דבר אל כל עדת בני ישראל ואמרת אלהם קדשים תהיו כי קדוש אני יי אלהיכם
What does it mean to ‘be holy’? In the Torah, being holy is connected with abiding by law and by extension living according to the covenant outlined, presumably, by God. The earliest reference to the people being qualified as holy appears in Exodus just before revelation of the ‘big 10’ at Sinai. Being holy is conditioned on action, "you’ve seen what I can do," God informs the masses (recall just a few chapters earlier God is credited with the other ‘big 10’ – those nasty plagues – and the subsequent splitting of the Reed Sea). "Now," God continues, “IF you truly listen to me and keep my covenant, THEN (implication being, 'only then') you will be my most treasured people, a גוי קדוש, a holy nation."
Fast forward to parashat Kedoshim. Presented here in the text is what is known as The Holiness Code, what most classical commentators view as a fleshed out reiteration of the 10 Commandments. Here too, the litany of laws and rules are prefaced by the qualification of the people as holy. This Levitical qualification, however, is strikingly different than its earlier iteration (clearly written by a different quill). .קדשים תהיו כי קדוש אני יי אליהכם – Holy you will be, because holy [am] I, Adonai, Your God. The conditional language is gone. Action is still a vital part of the equation - the covenant between God and the Israelites; but our holiness appears as a given. And perhaps even more significantly, rather than a consequence of, our holiness functions as the primary motivation for, proper action. As the laws unfold, we are constantly reminded: “Ani Adonai Elohechem.” It’s almost a refrain (chant:אני יי אלהיכם or later in even shorter form אני יי ). Now, I’m no creative writer (academic, yes…but artistic writing is left better to other hands, such as Jill’s), yet I can’t help but think the author is using this refrain as a poetic sound bite to remind us of the entire opening statement: קדשים תהיו כי קדוש אני יי אליהכם. Lest we forget why we are to do all these things, we are repeatedly reminded why we are holy, because: אני יי אליהכם. Proper action is incumbent upon us because our Godliness propels us to it.
Few of us feel “holy.” Well maybe Donald Trump does (oh, never mind…that’s full of himself, or full of something else altogether), but for most of us, the idea of kedoshim feels foreign or something set apart from us. Jewish tradition reinforces this concept of separateness in the marked division between the chol & kodesh, the ordinary & the sacred, with regard to time, space, and ritual. The Medieval Midrashist, however, in his elaboration as to why The Holiness Code appears where it does in Torah provides a different model of understanding ‘being holy’ that may be more useful. Kedoshim, and its Holiness Code, appears immediately after a section of text that discusses forbidden sexual relations. It’s placement here according to the Rabbinic imagination is to remind us that in every case where there could be a possibility of immorality, there is also the possibility of sanctity. Our choices and our behavior play a large part in whether something leans towards holiness. Moreover, despite the most stringent attempts at creating legal constructs, the boundaries between what is holy versus what is mundane, let alone profane, aren’t always so clearly delineated. Perhaps this is why the discussion of holiness often flounders into vague and subjective notions of spirituality, a term in and of itself difficult to define.
I can say with certainty, however, that I have experienced kedoshim in being able to share in the sacred journey of these four students sitting here on the bema. On the one hand, our time together could be viewed as quite mundane: informal lectures and discussions (me talking a lot – talk about mundane, hopefully it never crossed over into the profane), watching a movie; heck, one week we sat around wrapping string and tying knots. But, this journey of studying Jewish history, discussing the challenges of assimilation, immersing ourselves in Torah and liturgy, engaging in philosophical explorations of God and practice, and tying tzitzit together was sacred, kadosh, because of the very intention and sincerity brought by teacher and student to the journey.
Burt, Shelley, Jill, and Shanna – אתם קדושים, you are holy. You have created and modeled a sense of holiness throughout this year of study and personal reflection. And, אנחנו קדושים, we are holy, because you are have chosen to share this milestone with us in the context of our Shabbat worship. Our Torah’s sound bite, אני יי אלהיכם, reminds us of the Divine element in holiness and the fact that according to Torah, we are made b’tzelem Elohim, literally in the image of God and thus with the capacity to be holy. I believe, however, that we are truly holy, davka, because we are human. I thank each of you for sharing your humanity with us, and thus enabling us all to share in kedoshim this Shabbat!
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Friday, April 22, 2011
April 22, 1861: The Legacy of Rabbi David Einhorn, delivered Erev Chol ha-Moed Pesach, 4/22/2011
Rabbi David Einhorn. Perhaps he is best remembered, if remembered at all, by the Baltimore Jewish community as our neighboring Har Sinai Congregation’s first Rabbi. A German born and educated Rabbi, Einhorn came to American shores in 1855, at the behest of Har Sinai’s leadership, just six years before the outbreak of the Civil War and the events that would send him fleeing from Baltimore on this very day, April 22, 150 year ago.
David Einhorn is generally labeled as “a radical reformer.” Now, I generally resist the temptation to assign such simplistic labels to historical figures. Such labels so often fail to relay the historical context in which they developed. What does it mean to be ‘a radical reformer’ without an understanding of what was being reformed and what communal structures were working for or against such reforms? David Einhorn, a student of Rabbi Abraham Geiger, a prominent 19th century German reformer, advocated for worshipping in the vernacular. Recall that until Geiger, the vernacular was only offered as reduced translations not as texts to be used for worship themselves. He advocated also for the cutting out of all references to a restoration of the sacrifices and to a Jewish state. Recall that the restoration of the Temple and its cultic observances had been a central thematic fixture of the liturgy since the destruction of the Temple (it remains so in many non-Reform prayerbooks). Einhorn also argued, along with Geiger, that Talmudic law had no Divine authority. They were the first to do so publically. Considering the social and religious milieu of his time, radical is a fitting descriptive.
Einhorn is also celebrated within the Reform movement as the author of the prayer book Olat Tamid. Einhorn’s book, written for Har Sinai’s predominately German speaking congregation, along with a lesser known prayer book published just prior to Einhorn’s by Rabbi Leo Merzbacher, provided virtually all of the source material for a working draft of a prayer book submitted to the then nascent Central Conference of American Rabbis by Isaac Moses. Upon completion, this draft would become the beloved Union Prayer Book that served (albeit with a couple of significant revisions over time) as the Reform movement’s official prayer book from 1895 until the publication of Gates of Prayer in 1975. And though not well-accepted to date, UPB continues to find a small audience with its 21st century revision known as the Sinai Edition of the UPB.
During this season of Pesach, and particularly on this Shabbat chol ha-moed Pesach that falls on the heels of the anniversary of his being forced out of Baltimore, Einhorn should be celebrated also – perhaps even more so - for his willingness to take a public stand on important social issues that in his day where highly controversial to say the least.
On April 12 of this year, our country struggled with how to commemorate the 150th anniversary of the outbreak of the Civil War at Fort Sumter. While we can objectively understand that the Civil War was over far more than slavery, slavery was one of the most tangible issues and one that remains a highly sensitive sore spot in our attempts at commemoration, particularly here -- south of the Mason-Dixon Line. How do we mark such an event without condoning secessionist thinking or the mentality, shared by so many in the south at that time, that viewed the ownership of other human beings as an acceptable institution? Slavery was a sensitive issue in its day as well, and David Einhorn was one of the few rabbis (perhaps only rabbi) in Baltimore willing to denounce it publically and vehemently despite the fact that doing so put him and his family in physical peril.
