Here we are, this Shabbat Shemini, marking the 11th day of the Omer. 38 more days of counting, checking off the days until reaching the final summit at Sinai. 38 more days until the next festive celebration, Shavuot. It takes patience to count our days of wandering. It takes patience to sit back and wait for the harvest to grow. It takes patience to prepare for a moment as significant as revelation is understood to be.
I admit, I am probably the worst person to give this sermon. I need to hear it, to heed it – and take it to heart, for one of my greatest faults is my impatience. I am impatient to the point of being labeled ‘impulsive’ at times; though, to my credit, impulsivity implies not thinking through an action, and believe me, I think through my actions (perhaps over think – just ask those closest to me) despite my impatience at getting those deeds done once I’ve set myself on a course of action.
But I, as all of us, can learn from this biblically mandated period of counting. Counting the Omer reminds us not only of the value of patience and thoughtful attention as opposed to active doing and celebration but of the challenge and indeed stamina required for such attentive patience.
Parashat Shimini contains one of the more disturbing stories of our Tanach, the story of Nadav and Abihu. Perhaps they too could have learned something significant from this idea of biding time through steady counting.
The story is familiar. Aaron and his sons are at the end of their week long ordination period. Bayom ha-sh’mini, on the eighth day, from where the name of our portion comes, they are commanded to bring up offerings to the altar in a ritual which will conclude the ordination procedure. Aaron, assisted by his sons, brings up the various offerings, blesses the people with what we assume is the priestly blessing, after which: ותצא אש מלפני יהוה ותאכל על המזבח את העולה, “fire came forth from Adonai and consumed the burnt offering upon the altar.” Powerful stuff and the text is clear to remind us that this fire-ry scene of Divine presence was not for Aaron, nor his sons, alone, rather it was a moment – וירא כל העם to be seen by all of the people.
Apparently two of the sons who witnessed this dramatic and very public episode - didn’t appreciate such attention paid to Moses and Aaron (or at least their offerings) during this heady ritual and attempted to offer up their own gifts – not of calf, lamb, he-goat, ram, ox, or even meal such as was required of Aaron, but of אש זרה – commonly translated as ‘strange’ or ‘alien’ fire. No sooner had Nadav and Abihu lifted up their pans of incense and fire, and again, ותצא אש מלפני יהוה, fire come forth from Adonai. But, instead of consuming the offering itself, the אש זרה offered up by Nadav and Abihu, ותאכל אותם, God’s fire consumed them.
The nature of Nadav and Abihu’s crime has been a source of Rabbinic discussion and commentary since the earliest days of Rabbinic scholarship. What did they do that was so wrong, that warranted such violent punishment? Was it their evil intentions that laid at the heart of their crime – a desire to undermine Moses’ and Aaron’s authority and assume the mantle of leadership for themselves? As Samson Raphael Hirsch, for example, summarizes, perhaps it was Nadav and Abihu’s desire to have their offering used as a tool to fulfill their own self-centered needs and wishes as opposed to using the offering to serve God and by extension the greater community (see citation in Leibowitz, p. 125).
Many traditional commentators argue that the root of Nadav and Abihu’s crime lay, however, not in their intentions, but rather in their choice of offering – this אש זרה, an offering that was ‘strange’ in that it was never asked for, never commanded by God. Their fault lay not in the fact that they were moved to make offerings to God, but how and what they offered – these triggered God’s rage.
אש זרה, alien fire. A grammatical analysis allows us another avenue for understanding this אש זרה. זרה in this context is commonly assumed to be derived from the root ז-ו-ר, meaning ‘strange’ ‘alien’, or even ‘illegitimate’; but what if we read, זרה as rising out of the root, ז-ר-ה, a root which connotes the idea of ‘scattered’, ‘spread out’, maybe even ‘haphazard’. The offerings for Aaron’s ordination ritual involved painstakingly detailed procedural functions. There was nothing disorganized or scattered about the procedure: bring the offering, make expiation upon it, slaughter it, deal with its blood in a specific ritualistic fashion, burn certain parts into smoke on the altar, burn other parts outside the camp; and ‘rinse & repeat’ for each successive offering. The tasks of the offering required physical effort, olfactory stimulation, and a messy face off with the death of a living and breathing creature all experienced within a clearly organized structure and pattern, one that we can assume for all of its detail ensured a level of safety for all involved.
Compare these cumbersome (and perhaps tedious) procedures with Nadav and Abihu’s fire offerings. They each took a pan, lit a fire on it, placed some incense on top of the fire and poof, they were consumed. There is no evidence of any patient procedure of precautions taken to ensure the fire remained contained. Perhaps the word zara was chosen to teach us that what made the fire zar, illegitimate, was its capacity to zarah spread (and consume) due to the impulsivity by which it was offered with no regard for public safety. Moreover, their choice of fire is interestingly in and of itself. Fire is never presented in our biblical text as an appropriate offering in and of itself. Offerings are burned routinely, but it is not the fire that God finds pleasing; it is the smoke and odor. So soon on the heels of witnessing God’s fire consume Aaron’s offerings, it appears that Nadav and Abihu’s choice of presenting fire was less about challenging Moses’ and Aaron’s authority but God’s through mimicking God’s miraculous fire show.
There is no question which offering is presented as most pleasing to God. Hands down the offering created out of intense focus and intimate effort; the one that required attention to detail and ultimately more patience. Nadav and Abihu’s passion may appear to be good intentioned on the surface, but the kevanna, the intention God demands of us requires far more than eager passion. Reading this story during our period of patient waiting and counting underscores the tragedy of Nadav and Abihu’s succumbing to their own impulsive behavior.
Our offerings, too, require thoughtful, even disciplined, patience. Without thoughtful attention to content, even the most energized and flashy worship productions can easily remain vapid. We must learn to pour our spontaneous passion into well-intended kevanna. Parashat Shemini reminds us that even the most well intended spontaneity becomes not only meaningless but ultimately harmful, deadly even without proper patience and attention to substance.
It is no easy task for those of us so accustomed to the value of immediate gratification so commonly forwarded in our culture to calm our ‘do it now’ impulse. Moreover, we need the passion and glow of spontaneity in our worship offerings, but true kevanna, meaningful intention, requires patience and attention as well as spontaneity.
Kevanna, proper intention, is vital to worship; it has always been viewed as a necessary counter to the keva, to what is fixed in tradition. Indeed, Jewish midrash and folklore remind us repeatedly that God responds to intention as readily if not more so than content. Yet, charismatic spontaneity without regard for tradition or for others in the community is not typical of mainstream Judaism and is not a model promoted by the biblical authors – certainly not the Priestly writer of Leviticus. Here we are reminded that proper intention is a learned skill that can and must be nurtured.
Does spontaneous charismatic prayer ever have its place in Jewish life? Perhaps. Our mystics of course would say so. And the biblical voice might say so as well. The editorial references to the story of Nadav and Abihu found in the book of Numbers indicate that Nadav and Abihu’s error lay in the timing of their offerings, בהקרבם אש זרה לפני יהוה in ‘when they brought this aish zarah.” Accordingly, there can be a time and place for such expressions, but certainly not in a public moment tied so closely to the ordination ritual, a ritual whose intent was to confer leadership on an individual as means of centralizing and solidifying the community.
In our modern world, most of us are offered too few moments to simply sit back and count the days that pass allowing ourselves the necessary breathing space required for true kevanna and ultimately spiritual growth. Nadav and Abihu in their haste to act missed out on the opportunity to step back and reflect, a mistake that cost them dearly. This period during which we count, when we mark time between two festive occasions, gives us an amazing gift. It gives us the opportunity to step back, observe, and reflect on the planting and learning season that has passed as we continue to step forward with impassioned intention as we seek to bring our gifts into the world.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Sunday, March 28, 2010
The Democracy of the Temple & the Value of Dirty Dishes, Delivered Erev Shabbat ha-Gadol, 5770
It finally happened. No, I’m not referring to the signing of the new Health Care bill, though for the record, I’m a huge proponent of change in our health care system and believe this momentous legislation is an important albeit first step towards change. No, I’m referring to the fact that this week my number came up! Yep, for the first time in my close to 26 years of being eligible, I was called in to sit and wait with a crowd of other dutiful, if not abit bored, Baltimore County citizens for jury selection this past Wednesday. My first reaction to my summons notice was perhaps like many, “I am way too busy for this. How am I going to carve out time in my week for this, the week before pesach no less…I wonder if I can get out of it…can clergy get special dispensation from jury duty?” But as I walked into the courthouse with my cup of ‘joe’ that served sadly as my breakfast (instead of my well earned post workout oatmeal and yogurt that got skipped along with the workout) and sat through the necessary but tedious educational video that reviewed the details and importance of our civic duties, my sense of American identity was heightened.
I listened to the opening remarks offered by the judicial chief charged with administrating the system: the recognition of the inconvenience of the task and the tedium and boredom of waiting but also the importance of our presence whether called for a trial or not and the importance of using our intellect and our basic common sense if indeed called upon. I was reminded of the unique, though not without fault but certainly democratic American system of justice – where else in the world do regular citizens, all of us, take such a vital part in such a critical and defining part of society?
