Shabbat Shira. This Shabbat, Jews around the world are recalling and celebrating freedom and redemption. Tomorrow morning during our Torah reading, we will rise up and stand for the recitation of the Shira, as if we too were being led in song by Moses and Miriam on freedom’s side of the Reed Sea. This year, the remarkable confluence of Martin Luther King weekend and Shabbat Shira has inspired the Religious Action Center of the Reform Movement to mark this Shabbat as Shabbat Tzedek, the Sabbath of Righteousness and Justice, in honor of their 50 years of activism on behalf of American Jewry. At the same time, despite the desire for rejoicing these events evoke in us, a heaviness hovers over this Shabbat Shira v’Tzedek .
Last Shabbat, as I expect we all are aware by now, six people were senselessly gunned down and others seriously wounded including Arizona Representative Gabrielle Giffords, who was the apparent target of this rampage. During a week leading up to the celebration of the constant effort that our movement puts forth towards the pursuit of social justice in this nation, during a week when we are preparing to celebrate an historical moment of redemption from oppression that takes on mythic proportion in Jewish tradition, it is unthinkable that we also buried, among others, a nine year old who was already at her young age so passionate about and interested in our nation’s democratic ideals and the political process. It’s absurd to me that on a weekend when we are to celebrate the righteousness and rightness of justice over tyranny and oppression, we are instead mourning the loss of innocent life and praying for the recovery of a woman who has chosen to serve her community in an effort to make this nation more just. Especially as I sat with our teenage confirmation students in the Capitol Hill office of Senator Benjamin Cardin at 11 AM this past Monday, the very moment when our nation’s Capitol paused for that moment of thoughtful silence, I was struck with an inability to respond. Our students who had, davka, an 11 AM appointment with Senator Cardin’s staff were impacted directly as they waited through this moment of reflection in order to participate in the very legislative and democratic process that was attacked just days before.
Perhaps the scene on the shores of the Reed Sea and the communal experience of redemption can offer us some insight regarding how to formulate a meaningful and sensible response. Our Torah does not inform us of the individual experiences of redemption. Those individual experiences must have been interesting (by nature we humans are interesting individuals), but these stories weren’t worthy of retention in our sacred canon. When it comes to establishing a sense of community and a civil society, the focus must be on communal responsibility. We have to take care of each other. The Jewish concept of redemption is less about the individual; rather, it is far more about working together towards making the world a more perfect place. The communal – the shared - experience of crossing of the Reed Sea and leaving Egypt coupled with the revelation to come at Sinai will not only define this community but will give it cohesion, structure, and most importantly, a moral imperative.
In the wake of this past week’s events, Sarah Palin, in a response that was, IMHO, thoroughly and inappropriately self-serving, quoted Ronald Reagan stating, “we must reject the idea that whenever a law is broken, society is guilty rather than the lawbreaker.” Speaking out against the concept of collective responsibility, Ms. Palin added, “we must restore the precept that each individual is accountable for his or her own actions. Acts of monstrous criminality stand on their own. They begin and end with the criminals who commit them…” On the one hand, Ms. Palin is correct. There is no question that individuals must be held responsible for their actions. However, at the same time, we cannot, we must not, stand idly by and ignore our collective culpability in a crime of this magnitude. We, as an American community, must shoulder some responsibility for creating and supporting an environment where such behavior was deemed acceptable, even if only by this one individual, and for making the tools available for him to act on his horrific impulse.
Civility requires us to bear some of the responsibility of this individual’s actions. Sarah Palin isn’t necessarily to blame (though, personally I don’t think her rhetoric of “reloading” is useful in any context outside of hunting or target practice), but our society’s current valuing of the individual over community is. The New York Times reported today that many, including friends, teachers, and administrators at the community college Mr. Loughner attended, had considerable concern regarding his attitudes and behavior. Yet save for a suspension from class, no action was taken. A college spokesperson, in explaining why further action such as mandating a psychiatric evaluation, admitted that Loughner’s behavior on campus though “disturbing, [was] not a crime.” How do we respond to such ‘disturbing’ behavior without trampling on the individual rights of the individual so that intervention occurs before ‘disturbing’ becomes not only criminal but lethal? A challenging question indeed to which no simple answer arises, yet a question with which we must struggle for the sake of the civility and righteousness of our society.
The Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr., in an address to the 47th Biennial gathering of the then UAHC in 1963, stated as only he could,
“All I am saying is this, that all life is interrelated. That we are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, it affects all indirectly [and] I can never be what I ought to be until you are what you ought to be and you can never be what you ought to be until I am what I ought to be. This is the interrelated structure of reality.”
It is no accident that The Shira was intended to be sung by the entire community. It is not a celebration of individual achievement or honor. It provides a means of expression for the group. God has acted on behalf of an entire people and this song now allows that entire people to offer gratitude and accept responsibility accordingly. Commentary has certainly developed, and continues to develop, that works to fill in the gaps allowing us to peer into the individual experience. The midrashic poem, Leaving Egypt, by Merle Feld, offers a lovely example:
The night is so dark
And I am afraid.
I see nothing, smell nothing,
The only reality –
I am holding my mother’s hand.
And as we walk
I hear the sounds
Of a multitude in motion –
In front, behind,
All around,
A multitude in motion.
I have no thought of tomorrow,
Now , in the darkness,
There is only motion
And my mother’s hand. (published by the URJ in The Women’s Commentary)
It is also no accident that this multitude is depicted as singing The Shira. It seems to be a strange time to sing. Yes, the group has arrived safely through their arduous journey after years and years of bondage; but, you’d think they’d be too tired and emotional distraught from their flight (let alone the trauma of watching the waters crash down upon their enemy, their former neighbors) to sing. Yet, the biblical redactor forces us to stretch our imagination by incorporating this ‘song’, a literary piece decidedly older than the narrative in which it is embedded into the narrative. The song works to imprint the entire episode onto our communal memory. The Shira, is an extraordinary work of poetry that is used to make sure that we never forget this episode in OUR history. The song reminds us and compels us to act justly in the world and to indeed continue our work towards making this a safe, civil, and democratic nation -- one of which Martin Luther King, Jr. would be proud.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Monday, December 13, 2010
Who's Serach? A D'var Torah for Parashat Vayigash in Honor of Sylvia Eisenberg's 80th Birthday
One of my favorite biblical characters, a matriarch of sorts – though not a familiar one as those made famous by their roles in the patriarchal history and their association with Abe, Isaac, and Jake – is Serach daughter of Asher. Serach. Who’s she, you might ask.
Serach, according to the biblical text is quite simply, the daughter of Jacob’s son Asher. Serach is far from a major character in our biblical text which frankly makes her all the more interesting to me, and to the Rabbinic mind, makes her mention significant. Recall, the traditional rabbinic approach to Torah study views every detail, not matter how small or seemingly insignificant as vital to our proper understanding of Torah. Serach thus calls attention.
Serach is mentioned twice in Torah – included in family listings with no additional detail, no additional narrative. In this week’s parashat Vayigash, Serach appears in a genealogical listing of Jacob’s progeny. Amongst all of Jacob’s grandsons listed as entering Egypt is Serach, his one named granddaughter (see Gen 46:8-26, spec. 17). According to the biblical narrative, Jacob will be blessed with another granddaughter born while in Egypt, one of whom we are very familiar: Yocheved sired by Levi who grows up to be mom to Moses, Aaron, & Miriam. Serach is thus not unique in her role as granddaughter to our patriarch Jacob; however, remarkably Asher’s daughter Serach is remembered here in this listing of those who enter Egypt AND again later among those counted in the census taken bamidbar, in the wilderness, some 400 years after descending into Egypt! Moreover, the way in which she is listed in this second accounting is striking. This census is taken by clan, למשפחתם (Numbers 26:4 ff). Everyone is listed per their group identity, by family, save for Serach. She alone is remembered as an individual, ושם בת אשר שרח (Num 26:46) – by name.
On the one hand, we can scold the hand that authored the Torah for failing to give us the back story to this extraordinary remembering of Serach; but, at the same time this lack of detail here leaves open a wonderful opportunity for the Rabbinic imagination. And the Rabbis don’t let us down. Serach is imagined to be the longest living individual of our Jewish history. Longevity a reward for sensitive honesty; for according to midrash, it is Serach who delicately informed Jacob through song that Joseph was still alive. Talmudic legend imagines that it was Serach who showed Moses were Joseph was buried at the time of the Exodus from Egypt so that his bones could be returned to Canaan (B. Sotah 13a). Serach is viewed as a font of wisdom as well as compassion in Rabbinic literature. The medival Midrash Rabbah (Genesis Rabbah 94:9) places Serach in role of Secretary of State negotiating with David’s army chief, Joab. Another midrash imagines Serach, not unlike the prophet Elijah, as a reconciler of disputes. Though, whereas we must wait for redemption in order to hear Elijah’s judgements, Serach offers astute resolution in the moment to Rabbinic disagreements. You see, Serach is generally consulted to resolve conflict over past events. Remember she apparently was there to witness these events and thus is able to provide wise and insightful comment. Even our mystical tradition elevates Serach to great heights. The Zohar, that great mystical work that came out of medieval Spain to serve as a spring board for later Kabbalism, particularly Lurianic Kabbalism, teaches that Serach is among the few who have entered heaven alive where she remains teaching Torah.