A striking and often overlooked footnote to Einhorn’s history in Baltimore is that his stay in Philadelphia, to where he fled, was initially meant to be temporary. His plan was to take his family to Philly and then return to Baltimore alone in order to fulfill his professional duties. Indeed, on May 12th, just a few weeks after his departure, Einhorn received a letter from the lay leadership of Har Sinai stating that the city had settled and that they eagerly looked forward to his return of their rabbi. However, the letter continued,
“We have been commissioned by the Congregation to represent to you most respectfully…that it would be most desirable – for the sake of your own safety as well as out of consideration for that of your congregational members – for you to avoid, from the pulpit, in the future everything touching on the exciting questions of the day, and we beg you to please regard this observation as due only to our sad circumstances.”
We all know what “the exciting questions of the day” were, don’t we? Again, it bears repeating, Einhorn was the only pulpit rabbi in the area speaking out against slavery at this time. Har Sinai was becoming known as the ‘one led by the abolitionist rabbi;’ and it was a qualification that clearly made its members uncomfortable. Einhorn responded with his resignation and served Philadelphia's Keneseth Israel, better known as KI, until his death in 1879.
Now Einhorn often found himself embroiled in controversy, his personality and manner seemed to draw him into conflict; but, in this case, his stubborn stance and unwillingness to bend were commendable. Einhorn’s demand for the freedom to speak openly from the bema drawing on biblical teachings while addressing timely problems of social order set a standard to be modeled by liberal rabbis throughout America. It is customary today for rabbis to demand freedom of the pulpit. Our role is to challenge, even if at times, it makes you uncomfortable.
Einhorn was a tough character, for sure. But that tough character enabled him to remain true to his values despite the professional and physical risks he took in voicing his opinions Olat Tamid¸ Einhorn’s title for his prayer book, reminiscent of the biblical burnt offering from which he takes its names, reminds us of the Union Prayer Book’s recognition that we can only know God:
When Justice burns within us like a flaming fire,
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. (UPB, p. 39)
On this festival of Pesach, and on this 150th anniversary of Einhorn’s forced evacuation from Baltimore, let us ask ourselves – on what values are we willing to take a stand? On what values are we willing to speak even if doing so brings about controversy? Answering those questions requires us to feel that burning sense of justice, even if just a taste of it. There are plenty of social ills facing our world today. Where is our passion to conquer them?
David Einhorn is generally labeled as “a radical reformer.” Now, I generally resist the temptation to assign such simplistic labels to historical figures. Such labels so often fail to relay the historical context in which they developed. What does it mean to be ‘a radical reformer’ without an understanding of what was being reformed and what communal structures were working for or against such reforms? David Einhorn, a student of Rabbi Abraham Geiger, a prominent 19th century German reformer, advocated for worshipping in the vernacular. Recall that until Geiger, the vernacular was only offered as reduced translations not as texts to be used for worship themselves. He advocated also for the cutting out of all references to a restoration of the sacrifices and to a Jewish state. Recall that the restoration of the Temple and its cultic observances had been a central thematic fixture of the liturgy since the destruction of the Temple (it remains so in many non-Reform prayerbooks). Einhorn also argued, along with Geiger, that Talmudic law had no Divine authority. They were the first to do so publically. Considering the social and religious milieu of his time, radical is a fitting descriptive.
Einhorn is also celebrated within the Reform movement as the author of the prayer book Olat Tamid. Einhorn’s book, written for Har Sinai’s predominately German speaking congregation, along with a lesser known prayer book published just prior to Einhorn’s by Rabbi Leo Merzbacher, provided virtually all of the source material for a working draft of a prayer book submitted to the then nascent Central Conference of American Rabbis by Isaac Moses. Upon completion, this draft would become the beloved Union Prayer Book that served (albeit with a couple of significant revisions over time) as the Reform movement’s official prayer book from 1895 until the publication of Gates of Prayer in 1975. And though not well-accepted to date, UPB continues to find a small audience with its 21st century revision known as the Sinai Edition of the UPB.
During this season of Pesach, and particularly on this Shabbat chol ha-moed Pesach that falls on the heels of the anniversary of his being forced out of Baltimore, Einhorn should be celebrated also – perhaps even more so - for his willingness to take a public stand on important social issues that in his day where highly controversial to say the least.
On April 12 of this year, our country struggled with how to commemorate the 150th anniversary of the outbreak of the Civil War at Fort Sumter. While we can objectively understand that the Civil War was over far more than slavery, slavery was one of the most tangible issues and one that remains a highly sensitive sore spot in our attempts at commemoration, particularly here -- south of the Mason-Dixon Line. How do we mark such an event without condoning secessionist thinking or the mentality, shared by so many in the south at that time, that viewed the ownership of other human beings as an acceptable institution? Slavery was a sensitive issue in its day as well, and David Einhorn was one of the few rabbis (perhaps only rabbi) in Baltimore willing to denounce it publically and vehemently despite the fact that doing so put him and his family in physical peril.
A striking and often overlooked footnote to Einhorn’s history in Baltimore is that his stay in Philadelphia, to where he fled, was initially meant to be temporary. His plan was to take his family to Philly and then return to Baltimore alone in order to fulfill his professional duties. Indeed, on May 12th, just a few weeks after his departure, Einhorn received a letter from the lay leadership of Har Sinai stating that the city had settled and that they eagerly looked forward to his return of their rabbi. However, the letter continued,
“We have been commissioned by the Congregation to represent to you most respectfully…that it would be most desirable – for the sake of your own safety as well as out of consideration for that of your congregational members – for you to avoid, from the pulpit, in the future everything touching on the exciting questions of the day, and we beg you to please regard this observation as due only to our sad circumstances.”
We all know what “the exciting questions of the day” were, don’t we? Again, it bears repeating, Einhorn was the only pulpit rabbi in the area speaking out against slavery at this time. Har Sinai was becoming known as the ‘one led by the abolitionist rabbi;’ and it was a qualification that clearly made its members uncomfortable. Einhorn responded with his resignation and served Philadelphia's Keneseth Israel, better known as KI, until his death in 1879.
Now Einhorn often found himself embroiled in controversy, his personality and manner seemed to draw him into conflict; but, in this case, his stubborn stance and unwillingness to bend were commendable. Einhorn’s demand for the freedom to speak openly from the bema drawing on biblical teachings while addressing timely problems of social order set a standard to be modeled by liberal rabbis throughout America. It is customary today for rabbis to demand freedom of the pulpit. Our role is to challenge, even if at times, it makes you uncomfortable.
Einhorn was a tough character, for sure. But that tough character enabled him to remain true to his values despite the professional and physical risks he took in voicing his opinions Olat Tamid¸ Einhorn’s title for his prayer book, reminiscent of the biblical burnt offering from which he takes its names, reminds us of the Union Prayer Book’s recognition that we can only know God:
When Justice burns within us like a flaming fire,
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. (UPB, p. 39)
On this festival of Pesach, and on this 150th anniversary of Einhorn’s forced evacuation from Baltimore, let us ask ourselves – on what values are we willing to take a stand? On what values are we willing to speak even if doing so brings about controversy? Answering those questions requires us to feel that burning sense of justice, even if just a taste of it. There are plenty of social ills facing our world today. Where is our passion to conquer them?