In hearing these comments, I recognized a number of parallels between our democratic judicial system and the sacrificial cult outlined so thoroughly in Leviticus. Certainly, like I did, the ancient Israelites likewise must have thought it a huge inconvenience to find the time to make pilgrimage to the Temple altar let alone while finding and then schlepping their blemish free animals and the choice flour necessary for their service to the community.
At first glance, the ancient Temple system of worship hardly seems democratic. The hierarchy of the priestly caste in and of itself is the antithesis of democracy. This was not an earned or elected societal position but rather one gained solely by biological destiny. Indeed, so contrary to the democratic values of the modern western world, the removal of the division of the community into classes of Kohanim, Levi’im, and Yisraelim, was one of the most significant (and sometimes controversial) changes that Reform Judaism instituted in response to European enlightenment. Yet, as a system of worship in the ancient world, the Temple cult may offer an early example of the values that would later come to be labeled as ‘democratic’ and can serve to remind us of the role of leaders in a democratic society, namely to function on behalf of the demos in democracy, the people.
According to Merrian-Webster’s online Dictionary, the only resource available to me while waiting to fulfill the American privilege of serving on a jury (thank goodness I could bring a laptop instead of a blemish free bull), the word democracy has roots that extend back to the Greek: dēmokratia, from dēmos: people and kratia: rule. Democracy – the people rule, as opposed to aristocracy for instance, where the aristo, or the ‘best’, the ‘upper echelons’, rule.
While the Kohanim and the Levites had various powers of administration not shared with the rest of society (no so unlike our appointed judges and elected political leaders today), the power of worship in this system resided fully with the people, not with the priests. It was up to the people, the general population to bring the offerings to the priests in the Temple. The entire system was based on the ability of the common folk to get to the Temple with their offerings. Their participation was not optional; it was vital, not only for supporting but also for the proper functioning of the entire worship system. It was those physical offerings that supported the Temple and the priestly caste. Furthermore, though the priests benefited, the goal of the system wasn’t to service people, but rather the entire system is framed as worship and service to God. And, not so unlike our judicial system, was equally intended to centralize and bring cohesion to the community in the name of that service. Be clear, even the Torah reminds us that God doesn’t care about the specifics of the offerings. How often do we come across that repeated refrain: אשה ריח ניחח ליהוה? The sacrifice is turned to smoke of pleasing odor for God. No matter into what economic category one falls, and what one is required and/or able to bring – whether meal, goat, bird, or bull – all are ultimately reduced to smell and ash, smell that God apparently finds pleasing and ash that needs to be cleaned up.
What’s fascinating about the workings of the Temple – and perhaps a lesson to us living in apparently democratic societies - is that while the common folk bring the myriad of offerings up to the altar, to support it, it is the upper echelons of society, the priest no less, who continually feeds the fire and cleans up the mess. It doesn’t get more democratic in terms of division of labor than that!
A few weeks ago, I participated in a workshop that is part of a series on Food & Faith co-sponsored by the Institute for Christian and Jewish Studies and the Johns Hopkins School of Public Health. The goal of the series in large part is to raise awareness about the reality of inner city food deserts and to encourage the participants, primarily faith based leaders, to brainstorm ways in which to raise awareness in our own communities and to help coax change. One of the participants in my break out group a few weeks ago noted the general failure of those with plenty to recognize the holiness in dirty dishes. You heard that right – the kedusha, the inherent holiness of our mess – the ashes left over after we cook our food and eat it. Just as the ashes on the Temple altar, the remains of our feast tell a sacred story, and like the priests, those of us who have plenty due to the work of others often also have plenty of dishes to clean.
The Temple has a very democratic system. Who cleans up? The Kohen, the priest. The ashes, the mess is considered a sacred task. Rabbinic tradition likens our homes, our tables to mikdashim me’atim, miniature Temples. It is easy to curse the mess in the kitchen, but when we sit down this week at our seder tables, at our sacred altars, to celebrate our history and our inherited freedom, let us not take for granted the dirty dishes and the mess that we leave behind. Let those dishes remind us of our bounty and the wonderful experience of the seder we were able to enjoy with family and friends. Moreover, let us allow the sacred task of cleaning up after ourselves remind us of our responsibility to all of those in our world who simply don’t have enough in order to leave such ashes behind.
Reform Judaism, in its effort to counter the traditional hierarchical system inherent in the biblical text, elevated us all to priests. Accordingly, it is all of our responsibility to tend the fire that will serve the community; it is all of our responsibility to help bring about redemption for all humanity.
As the writers of the early Union Prayer Book and their subsequent editors so eloquently express:
When justice burns like a flaming fire within us, when love evokes willing sacrifice from us, when, to the last full measure of selfless devotion, we demonstrate our belief in the ultimate triumph of truth and righteousness, then Your goodness enters our lives, and we CAN begin to change the world… (p. 39 UPB, p. 117 MT, caps mine).
This Z’man Cherutenu, this Season of our Redemption, may we be inspired to act like priests in this world – tending the fires of social justice and helping the world become a place where everyone has dirty dishes.
Ken y'hi ratzon!
I listened to the opening remarks offered by the judicial chief charged with administrating the system: the recognition of the inconvenience of the task and the tedium and boredom of waiting but also the importance of our presence whether called for a trial or not and the importance of using our intellect and our basic common sense if indeed called upon. I was reminded of the unique, though not without fault but certainly democratic American system of justice – where else in the world do regular citizens, all of us, take such a vital part in such a critical and defining part of society?
In hearing these comments, I recognized a number of parallels between our democratic judicial system and the sacrificial cult outlined so thoroughly in Leviticus. Certainly, like I did, the ancient Israelites likewise must have thought it a huge inconvenience to find the time to make pilgrimage to the Temple altar let alone while finding and then schlepping their blemish free animals and the choice flour necessary for their service to the community.
At first glance, the ancient Temple system of worship hardly seems democratic. The hierarchy of the priestly caste in and of itself is the antithesis of democracy. This was not an earned or elected societal position but rather one gained solely by biological destiny. Indeed, so contrary to the democratic values of the modern western world, the removal of the division of the community into classes of Kohanim, Levi’im, and Yisraelim, was one of the most significant (and sometimes controversial) changes that Reform Judaism instituted in response to European enlightenment. Yet, as a system of worship in the ancient world, the Temple cult may offer an early example of the values that would later come to be labeled as ‘democratic’ and can serve to remind us of the role of leaders in a democratic society, namely to function on behalf of the demos in democracy, the people.
According to Merrian-Webster’s online Dictionary, the only resource available to me while waiting to fulfill the American privilege of serving on a jury (thank goodness I could bring a laptop instead of a blemish free bull), the word democracy has roots that extend back to the Greek: dēmokratia, from dēmos: people and kratia: rule. Democracy – the people rule, as opposed to aristocracy for instance, where the aristo, or the ‘best’, the ‘upper echelons’, rule.
While the Kohanim and the Levites had various powers of administration not shared with the rest of society (no so unlike our appointed judges and elected political leaders today), the power of worship in this system resided fully with the people, not with the priests. It was up to the people, the general population to bring the offerings to the priests in the Temple. The entire system was based on the ability of the common folk to get to the Temple with their offerings. Their participation was not optional; it was vital, not only for supporting but also for the proper functioning of the entire worship system. It was those physical offerings that supported the Temple and the priestly caste. Furthermore, though the priests benefited, the goal of the system wasn’t to service people, but rather the entire system is framed as worship and service to God. And, not so unlike our judicial system, was equally intended to centralize and bring cohesion to the community in the name of that service. Be clear, even the Torah reminds us that God doesn’t care about the specifics of the offerings. How often do we come across that repeated refrain: אשה ריח ניחח ליהוה? The sacrifice is turned to smoke of pleasing odor for God. No matter into what economic category one falls, and what one is required and/or able to bring – whether meal, goat, bird, or bull – all are ultimately reduced to smell and ash, smell that God apparently finds pleasing and ash that needs to be cleaned up.
What’s fascinating about the workings of the Temple – and perhaps a lesson to us living in apparently democratic societies - is that while the common folk bring the myriad of offerings up to the altar, to support it, it is the upper echelons of society, the priest no less, who continually feeds the fire and cleans up the mess. It doesn’t get more democratic in terms of division of labor than that!
A few weeks ago, I participated in a workshop that is part of a series on Food & Faith co-sponsored by the Institute for Christian and Jewish Studies and the Johns Hopkins School of Public Health. The goal of the series in large part is to raise awareness about the reality of inner city food deserts and to encourage the participants, primarily faith based leaders, to brainstorm ways in which to raise awareness in our own communities and to help coax change. One of the participants in my break out group a few weeks ago noted the general failure of those with plenty to recognize the holiness in dirty dishes. You heard that right – the kedusha, the inherent holiness of our mess – the ashes left over after we cook our food and eat it. Just as the ashes on the Temple altar, the remains of our feast tell a sacred story, and like the priests, those of us who have plenty due to the work of others often also have plenty of dishes to clean.
The Temple has a very democratic system. Who cleans up? The Kohen, the priest. The ashes, the mess is considered a sacred task. Rabbinic tradition likens our homes, our tables to mikdashim me’atim, miniature Temples. It is easy to curse the mess in the kitchen, but when we sit down this week at our seder tables, at our sacred altars, to celebrate our history and our inherited freedom, let us not take for granted the dirty dishes and the mess that we leave behind. Let those dishes remind us of our bounty and the wonderful experience of the seder we were able to enjoy with family and friends. Moreover, let us allow the sacred task of cleaning up after ourselves remind us of our responsibility to all of those in our world who simply don’t have enough in order to leave such ashes behind.