Serach is an extraordinary figure, almost too extraordinary. Perhaps because there aren’t many female biblical characters, Serach’s shoulders get burdened by the full weight of creative possibility. She is wise, independent, and capable of rendering a serious and accurate judgment in a world not generally inhabited by women. She is at the same time nurturing, caring, and always present giving – teaching – to others. Indeed, the Rabbis have burdened Serach with being that 'superwoman', multi-tasking exemplar that we thought only stood as an unattainable role model since the mid- late 20th century.
Our biblical and rabbinic literature needs Serach! There simply aren’t enough strong female characters in our ancient and medieval literature to serve as inspiration for our young students studying Torah today. Too often, we have trouble finding those figures even in our modern history for their stories, like Serach’s, haven’t been documented in primary accounts. But strong, wise, and capable women have always been present in our history.
Sixty-seven, sixty-eight years ago, it wasn’t customary to celebrate a young girl’s coming of age with the kind of educational and leadership demands with which the majority of Jews do so today. Be clear, Rabbinic literature discusses a girl’s coming of age in the same detail as a boy’s – it is a maturational milestone; but due to differing gender roles of the ancient and medieval periods, the celebration of this milestone took on very, very different qualities. This Shabbat, we celebrate an important milestone for one of those strong, wise and capable women, and that milestone is far more than the 80th birthday of a beloved and remarkable member of our congregation. Sylvia’s journey to the bema this morning serves as exemplary a model of wisdom and compassion as our rabbinically imagined Serach, and even more so, because we know Sylvia is real! She is right here.
It is not for me to share details of Sylvia journey, that is for her to share as she pleases, but her kindness, her dedication to pursuing her education when and how she did in particular, her generosity of spirit which she brings into the congregation every time she steps into worship, study, and/or volunteer, her strength of character which has served her through challenge, and her ongoing and steadfast commitment to Torah -- these qualities serve as a continual inspiration to me personally and should to all of us blessed to know her. Thank you, Sylvia, for sharing your special birthday with us in the manner in which you have. Thank you for inspiring us to Torah.
As Reform Jews, it is incumbent upon us to continually grapple with text and tradition even when it challenges, perhaps all the more so when it challenges our modern sensibilities. How do we understand an ancient text that at first glance places women at best on the margins of community? As exemplified by Serach, Rabbinic tradition, even early medieval Rabbinic tradition already starts the process of challenging tradition. As exemplified by our modern midrashic poets, such as the one whose work I will share in a moment, that process continues. I conclude with a poetic midrash included in the 2008 URJ publication of The Women’s Commentary, a book that inspires the women’s Torah study group that Sylvia helped to organize in our community. This poem furthers the voice and discussion of Serach and ultimately challenges all of us to model both Serach and Sylvia as we work to find our voice in Torah and Jewish tradition.
Serah bat Asher, by Hara E. Person
Entranced by the swirling colors of his tunic
I crept behind Joseph when Grandfather sent
him to find his brothers.
Hidden behind a bush,
I watched my father and Reuben and the others.
Young and female and powerless
I could do nothing to stop them
But I saw the cruel truth behind the lie.
Trapped between the responsibility of a
daughter’s loyalty
and the heavy guilt of my secret knowledge,
I could not bring forth the words
That would have revealed my father and his
brothers
for what they became that day
and released my grandfather from his suffering.
Instead I withdrew into the safety of silence,
learning to whisper through the music of my
harp
while my refusal to speak
mocked my father’s now empty authority.
They were relieved to let me stay with Jacob
in his tent,
hearing only the endless anguish of an old man
and the stubborn silence of a useless girl.
I played and he remembered,
recounting the travels and wanderings of our family,
the pains and joys and dreams of each
generation.
He spoke of love and treachery and
Misunderstanding,
and I created a soothing idiom of song.
It was I who was chosen to tell Jacob that
Joseph lives still.
Upon hearing the news he granted me eternal
life.
Endless life, for Joseph’s life.
I became the family historian,
the keeper of tales,
the finder of bones,
the weaver of loose ends.
That is my gift from my grandfather,
to revisit the sufferings and joys and wanderings
anew with each generation,
to observe endless cycles of loss and hope and
pain,
of births and deaths,
never to rest, never to finish, only to witness,
to drag these weary limbs through epoch after
epoch
and to wonder until the end of time
if this gift is a blessing of thanks for solace in
his loss
or a curse for having kept the truth from him all
those long years.
(Ezkenazi, Tamara Cohn & Weiss, Andrea L., eds. The Torah A Women's Commentary. NY: URJ Press, 2008, p. 280)
Serach, according to the biblical text is quite simply, the daughter of Jacob’s son Asher. Serach is far from a major character in our biblical text which frankly makes her all the more interesting to me, and to the Rabbinic mind, makes her mention significant. Recall, the traditional rabbinic approach to Torah study views every detail, not matter how small or seemingly insignificant as vital to our proper understanding of Torah. Serach thus calls attention.
Serach is mentioned twice in Torah – included in family listings with no additional detail, no additional narrative. In this week’s parashat Vayigash, Serach appears in a genealogical listing of Jacob’s progeny. Amongst all of Jacob’s grandsons listed as entering Egypt is Serach, his one named granddaughter (see Gen 46:8-26, spec. 17). According to the biblical narrative, Jacob will be blessed with another granddaughter born while in Egypt, one of whom we are very familiar: Yocheved sired by Levi who grows up to be mom to Moses, Aaron, & Miriam. Serach is thus not unique in her role as granddaughter to our patriarch Jacob; however, remarkably Asher’s daughter Serach is remembered here in this listing of those who enter Egypt AND again later among those counted in the census taken bamidbar, in the wilderness, some 400 years after descending into Egypt! Moreover, the way in which she is listed in this second accounting is striking. This census is taken by clan, למשפחתם (Numbers 26:4 ff). Everyone is listed per their group identity, by family, save for Serach. She alone is remembered as an individual, ושם בת אשר שרח (Num 26:46) – by name.
On the one hand, we can scold the hand that authored the Torah for failing to give us the back story to this extraordinary remembering of Serach; but, at the same time this lack of detail here leaves open a wonderful opportunity for the Rabbinic imagination. And the Rabbis don’t let us down. Serach is imagined to be the longest living individual of our Jewish history. Longevity a reward for sensitive honesty; for according to midrash, it is Serach who delicately informed Jacob through song that Joseph was still alive. Talmudic legend imagines that it was Serach who showed Moses were Joseph was buried at the time of the Exodus from Egypt so that his bones could be returned to Canaan (B. Sotah 13a). Serach is viewed as a font of wisdom as well as compassion in Rabbinic literature. The medival Midrash Rabbah (Genesis Rabbah 94:9) places Serach in role of Secretary of State negotiating with David’s army chief, Joab. Another midrash imagines Serach, not unlike the prophet Elijah, as a reconciler of disputes. Though, whereas we must wait for redemption in order to hear Elijah’s judgements, Serach offers astute resolution in the moment to Rabbinic disagreements. You see, Serach is generally consulted to resolve conflict over past events. Remember she apparently was there to witness these events and thus is able to provide wise and insightful comment. Even our mystical tradition elevates Serach to great heights. The Zohar, that great mystical work that came out of medieval Spain to serve as a spring board for later Kabbalism, particularly Lurianic Kabbalism, teaches that Serach is among the few who have entered heaven alive where she remains teaching Torah.
Serach is an extraordinary figure, almost too extraordinary. Perhaps because there aren’t many female biblical characters, Serach’s shoulders get burdened by the full weight of creative possibility. She is wise, independent, and capable of rendering a serious and accurate judgment in a world not generally inhabited by women. She is at the same time nurturing, caring, and always present giving – teaching – to others. Indeed, the Rabbis have burdened Serach with being that 'superwoman', multi-tasking exemplar that we thought only stood as an unattainable role model since the mid- late 20th century.
Our biblical and rabbinic literature needs Serach! There simply aren’t enough strong female characters in our ancient and medieval literature to serve as inspiration for our young students studying Torah today. Too often, we have trouble finding those figures even in our modern history for their stories, like Serach’s, haven’t been documented in primary accounts. But strong, wise, and capable women have always been present in our history.
Sixty-seven, sixty-eight years ago, it wasn’t customary to celebrate a young girl’s coming of age with the kind of educational and leadership demands with which the majority of Jews do so today. Be clear, Rabbinic literature discusses a girl’s coming of age in the same detail as a boy’s – it is a maturational milestone; but due to differing gender roles of the ancient and medieval periods, the celebration of this milestone took on very, very different qualities. This Shabbat, we celebrate an important milestone for one of those strong, wise and capable women, and that milestone is far more than the 80th birthday of a beloved and remarkable member of our congregation. Sylvia’s journey to the bema this morning serves as exemplary a model of wisdom and compassion as our rabbinically imagined Serach, and even more so, because we know Sylvia is real! She is right here.
