Parashat Behar: God's Place in the Pursuit Liberty? Delivered Saturday, May 10, 2014

In 1751, the Pennsylvania Assembly ordered a bell to mark the 50^th anniversary of Pennsylvania’s constitution.  This Charter of Privileges, penned by William Penn in 1701, outlined the rights and privileges of the people.   This “State House Bell” was apparently rung to gather Philadelphians together on July 8, 1776 to hear the first public reading of our nation’s Declaration of Independence,  a document that formally declared “certain unalienable Rights,” among them “life, liberty and the pursuit of Happiness” as it severed ties to Britain.   Thirty-six years later (1837), a picture of that State House Bell appeared on the front page of a New York anti-slavery periodical entitled, Liberty.  Another anti-slavery publication, The Liberator, reprinted a poem about this now famous bell, entitled, The Liberty Bell, thus providing the first documented use of this now universally known name of what is a beloved American icon.

The Liberty Bell, named by the abolitionists who adopted it as their emblem, became an iconic symbol of the abolitionist movement in large part due to the verse, and specifically the King James’ translation of the verse, from this Parashat Behar that was (and remains) engraved on the bell: 

U’kratem d’ror ba’aretz l’chol yosh-ve-ha, as translated by the Church of England’s official bible, “You shall proclaim liberty throughout the land, to all of its inhabitants.”  

We can imagine why the abolitionists of the 19^th century were drawn to the bell as a potent symbol of freedom.  They viewed this verse as a declaration that even the bible, God no less, mandated the release of slaves.   Yes, God.  Religious sentiment was central to the mindset of both our founding fathers who used the religious notion of the yuval, the biblical Jubilee, to mark political independence,  and, a couple of generations later, of the abolitionists who seized on that notion of d’ror – release -  for their cause.   Who among us could possibly argue against the use of a religious text, a text attributed to God by religious groups, in their desire to eradicate the practice of slavery from our country?  I certainly can’t.       

At the same time, we must remember that in the years between the Declaration of Independence and the start of the abolitionist movement, our nation’s governmental leaders wrote a Constitution and immediately recognized the need to clarify a number of issues, number one:  Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof;…   The separation of Church and state.  How do we separate these two institutions when history has had them meshed so tightly together?  That is the dilemma our nation’s Supreme Court tried to address in Monday’s decision to allow prayer and specifically explicitly Christian prayers in the public sphere.  In the majority of the court’s view, a majority it must be noted that is entirely Christian, specifically Catholic, forbidding sectarian prayer falls under the “prohibiting the free exercise” of religion.    

I couldn’t disagree more.  The free exercise of individual freedoms, including the practice of religion, must often be tamed for the sake of community.   I think it is clear that what we have here is a Christian majority that has no sense of the potential that Christ-laden language has to alienate others.  To the court’s defense, there is little room for consensus of this issue.  For many Christians, any rejection of Jesus of Nazareth as God is a plain rejection of God.  For non-Christians, the equating of God with Jesus is viscerally unsettling and runs counter to our understanding of history.  And, for non-God believers (or others who feel God belongs outside of the governmental process), the sheer mention of God can be viewed as a derogatory commentary on personal religious practice. 

So which is it?  Do we model the abolitionists’ use of theology as a vehicle for forwarding issues of social justice, issues that ultimately must be taken up by our government?   Or, do we remove God entirely from all things having to do with the state and hope for the motivation remains?

The Torah’s Holiness Code, which comes to a conclusion in Behar, unapologetically does the former.  In the ancient mind-set, when no separation existed between civil and religious authority, it was necessary and appropriate to use theology to promote proper behavior.   Can we do the same while still demanding a separation of Church and state?  Those who advocate for prayer, particularly sectarian prayer, in the public sphere argue we can.  I’m not so sure.  

Justice Kagan, the spokesperson for the minority opinion, has it right.  As has been recorded in numerous news outlets this week, she stated, “When the citizens of this country approach their government, they do so only as Americans, not as members of one faith or another.  And that means… they should not confront government sponsored worship that divides [us] along religious lines.” 