Reform Judaism, in its effort to counter the traditional hierarchical system inherent in the biblical text, elevated us all to priests. Accordingly, it is all of our responsibility to tend the fire that will serve the community; it is all of our responsibility to help bring about redemption for all humanity.
As the writers of the early Union Prayer Book and their subsequent editors so eloquently express:
When justice burns like a flaming fire within us, when love evokes willing sacrifice from us, when, to the last full measure of selfless devotion, we demonstrate our belief in the ultimate triumph of truth and righteousness, then Your goodness enters our lives, and we CAN begin to change the world… (p. 39 UPB, p. 117 MT, caps mine).
This Z’man Cherutenu, this Season of our Redemption, may we be inspired to act like priests in this world – tending the fires of social justice and helping the world become a place where everyone has dirty dishes.
Ken y'hi ratzon!
Friday, March 19, 2010
"Why do Mitzvot?" Delivered Social Action Shabbat, 3/12/2010
Since the last decades of the nineteenth century, social action has been a hallmark of Reform Judaism. Inspired by our prophetic tradition, Reform ideology – and in particular American Reform ideology - placed a premium on the mandate of ethical behavior as a way to identify itself not only as distinct from Orthodoxy but from Unitarian Christianity. To paraphrase Michael Meyer, a renowned scholar of the history of Reform Judaism, the practical application of social justice and the principles of morality greatly overshadowed and even replaced ritual and law as the basis of Reform religious expression. This impulse for elevating social action over and above Jewish law may seem like an outgrowth of Reform Judaism’s emphasis on rationalism as well as its theological concept of the messianic age and our role in bringing it about. Taking care of the world and each other is certainly a reasoned approach to enabling redemption. Yet, mysticism has its own brand of social action grounded in the 16th century Lurianic Kabbalistic theology of tikkun olam, a phrase which has become the most popular Jewish catch phrase for social action. These mystics, recently exiled from Spain, understood the need for human action in the form of mitzvot as a vehicle of repair for the world as well as for God – both of which in Kabbalistic thought are viewed as shattered, as broken.
I find it compelling that the Lurianic Kabbalists of 16th century Safed, despite their traumatic experiences, did not abandon God. Viewing God as in desperate need of human intervention, for sure, though they created an understanding of God that not only correlated with their experiences but that could also bring cohesion to the community. According to Robert Wright, author of Three Scientists and their God and a recent guest on NPR’s Speaking of Faith series, the intention of religious doctrine throughout history has been to keep chaos at bay. Lurianic Kabbalism adapted an existing religious system keeping God at the center while mobilizing the community to action. It wasn’t an absence of God that failed them, it was human failure. Accordingly, God needs mitzvot. In this system, social action, Tikkun olam, translated to conformity and abidance to Jewish law - that was the manner in which humankind could redeem both God and the world for this school of mystics.
While no longer, by choice of course, defined by halacha -- by the bounds of Jewish law, we too believe that our actions matter, and that it is our mandate l’taken olam, to fix the world. But, with the loss of a legal definition of social action (or mitzvot), must we lose the sense of God as a unifying and motivating factor in our mitzvot? I’d bet most of us engage in social action not because of a Divine impulse per se, but because of what we would define as our heightened sense of social consciousness, a value no doubt inherited in part from the early giants of the Reform movement such as Isaac Mayer Wise, David Einhorn, and Kaufman Kohler.
God, however, was central to the Reformers’ vision of the mandate of social action, and I’d argue that despite our individual beliefs (or doubts) regarding the existence of a personal God, a Divine impulse from outside of ourselves must be central to our own motivation for social justice. This is not an easily stated assessment mind you. I struggle with the existence and presence of God in our world as much as any other modern Jew living in such a predominately secular culture. As a whole, Jews are not particularly comfortable discussing God. In my years at Hebrew Union College, the seminary for the training of our Reform leaders, I rarely experienced a discussion about God (and this was typical). The richest discussions that I did have about God were for the most part an outgrowth of my chaplaincy training which was under the auspices of an interfaith, not a specifically Jewish, internship program. While anecdotal at best, my experiences working as a chaplain intern in a hospital setting underscored this observation. It was my Christian patients who sought out dialogue about and with God. My Jewish patients were far more content with playing Jewish geography. It seemed they were far more interested in a relationship with me, a kind visitor, than with God.
Our discomfort in discussing God which I believe stems in large part from our doubts about God’s presence need not translate into an abandonment of the ideology of God as a motivating factor behind social action. There need not be such a direct correlation between ideology and faith, in my mind. Here there is much to learn from our early Reform theologians.
Emil Hirsch, in his poetic translation of his grandfather David Einhorn’s Yom Kippur Avodah for the innovative 19th century siddur, Olath Tamid, writes:
“The yearning after Thee and the thought of Thy salvation, the assurance that Thou, O God, wilt refresh those that cry unto Thee in the drought. Yea, this is our spiritual patrimony, Thy love which worketh wonders, hath marvelously preserved for us amidst the destructive storms and from the raging billows of millennia. The survey of the ages which stretch from the hoary past of our weak beginnings to the young days of our present fuller strength may well fill us with wonder at the triumphant preservation of the fundamental truth, the underlying thought, in the ceaseless whirl of changing forms, customs and circumstances; but this fact should also be an incentive unto us to contribute in due measure….” (p. 181)
It isn’t enough to be awed by God and the wondrous workings of the world, rather this sense of something larger and more profound than ourselves should propel us towards organized action. Recall Robert Wright’s notion of religion as a balm against chaos. A God concept at the very least can serve to unify us in mission. Even Baruch Spinoza, the 17th century philosopher who was excommunicated by the Dutch Jewish community for his then heretical ideas regarding the nature of God understood the power of God as a motivating force for justice in the world, “The very essence of religion is belief in a Supreme Being who delights in justice and mercy…. and whose worship consists in the practice of justice and charity toward our neighbors,” he wrote.
God mandated action smacks of fundamentalism, yet, without God as an outside motivating factor for our deeds of social action, we run the risk of losing an important barometer of moral sense. Our early American Reformers understood this need for something profound, beyond ourselves, to encourage us, to help us push ourselves to be the best selves we can by acting justly in the world.
20th century philosopher and activist, Abraham Joshua Heschel, taught that “a mitzvah is where God and man meet.” An anthropomorphic image, of course, but one that can offer us a metaphor for our engagement in social action today. I don’t believe that God acts directly upon the world, but perhaps as Heschel suggests, it is through our acts of love and kindness, through the pursuit of social justice, that we can rise out of our mundane world to a level of divinity.
I find it compelling that the Lurianic Kabbalists of 16th century Safed, despite their traumatic experiences, did not abandon God. Viewing God as in desperate need of human intervention, for sure, though they created an understanding of God that not only correlated with their experiences but that could also bring cohesion to the community. According to Robert Wright, author of Three Scientists and their God and a recent guest on NPR’s Speaking of Faith series, the intention of religious doctrine throughout history has been to keep chaos at bay. Lurianic Kabbalism adapted an existing religious system keeping God at the center while mobilizing the community to action. It wasn’t an absence of God that failed them, it was human failure. Accordingly, God needs mitzvot. In this system, social action, Tikkun olam, translated to conformity and abidance to Jewish law - that was the manner in which humankind could redeem both God and the world for this school of mystics.
While no longer, by choice of course, defined by halacha -- by the bounds of Jewish law, we too believe that our actions matter, and that it is our mandate l’taken olam, to fix the world. But, with the loss of a legal definition of social action (or mitzvot), must we lose the sense of God as a unifying and motivating factor in our mitzvot? I’d bet most of us engage in social action not because of a Divine impulse per se, but because of what we would define as our heightened sense of social consciousness, a value no doubt inherited in part from the early giants of the Reform movement such as Isaac Mayer Wise, David Einhorn, and Kaufman Kohler.
God, however, was central to the Reformers’ vision of the mandate of social action, and I’d argue that despite our individual beliefs (or doubts) regarding the existence of a personal God, a Divine impulse from outside of ourselves must be central to our own motivation for social justice. This is not an easily stated assessment mind you. I struggle with the existence and presence of God in our world as much as any other modern Jew living in such a predominately secular culture. As a whole, Jews are not particularly comfortable discussing God. In my years at Hebrew Union College, the seminary for the training of our Reform leaders, I rarely experienced a discussion about God (and this was typical). The richest discussions that I did have about God were for the most part an outgrowth of my chaplaincy training which was under the auspices of an interfaith, not a specifically Jewish, internship program. While anecdotal at best, my experiences working as a chaplain intern in a hospital setting underscored this observation. It was my Christian patients who sought out dialogue about and with God. My Jewish patients were far more content with playing Jewish geography. It seemed they were far more interested in a relationship with me, a kind visitor, than with God.
Our discomfort in discussing God which I believe stems in large part from our doubts about God’s presence need not translate into an abandonment of the ideology of God as a motivating factor behind social action. There need not be such a direct correlation between ideology and faith, in my mind. Here there is much to learn from our early Reform theologians.