Sunday, April 17, 2011
A Pre-Pesach thought...
I have a book on my shelf entitled, 300 Ways to ask the Four Questions. It’s a book that was lent to me by a friend, I'm embarrassed to admit, a couple of years ago -- I’ve been far too lax in returning it (BTW, if it’s owner is reading this public confession – my apologies, I haven’t forgotten that it’s yours. It’s sitting quietly in my office ready to be returned).
When the book was first offered to me, I was so excited -- 300 variations on the Four Questions! Wow. My excitement was palpable...yet that palpable excitement was quickly replaced with disappointment. It is a fascinating book, mind you. It presents the Four Questions in, literally, 300 different languages along with nuggets of information about the languages, each community represented, and the translators; and, the book is accompanied by two educational DVDs. What more could one expect? But, I thought it was going to be a book that offered 300 textual variations, not just translations, on the standard Four Questions that have been recited by the youngest Jews present at our seder tables at least the since the Middle ages.
The Four Questions are intended to draw out the telling of our story of redemption, so that the story and its lessons can be taught to the next generation. My daughter was recently asked by one of her Judaic Studies teachers, “If the Rabbinic sages were given the opportunity to add a ritual or object to our contemporary Passover seder that would further its meaning, what would you suggest?” My daughter's response, "a dictionary!" "Why?" I asked her. "To represent constant learning." (yes, I'm a proud mama!) The first thought that came to my mind: "have the adults ask the questions!"
What would you ask? The task of formulating questions requires a certain degree of curiosity and learning in and of itself. So, what questions would you ask in order to better understand our ancient and modern history? And, what lessons do you want your kids to learn from this history and from you? I look forward to the variations that arise during your seders!
When the book was first offered to me, I was so excited -- 300 variations on the Four Questions! Wow. My excitement was palpable...yet that palpable excitement was quickly replaced with disappointment. It is a fascinating book, mind you. It presents the Four Questions in, literally, 300 different languages along with nuggets of information about the languages, each community represented, and the translators; and, the book is accompanied by two educational DVDs. What more could one expect? But, I thought it was going to be a book that offered 300 textual variations, not just translations, on the standard Four Questions that have been recited by the youngest Jews present at our seder tables at least the since the Middle ages.
The Four Questions are intended to draw out the telling of our story of redemption, so that the story and its lessons can be taught to the next generation. My daughter was recently asked by one of her Judaic Studies teachers, “If the Rabbinic sages were given the opportunity to add a ritual or object to our contemporary Passover seder that would further its meaning, what would you suggest?” My daughter's response, "a dictionary!" "Why?" I asked her. "To represent constant learning." (yes, I'm a proud mama!) The first thought that came to my mind: "have the adults ask the questions!"
What would you ask? The task of formulating questions requires a certain degree of curiosity and learning in and of itself. So, what questions would you ask in order to better understand our ancient and modern history? And, what lessons do you want your kids to learn from this history and from you? I look forward to the variations that arise during your seders!
Friday, April 1, 2011
Parashat Shemini & the Centennial Anniversary of the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire, delivered 3/26/11
Perhaps there is simply too much trauma in the world taking up our collective consciousness to allow for any significant attention paid in the print media to recollecting a tragedy from a century ago. Japan, Egypt, Libya, Israel – the devastation, turmoil and violence in the mid and far East and North Africa are all vying for our attention. We must be on tragedy overload. What else could explain why in yesterday’s New York Times, Liz Taylor and Madonna took up more print space than any significant mention of the 100th anniversary of the Triangle Shirtwaist factory fire that took place on that very day, in that very city, exactly 100 years ago. Thank goodness for NPR! Certainly, there has been some attention paid throughout the week leading up to the anniversary, such as an article on the history of the ‘shirt waist’ and how this fashion innovation liberated women and an article highlighting the efforts of labor activist Clara Lemlich who spoke up for herself and fellow co-workers. But little attention has been paid to recalling the event itself and more importantly remembering its victims – primarily young (ages 14-23) Jewish and Italian immigrant women who worked long hours in unsafe, sweatshop conditions, six days a week in order to support their families.
A tragedy. One that far too easily could go (and has gone) largely unnoticed in modern day history books. It is hopefully mentioned in textbook discussions of the unionization of industrial America that took place at the turn of the 20th century; and, it should be mentioned in any decent survey of immigrant Jewish history in America. But, based on the blank stares I received from so many to whom I mentioned this planned sermon topic, and the growing effort in our country to limit, if not remove entirely, the ability of workers (particularly those in the public sector) to bargain collectively, I’d say we need to do a better job at remembering! There is far more to learn from the Triangle Factory tragedy than the change in hem lines that the “shirt waist” engendered!
The Triangle Shirt Waist factory was located on the upper three floors of a building in Greenwich Village just off Manhattan’s Washington Square that in its day, like the Titanic that sailed a year later, was a ‘state-of-the-art,’ safer than ever before, and ironically fire-proof building that still stands today. The innards of those top floors that housed the factory, however, went suddenly, quickly and violently up in flames late in the work day on Saturday, March 25/1911. Within a half an hour, the media reported, it was over. One hundred and forty six garment workers perished. Compounding the tragedy was the horrific fact that perhaps not all, but many of the fatalities were preventable. The fire was deemed an awful accident, the result of a not fully extinguished match or cigarette accidently tossed into a waste basket full of fabric scraps. The inability of fire fighters to reach workers (ladders were simply not high enough in those days to reach the upper floors) was a tragic, apparently unforeseeable, contributing factor to the disaster. But the entrapment, yes physical entrapment of so many workers on these high floors which lead to horrid human incineration as well as many fleeing out the windows to their death on the pavement below, was in large part a consequence of unacceptable and unregulated working conditions.
It makes us uncomfortable to remember tragedy, but we must remember this incident that still 100 years later is considered “the deadliest industrial disaster in the history of New York City [and which] resulted in the fourth highest loss of life from an industrial accident in all of US history.” To do anything else is to do a disservice to those young women and men who lost their lives trying to make a better life for themselves and their families. The owners of this shirt waist factory were themselves immigrants who had, at first glance,achieved success. But at what cost. Fully understanding the immigrants’ desperation to find jobs, they took advantage, employing newcomers at low wages, and literally locking them in during their long shifts at one of the largest shirtwaist factories in the city. Two years earlier, in 1909, these owners had managed to withstand a 13-week industry-wide strike aimed at achieving better conditions and union representation. Sadly, it took this terrible fire and the resulting deaths to galvanize the needed support for organized labor and mandated humane working conditions.
There are those who argue that the need for collective bargaining, for unionization, has passed: we’ve learned the lesson and unions are by nature corrupt. I’m sure the system needs to adapt to the changing needs of both employers and employees of the 21st century; and I’d bet there are enormous inequities within the system that must be addressed; but, to argue that the need for a voice that speaks up and on behalf for the worker has become irrelevant is short-sighted. There are some of us who may feel we don’t need such representation but there are members of our society who do. And,those who do often fall into the most economically needy strata of our society.
Contrary to what has been voiced on the congressional floor in Wisconsin and elsewhere, our economic woes are not due to the pension plans and various protections our public sector employees generally receive. Our economic woes are due to far more complex issues including financial mis-management coupled with the abuses – or perhaps woefully idealistic wishful thinking - within the banking and lending sector of a few years back. Stripping workers of the ability to bargain collectively – particularly those workers who are taking care of educating our children, for example, or making sure our public facilities work - will not balance any state’s budget in the long run. It may just strip individuals of the basic right to work effectively in a safe environment for a decent and sustainable wage.