It is not for me to share details of Sylvia journey, that is for her to share as she pleases, but her kindness, her dedication to pursuing her education when and how she did in particular, her generosity of spirit which she brings into the congregation every time she steps into worship, study, and/or volunteer, her strength of character which has served her through challenge, and her ongoing and steadfast commitment to Torah -- these qualities serve as a continual inspiration to me personally and should to all of us blessed to know her. Thank you, Sylvia, for sharing your special birthday with us in the manner in which you have. Thank you for inspiring us to Torah.
As Reform Jews, it is incumbent upon us to continually grapple with text and tradition even when it challenges, perhaps all the more so when it challenges our modern sensibilities. How do we understand an ancient text that at first glance places women at best on the margins of community? As exemplified by Serach, Rabbinic tradition, even early medieval Rabbinic tradition already starts the process of challenging tradition. As exemplified by our modern midrashic poets, such as the one whose work I will share in a moment, that process continues. I conclude with a poetic midrash included in the 2008 URJ publication of The Women’s Commentary, a book that inspires the women’s Torah study group that Sylvia helped to organize in our community. This poem furthers the voice and discussion of Serach and ultimately challenges all of us to model both Serach and Sylvia as we work to find our voice in Torah and Jewish tradition.
Serah bat Asher, by Hara E. Person
Entranced by the swirling colors of his tunic
I crept behind Joseph when Grandfather sent
him to find his brothers.
Hidden behind a bush,
I watched my father and Reuben and the others.
Young and female and powerless
I could do nothing to stop them
But I saw the cruel truth behind the lie.
Trapped between the responsibility of a
daughter’s loyalty
and the heavy guilt of my secret knowledge,
I could not bring forth the words
That would have revealed my father and his
brothers
for what they became that day
and released my grandfather from his suffering.
Instead I withdrew into the safety of silence,
learning to whisper through the music of my
harp
while my refusal to speak
mocked my father’s now empty authority.
They were relieved to let me stay with Jacob
in his tent,
hearing only the endless anguish of an old man
and the stubborn silence of a useless girl.
I played and he remembered,
recounting the travels and wanderings of our family,
the pains and joys and dreams of each
generation.
He spoke of love and treachery and
Misunderstanding,
and I created a soothing idiom of song.
It was I who was chosen to tell Jacob that
Joseph lives still.
Upon hearing the news he granted me eternal
life.
Endless life, for Joseph’s life.
I became the family historian,
the keeper of tales,
the finder of bones,
the weaver of loose ends.
That is my gift from my grandfather,
to revisit the sufferings and joys and wanderings
anew with each generation,
to observe endless cycles of loss and hope and
pain,
of births and deaths,
never to rest, never to finish, only to witness,
to drag these weary limbs through epoch after
epoch
and to wonder until the end of time
if this gift is a blessing of thanks for solace in
his loss
or a curse for having kept the truth from him all
those long years.
(Ezkenazi, Tamara Cohn & Weiss, Andrea L., eds. The Torah A Women's Commentary. NY: URJ Press, 2008, p. 280)
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Responding to Israel's need... Shabbat Message 12/10/2010
One of the most extraordinary stops during my recent trip to Israel with the Maryland Clergy Initiative was the Yemin Orde Youth Village. Founded by visionary educator, Haim Peri, Yemin Orde is an absorption and educational center devoted to making sure every child in Israel has a safe environment within which to live while having access to education. Be clear that I did not say “Jewish child.” Yemin Orde is committed to providing resources to any child in need. One of their largest populations is orphaned Ethiopian children, but they strive to take in any child who is orphaned, abandoned, or simply in need. Haim Peri’s vision, which is still central to the values of the center, encompasses providing “trusty representations of parental roles” so that the students learn to feel safe, cherished, and able to rely on adults. This foundation of care and trust enables these students to move forward becoming functional and productive members of society. At the same time, Yemin Orde always remains home for all the students who have spent time there.
Tragically, due to its geographic location, Yemin Orde suffered horrific devastation during the fires that have just struck northern Israel. Luckily no one was killed, yet over 500 children have been displaced, children for whom this was not their first displacement. I expect that you have already received requests for aid to Israel to help offset the costs of this devastating fire. I ask you, if you are planning to make a donation to Israel at this time, please consider sending your donation directly to The Yemin Orde Youth Village in order to help them rebuild and continue to provide the extraordinary services they provide to the youth of this region.
Yemin Orde’s website is below. Please explore the website so that you can learn about them. Specifically, I encourage you to look under the “News” menu tab and compare “snapshots from the village” with “Israel wildfire update.” Thank you for considering this act of tzedakah!
www.yeminorde.org
Tragically, due to its geographic location, Yemin Orde suffered horrific devastation during the fires that have just struck northern Israel. Luckily no one was killed, yet over 500 children have been displaced, children for whom this was not their first displacement. I expect that you have already received requests for aid to Israel to help offset the costs of this devastating fire. I ask you, if you are planning to make a donation to Israel at this time, please consider sending your donation directly to The Yemin Orde Youth Village in order to help them rebuild and continue to provide the extraordinary services they provide to the youth of this region.
Yemin Orde’s website is below. Please explore the website so that you can learn about them. Specifically, I encourage you to look under the “News” menu tab and compare “snapshots from the village” with “Israel wildfire update.” Thank you for considering this act of tzedakah!
www.yeminorde.org
Monday, November 8, 2010
A Comment on the Rally for Fear &/or Sanity, Parashat Toldot, 11/6/2010
Yes, I’m going to talk about it. The Rally for Sanity &/or Fear. How can I not? Here we sit reading parashat Toldot the tale of sibling rivalry that was so fundamental that it started in the womb; a rivalry that can easily be likened to partisanship due to the striking differences in their core values; A rivalry that sadly serves as too familiar an example of the level of animosity that exists in our country between the right and the left.
We could dismiss this rally as entertainment. A comic display presented by two very adept performers joined on stage (or at moments by satellite) by a myriad of big name musicians and actors. They even gave out crowd pleasing awards! It was an organizational feat of production from assuring security, sound, visuals, and the plethora of necessary porta-potties that added to the hundreds already present but on reserve for the Marine Corps Marathon scheduled for the next day. And, thankfully, they succeeded in this feat -- it was thoroughly entertaining and went on without any serious glitches, a few clogged subways and a lot of crowds, but all in all, a peaceful and well executed event.
Of course, entertainment was the vehicle, the guise if you will for a rally that was planned with a clear and and very serious (and well organized) political agenda. Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert were not two random comedians seeking an audience and a laugh on a beautiful Shabbat afternoon to boost their ratings. Satirists, they each host shows that while aired on Comedy Central offer at least as much news and far more pointed commentary than many of our mainstream news outlets.
In character last Shabbat, Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert could be likened to our biblical pro - and antagonist. Mr. Stewart to the peaceful Jacob seeking a reasonable, calm, even studious way in which to function in the world and Mr. Colbert to the quarrelsome and rancorous Esau determined to make his way fully armed and ready for battle. If we trust the biblical story, we know that reason will win out. Jacob, not Esau, earns the distinction of patriarch in our tradition. But, biblical narrative while sacred, it is still story. Are we confident, particularly after the anger displayed on both sides of the political table in the days leading up to Tuesdays election, that our country won’t fall victim to Esau’s (or Colbert’s) hostility and overt animosity?
When I first heard of this rally for “Sanity &/or Fear” marketed on their respective shows during the days immediately following Beck’s luke warm Tea Party rally, I assumed it was a well- executed joke. This was the comedy channel after all, and well, Beck left himself open to be the brunt of at least a few jokes. I doubt I was alone in thinking they were just after a laugh; and yet, clearly this wasn’t a joke. Stewart and Colbert have touched on a very real and open nerve in our society. Many of our politicians are behaving badly, and they often work to incite and divide the public rather than working towards bringing us together. Moreover, we are getting fed up and frustrated with this status quo. As the New York Times reported, “Some in the crowd expressed regret that it was comedians, not politicians who were able to channel [our] frustration.” America needed this rally, and its timing just days before an important election in our country couldn’t have been better chosen.
We must not fall victim to our politician’s and the media’s attempt to divide us into angry camps motivated to action primarily by fear of the other. Rather, we must continually remind ourselves that when we get down to it, we all are seeking the same results: a healthy economy, equitable access to health care, a safe, clean, and decent living environment, good schools. Ensuring these and other expectations requires not fear laden and quarrelsome behavior but rather compassion and, to quote the rally’s writers, ‘reasonableness.’ Based on the attendance, the reaction by the media, and the number of people I know who tuned in on TV, we Americans are doing just that – living, doing the best we can, and most importantly respecting each other’s opinion. And, let’s hope our politicians were paying attention!
We could dismiss this rally as entertainment. A comic display presented by two very adept performers joined on stage (or at moments by satellite) by a myriad of big name musicians and actors. They even gave out crowd pleasing awards! It was an organizational feat of production from assuring security, sound, visuals, and the plethora of necessary porta-potties that added to the hundreds already present but on reserve for the Marine Corps Marathon scheduled for the next day. And, thankfully, they succeeded in this feat -- it was thoroughly entertaining and went on without any serious glitches, a few clogged subways and a lot of crowds, but all in all, a peaceful and well executed event.