Emil Hirsch, in his poetic translation of his grandfather David Einhorn’s Yom Kippur Avodah for the innovative 19th century siddur, Olath Tamid, writes:
“The yearning after Thee and the thought of Thy salvation, the assurance that Thou, O God, wilt refresh those that cry unto Thee in the drought. Yea, this is our spiritual patrimony, Thy love which worketh wonders, hath marvelously preserved for us amidst the destructive storms and from the raging billows of millennia. The survey of the ages which stretch from the hoary past of our weak beginnings to the young days of our present fuller strength may well fill us with wonder at the triumphant preservation of the fundamental truth, the underlying thought, in the ceaseless whirl of changing forms, customs and circumstances; but this fact should also be an incentive unto us to contribute in due measure….” (p. 181)
It isn’t enough to be awed by God and the wondrous workings of the world, rather this sense of something larger and more profound than ourselves should propel us towards organized action. Recall Robert Wright’s notion of religion as a balm against chaos. A God concept at the very least can serve to unify us in mission. Even Baruch Spinoza, the 17th century philosopher who was excommunicated by the Dutch Jewish community for his then heretical ideas regarding the nature of God understood the power of God as a motivating force for justice in the world, “The very essence of religion is belief in a Supreme Being who delights in justice and mercy…. and whose worship consists in the practice of justice and charity toward our neighbors,” he wrote.
God mandated action smacks of fundamentalism, yet, without God as an outside motivating factor for our deeds of social action, we run the risk of losing an important barometer of moral sense. Our early American Reformers understood this need for something profound, beyond ourselves, to encourage us, to help us push ourselves to be the best selves we can by acting justly in the world.
20th century philosopher and activist, Abraham Joshua Heschel, taught that “a mitzvah is where God and man meet.” An anthropomorphic image, of course, but one that can offer us a metaphor for our engagement in social action today. I don’t believe that God acts directly upon the world, but perhaps as Heschel suggests, it is through our acts of love and kindness, through the pursuit of social justice, that we can rise out of our mundane world to a level of divinity.
Monday, March 8, 2010
What Ki Tisa Teaches us bout Anger Management, delivered Shabbat Parah, 3/6/2010
Parashat Ki Tisa is best known perhaps for the famous story of the golden calf contained within. It’s a great story with lots of material for discussion. What struck this year upon studying the parasha is the lesson Ki Tisa offers about anger management. God has just witnessed the scene at the base of the mountain. This people that God (him, her, itself?) has liberated and given law to – law to which the Israelites just agreed to כל אשר דבר יי נעשה ונשמע all that God says, we will do and listen - has now in their impatience created an idol of ba-al worship. Moses has yet to descend from the mountain with the tablets representing that law and already they are challenging it. To put it bluntly, God is beyond mad. If you’ll excuse my language, God is pissed. ועתה הניחה לי ויחר אפי בהם ואכלם..., “now let me be,” God says to Moses, “so that my anger will blaze forth upon them and consume them.” (Ex. 32:10). The biblical Hebrew for this anger provides a wonderful visual metaphor, literally “‘my nose’ became ‘hot’ or ‘inflammed’ at them.” Whenever I see this phrase ויחר אף I imagine an angry fire breathing dragon (nice image for God, no? – but there it is in the text). More subtle but perhaps more significant is how God now refers to the Israelites. No longer referred to by God as עמי, my people, as they were throughout their experience in Egypt, but now as “עמך” ‘your people’ – Moses people. God seems to be distancing, removing Godself from the relationship, the covenant. This isn’t ‘my people’, Moses, they are ‘your’ problem now.
At first glance, the peshat, the plain meaning of the text, tells us that Moses refuses to ‘let God be’ and proceeds instead to successfully convince God to rethink acting out such anger. Verses 11-13 of chapter 32 (pp. 588-589) narrate Moses imploring God not to let anger dictate action, but to think about the consequences.
But of course, Jewish textual study never leaves the peshat, that first glance, alone. The Rabbinic literature struggles immensely with the idea of God losing it so completely. Exodus Rabbah, for instance, a collection of midrashim gathered over time but codified in the early medival period, offers more than one opinion on this scene in parashat Ki Tisa. On the one hand, God is depicted in dire need of intervention while Moses is the ultimate conciliator. After Moses recognizes the extent of God’s anger, the midrash imagines him thinking to himself; If I leave Israel to their fate …they can never survive. I will not stir from here before I have sought mercy for them. Whereupon Moses begins to urge God, pleading with God – who in the midrash needs quite a bit of convincing – not to act harshly against the people. In the very next midrash in the compilation, however, a different scene is imagined. Noting the change in God’s language to Moses from the imperative לך רד, GO DOWN! to the softer preterite form, such as ויאמר, the midrashist comments, “God began to open up to Moses paths for pleading mercy for them.”
Another tactic of commentators who seek a kinder understanding of God is to reflect on this phrase ועתה הניחה לי now, let me be. This phrase is understood by many commentators not as a dismissal of Moses, but instead as an invitation to intervene. According to the 11th century Rashi, who himself draws significantly from the Midrash, ועתה הניחה לי is God’s cue to Moses to rally on their behalf. God’s behavior now depends on Moses (‘let me be’ Moses. These are ‘your’ people now; their fate at this moment is in your hands. Implicit in this understanding is God’s challenge to Moses, “so what are you going to do about it?”). Accordingly, God doesn’t want to act hastily, God wants Moses to act, to pray on their behalf, to care deeply about this people.
Moses apparently learns the lesson. He does intervene. God’s anger cools, and the Israelites are saved. Happy ending, right? Or perhaps not. Actions do speak louder than words, and God’s heated moment of anger made a far stronger impression on Moses then his ‘now, let me be.’ What happens when Moses descends the mountain and sees for himself what God has been talking about? As soon as Moses came near the camp and saw the calf and the dancing, ויחר אפ משה, (there’s that fabulous metaphor again) he becomes enraged and throws down the freshly engraved tablets of law. Then he proceeds to not only make the Israelites drink the molten stew left after burning the Golden calf, but he rallies the men of Levi to attack their fellow Israelites.
Ooops! So much for that lesson of taking a moment to step back and think through the consequences of acting out of such rage. Moses took in God’s va-yichar af, the initial heated moment apparently far more than God’s v’atah ha-ni-cha li. Yet, perhaps there is a positive lesson in Moses’ heated reaction. Moses’ anger could be understood as a sign that he does accept responsibility for this people. Their actions make him angry because indeed he does care and wants the best of them and for them. In that sense he has modeled God.
God gets the reality of anger. God understands how emotionally heated one can get when those we love act badly. After this episode when God is sending the Israelites out on their continued journey, God says, (Ex. 33:3) “Since you are a stiff-necked people, I will not go in your midst, lest I destroy you on the way!” Sometimes we have to recognize our own limitations and that may require giving ourselves some space to reconcile our emotions before acting hastily upon them. It is unclear if Moses ever learns this part of the critical lesson. Anger is a valid emotion that can rise to the surface pretty quickly, but we can learn to recognize it and take a moment to consider how we express that anger.
In this week’s portion, both God and Moses have experienced the same pain and frustration resulting from the actions of ‘their’ people. They have each confronted such anger, panim el panim, face to face. Their ultimate reactions, the outcomes of their anger, were however gravely different and serve to remind us of the challenges and responsiblity of taming our humanity in the face of heated emotion.
At first glance, the peshat, the plain meaning of the text, tells us that Moses refuses to ‘let God be’ and proceeds instead to successfully convince God to rethink acting out such anger. Verses 11-13 of chapter 32 (pp. 588-589) narrate Moses imploring God not to let anger dictate action, but to think about the consequences.
But of course, Jewish textual study never leaves the peshat, that first glance, alone. The Rabbinic literature struggles immensely with the idea of God losing it so completely. Exodus Rabbah, for instance, a collection of midrashim gathered over time but codified in the early medival period, offers more than one opinion on this scene in parashat Ki Tisa. On the one hand, God is depicted in dire need of intervention while Moses is the ultimate conciliator. After Moses recognizes the extent of God’s anger, the midrash imagines him thinking to himself; If I leave Israel to their fate …they can never survive. I will not stir from here before I have sought mercy for them. Whereupon Moses begins to urge God, pleading with God – who in the midrash needs quite a bit of convincing – not to act harshly against the people. In the very next midrash in the compilation, however, a different scene is imagined. Noting the change in God’s language to Moses from the imperative לך רד, GO DOWN! to the softer preterite form, such as ויאמר, the midrashist comments, “God began to open up to Moses paths for pleading mercy for them.”
Another tactic of commentators who seek a kinder understanding of God is to reflect on this phrase ועתה הניחה לי now, let me be. This phrase is understood by many commentators not as a dismissal of Moses, but instead as an invitation to intervene. According to the 11th century Rashi, who himself draws significantly from the Midrash, ועתה הניחה לי is God’s cue to Moses to rally on their behalf. God’s behavior now depends on Moses (‘let me be’ Moses. These are ‘your’ people now; their fate at this moment is in your hands. Implicit in this understanding is God’s challenge to Moses, “so what are you going to do about it?”). Accordingly, God doesn’t want to act hastily, God wants Moses to act, to pray on their behalf, to care deeply about this people.