Parashat Shemini contains the troubling story of Nadav and Abihu, the 2 sons of Aaron who perish in fire due to their rogue efforts at worship. Could that disaster been prevented if communal and collective concerns were taken into consideration? Perhaps. Certainly there is an abundance of Rabbinic debate regarding how to understand Nadav and Abihu’s failure, debate that Mathew, in honor of his being called to Torah as a Bar Mitzvah, will now take a moment to discuss.
A tragedy. One that far too easily could go (and has gone) largely unnoticed in modern day history books. It is hopefully mentioned in textbook discussions of the unionization of industrial America that took place at the turn of the 20th century; and, it should be mentioned in any decent survey of immigrant Jewish history in America. But, based on the blank stares I received from so many to whom I mentioned this planned sermon topic, and the growing effort in our country to limit, if not remove entirely, the ability of workers (particularly those in the public sector) to bargain collectively, I’d say we need to do a better job at remembering! There is far more to learn from the Triangle Factory tragedy than the change in hem lines that the “shirt waist” engendered!
The Triangle Shirt Waist factory was located on the upper three floors of a building in Greenwich Village just off Manhattan’s Washington Square that in its day, like the Titanic that sailed a year later, was a ‘state-of-the-art,’ safer than ever before, and ironically fire-proof building that still stands today. The innards of those top floors that housed the factory, however, went suddenly, quickly and violently up in flames late in the work day on Saturday, March 25/1911. Within a half an hour, the media reported, it was over. One hundred and forty six garment workers perished. Compounding the tragedy was the horrific fact that perhaps not all, but many of the fatalities were preventable. The fire was deemed an awful accident, the result of a not fully extinguished match or cigarette accidently tossed into a waste basket full of fabric scraps. The inability of fire fighters to reach workers (ladders were simply not high enough in those days to reach the upper floors) was a tragic, apparently unforeseeable, contributing factor to the disaster. But the entrapment, yes physical entrapment of so many workers on these high floors which lead to horrid human incineration as well as many fleeing out the windows to their death on the pavement below, was in large part a consequence of unacceptable and unregulated working conditions.
It makes us uncomfortable to remember tragedy, but we must remember this incident that still 100 years later is considered “the deadliest industrial disaster in the history of New York City [and which] resulted in the fourth highest loss of life from an industrial accident in all of US history.” To do anything else is to do a disservice to those young women and men who lost their lives trying to make a better life for themselves and their families. The owners of this shirt waist factory were themselves immigrants who had, at first glance,achieved success. But at what cost. Fully understanding the immigrants’ desperation to find jobs, they took advantage, employing newcomers at low wages, and literally locking them in during their long shifts at one of the largest shirtwaist factories in the city. Two years earlier, in 1909, these owners had managed to withstand a 13-week industry-wide strike aimed at achieving better conditions and union representation. Sadly, it took this terrible fire and the resulting deaths to galvanize the needed support for organized labor and mandated humane working conditions.
There are those who argue that the need for collective bargaining, for unionization, has passed: we’ve learned the lesson and unions are by nature corrupt. I’m sure the system needs to adapt to the changing needs of both employers and employees of the 21st century; and I’d bet there are enormous inequities within the system that must be addressed; but, to argue that the need for a voice that speaks up and on behalf for the worker has become irrelevant is short-sighted. There are some of us who may feel we don’t need such representation but there are members of our society who do. And,those who do often fall into the most economically needy strata of our society.
Contrary to what has been voiced on the congressional floor in Wisconsin and elsewhere, our economic woes are not due to the pension plans and various protections our public sector employees generally receive. Our economic woes are due to far more complex issues including financial mis-management coupled with the abuses – or perhaps woefully idealistic wishful thinking - within the banking and lending sector of a few years back. Stripping workers of the ability to bargain collectively – particularly those workers who are taking care of educating our children, for example, or making sure our public facilities work - will not balance any state’s budget in the long run. It may just strip individuals of the basic right to work effectively in a safe environment for a decent and sustainable wage.
Parashat Shemini contains the troubling story of Nadav and Abihu, the 2 sons of Aaron who perish in fire due to their rogue efforts at worship. Could that disaster been prevented if communal and collective concerns were taken into consideration? Perhaps. Certainly there is an abundance of Rabbinic debate regarding how to understand Nadav and Abihu’s failure, debate that Mathew, in honor of his being called to Torah as a Bar Mitzvah, will now take a moment to discuss.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
To Change or not to Change: the Lesson from Verizon
By nature, we humans are not very adaptable. I was recently reminded of this reality of our general character last Shabbat when The Baltimore Sun announced, brace yourself, Verizon’s plan to discontinue their weather and time hotlines. Big news. These must have been national services provided under the grand ma-Bell system, for these services were a mainstay of daily life in Philadelphia, too, where I grew up. “Mom,” I remember shouting, “How cold is it outside?” “Pick up the phone and call the weather,” she’d respond with an irritation I didn’t fully understand until I myself was a parent. She was a mom, not a local meteorologist. And, the time hotline – how else would we know to what time to set our clocks after a power outage? How many of us called over and over again to make sure we had it just right? Well my detail oriented bordering on OCD Dad did; though, to his defense these were pre-digital age clocks. The very act of winding them to the proper time could shave seconds, maybe even a minute, off its exactitude. Having a the TI-4 hotline kept our clocks in line.
Like I’m sure many other kids of at least my generation, and perhaps beyond in both directions, my friends and I would pass time dialing these services. Was it really true that any four digits when coupled with “We-6“ or “Ti-4“ would bring up the weather or time? A silly occupation for sure, but recall dialing the phone – yes, the experience of dialing short versus long digits on the rotary wheel – and then waiting for the connection from that anonymous place on the other end was actually compelling. And the prospect of debunking this known truth? We may never have succeeded, but that wasn’t the point. The prospect of it held our attention.
Though I frankly had no idea these free services still existed (and apparently they haven’t in my hometown since 2008), my first reaction was of reminiscent disbelief. How could they disconnect these basic – even fundamental - community services? How comforting it was to know that the weather and time were just a phone call away! Common sense quickly replaced my nostalgia. The very fact that I still know these numbers by their archaic call letters, WE & TI, points to the last time I dialed them with any regularity. By High School, my home phone number, Wilson-7 – 5916, was so well replaced by 947-5916 that I barely thought about its regional predecessor. It took a few more years before I stopped having to think “Hi-6” in order to find the numerical equivalents for my cousins’ less often dialed numbers, but it happened eventually. I vaguely recalling having to learn the numerical equivalents of WE and TI, I must have had a phone without letters for a time, but beats me what they are. Those phones numbers are firmly and perhaps perpetually engraved in my memory with their historic alphabetical exchanges.
We no longer need these services anymore – that’s clear. When my daughter needs the weather, she pulls up an app. If she asks me, I pull up an app (sometimes more than one - don't ask me why, but I have three weather apps on my phone). We haven’t needed these services in decades. There are a myriad of ways in which to find out the time when our power goes out, from our battery operated digital alarm clocks to our highly sophisticated smart phones. There are, and have been for a long time, far more convenient, and at least as accurate, sources for this information. So what has taken the phone company so long?