Of course, entertainment was the vehicle, the guise if you will for a rally that was planned with a clear and and very serious (and well organized) political agenda. Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert were not two random comedians seeking an audience and a laugh on a beautiful Shabbat afternoon to boost their ratings. Satirists, they each host shows that while aired on Comedy Central offer at least as much news and far more pointed commentary than many of our mainstream news outlets.
In character last Shabbat, Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert could be likened to our biblical pro - and antagonist. Mr. Stewart to the peaceful Jacob seeking a reasonable, calm, even studious way in which to function in the world and Mr. Colbert to the quarrelsome and rancorous Esau determined to make his way fully armed and ready for battle. If we trust the biblical story, we know that reason will win out. Jacob, not Esau, earns the distinction of patriarch in our tradition. But, biblical narrative while sacred, it is still story. Are we confident, particularly after the anger displayed on both sides of the political table in the days leading up to Tuesdays election, that our country won’t fall victim to Esau’s (or Colbert’s) hostility and overt animosity?
When I first heard of this rally for “Sanity &/or Fear” marketed on their respective shows during the days immediately following Beck’s luke warm Tea Party rally, I assumed it was a well- executed joke. This was the comedy channel after all, and well, Beck left himself open to be the brunt of at least a few jokes. I doubt I was alone in thinking they were just after a laugh; and yet, clearly this wasn’t a joke. Stewart and Colbert have touched on a very real and open nerve in our society. Many of our politicians are behaving badly, and they often work to incite and divide the public rather than working towards bringing us together. Moreover, we are getting fed up and frustrated with this status quo. As the New York Times reported, “Some in the crowd expressed regret that it was comedians, not politicians who were able to channel [our] frustration.” America needed this rally, and its timing just days before an important election in our country couldn’t have been better chosen.
We must not fall victim to our politician’s and the media’s attempt to divide us into angry camps motivated to action primarily by fear of the other. Rather, we must continually remind ourselves that when we get down to it, we all are seeking the same results: a healthy economy, equitable access to health care, a safe, clean, and decent living environment, good schools. Ensuring these and other expectations requires not fear laden and quarrelsome behavior but rather compassion and, to quote the rally’s writers, ‘reasonableness.’ Based on the attendance, the reaction by the media, and the number of people I know who tuned in on TV, we Americans are doing just that – living, doing the best we can, and most importantly respecting each other’s opinion. And, let’s hope our politicians were paying attention!
Monday, November 1, 2010
Living Fully - the Lesson of Chaye Sarah, the life of Sarah, delivered on 'New Member Shabbat' 10/29/2010
ויהיו חיי שרה מאה שנה ועשרים שנה ושבע שנים שני חיי שרה
It is an interesting start to this section of Torah that spends a so much time narrating death. Sarah’s and Abraham’s death both are accounted for within the verses of parashat Chaye Sarah.
ויהיו חיי שרה מאה שנה ועשרים שנה ושבע שנים שני חיי שרה
Sarah lived - 100 years and 20 years and 7 years…These are the years of Sarah we are told. But then, despite the fact that this is the only time a matriarch’s age is reported at the time of death, and it is done so in such an unusual and elongated manner, no other details of her life are reported. That’s it. After that first sentence, the text continues immediately to her death, the arrangements Abraham makes for her burial, and perhaps more significantly the arrangements he makes to ensure – as best as he is able - his (and Sarah’s) future progeny.
There is no shortage of Rabbinic commentary on this opening verse and specifically on the unique notation of Sarah’s age (100 years & 20 years & 7 years). Midrash Rabbah, for example, explains that her life span is notated as such because Sarah’s years on earth were unblemished. Accordingly, “at the age of twenty she was as at the age of seven in beauty, and at the age of a hundred she was as at the age of twenty in sin.” In this scenario, youth is the gold standard for measuring a good life: Sarah’s life is exemplary because even in old age, she exuded youth in appearance and behavior. In contrast, and in my mind far more satisfying, others explain that her life span is expressed in this extended manner, in this additive equation, 100 + 20 + 7, to underscore not only the length but the richness of her years – in short, this presentation is used to highlight Sarah’s ability to live fully through each stage of her life, so fully that to compact the years into one number would somehow diminish her life and the goodness she brought to the world.
Common to both of these midrashic explanations is a desire to get to know and understand Sarah beyond a simplified number. To state that her life was simply 127 years may have been too easily passed over by the reader, rather, 100 years + 20 years + 7 years makes us stop and take notice. It makes us consider the person, the human being behind the number.
Despite a Jewish reticence to counting people directly, the Jewish community seems obsessed with numbers. Tradition has us go to extremes to avoid counting or pointing out individuals using, for example: ‘not 1, not 2…’ or the words of Mah Tovu when counting a minyan for worship instead of the far more direct, “1,2,3…” ; yet, for all other purposes, we are intent on taking a numerical count. Not so unlike the biblical or national census, we too implement demographic surveys of our community. We count the number of families on our congregational rosters and take pride in increasing membership numbers. We count the number of students in our religious schools rejoicing when the numbers swell. But I wonder,how useful is this celebration of quantity?
There are many good reasons to know how many of us there are. Certainly we need to know the size of our community so that we can ensure that resources are in place for the proper care and support of each and every member of our community. But, far too often, our numbers are used instead to make a judgment of quality or success. 127 years - Sarah’s life was, at least according to our modern reckoning, long. But the text coupled with our rabbinic understanding of the text makes it clear, the number of years – the quantity – is far less important than how she lived them.
This Shabbat we celebrate and welcome our new members including the number of whom could not be present this evening. Of course, we are excited when our numbers increase. But, far more than being happy about in increase to some numerical tally, we are thrilled to have each new member family become a part of our Temple Emanuel community. We take in being a small and caring congregational community devoted to Torah, worship, and social justice. We have to count our numbers. Like any organization, we can’t avoid the business of numbers. The building, the staff, the programming and materials we use – all of this requires the counting of numbers in order to ensure survival; but as best as we are able, and perhaps to our detriment when it comes to finances, the leadership of Temple Emanuel is far less interested in the size of our congregation than in the human beings that join and participate together in our synagogue community.
As I noted at the start, Parashat Chaye Sarah, this portion known in hebrew as, The Life of Sarah, narrates paradoxically, the deaths of both Abraham and Sarah. At the same time, the portion also offers a glimpse into the future. Isaac is paired with Rebecca – literally, in Sarah’s tent no less – before the end of the narrative and Abraham’s progeny with his other wives is listed. Noteworthy is that numbers are not offered in this tally of future progeny, rather individual names are listed. The Torah is clear. Sarah and Abraham’s legacy will continue; but, numbers will not ensure that legacy, people and their actions will.
As new members of Temple Emanuel, you have a choice. You can remain counted solely as a listing on the congregation roster, as part of one lump sum, remaining virtually anonymous; or, you can get involved and be counted by the fullness of your actions. It is my and the Temple leadership’s hope that you will choose the latter, for in that way, we get to know you, you get to know us, and together we can ensure a long and extended legacy of Reform Jewish life here in our community.
It is an interesting start to this section of Torah that spends a so much time narrating death. Sarah’s and Abraham’s death both are accounted for within the verses of parashat Chaye Sarah.
ויהיו חיי שרה מאה שנה ועשרים שנה ושבע שנים שני חיי שרה
Sarah lived - 100 years and 20 years and 7 years…These are the years of Sarah we are told. But then, despite the fact that this is the only time a matriarch’s age is reported at the time of death, and it is done so in such an unusual and elongated manner, no other details of her life are reported. That’s it. After that first sentence, the text continues immediately to her death, the arrangements Abraham makes for her burial, and perhaps more significantly the arrangements he makes to ensure – as best as he is able - his (and Sarah’s) future progeny.
There is no shortage of Rabbinic commentary on this opening verse and specifically on the unique notation of Sarah’s age (100 years & 20 years & 7 years). Midrash Rabbah, for example, explains that her life span is notated as such because Sarah’s years on earth were unblemished. Accordingly, “at the age of twenty she was as at the age of seven in beauty, and at the age of a hundred she was as at the age of twenty in sin.” In this scenario, youth is the gold standard for measuring a good life: Sarah’s life is exemplary because even in old age, she exuded youth in appearance and behavior. In contrast, and in my mind far more satisfying, others explain that her life span is expressed in this extended manner, in this additive equation, 100 + 20 + 7, to underscore not only the length but the richness of her years – in short, this presentation is used to highlight Sarah’s ability to live fully through each stage of her life, so fully that to compact the years into one number would somehow diminish her life and the goodness she brought to the world.
Common to both of these midrashic explanations is a desire to get to know and understand Sarah beyond a simplified number. To state that her life was simply 127 years may have been too easily passed over by the reader, rather, 100 years + 20 years + 7 years makes us stop and take notice. It makes us consider the person, the human being behind the number.