Moses apparently learns the lesson. He does intervene. God’s anger cools, and the Israelites are saved. Happy ending, right? Or perhaps not. Actions do speak louder than words, and God’s heated moment of anger made a far stronger impression on Moses then his ‘now, let me be.’ What happens when Moses descends the mountain and sees for himself what God has been talking about? As soon as Moses came near the camp and saw the calf and the dancing, ויחר אפ משה, (there’s that fabulous metaphor again) he becomes enraged and throws down the freshly engraved tablets of law. Then he proceeds to not only make the Israelites drink the molten stew left after burning the Golden calf, but he rallies the men of Levi to attack their fellow Israelites.
Ooops! So much for that lesson of taking a moment to step back and think through the consequences of acting out of such rage. Moses took in God’s va-yichar af, the initial heated moment apparently far more than God’s v’atah ha-ni-cha li. Yet, perhaps there is a positive lesson in Moses’ heated reaction. Moses’ anger could be understood as a sign that he does accept responsibility for this people. Their actions make him angry because indeed he does care and wants the best of them and for them. In that sense he has modeled God.
God gets the reality of anger. God understands how emotionally heated one can get when those we love act badly. After this episode when God is sending the Israelites out on their continued journey, God says, (Ex. 33:3) “Since you are a stiff-necked people, I will not go in your midst, lest I destroy you on the way!” Sometimes we have to recognize our own limitations and that may require giving ourselves some space to reconcile our emotions before acting hastily upon them. It is unclear if Moses ever learns this part of the critical lesson. Anger is a valid emotion that can rise to the surface pretty quickly, but we can learn to recognize it and take a moment to consider how we express that anger.
In this week’s portion, both God and Moses have experienced the same pain and frustration resulting from the actions of ‘their’ people. They have each confronted such anger, panim el panim, face to face. Their ultimate reactions, the outcomes of their anger, were however gravely different and serve to remind us of the challenges and responsiblity of taming our humanity in the face of heated emotion.
Monday, March 1, 2010
A Response to Marc Rosenstein's Galilee Diary, delivered by Rabbi/Cantor Rhoda JH Silverman on Shabbat Zachor, 2/27/2010
In his Union of Reform Judaism on-line column, Galilee Diary, Rabbi Marc Rosenstein, an American (HUC trained) transplant who made aliyah to Israel in 1990, offers his opinion that while the “status of liberal Jews” is an issue of import in Israel, our energy should not be focused so much on their plight but rather on “[standing] up for those other groups in society whose lot is significantly worse than ours.” He is, of course, commenting in large part on recent events encountered by the Women of the Wall demanding us, the reader – by and large American liberal Jews – this is a URJ column, to keep, and I quote him, “the persecution or disenfranchisement of liberal Jews in perspective.”
Rosenstein acknowledges the challenges the liberal community faces in Israel, but he underscores the gradual progress that has been made noting the opening of non-Orthodox synagogues despite opposition from the right (and apathy from the majority of secular Jews) as well as the increased demand for non-Orthodox wedding ceremonies, ceremonies that require a civil license from abroad as non-Orthodox rabbis are not recognized by the Israeli government. Despite the added bureaucratic task of obtaining a non-Israeli license, hundreds of Israelis do choose this option instead of conforming to the Orthodox standards required by the state.
Rabbi Rosenstein’s view is not uncommon among Israelis. We heard it ourselves directly from Rabbi Maya Leibovich of Mevasseret Zion during her visit this past November. Not only as a liberal Jew, but as a female rabbi, she felt the demands of the Women of the Wall simply unrealistic. She believes they should stop pushing the issue and focus their energies elsewhere. Of all the challenges Israel faces, many view the failure of the right, the Orthodox establishment, to recognize religious pluralism, let alone Progressive Judaism proper, as far less important than the security of Israel and a humanitarian solution to the Palestinian conflict.
There is no question that Rosenstein raises a compelling point. How can the liberal Jewish community demand recognition for religious pluralism in Israel while in its struggle to maintain its very security, Israel must deal with the manner in which it treats non-Jews, and non-Israelis living within its borders in particular. Rosenstein doesn’t argue that the lack of legal status and protections for liberal Jews within Israel is acceptable, far from it; but, the point he makes is that it shouldn’t be, in his words, “the most urgent” concern.
I disagree. If the Women of the Wall cannot expect to be treated with dignity and respect, than how on earth can the majority of Israelis be expected to treat anyone viewed as ‘the other’ with any level of dignity and respect? The recognition of religious pluralism, the full acceptance of non-Orthodox Jews in Israel, is equally important as the sundry of other issues this young nation faces and more importantly, sets a standard of humanitarian treatment for all.
Rosenstein dismisses the persecution of the Women of the Wall as a “symbolic offense” noting that most liberal Jews do not experience regular episodes of discrimination or persecution. Perhaps gender obfuscates the issue for Rabbi Rosenstein. The Kotel is not the only place where liberal values are being threatened, and in each place where liberal values are being scratched away, women are increasingly being forced to subject themselves to discrimination.
Anyone who has spent a reasonable amount of time in Israel has taken an Egged bus. The Egged bus system is Israel’s primary mode of public transportation. Until recently it was accessible, affordable, and generally safe. Beginning in the 1990s, Egged began offering segregated bus service to areas heavily populated Haredim, the most fervently Orthodox in order to encourage their use of the public transportation. What started as a limited practice to accommodate a minority population has expanded to the extent that, according to IRAC, the Israeli Religious Action Center, there is no choice but to use segregated buses on 5 intercity routes. Moreover, where there are still options, the segregated alternative is often the cheapest and fastest. A trip from Jerusalem to Petach Tikva (a trip I took regularly 20 years ago with no challenges) now requires two buses with a 15 minute stop between and a fare of 28.50 NIS, that is unless I don’t mind a segregated bus. The segregated bus offers a non-stop 79 minute ride costing 19.70 NIS. Travelling from Ashdod to Arad? The segregated choice demands a 2 hour ride for 24 NIS. The non-segregated option demands a 4 hour ride at a fare of 60 NIS!
One could argue, ‘what’s the big deal, take the segregated bus!’ Well, we’ve experienced segregation in America, haven’t we. 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 some who have taken it upon themselves, using physical force when necessary, to enforce this supposed ‘voluntary’ segregation on the buses. While the High Court of Justice in Israel just this week scolded the transportation minister for not following recommendations by an investigatory committee that segregation be fully voluntary and not compulsory on any public bus, no attempts have been made by the Israeli government to outlaw this degrading and “voluntary” form of segregation.
The Western Wall, the Egged bus system,… what’s next? I hesitate to imagine, and frankly I don’t need to. There is at least one Haredi neighborhood in Israel that has actually established segregated side-walks. A company, admittedly privately owned not public, has started marketing personal michitzas, boundaries, for the Orthodox to use when travelling to prevent any unintentional and potentially inappropriate encounter. Perhaps Rabbi Rosenstein doesn’t feel persecuted by such changes, but I’d bet lots of Israelis do. Certainly lots of women do.
The recognition of religious pluralism by the Israeli government is vital to Israel’s growth as well as to its security. To state that the demands for recognition by progressive Jewry, while important, are not pressing, or to imply that the Women of the Wall are somehow needlessly pushing the envelope in the public square and thus creating unnecessary static, is to ignore a troubling reality and to even forward a misogynistic agenda. More significantly, such advances of the religious establishment into the public arena alienate not only Israel’s own citizens, but also us – those of us who choose to live outside of Israel but who support Israel in a myriad of ways. Israel needs our support. Israel needs support from Jews and non-Jews throughout the international community, and it simply can’t afford to place the needs of a radical Orthodox minority over the needs of the nation.
Israel has a choice. It can either continue in its path of being dictated solely by the religious right, or it can strive to become a fully democratic state that recognizes and allows for the public expression of the full breadth of Jewish life. Despite the sense among the Orthodox that Progressive Judaism threatens Jewish vitality, history teaches otherwise. Religious pluralism has marked Jewish life since its inception. It has enriched Jewish life leading to the growth of a wealth of literature, including our Rabbinic literature, differing points of view, and cultural expressions. It can continue to do so if Israel’s legislature would give it the opportunity.
One point Rabbi Rosenstein makes with which I fully and passionately agree: “feeling challenged to educate and litigate and demonstrate toward a more perfect Jewish democratic state is not the same as nor does it justify statements that imply washing our hands of Israel, or feeling that we have no stake in it.” We do have a stake – yes, in part because we are Jews, and we have an historical connection to the land. Yes, in part because we know from experience that there is a need for a place that will open its borders to any Jew in need. But also, because as Theodore Herzl reminded us, the world benefits from Israel’s presence and all it has to offer the international community. Do we really want to imagine the Middle East without Israel? We may not be Israeli citizens. We may get frustrated by the news we read. But we must care – and we must dare to voice our concern so that Israel can grow to become that more perfect Jewish democratic state we so hope it to be.
Rosenstein acknowledges the challenges the liberal community faces in Israel, but he underscores the gradual progress that has been made noting the opening of non-Orthodox synagogues despite opposition from the right (and apathy from the majority of secular Jews) as well as the increased demand for non-Orthodox wedding ceremonies, ceremonies that require a civil license from abroad as non-Orthodox rabbis are not recognized by the Israeli government. Despite the added bureaucratic task of obtaining a non-Israeli license, hundreds of Israelis do choose this option instead of conforming to the Orthodox standards required by the state.