We don’t like change. Our Torah holds out an extraordinary example. Truth be told, the sacrificial cult most likely lost meaning for most long before the destruction of the Temple, but it took the Roman conquest to substantiate change in the primary and preferred, methods of worship. One can imagine that without the events of 70 CE, the Temple and its rites may just have gradually fallen away, losing significance in people’s lives. Without something clearly formulated to replace it, Judaism may have disappeared. The brilliance of Rabbinic Judaism is that it innovatively packaged and delivered a compelling replacement for the Temple at just the right time. Certainly, crisis forced change – change that lead to renewed vibrancy in part because there was no choice. But, that change would not have happened or succeeded without an openness to new ideas and constructs that had to have long preceeded the fall of the Temple.
Are our synagogues any different today? I’d argue that (as I have often in our various working committees) one of our failures is that, in large measure, we function as we did in the middle decades of last century. Despite parents’ changing work patterns, we hold religious school at virtually the same hours, though fewer of them due to the competition with other activities. We make cosmetic changes to worship, moving the time, creating a kid friendly environment, trying new melodies and band arrangements, bringing in speakers; yet despite mediocre interest, as reflected in attendance, in these changes, we remain wedded to the Friday night worship model of the Reform movement. On the other hand, attendance on Shabbat morning, once an embarrassment to the Reform movement, at least at Temple Emanuel is remarkably healthy. Our auxillaries too struggle with lack of participation in activities that were extremely popular decades ago and with finding activities that will be compelling to today’s busy families.
We must be open to change. At the same time, the fact that we read about the sacrificial cult year after year in our Torah cycle even though we have no intention of recreating this system of worship should remind us that we must always remain cognizant of our history as we remain open to new ideas and visions. Indeed, many of our members and committees are doing just that. TESCA, for example, our Temple Emanuel Studio of Cooperative Artists is not only innovative but it creates excitement, interest, and energy while remaining fully grounded in Torah, Avodah, and Gemilut Chasadim, the three tenets of Rabbinic Judaism. A few members of our board are beginning to look forward to the aging of the Jewish community (a phenomenon parallel to the aging of America thanks to the baby boomers) and how we as a synagogue must respond. This conversation is vital to our future.
Change need not, should not in most cases, be revolutionary, but let’s be sure that we don’t take as long as the phone company does to respond to change. Let’s be more like our ancient ancestors, the early rabbinic factions, in particular, who were willing to make change. That willingness – the ability to respond to modernity - ultimately served to preserve Jewish life through tremendous crisis. And it serves as a worthy model of emulation as we strive to make our congregation and Jewish institutions generally responsive to the 21st century.
Like I’m sure many other kids of at least my generation, and perhaps beyond in both directions, my friends and I would pass time dialing these services. Was it really true that any four digits when coupled with “We-6“ or “Ti-4“ would bring up the weather or time? A silly occupation for sure, but recall dialing the phone – yes, the experience of dialing short versus long digits on the rotary wheel – and then waiting for the connection from that anonymous place on the other end was actually compelling. And the prospect of debunking this known truth? We may never have succeeded, but that wasn’t the point. The prospect of it held our attention.
Though I frankly had no idea these free services still existed (and apparently they haven’t in my hometown since 2008), my first reaction was of reminiscent disbelief. How could they disconnect these basic – even fundamental - community services? How comforting it was to know that the weather and time were just a phone call away! Common sense quickly replaced my nostalgia. The very fact that I still know these numbers by their archaic call letters, WE & TI, points to the last time I dialed them with any regularity. By High School, my home phone number, Wilson-7 – 5916, was so well replaced by 947-5916 that I barely thought about its regional predecessor. It took a few more years before I stopped having to think “Hi-6” in order to find the numerical equivalents for my cousins’ less often dialed numbers, but it happened eventually. I vaguely recalling having to learn the numerical equivalents of WE and TI, I must have had a phone without letters for a time, but beats me what they are. Those phones numbers are firmly and perhaps perpetually engraved in my memory with their historic alphabetical exchanges.
We no longer need these services anymore – that’s clear. When my daughter needs the weather, she pulls up an app. If she asks me, I pull up an app (sometimes more than one - don't ask me why, but I have three weather apps on my phone). We haven’t needed these services in decades. There are a myriad of ways in which to find out the time when our power goes out, from our battery operated digital alarm clocks to our highly sophisticated smart phones. There are, and have been for a long time, far more convenient, and at least as accurate, sources for this information. So what has taken the phone company so long?
We don’t like change. Our Torah holds out an extraordinary example. Truth be told, the sacrificial cult most likely lost meaning for most long before the destruction of the Temple, but it took the Roman conquest to substantiate change in the primary and preferred, methods of worship. One can imagine that without the events of 70 CE, the Temple and its rites may just have gradually fallen away, losing significance in people’s lives. Without something clearly formulated to replace it, Judaism may have disappeared. The brilliance of Rabbinic Judaism is that it innovatively packaged and delivered a compelling replacement for the Temple at just the right time. Certainly, crisis forced change – change that lead to renewed vibrancy in part because there was no choice. But, that change would not have happened or succeeded without an openness to new ideas and constructs that had to have long preceeded the fall of the Temple.
Are our synagogues any different today? I’d argue that (as I have often in our various working committees) one of our failures is that, in large measure, we function as we did in the middle decades of last century. Despite parents’ changing work patterns, we hold religious school at virtually the same hours, though fewer of them due to the competition with other activities. We make cosmetic changes to worship, moving the time, creating a kid friendly environment, trying new melodies and band arrangements, bringing in speakers; yet despite mediocre interest, as reflected in attendance, in these changes, we remain wedded to the Friday night worship model of the Reform movement. On the other hand, attendance on Shabbat morning, once an embarrassment to the Reform movement, at least at Temple Emanuel is remarkably healthy. Our auxillaries too struggle with lack of participation in activities that were extremely popular decades ago and with finding activities that will be compelling to today’s busy families.
We must be open to change. At the same time, the fact that we read about the sacrificial cult year after year in our Torah cycle even though we have no intention of recreating this system of worship should remind us that we must always remain cognizant of our history as we remain open to new ideas and visions. Indeed, many of our members and committees are doing just that. TESCA, for example, our Temple Emanuel Studio of Cooperative Artists is not only innovative but it creates excitement, interest, and energy while remaining fully grounded in Torah, Avodah, and Gemilut Chasadim, the three tenets of Rabbinic Judaism. A few members of our board are beginning to look forward to the aging of the Jewish community (a phenomenon parallel to the aging of America thanks to the baby boomers) and how we as a synagogue must respond. This conversation is vital to our future.
Change need not, should not in most cases, be revolutionary, but let’s be sure that we don’t take as long as the phone company does to respond to change. Let’s be more like our ancient ancestors, the early rabbinic factions, in particular, who were willing to make change. That willingness – the ability to respond to modernity - ultimately served to preserve Jewish life through tremendous crisis. And it serves as a worthy model of emulation as we strive to make our congregation and Jewish institutions generally responsive to the 21st century.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Shabbat Vayakhel: A Lesson in Community Building, delivered 2/26/2011
It is striking that the Torah spends so much time and energy on the details of the Tabernacle. For the past three weeks, we’ve been reading about the details of this enormous building project. Any one ready to move on yet? Due to the Jewish leap year, parshiot Vahakhel and Pekude are read separately this year. So, we have another week to go. Anyone else want to speak about the building of the Tabernacle? After this Shabbat, I think I'm done.