Despite a Jewish reticence to counting people directly, the Jewish community seems obsessed with numbers. Tradition has us go to extremes to avoid counting or pointing out individuals using, for example: ‘not 1, not 2…’ or the words of Mah Tovu when counting a minyan for worship instead of the far more direct, “1,2,3…” ; yet, for all other purposes, we are intent on taking a numerical count. Not so unlike the biblical or national census, we too implement demographic surveys of our community. We count the number of families on our congregational rosters and take pride in increasing membership numbers. We count the number of students in our religious schools rejoicing when the numbers swell. But I wonder,how useful is this celebration of quantity?
There are many good reasons to know how many of us there are. Certainly we need to know the size of our community so that we can ensure that resources are in place for the proper care and support of each and every member of our community. But, far too often, our numbers are used instead to make a judgment of quality or success. 127 years - Sarah’s life was, at least according to our modern reckoning, long. But the text coupled with our rabbinic understanding of the text makes it clear, the number of years – the quantity – is far less important than how she lived them.
This Shabbat we celebrate and welcome our new members including the number of whom could not be present this evening. Of course, we are excited when our numbers increase. But, far more than being happy about in increase to some numerical tally, we are thrilled to have each new member family become a part of our Temple Emanuel community. We take in being a small and caring congregational community devoted to Torah, worship, and social justice. We have to count our numbers. Like any organization, we can’t avoid the business of numbers. The building, the staff, the programming and materials we use – all of this requires the counting of numbers in order to ensure survival; but as best as we are able, and perhaps to our detriment when it comes to finances, the leadership of Temple Emanuel is far less interested in the size of our congregation than in the human beings that join and participate together in our synagogue community.
As I noted at the start, Parashat Chaye Sarah, this portion known in hebrew as, The Life of Sarah, narrates paradoxically, the deaths of both Abraham and Sarah. At the same time, the portion also offers a glimpse into the future. Isaac is paired with Rebecca – literally, in Sarah’s tent no less – before the end of the narrative and Abraham’s progeny with his other wives is listed. Noteworthy is that numbers are not offered in this tally of future progeny, rather individual names are listed. The Torah is clear. Sarah and Abraham’s legacy will continue; but, numbers will not ensure that legacy, people and their actions will.
As new members of Temple Emanuel, you have a choice. You can remain counted solely as a listing on the congregation roster, as part of one lump sum, remaining virtually anonymous; or, you can get involved and be counted by the fullness of your actions. It is my and the Temple leadership’s hope that you will choose the latter, for in that way, we get to know you, you get to know us, and together we can ensure a long and extended legacy of Reform Jewish life here in our community.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Starving in a Environment of Abundance, delivered Erev Yom Kippur 5771
The choice to fast. A choice many of us feel compelled to make as we observe this yontif of Yom Kippur. Fasting goes hand in hand with the observance with Yom Kippur, a biblically rooted and weighty expectation of this holiday. The Levitical hand reminds us that this should be a day in which ועניתם את נפשיכם, we practice “self affliction.” (Lev 23:27) According to the Mishnah, fasting is but one of five ways in which we are to practice ‘self-affliction.’ We are also to abstain from bathing, the use of soaps and perfumes, wearing leather shoes, and sexual relations. (M. Yoma 8.1) Yet, for most of us, fasting has become the primary and most identifiable way in which we put ourselves in that temporary state of self denial intended to help us focus our full attention on the task of t’shuvah, of repentence. How fortunate we are to be in such a position that we can choose such self affliction!
Fasting has always been associated with religious expression and can be found as a form of ritual observance in all mainstream religions. In the ancient world, fasting was considered a direct means to spiritual enlightenment -- to God. In his critique of unintentful fasting, the prophet Isaiah (as we will hear tomorrow morning) forwards fasting as a vehicle for self-improvement. It should lift us and propel us towards working for the betterment of the world!
Fasting as a tool for spiritual enlightenment has now become popular outside of mainstream religious life, so popular that it became subject matter for journalist David Rokaff who experimented with fasting for a segment of National Public Radio’s This American Life. Despite its Norman Rockwell-esque title, Baltimore born Ira Glass’ This American Life offers a far more realistic peak into the corners of our American quirks and obsessions.
Fasts are marketed and popularized on the notion that the human body requires detoxification, an eradication of the apparently unavoidable build-up of toxins in our systems. Self improvement perhaps, but far from the type of t’shuvah our Biblical Isaiah envisioned! Many who embark on such fasts are motivated not only by the physical purge, but also by the role that fasting has played in most religions – namely that promise of spiritual enlightenment - that sense of physical and spiritual uplift not so different from what many of us seek over the next 20 hours or so.
Mr. Rokaff’s journey was enlightening for sure. Not in the way in which we might expect, yet in a way that can help us approach our Yom Kippur fasting with appropriate purpose. First, Rokaff noted the narcissistic elements of fasting. “[it] was one of the most self-obsessed things I’ve ever done in my life, and I say that as a first person journalist,” he remarked. This is a man who, as he reminds us, makes his living by being self-obsessed - experiencing life and reporting on it from the vantage point of “I”, the self. For him to acknowledge the potential for self-absorption in the exercise of fasting should serve as warning to us.
His second relevant observation surfaced after encountering a woman begging for food on the subway. Not money, mind you, but specifically food. Mr. Rokaff had no food in his bag; but, as he noted, though he might not have had food on him anyway, "no clarity or serenity in the world gave [him] the chutzpah" to admit why he didn’t have food on that particular day. His encounter underscores how fortunate most of us are that we are indeed in such a position that we can choose such self affliction.
Many are not as lucky; and the irony of the situation is that while some of the wealthiest members of our society are striving for enlightenment through the purposeful avoidance of available and plentiful nutritious offerings, the poorest members of our nation are starving in an environment of incredibly shallow abundance. The US Farm Bill’s over-funding of and prioritizing of certain crops (a result of placing corporate America over and above the needs of the consumer) has created and fostered a market saturated by an over-supply of nutritionally depressed foods in our nation and an abundance of what have been termed ‘food deserts’ in many urban areas including Baltimore.
A ‘food desert’ is a large geographic area with either no or extremely limited access to grocery stores. The residents in these areas generally have an imbalance of food choices available to them due to their dependence upon fast food outlets, convenience and liquor stores for the bulk of their shopping; they have virtually no access to affordable fresh or whole food. Public health studies have documented that residents of such ‘food deserts’ suffer physically and are at significantly increased risk of documentable diet-related health concerns such as diabetes, cancer, heart disease, and ultimately premature death. And, I’d bet they are as susceptible to a variety of other diet related stresses that are less documentable such as compromised immune systems and depression.
Those of us who have access to and thus can choose to eat, not to eat, and what to eat from a wide-range of options, may not fully comprehend the seriousness of this situation. One can argue that there is no supply in these areas because of a lack of demand. If the residents would buy it, it would be there. Yet despite the seemingly simple logic of this economically grounded argument, there are those who would remind us that the continuous lack of supply of healthy food to these areas has created a situation where the conscious ‘demand’ for anything other than nutritionally compromised foods has been virtually erased.
Anthropologist Sidney Mintz, a research professor at Hopkins who has devoted the bulk of his long career to the study of food systems, notes that we, that is human beings, are the only animal species that no longer naturally knows what to eat and moreover consciously eat foods that have the potential to do us harm. In other words, we are easily susceptible to adapting to changes in what’s offered, what’s supplied. Of course, such ‘food domestication’ as scholars call it – the fact that our mind can trump biology, is what separates us from the rest of the animal kingdom. And for all of its challenges, doubtful any of us would trade in this hallmark of our humanity. We can eat both for survival – for pure nutritional needs; but we can also savor our foods and take delight in them. Who would give up that rich chocolate bar that has little useful value beyond sheer pleasure? Those who are privy to the various chocolate stashes in my office know that I’m no advocate for removing joy from eating. But when offered only certain options, such as inexpensive, overly processed foods saturated with sugar, fat, and salt as the mainstay – what’s offered in the corner markets in these ‘food deserts’, we humans adapt quite quickly to fulfilling our hunger with food that simply won’t sustain us physically or emotionally in the long run. Our urban neighbors dwelling in these food deserts are fasting with no awareness of the magnitude of their hunger.
Awareness is the first step in challenging this complex cycle that dictates the utter lack of wholesome options in these areas and in turn distorts demand for such options. And my goal in this sermon is just that – to raise awareness about this issue, an issue that in my opinion should be on the forefront of our consciousness as liberal Jews. It is not to judge anyone’s dietary habits (I’m certainly in no position to do that: has anyone seen the chocolate stashes in my office?), but rather to help us become aware of the food options being offered to us and to our urban neighbors, the business behind those offerings, and the ultimate impact such offerings make on our society as a whole.
Awareness. “Agribusiness” -- the business behind farming and an extremely powerful lobby that greatly impacts the supply side of our food offerings due to its influence on the Farm Bill an important piece of renewable legislation that dictates government subsidies to US farmers. Under the current Farm Bill, 80% of farm subsidies go to grains that can easily be made into inexpensive, not necessarily healthful, foods; 80% goes there as opposed to fruits and vegetables. It is precisely these unbalanced food subsidies that dictate the relatively high prices of fresh food as opposed to the inexpensive prices of packaged processed food. And it is these unbalanced subsidies (and our demand for inexpensive food) that create an environment where wholesome options become simply too expensive and unavailable to many in our society. Our most nutritious food offerings have become a luxury instead of the necessity that they are.