Sectarian prayer, in particular, certainly has no place in government institutions.  I also question whether any God-language really belongs there as well.  Theology and religious practice must motivate us towards betterment, towards activating social justice in our world, towards welcoming those on the outskirts of society.   Placed in the hands and mouths of governmental leaders, God more often than not leads instead to dissent, isolation, and alienation.   That, I expect, was the last thing intended by the author who penned:  Ukratem dror ba’aretz l’chol yoshveha, or by our forefathers who chose this verse for what would be come our nation’s emblematic symbol of liberty.

        

Tazria 5774: A Lesson in Gender, Shabbat HaChodesh, March 29, 2014

Arvind Sharma, co-editor of Her Voice, Her Faith, a collection of essays by women speaking about their own faith and religions, writes, 

“To appeal to one’s common humanity is to appeal to something profoundly moving.  However profoundly moving though, it is not unambiguous, for although our common humanity inspires us, it also obscures one fundamental fact about humanity – it’s even split into men and women.  When asked to respond simply as a human being, what if someone asked – as what, as a man or a woman? Of course one can speak with a common voice but is not the same voice.”  

As troubling as we may find its details, the opening eight verses of Parashat Tazria recognize this reality, and perhaps inherent challenge, of human experience.   The reality of gender differences.  These verses an ancient predecessor to Men are from Mars and Women are from Venus.

Parashat Tazria opens with a perplexing passage regarding a new mother’s status of spiritual impurity after childbirth.  The ancient and confounding constructs of impurity, of the states of niddah and t’mei-ah, aside (those are difficult enough on their own), what makes the passage particularly striking is that the length of the period of spiritual impurity following childbirth is dependent upon the gender of the child born.   There is here, in our Shabbat Torah reading, an explicit acknowledgement of gender differences expressed in ritual law. 

         We struggle with the text because it limits its recognition of individual differences solely to gender and then goes on to create rigid expectations based on solely gender.  We struggle with the text because the rituals imposed by Jewish law on women in order for them to rectify these states of impurity are written and imposed entirely by men.  As I reviewed and studied passages of the Talmud’s tractate Niddah, the tractate that deals with women’s states of impurity and the laws regarding how to remedy these states, I was struck by the same feelings of discomfort, violation, anger even, as I feel today when I hear men, or more recently corporations, striving to control women’s bodies and women’s health through legislation.   

         At the same time as the text poses great difficulty, Tazria can, however, serve to remind us – as Arvind Sharma so well articulates -  that while we share the commonality of our humanity, there are also differences between us as individuals, between us as male and female; and, these differences impact how we respond to and interact with the world.   Tazria should challenge us to consider how many of these differences turn into limitations because of the ritual expectations we impose on each other.   Gender still, too often, is a, if not the, primary determinate in too many situations.  Who is deemed the family caregiver? Who the primary wage-earner? What should an employee earn?  Who is given a voice in our society; and, who is actually heard?  To whom do we pay attention?  Whom do we take seriously?
          This week, Gloria Steinem, a prominent figure in the feminist movement, who helped raise awareness to all of these questions at a time when no one asked them,  turned 80.    A frequent speaker on college campuses across the country, Steinem has had the opportunity to observe and interact with many young adults.  She notes, still today, “I've yet to be on a campus where most women weren't worrying about some aspect of combining marriage, children, and a career. I've yet to find one where many men were worrying about the same thing.”    We may have come a long way, baby, as an old advertisement suggests; but, clearly, we still make limited assumptions based on the categories of gender, assumptions that frequently lead to disparities in power, wealth, and influence.

Leviticus, as a whole, is a difficult read.  Let us be reminded that all of the ritual detail expressed in Leviticus was intended to solidify and strengthen a nascent community as it traveled from a state of enslavement towards a place of promise, to that land imagined to be full of milk and honey.   Even the rituals that were imposed upon women after childbirth were intended to contribute to that structure by offering boundaries between personal space and communal life.   Tazria’s rules remind us to honor and mark the difference between male and female.  Unlike our biblical ancestors, however, we must work to honor these differences not by creating and imposing rigid categories of expectation, not by empowering one by imposing limitations on the other.  Rather, we should work to honor our differences by paying attention to each other, by being flexible and compassionate to the other, and by sharing wealth and power equitably.