The big events in Biblical history, the ones we recall regularly in our liturgy and celebrate in our festival cycle -- Creation (כי ששת ימים עשה יי את השמים ואת הארץ וביום השביעי שבת וינפש); Exodus, redemption, from Egyptian bondage; and Revelation of law and the forming of covenant at Sinai – don’t take up a lot of space in the Torah. They don’t have to. The drama of these events speaks for itself. We’ve experienced, as best as we can from our reading and study, the drama of, for example, revelation. Its presentation in the text is so extraordinary that it is hard for us to wrap our modern, rational minds around the episode. Redemption, too – come on, a splitting sea? No, we can’t explain it. We can try to rationalize it as unexplainable miracle or complete myth; but, regardless of how we as liberal readers come to terms with the text, the dramatic presentation helps imprint the episodes on our communal memory. That moment is ours as much as it was our ancestors who stood in the midbar at the foot of a mountain called Sinai, and the editor didn’t need an abundance of space to get that vital point across. The building of the Tabernacle, on the other hand, isn’t particularly dramatic, and it shouldn’t be. Those of us who have built anything know that drama in construction projects usually means trouble. More to the point, however, Judaism celebrates formative events in the community’s, namely the Israelite community’s, development, not buildings.
So then, why all this attention to building materials and instructions? Why the tedious, meticulous, and frankly repetitious, detail regarding how to construct the Tabernacle and all that goes into it? As I’ve reflected on other occasions, these are not simple, IKEA-style ‘one man or woman can do it,’ instructions. With regard to the planks, for example, our text instructs “...The length of each … was 10 cubits, and the width, a cubit and a 1/2. Each shall have two tenons, parallel to each other...make 20 planks on the south side, making 40 silver sockets under the 20 planks, 2 sockets under the one plank for its two tenons and 2 sockets under each...” and so on. I consider myself pretty handy. I’ve put together my share of IKEA-do-it-yourself type furniture. I know how to use a drill. However, if anything came with instructions as convoluted and demanding as these apparently dictated by God; sorry God, the project wouldn’t get done…certainly not by me alone.
The Biblical narrative doesn’t give the Israelites that choice, the choice to say, ‘no thank you, God, we don’t need a Tabernacle.’ But, perhaps we are assuming that they had no choice. Imagine if the Tabernacle didn’t get built. This week’s Torah portion is a repetition of instructions. Earlier the instructions are given to the community, Parashat Vayakhel reports how they were done. And this is precisely the point; for, if the Tabernacle didn’t get built, the entire story of the Israelites would end here. Just as important as redemption and revelation is the building of the Tabernacle - not a miracle performed dramatically by God and experienced by the people due to Divine grace; but rather, a miracle performed by the determined and cooperative labors of the people.
The Tabernacle - the mishkan - the first formal place of worship, of gathering for the community. A place that is to serve as symbol of both God’s presence and communal unity. Certainly, we are not defined by the buildings we build. The text makes it very clear that it is not the material gifts that determine the success. We read that so many gifts were brought, so many material offerings, that Moses was forced to proclaim to all: "אלֹ־יאשוּ עוד מלאכה לתרומת הקדש" - stop making further effort toward gifts for the sanctuary. Stop your individual donations. We should be so fortunate as to have to stop individual gift giving.
What is needed is community action, not more stuff. All the materials - the blue, purple & crimson yarns for example, the dolphin skins, the gold, the talents of silver described at length - none of it matters if the Israelites are unable to work together to get it done. No matter the amount of material riches bestowed on any community, our synagogues included, not a penny of it is worth a damn unless the individuals work together towards a unified goal.
The Israelite saga - their growth from a vagabond group of slaves into a people with a shared identity and mission is begun with redemption and revelation, but it is solidified by accomplishing this great and awesome task. Only now, not as passive recipients of God’s interventions, but rather as active partners with God and the community, can the Israelites continue their journey. Yes, a lot of textual space is given to the descriptions regarding and the building of this first mishkan, and the descriptions are at times dull, but we will learn that they finish. Finally next week, we will read, “וַתֵּ֕כֶל כּל־עבוד֕ת משכּ֖ן א֣הל מוע֑ד” “Thus was completed all the work of the Tabernacle of the Tent of Meeting. No splitting sea, no smoke and thunder, but the level of cooperation and mutual respect required in order to complete this task is just as, if not more, miraculous. It is certainly worthy of emulation!
The big events in Biblical history, the ones we recall regularly in our liturgy and celebrate in our festival cycle -- Creation (כי ששת ימים עשה יי את השמים ואת הארץ וביום השביעי שבת וינפש); Exodus, redemption, from Egyptian bondage; and Revelation of law and the forming of covenant at Sinai – don’t take up a lot of space in the Torah. They don’t have to. The drama of these events speaks for itself. We’ve experienced, as best as we can from our reading and study, the drama of, for example, revelation. Its presentation in the text is so extraordinary that it is hard for us to wrap our modern, rational minds around the episode. Redemption, too – come on, a splitting sea? No, we can’t explain it. We can try to rationalize it as unexplainable miracle or complete myth; but, regardless of how we as liberal readers come to terms with the text, the dramatic presentation helps imprint the episodes on our communal memory. That moment is ours as much as it was our ancestors who stood in the midbar at the foot of a mountain called Sinai, and the editor didn’t need an abundance of space to get that vital point across. The building of the Tabernacle, on the other hand, isn’t particularly dramatic, and it shouldn’t be. Those of us who have built anything know that drama in construction projects usually means trouble. More to the point, however, Judaism celebrates formative events in the community’s, namely the Israelite community’s, development, not buildings.
So then, why all this attention to building materials and instructions? Why the tedious, meticulous, and frankly repetitious, detail regarding how to construct the Tabernacle and all that goes into it? As I’ve reflected on other occasions, these are not simple, IKEA-style ‘one man or woman can do it,’ instructions. With regard to the planks, for example, our text instructs “...The length of each … was 10 cubits, and the width, a cubit and a 1/2. Each shall have two tenons, parallel to each other...make 20 planks on the south side, making 40 silver sockets under the 20 planks, 2 sockets under the one plank for its two tenons and 2 sockets under each...” and so on. I consider myself pretty handy. I’ve put together my share of IKEA-do-it-yourself type furniture. I know how to use a drill. However, if anything came with instructions as convoluted and demanding as these apparently dictated by God; sorry God, the project wouldn’t get done…certainly not by me alone.
The Biblical narrative doesn’t give the Israelites that choice, the choice to say, ‘no thank you, God, we don’t need a Tabernacle.’ But, perhaps we are assuming that they had no choice. Imagine if the Tabernacle didn’t get built. This week’s Torah portion is a repetition of instructions. Earlier the instructions are given to the community, Parashat Vayakhel reports how they were done. And this is precisely the point; for, if the Tabernacle didn’t get built, the entire story of the Israelites would end here. Just as important as redemption and revelation is the building of the Tabernacle - not a miracle performed dramatically by God and experienced by the people due to Divine grace; but rather, a miracle performed by the determined and cooperative labors of the people.