The impact of agribusiness on the nation’s farm bill ultimately impacts our nation’s health care industry as well. To quote Journalism professor, author, and New York Times Magazine contributor, Michael Pollen, “The American way of eating has become the elephant in the room in the debate over health care.” (NYTimes 9/10/2009) Yes, our first lady has committed herself to planting an extraordinary garden on the property of the White House and to educating our nation’s youth about the importance of whole foods (kol hakavod to her for her efforts), but food system reform has not formally entered the conversation about health care; and it should. The government’s gross subsidy of convenience over whole foods leads to a situation where our tax dollars are in a very real sense contributing to the high costs of health care. As Mr. Pollen writes, there’s a ton of money to be made selling an over abundance of fast food and then treating the resulting disease that this over abundance causes.
Perhaps most frustrating is the historical lack of interest in changing the system. As an older colleague of mine reminded me this past winter when we were studying together, the lack of equitable access to wholesome food is far from a new problem. Certainly the issue gets more publicity than in the past (most likely due to our nation’s gross obsession with diet in general), but it is a problem that dates, as she recalls, at least to 1969 (to put that year into perspective, I was 3 yrs old in 1969!). One would think we’ve made some significant progress by now.
An example of how little progress has been made on the public need for affordable wholesome food? Our public school subsidized meal programs. The ideal behind government sponsored meals in our nation’s public schools can be summarized by Napoleon’s motto, “An army marches on its stomach.” Literally. America’s school lunch program began in 1946 under the tenure of President Truman in response to malnutrition in young people who were enlisting into the armed forces. Paradoxically, today’s subsidized meal programs, which now include breakfast and after school snacks in many schools, might be causing or at least reinforcing malnutrition in many cases.
I had the less than tantalizing experience of sampling a typical subsidized breakfast offered in our Baltimore city schools recently at a study session on this issue in which I participated. Every item made available to us was an example of a pre-sweetened, processed food. Not a single fresh fruit or vegetable– whole or in juice form - was offered. It was all beige: cereal, pre-sweetened waffles, sugary muffins, pop-tarts, and either chocolate or strawberry milk. No white milk. When asked why white milk was not served? We were told there was no demand for it by the students. An example of the complex cycle of supply and demand – which really comes first? And what’s our responsibility to challenging it and making sure there is white milk available to our kids, particularly the very kids who may need it most because they ain't getting it elsewhere?
Poverty is certainly a factor. “There will never cease to be those in need,” the Deuteronomist reminds us. Poverty, however, is not the entire problem, an easy scapegoat perhaps; yet, the biblical text makes it clear that we are not to accept these circumstances as unchangeable. Rather, it is incumbent upon us to identify those in need and to address the situation with an open and generous hand.
The production, preparation, as well as the eating of food is a holy occupation that impacts our very sustainability. It is not enough to approach food solely as consumers. Perhaps the ideal of kashrut can be informative. Few of us give much thought to kashrut – we either routinely accept or more likely dismiss the minutia of the ritual standards, standards codified for the most part in the middle ages and accepted as immutable due to the Orthodox hold on the institution. But the idea of creating a modern expectation of sanctity and wholeness – a sense of kasher, of fitness - surrounding the production and marketing of food is compelling.
To do so, we must recognize the impact of agribusiness and our role as consumers. We must do our part to pressure the food industry towards considering what is best for humanity by demanding healthy, sustainable options that are as available and as inexpensive as those supported by the current Farm Bill. We must support those farmers who remain committed to growing produce not currently valued by our Farm Bill while pushing for changes in future Farm Bills (the current Farm Bill is up for renewal in 2012, by the way). We must celebrate small advances such as the fairly recent innovation which allowed recipients of food vouchers to purchase fresh produce at neighborhood farmer’s markets. We must support local efforts at education and community gardening such as those currently being made in Baltimore by the Food & Faith Project of the Johns Hopkins Center for a livable future.
On this Day of Atonement, a day when so many of us are choosing to fast, let us be sure that our fast not become a narcissistic, self-absorbed occupation. As Isaiah demands, “הלוא זה צום אבחרהו” : “Is not this the fast that I have chosen: to unlock the shackles of injustice, to loosen the ropes of the yoke…” Indeed, let us not take for granted how easy it will be for us to break our fast. Not everyone has that choice. Tzom Kal – an easy -- yet thoughtful & intentful fast to you.
Fasting has always been associated with religious expression and can be found as a form of ritual observance in all mainstream religions. In the ancient world, fasting was considered a direct means to spiritual enlightenment -- to God. In his critique of unintentful fasting, the prophet Isaiah (as we will hear tomorrow morning) forwards fasting as a vehicle for self-improvement. It should lift us and propel us towards working for the betterment of the world!
Fasting as a tool for spiritual enlightenment has now become popular outside of mainstream religious life, so popular that it became subject matter for journalist David Rokaff who experimented with fasting for a segment of National Public Radio’s This American Life. Despite its Norman Rockwell-esque title, Baltimore born Ira Glass’ This American Life offers a far more realistic peak into the corners of our American quirks and obsessions.
Fasts are marketed and popularized on the notion that the human body requires detoxification, an eradication of the apparently unavoidable build-up of toxins in our systems. Self improvement perhaps, but far from the type of t’shuvah our Biblical Isaiah envisioned! Many who embark on such fasts are motivated not only by the physical purge, but also by the role that fasting has played in most religions – namely that promise of spiritual enlightenment - that sense of physical and spiritual uplift not so different from what many of us seek over the next 20 hours or so.
Mr. Rokaff’s journey was enlightening for sure. Not in the way in which we might expect, yet in a way that can help us approach our Yom Kippur fasting with appropriate purpose. First, Rokaff noted the narcissistic elements of fasting. “[it] was one of the most self-obsessed things I’ve ever done in my life, and I say that as a first person journalist,” he remarked. This is a man who, as he reminds us, makes his living by being self-obsessed - experiencing life and reporting on it from the vantage point of “I”, the self. For him to acknowledge the potential for self-absorption in the exercise of fasting should serve as warning to us.
His second relevant observation surfaced after encountering a woman begging for food on the subway. Not money, mind you, but specifically food. Mr. Rokaff had no food in his bag; but, as he noted, though he might not have had food on him anyway, "no clarity or serenity in the world gave [him] the chutzpah" to admit why he didn’t have food on that particular day. His encounter underscores how fortunate most of us are that we are indeed in such a position that we can choose such self affliction.
Many are not as lucky; and the irony of the situation is that while some of the wealthiest members of our society are striving for enlightenment through the purposeful avoidance of available and plentiful nutritious offerings, the poorest members of our nation are starving in an environment of incredibly shallow abundance. The US Farm Bill’s over-funding of and prioritizing of certain crops (a result of placing corporate America over and above the needs of the consumer) has created and fostered a market saturated by an over-supply of nutritionally depressed foods in our nation and an abundance of what have been termed ‘food deserts’ in many urban areas including Baltimore.
A ‘food desert’ is a large geographic area with either no or extremely limited access to grocery stores. The residents in these areas generally have an imbalance of food choices available to them due to their dependence upon fast food outlets, convenience and liquor stores for the bulk of their shopping; they have virtually no access to affordable fresh or whole food. Public health studies have documented that residents of such ‘food deserts’ suffer physically and are at significantly increased risk of documentable diet-related health concerns such as diabetes, cancer, heart disease, and ultimately premature death. And, I’d bet they are as susceptible to a variety of other diet related stresses that are less documentable such as compromised immune systems and depression.
Those of us who have access to and thus can choose to eat, not to eat, and what to eat from a wide-range of options, may not fully comprehend the seriousness of this situation. One can argue that there is no supply in these areas because of a lack of demand. If the residents would buy it, it would be there. Yet despite the seemingly simple logic of this economically grounded argument, there are those who would remind us that the continuous lack of supply of healthy food to these areas has created a situation where the conscious ‘demand’ for anything other than nutritionally compromised foods has been virtually erased.
Anthropologist Sidney Mintz, a research professor at Hopkins who has devoted the bulk of his long career to the study of food systems, notes that we, that is human beings, are the only animal species that no longer naturally knows what to eat and moreover consciously eat foods that have the potential to do us harm. In other words, we are easily susceptible to adapting to changes in what’s offered, what’s supplied. Of course, such ‘food domestication’ as scholars call it – the fact that our mind can trump biology, is what separates us from the rest of the animal kingdom. And for all of its challenges, doubtful any of us would trade in this hallmark of our humanity. We can eat both for survival – for pure nutritional needs; but we can also savor our foods and take delight in them. Who would give up that rich chocolate bar that has little useful value beyond sheer pleasure? Those who are privy to the various chocolate stashes in my office know that I’m no advocate for removing joy from eating. But when offered only certain options, such as inexpensive, overly processed foods saturated with sugar, fat, and salt as the mainstay – what’s offered in the corner markets in these ‘food deserts’, we humans adapt quite quickly to fulfilling our hunger with food that simply won’t sustain us physically or emotionally in the long run. Our urban neighbors dwelling in these food deserts are fasting with no awareness of the magnitude of their hunger.