          

Shabbat Zachor, 5774: Saturday morning, March 15, 2014

          On Monday, March 10th, I had the privilege of accompanying eleven of our Temple Emanuel students to Capitol Hill to visit their Senator’s and House of Representative’s offices.   These students joined close to 300 teens from across the country to participate in the Reform movement’s Religious Action Center L’Takein Seminar.  This seminar begins on Erev Shabbat and includes three-and-a-half days of learning and engagement that culminates in the opportunity to lobby congressional staff.

          Our students made new friends while bonding with their own classmates while having lots of fun, but also working hard.  They attended a presentation by the National Coalition for the Homeless where they were addressed by individuals who have personally experienced homelessness and by others who work on legislation aimed at reducing homelessness and providing services to those living on the streets.  Our students engaged in a lobbying simulation on mining that helped them experience the power of the dollar and the media in the legislative process.  They learned that making our world a better place isn’t just about having good and valuable ideas, or even the best of intentions.  It is as much about promoting those ideas in a convincing and compelling manner.  And, yes, they learned, that costs money.

          Our students participated in an Israeli Knesset simulation that helped all involved understand the challenges of Israel’s multi-party political system.  Each student is assigned to a political party.  Then, working with their own party members and within the parameters of their party’s platform, they are tasked with negotiating and forming coalitions with the other parties in order to pass a conflict resolution document.   Even with only seven parties represented in the simulation, the students quickly learned why the issues that plague the peace process are so difficult to resolve. 

          Our students also studied a number of legislative issues that The Religious Action Center is currently working on including: campaign finance reform, climate change, international standards for disability support and access, gun violence prevention, LGBT rights, reproductive rights, among others.  Our students then each got to choose a topic and then, working in small groups, worked directly with a legislative aide in crafting a speech to present on Capitol Hill.  The students don’t begin actually writing their speeches until Sunday evening at about 7:30 PM.  They learn to put an argument together quickly using facts and statistics to support their argument, while remaining: polite, engaging, passionate, and personal.

           Our Temple Emanuel students chose three topics to address this year.  They spoke confidently and passionately about the need for an international standard with regard to disability rights, for the passage of the Employment Non-Discriminatory Act (better known as ENDA) which protects LGBT individuals in the workplace, and for legislation that would work to prevent, or at least decrease, gun violence in our country.  The staffers that listened to them lobby all commented on their preparedness and their presence.  I was so proud of the impression that our Temple Emanuel students made on our legislators.  I am confident their voices were heard and made a difference.

          As I was sitting specifically in Senator Mikulski’s and Senator Cardin’s office where I get to watch the entire class deliver their speeches (before they split off in order to visit their respective Representative’s offices), I was reminded of Esther.  We have no historical or archeological evidence that Esther is any more than a fictional character, but she is a worthy model of advocacy.  She approached the leadership of her country – in her case, without a previously scheduled appointment by a respected advocacy organization - and advocated on behalf of the Jewish people.  She was, herself, arguably in a protected position.  She was royalty, married to the king.  She didn’t have to speak up, but she did; and in doing so, she made a difference in her world and in ours. 

            As we celebrate Purim, as we listen to the megillah, may we be inspired to model not only our biblical heroes, Esther and Mordecai who made sure we survived Haman’s wrath, may we also be inspired by our students who learned the tools needed for and the power of advocacy.  Isn’t this what we demand as Reform Jews in our emphasis on the pursuit of social justice? Every year that I return from this empowering program offered by the RAC, I wonder, how many of us take the time and opportunity to speak up, to make our voices heard - as did Esther, as did our students -  in a manner that is constructive, productive, and that works to make our world a better place?      

Would God Want to Live Among Us Today? Delivered Shabbat Terumah 2/1/2014

            V’asu li mikdash v’shachanti b’tocham: Make me a holy sanctuary so that I may dwell among [you], God says in our Shabbat reading, Parashat Terumah.