The Tabernacle - the mishkan - the first formal place of worship, of gathering for the community. A place that is to serve as symbol of both God’s presence and communal unity. Certainly, we are not defined by the buildings we build. The text makes it very clear that it is not the material gifts that determine the success. We read that so many gifts were brought, so many material offerings, that Moses was forced to proclaim to all: "אלֹ־יאשוּ עוד מלאכה לתרומת הקדש" - stop making further effort toward gifts for the sanctuary. Stop your individual donations. We should be so fortunate as to have to stop individual gift giving.
What is needed is community action, not more stuff. All the materials - the blue, purple & crimson yarns for example, the dolphin skins, the gold, the talents of silver described at length - none of it matters if the Israelites are unable to work together to get it done. No matter the amount of material riches bestowed on any community, our synagogues included, not a penny of it is worth a damn unless the individuals work together towards a unified goal.
The Israelite saga - their growth from a vagabond group of slaves into a people with a shared identity and mission is begun with redemption and revelation, but it is solidified by accomplishing this great and awesome task. Only now, not as passive recipients of God’s interventions, but rather as active partners with God and the community, can the Israelites continue their journey. Yes, a lot of textual space is given to the descriptions regarding and the building of this first mishkan, and the descriptions are at times dull, but we will learn that they finish. Finally next week, we will read, “וַתֵּ֕כֶל כּל־עבוד֕ת משכּ֖ן א֣הל מוע֑ד” “Thus was completed all the work of the Tabernacle of the Tent of Meeting. No splitting sea, no smoke and thunder, but the level of cooperation and mutual respect required in order to complete this task is just as, if not more, miraculous. It is certainly worthy of emulation!
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Shabbat Tetzvah: a Reflection on BJC Advocacy Day 2011, Delivered Shabbat Tetzaveh, 2/12/2011
You shall further instruct the Israelites…. This week’s Torah portion, parashat T’tzaveh, continues to outline details of the tabernacle. Specifically, this part of the narrative gives instruction regarding Aaron’s cloths, the attire for the priesthood, and the consecration ceremony for Aaron and his sons, who will serve as High Priest and priests respectively. What should we make of the attention to clothes? At first glance the focus on outerwear seems frivolous – really, is all this chazarai necessary? Beautiful yes – gold, blue, purple & crimson yarns, precious stones and metals – but aren’t there are far more important matters with which we should be concerned? The detailing of Aaron’s attire, however, highlights the weight of responsibility his role as High Priest engenders.
The breast plate – I imagine a weighty hunk of metal and precious stone (see Ex 28:15 ff), served as a tangible (if not burdensome) reminder of history that helped guide Aaron in leading the people towards their future. Also included on that plate of metal that was fastened to Aaron’s garment, were the Urim and Tummim, two items that defy any definite translation and thus remain fodder for commentary. Rashi explains that the Urim and Tummim “הוא כתב שם המפרש was an inscription of the Proper Name of God.” Accordingly, God, via the urim and tummim, literally enlightened the correct path, or in other words gave foresight to decisions, for the leaders of the community (i.e., the High Priest).
Leaders are a necessary element of any organized and functional society. At the same time, so are the people who are lead. The details provided in the narrative surrounding the ceremony of consecration/ordination of Aaron’s sons into the priesthood make it clear that the community’s presence is vital; it is not private, but public, ritual. The entire community bears witness to the responsibility that Aaron takes on when he lays his hands on that animal about to be sacrificed. It is a heavy moment weighted down, not only by the ornate clothing described moments earlier – can we imagine overseeing this messy ritual dressed as he must - but by the responsibility the community places on Aaron and his sons. The medieval commentator, Nachmanides, notes that Aaron’s sons are named at the start of this portion so that it is clear that their role as priests is not taken for granted. They may have been born into the opportunity for this role; but they, too, like their father, must accept the mantle of leadership their birthright offers them publically, in plain sight of the community.
This past Tuesday, I along with a group of members from Temple Emanuel, visited the State Capitol along with other representatives of the Jewish community in an effort to make our voices heard in the state legislature. Organized by the Baltimore Jewish Council (BJC), this annual Advocacy Day gives us – the Baltimore Jewish community - the opportunity to meet our legislators and speak out regarding issues that impact not only the Jewish community specifically but the welfare of all Marylanders.
Our leaders bear a burden on our behalf. The sacrifices they are required to make in order to forward their legislative agenda are often far less public than those made by the House of Aaron; yet, they make as indelible an impact, and it is up to us to remain present, supporting their efforts even if through debate, and holding them accountable for their work. We must, like our biblical ancestors, bear witness to the decisions and actions of our leaders. It is easy to avoid this responsibility. In the biblical period, the smoke and fumes must have made it almost impossible not to participate in the events performed by the priests even if one wanted to avoid them. But today, we must make a conscious effort to be present and participate – our senses won’t be so easily seduced by the rituals of governmental process.
This year, I was invited by the BJC to serve as a group leader for Advocacy Day. Basically that role entails taking the lead in opening the discussions within in our small group visits with our legislators. My first thought, “no thank you. I'll be happy to take a back seat.” Luckily, I resisted responding automatically (which for those of you who know me well know is not an easy feat for me). For all of the times I stand on this bema and commend our confirmation students for their efforts on Capitol Hill each winter, for all of the times I encourage others to actively participate in the political process at the very least by staying attuned to issues that impact our community, how could I refuse taking such a role? So, I followed my second, more reasoned,thought and accepted.
I lead two visits while in Annapolis on Tuesday evening. The first to Senator Karen Montgomery, coincidentally enough from Montgomery County (District 14), the second to Senator Ronald Young of District 3 representing both Frederick and Washington Counties. Both senators were already quite supportive of the legislation for which we were advocating on behalf of the BJC, thus our discussions broadened out to include the realities of public service and leadership. Senator Young, for instance, shared with us how he very much supported the Lorraine Sheehan Health and Community Services Act (better known as the alcohol tax bill) and hopes it passes, but at the same time can’t vote for it due to his commitment to a campaign promise he made to his constituents, a campaign promise that helped him win office against a candidate with decidedly more conservative views, a candidate who would not be supportive of the issues valued by the BJC and much of the Jewish community. By the way, this bill is supported by the Baltimore Jewish Council because of the many important and vital communal services this tax can support in the community.
We discussed the costs and benefits of a Senate Bill that would enable children born to illegal immigrants, assuming they meet certain qualifying standards, to be eligible for in state tuition to Maryland colleges and universities. We discussed the very real budgetary challenge of maintaining necessary public services that serve the elderly and victims of domestic violence, among others. Laying one’s hands on a bull and readying it for slaughter may be far more visceral in the moment, but the impact of being involved in making the kinds of fiscal decisions our legislators must can be just as lasting as taking the life of a living and breathing animal.
Both of the Senators with whom we met were co-sponsors of the Religious Freedom and Civil Marriage Act, legislation that was on the forefront of everyone’s mind in Annapolis on Tuesday due to the legislative hearings on the topic that took place that day. As a representative of the BJC, I was not able to thank Senators Montgomery and Young for their support of what I consider to be necessary legislation. The BJC represents the entire Baltimore Jewish Community, and as I was delicately informed, there simply “isn’t consensus within the Baltimore Jewish community,” thus, the BJC cannot take a stand. That being said, I did thank the legislators on my own behalf, making it clear that I was speaking as a representative of the liberal Jewish community and not of the BJC on this issue.