Rabbi Rosenstein’s view is not uncommon among Israelis. We heard it ourselves directly from Rabbi Maya Leibovich of Mevasseret Zion during her visit this past November. Not only as a liberal Jew, but as a female rabbi, she felt the demands of the Women of the Wall simply unrealistic. She believes they should stop pushing the issue and focus their energies elsewhere. Of all the challenges Israel faces, many view the failure of the right, the Orthodox establishment, to recognize religious pluralism, let alone Progressive Judaism proper, as far less important than the security of Israel and a humanitarian solution to the Palestinian conflict.
There is no question that Rosenstein raises a compelling point. How can the liberal Jewish community demand recognition for religious pluralism in Israel while in its struggle to maintain its very security, Israel must deal with the manner in which it treats non-Jews, and non-Israelis living within its borders in particular. Rosenstein doesn’t argue that the lack of legal status and protections for liberal Jews within Israel is acceptable, far from it; but, the point he makes is that it shouldn’t be, in his words, “the most urgent” concern.
I disagree. If the Women of the Wall cannot expect to be treated with dignity and respect, than how on earth can the majority of Israelis be expected to treat anyone viewed as ‘the other’ with any level of dignity and respect? The recognition of religious pluralism, the full acceptance of non-Orthodox Jews in Israel, is equally important as the sundry of other issues this young nation faces and more importantly, sets a standard of humanitarian treatment for all.
Rosenstein dismisses the persecution of the Women of the Wall as a “symbolic offense” noting that most liberal Jews do not experience regular episodes of discrimination or persecution. Perhaps gender obfuscates the issue for Rabbi Rosenstein. The Kotel is not the only place where liberal values are being threatened, and in each place where liberal values are being scratched away, women are increasingly being forced to subject themselves to discrimination.
Anyone who has spent a reasonable amount of time in Israel has taken an Egged bus. The Egged bus system is Israel’s primary mode of public transportation. Until recently it was accessible, affordable, and generally safe. Beginning in the 1990s, Egged began offering segregated bus service to areas heavily populated Haredim, the most fervently Orthodox in order to encourage their use of the public transportation. What started as a limited practice to accommodate a minority population has expanded to the extent that, according to IRAC, the Israeli Religious Action Center, there is no choice but to use segregated buses on 5 intercity routes. Moreover, where there are still options, the segregated alternative is often the cheapest and fastest. A trip from Jerusalem to Petach Tikva (a trip I took regularly 20 years ago with no challenges) now requires two buses with a 15 minute stop between and a fare of 28.50 NIS, that is unless I don’t mind a segregated bus. The segregated bus offers a non-stop 79 minute ride costing 19.70 NIS. Travelling from Ashdod to Arad? The segregated choice demands a 2 hour ride for 24 NIS. The non-segregated option demands a 4 hour ride at a fare of 60 NIS!
One could argue, ‘what’s the big deal, take the segregated bus!’ Well, we’ve experienced segregation in America, haven’t we. 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 some who have taken it upon themselves, using physical force when necessary, to enforce this supposed ‘voluntary’ segregation on the buses. While the High Court of Justice in Israel just this week scolded the transportation minister for not following recommendations by an investigatory committee that segregation be fully voluntary and not compulsory on any public bus, no attempts have been made by the Israeli government to outlaw this degrading and “voluntary” form of segregation.
The Western Wall, the Egged bus system,… what’s next? I hesitate to imagine, and frankly I don’t need to. There is at least one Haredi neighborhood in Israel that has actually established segregated side-walks. A company, admittedly privately owned not public, has started marketing personal michitzas, boundaries, for the Orthodox to use when travelling to prevent any unintentional and potentially inappropriate encounter. Perhaps Rabbi Rosenstein doesn’t feel persecuted by such changes, but I’d bet lots of Israelis do. Certainly lots of women do.
The recognition of religious pluralism by the Israeli government is vital to Israel’s growth as well as to its security. To state that the demands for recognition by progressive Jewry, while important, are not pressing, or to imply that the Women of the Wall are somehow needlessly pushing the envelope in the public square and thus creating unnecessary static, is to ignore a troubling reality and to even forward a misogynistic agenda. More significantly, such advances of the religious establishment into the public arena alienate not only Israel’s own citizens, but also us – those of us who choose to live outside of Israel but who support Israel in a myriad of ways. Israel needs our support. Israel needs support from Jews and non-Jews throughout the international community, and it simply can’t afford to place the needs of a radical Orthodox minority over the needs of the nation.
Israel has a choice. It can either continue in its path of being dictated solely by the religious right, or it can strive to become a fully democratic state that recognizes and allows for the public expression of the full breadth of Jewish life. Despite the sense among the Orthodox that Progressive Judaism threatens Jewish vitality, history teaches otherwise. Religious pluralism has marked Jewish life since its inception. It has enriched Jewish life leading to the growth of a wealth of literature, including our Rabbinic literature, differing points of view, and cultural expressions. It can continue to do so if Israel’s legislature would give it the opportunity.
One point Rabbi Rosenstein makes with which I fully and passionately agree: “feeling challenged to educate and litigate and demonstrate toward a more perfect Jewish democratic state is not the same as nor does it justify statements that imply washing our hands of Israel, or feeling that we have no stake in it.” We do have a stake – yes, in part because we are Jews, and we have an historical connection to the land. Yes, in part because we know from experience that there is a need for a place that will open its borders to any Jew in need. But also, because as Theodore Herzl reminded us, the world benefits from Israel’s presence and all it has to offer the international community. Do we really want to imagine the Middle East without Israel? We may not be Israeli citizens. We may get frustrated by the news we read. But we must care – and we must dare to voice our concern so that Israel can grow to become that more perfect Jewish democratic state we so hope it to be.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Delivered Erev Shabbat Shemot, 1/8/2010 by Rabbi/Cantor Rhoda JH Silverman
ויקם מלך חדש על מצרים אשר לא ידע את יוסף
I have always viewed this verse as one of the most striking in this week’s parshah, parashot Shemot – and indeed in perhaps the entire story of the Israelites’ sojourn in Egypt; it marks a significant turning point in the narrative. How could this be that a new king wouldn’t have heard of Joseph? Recall just a few parshiot ago, Pharoah declared that none other than Joseph shall be greater in Egypt save for the throne itself. Responsible for Egypt’s extraordinary economic survival during great famine, Joseph was highly esteemed within the political structure of the Egyptian court. He was to quote Tim Rice’s wonderful libretto of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, “Pharoah’s number 2.”
So what happened between the end of Genesis when Joseph was still highly respected and certainly as well known in Egypt, one would imagine, as Rahm Emanuel is today, and the start of Exodus where apparently he is unknown?The midrash has a few thoughts on the matter that are informative.
One, that there was actually a new king. Accept the pshat, the stated text at face value. Accordingly, so much time has passed, that indeed, the previous leader’s chief side kick and all of his efforts have been long forgotten. A bit simplistic, but perhaps possible. Another, more realistic thought is that Joseph was not actually forgotten. Instead, this midrash argues, it was the same king but who succumbing to political pressure from his constituents issued new decrees as if he was not aware that Joseph ever existed. This view forwards the idea that it wasn’t just Pharoah who was capable of evil, but that the Egyptian people were so filled with fear and hatred of their neighbors that it didn’t matter that Joseph had saved lives. Moreover, this commentary suggests that despite their growing numbers, the Israelites had little or no say in the matter – no voice.
The midrash struggles with the text largely because it seems unlikely that Joseph would be so quickly forgotten following his death at the close of Genesis. It seems unlikely that all memory of that period of his influence would be gone from Egyptian consciousness. So unlikely that it demands an explanation.
The historians among us want to know exactly how much time has transpired: is the first opinion possible? Could it truly have been such a long time that Joseph and his policies were barely if at all memorable? Of course, this is a difficult if not impossible thing to assess. That being said, the question does keep academics busy, though hopefully not awake at night, and attempts have been made to historically place the Biblical narrative of Israelite descent into Egypt into the historical time line. A favored theory has the period of Israelite bondage coinciding with the overthrow of the Hyksos empire (one that was apparently favorable to the Israelites) and the rise of Ahmose I (who apparently was not). A compelling theory as archeological evidence indicates that Ahmose’s reign was marked by lots of ambitious building that demanded cheap – i.e., slave - labor. This timing would place the Israelites in Egypt around the 15-13 centuries BCE, a plausible time frame but one that frankly doesn’t fully line up with the biblical record. But, if this hypothesis is correct – which be clear is far from certain – than Ahmose I would represent that melech hadash who if he did ‘know’ of Joseph’s influence on the previous ruler, would have worked diligently to undermine it with new legislation in order to forward and strengthen his own regime.
Of course, the bible is not intended to be historically accurate. It presents at best a telescoped and elaborated version of history whose purpose is to offer a theological message. This is a natural phenomenon; aren’t we already condensing recent events into “the first decade of the 21st century” as if time is a concrete construct that can transform history into something larger? The uncertainty of the history of the bible actually helps the theology rise to the surface – the details are far less important than the story of the development of this chosen nation and where it is going.
This history, however unclear, though, is instructive particularly when coupled with a third view presented in the Midrash, namely that this phrase ‘who knew not Joseph’ should be understood as evidence that the Israelites had so fully assimilated into Egyptian society that they had willingly and completely given up their own identity and their commitment to the values of their ancestors. In essence, they allowed their unique and empowering voice to be lost and forgotten.
