gather ITs yield. No matter how much work and effort is place in tilling the land, its produce remains beyond ownership. It isn’t ours, it belongs to its source – the land and by extension, ultimately God.

Now, doesn’t the first story of creation in Bereshit tell us that we have dominion over the earth? “Look,” the first chapter of Genesis imagines God saying, “I have given you all the seed-bearing plants on the face of the earth, and every tree that has in it seedbearing fruit.” (Genesis 1:29) It’s all there for us, for our taking, no? The Levitical hand reminds us that dominion has limits, and these regulations outlined in parashat behar not only underscore these limits, but offer a vital even if seemingly counterintuitive lesson to our capitalisitic, material based, 24/7 mind-set that has become normative in America.

We can stop. Despite our fears that we may no longer be able to sustain ourselves without constant effort, we can. I imagine the text telling us to take a deep, cleansing yoga breath! Of course, it isn’t all about taking the break. There is a vital unspoken message in the text. The unspoken message of the Sabbatical year is that consumption must be monitored in the years leading up to the Sabbatical year in order to insure our sustainability during our work stoppage. This requires of us conscious planning and conservation during the productive years in order to make best use of the resources available during the land’s rest. The land has not been given to us for reckless use. Working it and deriving sustenance from it are privileges that require accountability and care.

Perhaps the text is warning us also against the dangers of taking too much pride in our work, our productivity, so much so that it bleeds over into the domain of undue proprietorship. Pride in our labor is a wonderful and important motivator, yet this prohibition against working the land for a full year every 7 years can serve to remind us that the world will keep revolving without constant attempts at controlling or manipulating it towards our goals, no matter how lofty those goals may be. We are not commanded to refrain from taking advantage of what the land offers; we are commanded to refrain from working it toward our advantage. Eleventh century French commentator Rashi imagines God telling us through these regulations, “I do not forbid you to eat it [the produce during the Sabbath year ] or otherwise benefit from it. What I am forbidding you is to treat it as if you owned it. Rather everyone should be equal with respect to it.”

Immediately on the heels of the regulation regarding the shmitah, this Shabbat for the land that comes every 7 years, comes the mandate perpetualized on the Liberty Bell, the mandate of the yuval, after 7 weeks of 7 years – 49 years, we are to:
וּקְרָאתֶם דְּרוֹר בָּאָרֶץ לְכָל-יֹשְׁבֶיהָ, ‘Proclaim LIBERTY throughout all the Land unto all the Inhabitants thereof’. This King’s James translation fits our modern American sensibilities with regard to freedom, a freedom we equate with being able to pursue what we want, when we want – to be able to work as we wish and claim ownership over all that we produce. The Hebrew implies a different connotation. Dror at its essence refers to ‘release’ or ‘emancipation’ from that which makes a claim on us or from that which we claim as our own. Capitalism values work and productivity, and as Americans we are incredibly fortunate to be free to be able to pursue any occupation, and we are accordingly taught that hard work rewards us with well- deserved material plenty. U’kratem Dror ba-aretz, however, offers an equally valid lesson that is necessary for our modern world – it teaches us the importance of releasing ourselves from this sense of material entitlement.

The lesson of parashat Behar is to work, to put forth our full effort – this is necessary for us to sustain ourselves physically, emotionally, and spiritually; but then to also to pause and remind ourselves that we are not to be defined by what we produce but rather how we care for the land and this earth that has been but lent to us.