Awareness is the first step in challenging this complex cycle that dictates the utter lack of wholesome options in these areas and in turn distorts demand for such options. And my goal in this sermon is just that – to raise awareness about this issue, an issue that in my opinion should be on the forefront of our consciousness as liberal Jews. It is not to judge anyone’s dietary habits (I’m certainly in no position to do that: has anyone seen the chocolate stashes in my office?), but rather to help us become aware of the food options being offered to us and to our urban neighbors, the business behind those offerings, and the ultimate impact such offerings make on our society as a whole.
Awareness. “Agribusiness” -- the business behind farming and an extremely powerful lobby that greatly impacts the supply side of our food offerings due to its influence on the Farm Bill an important piece of renewable legislation that dictates government subsidies to US farmers. Under the current Farm Bill, 80% of farm subsidies go to grains that can easily be made into inexpensive, not necessarily healthful, foods; 80% goes there as opposed to fruits and vegetables. It is precisely these unbalanced food subsidies that dictate the relatively high prices of fresh food as opposed to the inexpensive prices of packaged processed food. And it is these unbalanced subsidies (and our demand for inexpensive food) that create an environment where wholesome options become simply too expensive and unavailable to many in our society. Our most nutritious food offerings have become a luxury instead of the necessity that they are.
The impact of agribusiness on the nation’s farm bill ultimately impacts our nation’s health care industry as well. To quote Journalism professor, author, and New York Times Magazine contributor, Michael Pollen, “The American way of eating has become the elephant in the room in the debate over health care.” (NYTimes 9/10/2009) Yes, our first lady has committed herself to planting an extraordinary garden on the property of the White House and to educating our nation’s youth about the importance of whole foods (kol hakavod to her for her efforts), but food system reform has not formally entered the conversation about health care; and it should. The government’s gross subsidy of convenience over whole foods leads to a situation where our tax dollars are in a very real sense contributing to the high costs of health care. As Mr. Pollen writes, there’s a ton of money to be made selling an over abundance of fast food and then treating the resulting disease that this over abundance causes.
Perhaps most frustrating is the historical lack of interest in changing the system. As an older colleague of mine reminded me this past winter when we were studying together, the lack of equitable access to wholesome food is far from a new problem. Certainly the issue gets more publicity than in the past (most likely due to our nation’s gross obsession with diet in general), but it is a problem that dates, as she recalls, at least to 1969 (to put that year into perspective, I was 3 yrs old in 1969!). One would think we’ve made some significant progress by now.
An example of how little progress has been made on the public need for affordable wholesome food? Our public school subsidized meal programs. The ideal behind government sponsored meals in our nation’s public schools can be summarized by Napoleon’s motto, “An army marches on its stomach.” Literally. America’s school lunch program began in 1946 under the tenure of President Truman in response to malnutrition in young people who were enlisting into the armed forces. Paradoxically, today’s subsidized meal programs, which now include breakfast and after school snacks in many schools, might be causing or at least reinforcing malnutrition in many cases.
I had the less than tantalizing experience of sampling a typical subsidized breakfast offered in our Baltimore city schools recently at a study session on this issue in which I participated. Every item made available to us was an example of a pre-sweetened, processed food. Not a single fresh fruit or vegetable– whole or in juice form - was offered. It was all beige: cereal, pre-sweetened waffles, sugary muffins, pop-tarts, and either chocolate or strawberry milk. No white milk. When asked why white milk was not served? We were told there was no demand for it by the students. An example of the complex cycle of supply and demand – which really comes first? And what’s our responsibility to challenging it and making sure there is white milk available to our kids, particularly the very kids who may need it most because they ain't getting it elsewhere?
Poverty is certainly a factor. “There will never cease to be those in need,” the Deuteronomist reminds us. Poverty, however, is not the entire problem, an easy scapegoat perhaps; yet, the biblical text makes it clear that we are not to accept these circumstances as unchangeable. Rather, it is incumbent upon us to identify those in need and to address the situation with an open and generous hand.
The production, preparation, as well as the eating of food is a holy occupation that impacts our very sustainability. It is not enough to approach food solely as consumers. Perhaps the ideal of kashrut can be informative. Few of us give much thought to kashrut – we either routinely accept or more likely dismiss the minutia of the ritual standards, standards codified for the most part in the middle ages and accepted as immutable due to the Orthodox hold on the institution. But the idea of creating a modern expectation of sanctity and wholeness – a sense of kasher, of fitness - surrounding the production and marketing of food is compelling.
To do so, we must recognize the impact of agribusiness and our role as consumers. We must do our part to pressure the food industry towards considering what is best for humanity by demanding healthy, sustainable options that are as available and as inexpensive as those supported by the current Farm Bill. We must support those farmers who remain committed to growing produce not currently valued by our Farm Bill while pushing for changes in future Farm Bills (the current Farm Bill is up for renewal in 2012, by the way). We must celebrate small advances such as the fairly recent innovation which allowed recipients of food vouchers to purchase fresh produce at neighborhood farmer’s markets. We must support local efforts at education and community gardening such as those currently being made in Baltimore by the Food & Faith Project of the Johns Hopkins Center for a livable future.
On this Day of Atonement, a day when so many of us are choosing to fast, let us be sure that our fast not become a narcissistic, self-absorbed occupation. As Isaiah demands, “הלוא זה צום אבחרהו” : “Is not this the fast that I have chosen: to unlock the shackles of injustice, to loosen the ropes of the yoke…” Indeed, let us not take for granted how easy it will be for us to break our fast. Not everyone has that choice. Tzom Kal – an easy -- yet thoughtful & intentful fast to you.
Monday, September 13, 2010
Does the 21st century Synagogue Need God? Delivered Rosh Hashanah morning, 5771 by Rabbi/Cantor Rhoda JH Silverman
A palpable paradox exists in our nation. As the religious right grows more powerful, or at least more vocal, in their desire to impress the masses with their theologically based and often rigid political views (at least IMHO), there is a growing move towards secularism and atheism among many that is often blamed for the lack of religious affiliation among young Americans. Evidence of this trend appeared late last fall in four billboards strategically placed and marketed by the nascent Baltimore Coalition of Reason that read: “Are you good without God? Millions are.” The Baltimore Coalition of Reason is part of a National Coalition of Reason that has sponsored similar marketing campaigns nationwide. This past June, for example, commuters in Austin, TX were treated to this slogan on their ride to work: “Don’t believe in God? Join the club”. Philadelphians and Floridians: “Don’t believe in God? You are not alone.”
The existence of non-theists is nothing new – there are and always have been those who actively and publically reject the notion of a God, and there are those who do so even though they are intimately connected to religious organizational life, even synagogue life. As the research of Daniel C. Dennett, a philosophy professor at Tufts University underscores, personal belief does not necessarily go hand in hand with organizational and denominational commitment. In a study summarized in a recent issue of The Wilson Quarterly, Dennett identified and investigated what he calls, “the invisible phenomenon” of non-believing ministers, ministers who expressed skepticism over religious doctrine and at times outright atheism yet who still remain committed to their respective church institutions. Such a coordinated and well-funded organizational attempt (by an anonymous Philadelphia based businessman, by the way) to raise awareness and increase acceptance and visibility of atheism, of non-belief independent of political ideology on such a wide scale perhaps is new. This isn’t Marxism mind you, which demanded liberation from religion as part of its social and political agenda. What is striking to me is this Coalition’s reliance on reason as their mantra – that is, reason replacing God and theology as the movement’s unifying tenet.
As an inheritor of the values of Reform Judaism, a movement birthed in the social and intellectual atmosphere of the European Enlightenment and nurtured during the 19th and early 20th centuries when the critical historical method was first being applied to biblical and liturgical studies, I view reason as central to religion. The application of reason, from the Latin ratio, to judge, to think – understood in its European context as wissenschaft – was and is still critical to discerning the difference between, as well as, the intersection of history and theology. What claims are our religious texts making? What was the agenda of our Biblical writers and editors, and how do we reconcile that agenda, particularly the declaration and promulgation of a singular God, with modernity? These questions require the application of reason.
Despite, however, my rationalistic, academic sensibilities and the fact that as so many in my generation I too vacillate between periods of agnosticism (that is doubt in the ability to understand God), atheism (that is doubt that there even is a God), and theism (faith in a supreme and transcendent God), I view both God and reason as necessary ingredients to religion, particularly Judaism.
Do you? As we embark on a new year, when we are tasked with the introspective work of t’shuvah, how many of us are taken by a billboard that not only reassures us that we are not alone in our theological doubts but more importantly in our frequently all-too-ready desire to shed the burdens of responsibility to our religious faith and institutions? Let’s be honest with ourselves. It isn’t easy to support a synagogue: to make the time and commitment to attend worship services, to prioritize religious instruction in our lives, whether for our children or for ourselves, among all of the other activities available to us, to pay dues and support Temple fundraisers particularly in economically trying times. These tasks require conscious commitment as does carving out the time to gather together here in order to pursue social justice through a Jewish lens. Yet, we do it! Those of us who are present today celebrating the beginning of 5771 within the context and embrace of our synagogue community do it.