This pivotal verse that tells us a ‘new king who knew not Joseph’ follows immediately after the verse informing us that the Israelites had grown so in number that they filled the land. Numbers weren’t the issue. This verse in our Torah portion, vayakom melech chadash al mitzraim asher lo yada et yosef, should serve to remind us of the importance of making sure that we make a visible and audible presence whether we are present in large or small numbers. In large part, the Jewish community has succeeded in this effort throughout the modern period. Today the Jewish community is a remarkable minority representing only 2% of the American population and less than .02% of the world’s population. Yet, not only, as did Joseph, does the Jewish community maintain a vital presence on the governmental level representing this year 11% of congress as well as being represented by various lobbying arms such our own movement’s Religious Action Center, AIPAC, and the more recently formed J-Street, but Jews have made their voice known and have made a positive impact in virtually all areas of society. As a recent email that is circulating through our inboxes notes, Jews account for almost 129 of awarded Nobel Prizes since its establishment in 1895 in fields such as economics, physics, and literature as well as the highly esteemed Nobel Peace Prize. Such success requires a proactive effort and a desire to learn and promote one’s values in the community.
Perhaps the greatest failure of the Israelites in Egypt was their passivity. As their mass was growing, they somehow failed to become a functioning and integral part of Egyptian society. They remained separate enough to be identifiable, yet at the same time they failed to make a positive contribution to society which left them ultimately unknown, or at least not valued enough in order to retain protection by those in high office. The lesson of this verse and its accompanying midrashim is that it is our responsibility, not any one person’s – it wasn’t solely Joseph’s responsibility - it is everyone’s responsibility to make sure that our presence and voice is always heard so that when a new power does arise, it knows who we are and even more importantly sees us as a positive force in society. This requires us to be confident in our identity as Jews, to know the values for which we stand, and to be willing to work towards enacting them in this world. Whether it is our commitment to working towards social and economic justice, ensuring freedom from religious persecution, or working towards the eradication of poverty and abuse in this world, this is our mandate: to continue to recommit ourselves to the pursuit of Jewish values in this world – only then, can we ensure that a new king won’t rise up who doesn’t know us!
I have always viewed this verse as one of the most striking in this week’s parshah, parashot Shemot – and indeed in perhaps the entire story of the Israelites’ sojourn in Egypt; it marks a significant turning point in the narrative. How could this be that a new king wouldn’t have heard of Joseph? Recall just a few parshiot ago, Pharoah declared that none other than Joseph shall be greater in Egypt save for the throne itself. Responsible for Egypt’s extraordinary economic survival during great famine, Joseph was highly esteemed within the political structure of the Egyptian court. He was to quote Tim Rice’s wonderful libretto of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, “Pharoah’s number 2.”
So what happened between the end of Genesis when Joseph was still highly respected and certainly as well known in Egypt, one would imagine, as Rahm Emanuel is today, and the start of Exodus where apparently he is unknown?The midrash has a few thoughts on the matter that are informative.
One, that there was actually a new king. Accept the pshat, the stated text at face value. Accordingly, so much time has passed, that indeed, the previous leader’s chief side kick and all of his efforts have been long forgotten. A bit simplistic, but perhaps possible. Another, more realistic thought is that Joseph was not actually forgotten. Instead, this midrash argues, it was the same king but who succumbing to political pressure from his constituents issued new decrees as if he was not aware that Joseph ever existed. This view forwards the idea that it wasn’t just Pharoah who was capable of evil, but that the Egyptian people were so filled with fear and hatred of their neighbors that it didn’t matter that Joseph had saved lives. Moreover, this commentary suggests that despite their growing numbers, the Israelites had little or no say in the matter – no voice.
The midrash struggles with the text largely because it seems unlikely that Joseph would be so quickly forgotten following his death at the close of Genesis. It seems unlikely that all memory of that period of his influence would be gone from Egyptian consciousness. So unlikely that it demands an explanation.
The historians among us want to know exactly how much time has transpired: is the first opinion possible? Could it truly have been such a long time that Joseph and his policies were barely if at all memorable? Of course, this is a difficult if not impossible thing to assess. That being said, the question does keep academics busy, though hopefully not awake at night, and attempts have been made to historically place the Biblical narrative of Israelite descent into Egypt into the historical time line. A favored theory has the period of Israelite bondage coinciding with the overthrow of the Hyksos empire (one that was apparently favorable to the Israelites) and the rise of Ahmose I (who apparently was not). A compelling theory as archeological evidence indicates that Ahmose’s reign was marked by lots of ambitious building that demanded cheap – i.e., slave - labor. This timing would place the Israelites in Egypt around the 15-13 centuries BCE, a plausible time frame but one that frankly doesn’t fully line up with the biblical record. But, if this hypothesis is correct – which be clear is far from certain – than Ahmose I would represent that melech hadash who if he did ‘know’ of Joseph’s influence on the previous ruler, would have worked diligently to undermine it with new legislation in order to forward and strengthen his own regime.
Of course, the bible is not intended to be historically accurate. It presents at best a telescoped and elaborated version of history whose purpose is to offer a theological message. This is a natural phenomenon; aren’t we already condensing recent events into “the first decade of the 21st century” as if time is a concrete construct that can transform history into something larger? The uncertainty of the history of the bible actually helps the theology rise to the surface – the details are far less important than the story of the development of this chosen nation and where it is going.
This history, however unclear, though, is instructive particularly when coupled with a third view presented in the Midrash, namely that this phrase ‘who knew not Joseph’ should be understood as evidence that the Israelites had so fully assimilated into Egyptian society that they had willingly and completely given up their own identity and their commitment to the values of their ancestors. In essence, they allowed their unique and empowering voice to be lost and forgotten.
This pivotal verse that tells us a ‘new king who knew not Joseph’ follows immediately after the verse informing us that the Israelites had grown so in number that they filled the land. Numbers weren’t the issue. This verse in our Torah portion, vayakom melech chadash al mitzraim asher lo yada et yosef, should serve to remind us of the importance of making sure that we make a visible and audible presence whether we are present in large or small numbers. In large part, the Jewish community has succeeded in this effort throughout the modern period. Today the Jewish community is a remarkable minority representing only 2% of the American population and less than .02% of the world’s population. Yet, not only, as did Joseph, does the Jewish community maintain a vital presence on the governmental level representing this year 11% of congress as well as being represented by various lobbying arms such our own movement’s Religious Action Center, AIPAC, and the more recently formed J-Street, but Jews have made their voice known and have made a positive impact in virtually all areas of society. As a recent email that is circulating through our inboxes notes, Jews account for almost 129 of awarded Nobel Prizes since its establishment in 1895 in fields such as economics, physics, and literature as well as the highly esteemed Nobel Peace Prize. Such success requires a proactive effort and a desire to learn and promote one’s values in the community.
Perhaps the greatest failure of the Israelites in Egypt was their passivity. As their mass was growing, they somehow failed to become a functioning and integral part of Egyptian society. They remained separate enough to be identifiable, yet at the same time they failed to make a positive contribution to society which left them ultimately unknown, or at least not valued enough in order to retain protection by those in high office. The lesson of this verse and its accompanying midrashim is that it is our responsibility, not any one person’s – it wasn’t solely Joseph’s responsibility - it is everyone’s responsibility to make sure that our presence and voice is always heard so that when a new power does arise, it knows who we are and even more importantly sees us as a positive force in society. This requires us to be confident in our identity as Jews, to know the values for which we stand, and to be willing to work towards enacting them in this world. Whether it is our commitment to working towards social and economic justice, ensuring freedom from religious persecution, or working towards the eradication of poverty and abuse in this world, this is our mandate: to continue to recommit ourselves to the pursuit of Jewish values in this world – only then, can we ensure that a new king won’t rise up who doesn’t know us!
Monday, December 28, 2009
Delivered Erev Shabbat Vayigash, 12/25/2009 by Rabbi/Cantor Rhoda JH Silverman
It is easy as a Jew, especially at this time of year when the Christian calendar so thoroughly consumes American culture (so much so that a Christian holiday is marked by an American national holiday), to wax poetic about living in Israel. As we’ve been reminded in past weeks, there are those who believe that Israel is the only homeland for the Jewish people. If you have had the opportunity to spend some time in Israel, you know the incredible feeling of living in a country that marks Jewish time. When main street is as quiet as today’s American streets, if not more so, but on Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, the major Chaggim, and even Shabbat. There is no question that there is an incredible sense of validation and comfort that comes from living in an environment that fully responds to Jewish time, when society and the culture generally moves according to our rhythm.
Yet, despite my love of Israel and my firm commitment to supporting Israel and demanding that her voice be present and heard in International dialogue and debate, and despite the challenges I sometimes face as a Jew living in a predominately Christian country, I would take up permanent residence nowhere else other than here, in America. That is not to say that I don’t hope to have many chances to visit Israel and to again perhaps have the opportunity to have an extended stay in the Jewish State, but I choose to remain solely an American citizen. I do not believe that Israel is the only home for Jews. As long as America remains fully committed to pursuing values of democracy, equal rights, and the separation of church and state, than as a Jew, this is my country; and I feel proud and fortunate to have the opportunity to hold citizenship here.