The BJC must speak on behalf of the entire Jewish community and thus can only speak out on issues on which there is consensus. As individuals, however, the power of free speech allows us (perhaps should compel us) to voice our opinion on any issue of import to us. One disconcerting observation from my participation in Advocacy Day over the past few years: the Reform community is simply not well represented. We proudly send our kids to the Religious Action Center – hundreds of teens representing congregations throughout the country descend on Capitol Hill repeatedly (the RAC runs 6 or 7 L’Taken well attended seminars each year), and yet how many of us as adults have ever taken the opportunity, whether on a local or national level, to participate in the legislative process. We should. And recent events in Egypt serve to remind us to appreciate and take advantage of the opportunity we, as Americans, have in this legislative process.
Luckily our political leaders don’t have to be weighted down physically with the kind of garb that decorated our biblical High Priest, and thank goodness our senses no longer need be assaulted by the rituals and smells of the sacrificial cult. But just as the priest’s garb can serve as a tangible reminder of the importance and responsibility of the leadership role, those now seemingly barbaric rituals witnessed by the community should serve to remind us of the need for our presence at least, and perhaps our active participation, in the rituals that serve to bring guidance and cohesion, civility and democracy to our nation.
The breast plate – I imagine a weighty hunk of metal and precious stone (see Ex 28:15 ff), served as a tangible (if not burdensome) reminder of history that helped guide Aaron in leading the people towards their future. Also included on that plate of metal that was fastened to Aaron’s garment, were the Urim and Tummim, two items that defy any definite translation and thus remain fodder for commentary. Rashi explains that the Urim and Tummim “הוא כתב שם המפרש was an inscription of the Proper Name of God.” Accordingly, God, via the urim and tummim, literally enlightened the correct path, or in other words gave foresight to decisions, for the leaders of the community (i.e., the High Priest).
Leaders are a necessary element of any organized and functional society. At the same time, so are the people who are lead. The details provided in the narrative surrounding the ceremony of consecration/ordination of Aaron’s sons into the priesthood make it clear that the community’s presence is vital; it is not private, but public, ritual. The entire community bears witness to the responsibility that Aaron takes on when he lays his hands on that animal about to be sacrificed. It is a heavy moment weighted down, not only by the ornate clothing described moments earlier – can we imagine overseeing this messy ritual dressed as he must - but by the responsibility the community places on Aaron and his sons. The medieval commentator, Nachmanides, notes that Aaron’s sons are named at the start of this portion so that it is clear that their role as priests is not taken for granted. They may have been born into the opportunity for this role; but they, too, like their father, must accept the mantle of leadership their birthright offers them publically, in plain sight of the community.
This past Tuesday, I along with a group of members from Temple Emanuel, visited the State Capitol along with other representatives of the Jewish community in an effort to make our voices heard in the state legislature. Organized by the Baltimore Jewish Council (BJC), this annual Advocacy Day gives us – the Baltimore Jewish community - the opportunity to meet our legislators and speak out regarding issues that impact not only the Jewish community specifically but the welfare of all Marylanders.
Our leaders bear a burden on our behalf. The sacrifices they are required to make in order to forward their legislative agenda are often far less public than those made by the House of Aaron; yet, they make as indelible an impact, and it is up to us to remain present, supporting their efforts even if through debate, and holding them accountable for their work. We must, like our biblical ancestors, bear witness to the decisions and actions of our leaders. It is easy to avoid this responsibility. In the biblical period, the smoke and fumes must have made it almost impossible not to participate in the events performed by the priests even if one wanted to avoid them. But today, we must make a conscious effort to be present and participate – our senses won’t be so easily seduced by the rituals of governmental process.
This year, I was invited by the BJC to serve as a group leader for Advocacy Day. Basically that role entails taking the lead in opening the discussions within in our small group visits with our legislators. My first thought, “no thank you. I'll be happy to take a back seat.” Luckily, I resisted responding automatically (which for those of you who know me well know is not an easy feat for me). For all of the times I stand on this bema and commend our confirmation students for their efforts on Capitol Hill each winter, for all of the times I encourage others to actively participate in the political process at the very least by staying attuned to issues that impact our community, how could I refuse taking such a role? So, I followed my second, more reasoned,thought and accepted.
I lead two visits while in Annapolis on Tuesday evening. The first to Senator Karen Montgomery, coincidentally enough from Montgomery County (District 14), the second to Senator Ronald Young of District 3 representing both Frederick and Washington Counties. Both senators were already quite supportive of the legislation for which we were advocating on behalf of the BJC, thus our discussions broadened out to include the realities of public service and leadership. Senator Young, for instance, shared with us how he very much supported the Lorraine Sheehan Health and Community Services Act (better known as the alcohol tax bill) and hopes it passes, but at the same time can’t vote for it due to his commitment to a campaign promise he made to his constituents, a campaign promise that helped him win office against a candidate with decidedly more conservative views, a candidate who would not be supportive of the issues valued by the BJC and much of the Jewish community. By the way, this bill is supported by the Baltimore Jewish Council because of the many important and vital communal services this tax can support in the community.
We discussed the costs and benefits of a Senate Bill that would enable children born to illegal immigrants, assuming they meet certain qualifying standards, to be eligible for in state tuition to Maryland colleges and universities. We discussed the very real budgetary challenge of maintaining necessary public services that serve the elderly and victims of domestic violence, among others. Laying one’s hands on a bull and readying it for slaughter may be far more visceral in the moment, but the impact of being involved in making the kinds of fiscal decisions our legislators must can be just as lasting as taking the life of a living and breathing animal.
Both of the Senators with whom we met were co-sponsors of the Religious Freedom and Civil Marriage Act, legislation that was on the forefront of everyone’s mind in Annapolis on Tuesday due to the legislative hearings on the topic that took place that day. As a representative of the BJC, I was not able to thank Senators Montgomery and Young for their support of what I consider to be necessary legislation. The BJC represents the entire Baltimore Jewish Community, and as I was delicately informed, there simply “isn’t consensus within the Baltimore Jewish community,” thus, the BJC cannot take a stand. That being said, I did thank the legislators on my own behalf, making it clear that I was speaking as a representative of the liberal Jewish community and not of the BJC on this issue.
The BJC must speak on behalf of the entire Jewish community and thus can only speak out on issues on which there is consensus. As individuals, however, the power of free speech allows us (perhaps should compel us) to voice our opinion on any issue of import to us. One disconcerting observation from my participation in Advocacy Day over the past few years: the Reform community is simply not well represented. We proudly send our kids to the Religious Action Center – hundreds of teens representing congregations throughout the country descend on Capitol Hill repeatedly (the RAC runs 6 or 7 L’Taken well attended seminars each year), and yet how many of us as adults have ever taken the opportunity, whether on a local or national level, to participate in the legislative process. We should. And recent events in Egypt serve to remind us to appreciate and take advantage of the opportunity we, as Americans, have in this legislative process.
Luckily our political leaders don’t have to be weighted down physically with the kind of garb that decorated our biblical High Priest, and thank goodness our senses no longer need be assaulted by the rituals and smells of the sacrificial cult. But just as the priest’s garb can serve as a tangible reminder of the importance and responsibility of the leadership role, those now seemingly barbaric rituals witnessed by the community should serve to remind us of the need for our presence at least, and perhaps our active participation, in the rituals that serve to bring guidance and cohesion, civility and democracy to our nation.
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