          Though so often the one pushing for the historical view, I ask us, for a moment this Shabbat, to set aside our critical thinking of the Torah.   As progressive Jews who view Torah as a human endeavor, this statement regarding God’s demand to build a house so that God can remain in our midst must be viewed as our human desire for God to dwell among us (and in the context of the Hebrew bible, specifically the Israelites’ desire – need – for God to be among them).  But setting that academic understanding aside, this verse begs an important question: 

Would God be so eager to dwell among us today?  Would God care to live here b’tocheinu, among us, in America -- even if we built a tabernacle as spectacular as the one outlined in our Torah?

I dare say not.

Last Shabbat offers a prime example.  When are we going to get it through our heads that we have a gun violence problem in this country?  I know – you are sick of hearing me talk about it.  I’m sick of having to.  

In discussing, unpacking, if you will, the horror of such an event that hit this time so close to home with our confirmation students on Sunday, we kept coming back to two significant points.  The first, which came entirely from our insightful fifteen-year olds, was a lesson:  that we make a commitment to valuing life, to living each day as fully as we can without being paralyzed by this harsh reality of gun violence in our society.  Admittedly, no easy task without some level of distancing and denial.

The second point was a reflection of our frustration: is it going to have to hit this close to home for every single American before we seriously address the problem?  Let’s not forget the message of Yehuda Amichai’s poem, The Diameter of a Bomb.  The impact extends far beyond the immediate range of the violent act, in this case, bullets shot; it extends to all humanity, to eternity, ultimately to a place where there is no God.  We are the only ones who can fix it.  And, we must if we want our world to be worthy of God’s presence among us.

Those who continue to favor limits on gun control legislation insist on a fundamentalist and presumptive reading of the second amendment of our American Constitution.  Even the p’shat, the first glance, the plain meaning, of that singular verse is less than clear, “A well-regulated militia being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed.”

In order to understand this short but now highly discussed amendment, we must dig below the p’shat.  Arguably, we must approach it in much the same way that I typically demand we approach Torah.  What was James Madison’s, the editor of the first ten amendments, primary intention?  Did he intend the words “militia” and “people” to be interchangeable?   Was the intention of not infringing the right to bear arms viewed as a necessity in order to create this “well-regulated militia”?  How else would this militia be created if not from the citizens?  And, what, exactly, was meant by “militia” in that day; is there a modern parallel?  What was the historical context to which he was responding, and was there any debate? And, perhaps most importantly and central to our country’s gun control debate: did he, or any of our country’s founders, imagine it to be an eternal and infallible statement?  I imagine not.

A couple of things history makes clear:  one, the concept of a “Bill of Rights” is steeped, not in specifically American values, but rather has its roots in England’s Magna Carta which provided individual protections against royal misuse of power.  Arguing that it is somehow “anti-American” to debate one of the Bill of Rights is ignoring history.  Second, these first ten amendments were not universally celebrated in their day even by America’s founders.  Maybe not as partisan as today’s Affordable Health Care Act, but the Bill of Rights faced indifference and hostility in its development and passage. 

There may have been a time in history when an armed citizenry made sense.  It is clear to me, however, both as an American and as a Jew, that it doesn’t make sense today.  We are not in the midst of forming a new country with no formally established armed forces or protective agencies.   A generalized arming of our citizens today does not lead to an honoring of life or an increased quality of life, rather it feeds a paranoid mindset where we expect violence, don’t trust those whose job it is to protect us from said violence, and ultimately confront that violence with more violence.  Haven’t we had enough?  Other countries, Australia, for example, offer an ideal towards which to strive.  And ideal where guns are not forbidden, but they are not so easily attainable.  Let me repeat that: An ideal where guns are not forbidden but are not so easily attainable.  An ideal where the possibility of destruction is matched with a wise caution with regard to distribution.

 What is holding us back?  A fear of our individual rights being trampled on? An attachment to words written in a very different time to very different circumstances?  A fear of being un-American if we aren’t protecting our homes and loved ones with armed force?

Back to our Torah portion, Terumah.  It appears at first glance that God is demanding a grand palace in which to abide among us.  I read something far greater than a physical structure in this demand.  Building this mikdash, this holy space, requires citizens whose generous spirit moves them to contribute.  It requires communal cooperation and presumably an atmosphere where disagreements are resolved in a non-violent and productive manner.  It requires that instead of holing up in our individually protected fortresses, we work together toward building and creating a safe shared space.  It requires forsaking our own needs, at times, for the benefit of others, for the benefit of the community. 