It is not easy to publically criticize Israel these days. Israel needs our support during this critical period of uncertainty. With Hamas becoming slowly but surely legitimized while Israel is increasingly vilified in the public eye, we must stand by her side even if at those times when we disagree with her. This is imperative. However that being said, while standing by her side, we can ask that Israel continue to work towards being the best expression of democratic and Jewish values in our world.
Last Friday, a group of close to 200 women gathered for prayer at the Kotel, The Western Wall, as part of their observance of Rosh Chodesh, the 1st of the Jewish month. This gathering has become somewhat of a ritual - the group having become known by the acronym ”W.O.W” - “The Women of the Wall.” This month’s gathering, however, was larger than usual due to events that transpired last month.
At their last gathering, a 25 year old medical student, and regular participant in these gatherings for 4 years, was arrested for wearing a tallis (a Jewish prayer shawl), an act that at The Western Wall is illegal for a woman. Nofrat Frenkel was among 16 women donning tallitot that early morning as is fairly typical at these regular gatherings. This month, however, she was the one carrying the Torah. At this particular gathering last month, upon concluding their public recitation of Hallel without, unusually enough, any disturbance, the group made the bold mistake of taking their Torah out of its carry-all-bag before heading out from The Wall to their sanctioned area at the nearby Robinson’s Arch. As the women were moving to The Robinson’s Arch, a nearby archeological site deemed ‘non-sacred’ and thus a place where they have been granted permission by the Israeli Supreme Court to read from Torah, the police chose to make an example of Ms. Frenkel. If found guilty, not only will Ms. Frenkel face up to 6 months in prison or a 10,000 shekel fine, but more significantly and far more lasting, she will be barred from the medical profession due to having been convicted of a felony. Ironic, isn’t it? Nofrat Frenkel may be restricted from being a doctor in Israel, the Jewish State, due to her commitment to Jewish life and its public expression.
Fast forward to this past Friday. In addition to having to endure the standard attacks, including verbal epitaphs, spitting, and often physical assault that often occurs at these gatherings, it happened to be raining, hard. When it was time to read Torah, the group began to make their way away from The Wall to the area where permission has been granted for them to read. Their procession drew in a couple dozen men who joined in solidarity. Upon arrival at The Robinson’s Arch, the men who wanted to read Torah were granted access and protection from the rain. The women carrying their Torah were left standing in the rain. Later that morning, Rabbi Shmuel Rabinovitch, the Rabbi of the Western Wall Heritage Foundation, the governmental agency which has been given full and sole authority over the Kotel, stated, “It’s not for nothing that the rain raged at that time, because the heavens are crying over women who try to harm the Western Wall and the feelings of those who pray there.”
In Israel, where separate of church and state is far from reality, Rabbi Rabinovitch’s words are upheld by the government. He is a government appointed official. While he has been quoted saying, “[the Western Wall] is run with gentle arrangement and great sensitivity to any world view” and that attendance at the wall reveals that “everyone feels connected to it,” be clear that Rabbi Rabinovitch is an Orthodox Rabbi who does not recognize any other branch of Judaism. He would not recognize any of the Reform, Conservative, or Reconstructionist Rabbis within or without his own country – certainly not us female ones! And, he is wrong in his view that every Jew feels comfortable at The Wall. Under current circumstances, I sure don’t!
Relative to all of the countries which surround this small nation in the mid-East, Israel is progressive in its expression of democracy and in its treatment of women, and for that we should be proud as we continue to demand change. However, and some may view this as a cop out, I will continue to hope and demand for change from here, as I prefer to live in a country which allows me, as a Jew and as a woman, the right to the full and public expression of my religion.
Living in America during the Christmas season can be unsettling for Jews. Either we can jump right into the festivities of the season feeling not only inauthentic as non-Christians piggy backing onto someone else’s holiday or worse yet perhaps insulting those Christians for whom this holiday still retains even a modicum of religious significance; or, we can choose to stand on the sidelines – as a guest at the party, enjoying the mandated day off without the enormous pressure that a grand holiday usually creates (I choose the latter myself). Yet until Israel validates all expressions of Judaism – until it becomes a nation that welcomes me – a proudly observant Progressive Jew – as eagerly and as openly as my Orthodox colleagues and neighbors, until then, I’ll stay put.
By the way, while staying put, I look forward to planning and leading the next Temple Emanuel trip & mission to Israel in the summer of 2012. I hope you will consider joining in on the excursion!
Yet, despite my love of Israel and my firm commitment to supporting Israel and demanding that her voice be present and heard in International dialogue and debate, and despite the challenges I sometimes face as a Jew living in a predominately Christian country, I would take up permanent residence nowhere else other than here, in America. That is not to say that I don’t hope to have many chances to visit Israel and to again perhaps have the opportunity to have an extended stay in the Jewish State, but I choose to remain solely an American citizen. I do not believe that Israel is the only home for Jews. As long as America remains fully committed to pursuing values of democracy, equal rights, and the separation of church and state, than as a Jew, this is my country; and I feel proud and fortunate to have the opportunity to hold citizenship here.
It is not easy to publically criticize Israel these days. Israel needs our support during this critical period of uncertainty. With Hamas becoming slowly but surely legitimized while Israel is increasingly vilified in the public eye, we must stand by her side even if at those times when we disagree with her. This is imperative. However that being said, while standing by her side, we can ask that Israel continue to work towards being the best expression of democratic and Jewish values in our world.
Last Friday, a group of close to 200 women gathered for prayer at the Kotel, The Western Wall, as part of their observance of Rosh Chodesh, the 1st of the Jewish month. This gathering has become somewhat of a ritual - the group having become known by the acronym ”W.O.W” - “The Women of the Wall.” This month’s gathering, however, was larger than usual due to events that transpired last month.
At their last gathering, a 25 year old medical student, and regular participant in these gatherings for 4 years, was arrested for wearing a tallis (a Jewish prayer shawl), an act that at The Western Wall is illegal for a woman. Nofrat Frenkel was among 16 women donning tallitot that early morning as is fairly typical at these regular gatherings. This month, however, she was the one carrying the Torah. At this particular gathering last month, upon concluding their public recitation of Hallel without, unusually enough, any disturbance, the group made the bold mistake of taking their Torah out of its carry-all-bag before heading out from The Wall to their sanctioned area at the nearby Robinson’s Arch. As the women were moving to The Robinson’s Arch, a nearby archeological site deemed ‘non-sacred’ and thus a place where they have been granted permission by the Israeli Supreme Court to read from Torah, the police chose to make an example of Ms. Frenkel. If found guilty, not only will Ms. Frenkel face up to 6 months in prison or a 10,000 shekel fine, but more significantly and far more lasting, she will be barred from the medical profession due to having been convicted of a felony. Ironic, isn’t it? Nofrat Frenkel may be restricted from being a doctor in Israel, the Jewish State, due to her commitment to Jewish life and its public expression.
Fast forward to this past Friday. In addition to having to endure the standard attacks, including verbal epitaphs, spitting, and often physical assault that often occurs at these gatherings, it happened to be raining, hard. When it was time to read Torah, the group began to make their way away from The Wall to the area where permission has been granted for them to read. Their procession drew in a couple dozen men who joined in solidarity. Upon arrival at The Robinson’s Arch, the men who wanted to read Torah were granted access and protection from the rain. The women carrying their Torah were left standing in the rain. Later that morning, Rabbi Shmuel Rabinovitch, the Rabbi of the Western Wall Heritage Foundation, the governmental agency which has been given full and sole authority over the Kotel, stated, “It’s not for nothing that the rain raged at that time, because the heavens are crying over women who try to harm the Western Wall and the feelings of those who pray there.”
In Israel, where separate of church and state is far from reality, Rabbi Rabinovitch’s words are upheld by the government. He is a government appointed official. While he has been quoted saying, “[the Western Wall] is run with gentle arrangement and great sensitivity to any world view” and that attendance at the wall reveals that “everyone feels connected to it,” be clear that Rabbi Rabinovitch is an Orthodox Rabbi who does not recognize any other branch of Judaism. He would not recognize any of the Reform, Conservative, or Reconstructionist Rabbis within or without his own country – certainly not us female ones! And, he is wrong in his view that every Jew feels comfortable at The Wall. Under current circumstances, I sure don’t!
Relative to all of the countries which surround this small nation in the mid-East, Israel is progressive in its expression of democracy and in its treatment of women, and for that we should be proud as we continue to demand change. However, and some may view this as a cop out, I will continue to hope and demand for change from here, as I prefer to live in a country which allows me, as a Jew and as a woman, the right to the full and public expression of my religion.
Living in America during the Christmas season can be unsettling for Jews. Either we can jump right into the festivities of the season feeling not only inauthentic as non-Christians piggy backing onto someone else’s holiday or worse yet perhaps insulting those Christians for whom this holiday still retains even a modicum of religious significance; or, we can choose to stand on the sidelines – as a guest at the party, enjoying the mandated day off without the enormous pressure that a grand holiday usually creates (I choose the latter myself). Yet until Israel validates all expressions of Judaism – until it becomes a nation that welcomes me – a proudly observant Progressive Jew – as eagerly and as openly as my Orthodox colleagues and neighbors, until then, I’ll stay put.
By the way, while staying put, I look forward to planning and leading the next Temple Emanuel trip & mission to Israel in the summer of 2012. I hope you will consider joining in on the excursion!
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