Does God want to dwell among us? Certainly not as long as a constant, and possibly concealed specter of violence stands in the way of creating mikdash, safe and sacred space for all of us.

How Dare We Turn Away! Delivered Shabbat Vayigash, 12/7/2013

            There is great irony in the fact that during a week when American Jews across the country were feasting on Turkey, latkes, and sufganiyot, we were also reading of famine.  Last week, we were reminded by our weekly Torah reading of this famine, a famine that struck our ancestors who at least for the moment had made it to Canaan, the land of promise.  This week, Shabbat Vayigash reminds us of the choices that Jacob must make to ensure the survival of his family and the continuation of God’s promised covenant.  

            We forget that Jacob and his sons (well, all but Joe) are in Canaan when famine strikes, that piece of geography that God has promised Abraham and Isaac before him.  In order to save his family from starvation, he must leave.  He must take his family down into Egypt, a place of servitude, in order for them to survive.   Jacob must have known that the protection Joseph could offer would be fleeting, this was Egypt. But what choice did he have? 

How many in our community must face similar difficult choices?  I read recently that 30% of senior citizens in our county must choose between paying for food or health care.  Thirty-five percent are faced with the dilemma of choosing between buying groceries and paying for utilities.   In 2012, 46.5 million people, 15% of our country, lived in poverty.  Forty-nine million people live in conditions labeled as “food insecure.”

 In a country that prides itself on being a global leader, too many American citizens suffer from hunger due to substandard wages, high prices, and in some cases, a sheer lack of accessibility to nutritious food.  The difference between today and Jacob’s time?  We are not living in a time of famine here in America.  We have no shortage of food.   We just haven’t figured out how to distribute the abundance of resources in an equitable fashion so that no one goes hungry.  It is our human fallibility, and arguably greed, not lack of resources, that has left us with a troubling reality of haves and have nots. 

            We can learn a great deal from Joseph.  On the one hand, his treatment of his own family reveals a system of favoritism.  There is an implication in the procedure his brothers must go through in order to get food that others in need must have been turned away.  Joe’s graciousness and generosity appear to be driven by familial bonds.  At the same time, in making rations available to his brothers, this band of men who were strangers in this land and were more than estranged from him, Joseph models the value of helping others, even those who appear foreign to our own environment.  He could have turned a blind eye, but he chose not to.  He chose to help.

            How do we respond to those in need in our communities?   We too often argue that resources are so limited that we couldn’t possibly demand employers to offer a livable wage to workers.  And then we are shocked when black Friday deep-discount shopping causes a mania that leads to bodily harm.   We blame our President and his Affordable Health Care Act for the lack of accessibility to quality health care when we should be pointing our fingers directly at the Health Insurance industry who refuses to put access to affordable healthcare ahead of large capital gain.   Should our health care really be determined by the CEOs of for-profit corporations?   We have allowed standing on argumentative opinion to shut down our government leaving the most vulnerable of our society gravely underserved.  We don’t want to elevate the lowest wages of our society, but then we cut the programs that help those left treading on the lowest economic rungs to make ends meet.

            As Jews, we have experienced famine.  Jacob’s decision to leave Canaan and enter Egypt reminds us that there were times in our history when our survival depended on tough choices AND the graciousness and generosity of others.    With such a history, how dare we turn away from those in need?  We cannot relish in our own surplus without considering those who live in conditions that mimick famine.  Everyone matters.  The Mishnah reminds us that “whoever sustains and saves a single soul, it is as if that person sustained a whole world.”  Joseph sustained his family during famine and in doing so saved the Israelite nation.  Who will each of us save?

In the words of the life-long activist and former, and first democratically elected, president of South Africa, Nelson Mandela,

“Overcoming poverty is not a task of charity, it is an act of justice. Like Slavery and Apartheid, poverty is not natural. It is man-made and it can be overcome and eradicated by the actions of human beings. Sometimes it falls on a generation to be great. YOU can be that great generation. Let your greatness blossom.”

― Nelson Mandela

Ken y’hi ratzon – Indeed, may Mandela's vision come to be!