Why? Is God part of our motivation? Is God a necessary factor to our commitment to synagogue life? The popular punch line is familiar, shared from this pulpit on a number of occasions: “Max comes to shul to speak with God; Sam comes to speak with Max” Does the synagogue depend on us believing in God, or is being a Beit K’nesset, a place simply to gather enough? No question that the social connections we form within these walls are vital, but I wonder, if that conversation ‘Sam’ seeks to have with ‘Max’ is enough to keep synagogue life thriving well into the 21st century.
According to a study reported a year ago in The New York Times Magazine, a study by the Pew Forum, a non-partisan research think-tank that strives to understand the juncture between religion and public affairs, 75% of Americans report that they pray at least once a week while only 39% attend a worship service on a weekly basis. Now prayer doesn’t necessitate a belief in God; however, arguably this interesting statistic suggests that most Americans believe in something greater than themselves, something toward which to pray. Call it God, a Higher Power, The Divine, Adonai, Elohim, Shechinah, Jesus, Allah – whatever ‘its’ name, there is something towards which prayer can be directed for most Americans. Yet only a minority of those who believe in and actively pray towards some form of deity seem to require an organized communal outlet for this God seeking. At first glance, this study seems to suggest that God trumps the social connections we make within these walls.
It isn’t our lack of faith or our doubts about God, our atheistic and agnostic tendencies if you will, that keep us from connecting more fully, more actively to the synagogue. Clearly, as the Pew Forum’s research indicates, there are many who believe in God but still choose to remain outside the institutional walls of organized religion. And I’d bet, that a number of those who choose to come inside and engage in organized religious practice have a belief in God that is far less secure.
So if it isn’t our theological doubts that prevent us from connecting more fully to religious life, what is preventing so many? One possibility is our insecurity regarding our ability to pray and engage despite theological struggles. Prayer is a skill. As the Rev. Daniel Henderson, a Baptist minister and former head of a suburban mega-church in Minneapolis who now leads a non-profit organization that runs how-to worship seminars, notes “…people just assume they know how to pray. But … Prayer is a lot more than reciting words. It requires a [mastery of] both theory and technique.” Few of us are cognizant of the level of skill development required for prayer which leads us instead to assume that we can’t or don’t want to engage in liturgical recitation. The comparison between prayer skill and physical fitness, one I make often, offers a useful metaphor. One cannot expect to run a 10-mile race without skill and endurance training. The muscles, particularly the brain, need to be prepared for the activity. We know this; we expect to have to work towards physical goals, yet we have difficulty transferring this understanding of preparation to less physically demanding, more mindful goals such as prayer. Instead, we grow quickly impatient and give up assuming there is little or no meaning in the task.
One of the greatest challenges of Reform Judaism, frankly, is our overall liturgical illiteracy. We may balk at the keva, the routine and fixed nature of the traditional liturgy. We liberals emphasize kevanna, that is spontaneity over rigidity, but here is an area in which we could learn a few pointers from our more traditional brethren. It is that adherence to the structure of the siddur that enables Orthodox Jews to at least know what to do when they walk into the doors of their synagogues and to have the endurance to focus on the task at hand for an extended period of time regardless of whether they fully understand what they are saying or why, for that matter. The skill set is in place; it’s rote. Mind you, I wouldn’t trade our tendency toward kevanna or our responsiveness to modernity for that skill set, nor would I relinquish our movement’s commitment to the highest aesthetic expression of worship; yet, it would behoove us to learn from that commitment to skill development by acknowledging that prayer requires a certain level of literacy and skill.
The development of prayer skills need not be all that difficult, but it requires attention and mindfulness. To quote Rabbi Marc Gellman, a Long Island Rabbi made famous by his appearances on ABC’s Good Morning America throughout the 90’s, “when you come right down to it, there are only four basic prayers: Gimme! Thanks! Oops! And, Wow!” “Gimme” - expressions of petition; “Thanks” - expressions of gratitude; “Oops” - requests for forgiveness; “Wow” -- wondrous expressions of praise. I’d bet we all can and have used these expressions of prayer often in our daily lives. The challenge for the modern synagogue is helping each other to recognize and then communicate these colloquial (and comfortable) expressions of prayer through the language of our siddur within the context of our congregational community – a community comprised of many generations with rich yet incredibly diverse backgrounds. Far easier said than done, for sure. Communal prayer requires that we set aside some of the individualism for the sake of communal cohesiveness -- again, no small task, but one that is vital to the sustenance of communal prayer and the synagogue community.
Communal prayer demands a bit of vulnerability and perhaps unreasonableness. To recite prayers that may indeed challenge our own personal theological struggles, and to do so in a public setting among friends and acquaintances, seems counter to our modern desires for individual integrity. Our fear of being vulnerable, our fear that we have to check our reason at the door, these may be more likely factors that keep some from entering those doors than issues of belief. Our fear of fundamentalism on the one hand – unchecked theology that leads to unbridled religious passion; and our resistance to using our reason thoughtfully, that is taking the time and effort to formulate for ourselves a workable and well-reasoned theology on the other (in other words using our brains), both of these extremes can prevent us from taking steps that would connect us to the very community that could support us in so many significant ways through the valleys, heights, and plains of life.
God & Reason – both are necessary for worship and for the sustenance of synagogue life, and both can be found in the sense of community that gathers here whether around Torah, worship, a TESCA event, or even a highway clean up. Perhaps the joke about Sam coming to talk with Max isn’t far off the mark. God isn’t necessarily found in some tightly held theological belief system. God can often be found simply in our presence, our actions, and our willingness to bring our modern sensibilities – including reason – into our religious pursuits.
The Hebrew word for face offers us a beautiful and compelling metaphor. Panim, face – those familiar with the rules of Hebrew grammar will note that it rests in the plural. Indeed, it only appears in the plural form, panim. In theory, it has a singular root ( פ-נ-ה ), though, in practical usage, the singular is non-existent: ‘face’ never appears panah; it always appears as panim – ‘faces’, plural and inclusive. The Hebrew implies that our ‘face’ ceases to exist in the singular. For all our post-Enlightenment interest in the sanctity of the individual, our humanity still requires us to interact with others. Moreover, the Midrashist adds, in a commentary to the Priestly Benediction, that only when we greet each other directly פנים אל פנים ‘face to face’ is God’s countenance lifted upon us (Numbers Rabbah Naso. Accordingly, God becomes present in Sam’s conversations with Max even if, and perhaps all the more so because Sam isn’t consciously seeking God. It is within our effort to connect with others, to honestly engage with each other, what 20th century Jewish philosopher Martin Buber identified as our I-Thou moments, that Divinity, that God, even has a chance of entering.
The rhetoric of the Religious Right in our country gives us plenty of reason to want to avoid God completely. And, there is no question that God without reason has the tendency to lead to fundamentalism on the right and at the same time, untamed mysticism on the left; yet, let us not be so quick to throw out the baby with the bath water. A willingness to at least contemplate God’s existence coupled with the activation of our hearts and minds is required in our modern day synagogues. Recall that in the ancient world the lev, the heart was understood as the seat of our intellect as well. We need both heart and mind to fully activate our intellect, and we need our reasoned intellect in order for us to develop a well-honed and flexible theology, God-system, that can help us navigate through our daily lives.
The existence of non-theists is nothing new – there are and always have been those who actively and publically reject the notion of a God, and there are those who do so even though they are intimately connected to religious organizational life, even synagogue life. As the research of Daniel C. Dennett, a philosophy professor at Tufts University underscores, personal belief does not necessarily go hand in hand with organizational and denominational commitment. In a study summarized in a recent issue of The Wilson Quarterly, Dennett identified and investigated what he calls, “the invisible phenomenon” of non-believing ministers, ministers who expressed skepticism over religious doctrine and at times outright atheism yet who still remain committed to their respective church institutions. Such a coordinated and well-funded organizational attempt (by an anonymous Philadelphia based businessman, by the way) to raise awareness and increase acceptance and visibility of atheism, of non-belief independent of political ideology on such a wide scale perhaps is new. This isn’t Marxism mind you, which demanded liberation from religion as part of its social and political agenda. What is striking to me is this Coalition’s reliance on reason as their mantra – that is, reason replacing God and theology as the movement’s unifying tenet.
As an inheritor of the values of Reform Judaism, a movement birthed in the social and intellectual atmosphere of the European Enlightenment and nurtured during the 19th and early 20th centuries when the critical historical method was first being applied to biblical and liturgical studies, I view reason as central to religion. The application of reason, from the Latin ratio, to judge, to think – understood in its European context as wissenschaft – was and is still critical to discerning the difference between, as well as, the intersection of history and theology. What claims are our religious texts making? What was the agenda of our Biblical writers and editors, and how do we reconcile that agenda, particularly the declaration and promulgation of a singular God, with modernity? These questions require the application of reason.
Despite, however, my rationalistic, academic sensibilities and the fact that as so many in my generation I too vacillate between periods of agnosticism (that is doubt in the ability to understand God), atheism (that is doubt that there even is a God), and theism (faith in a supreme and transcendent God), I view both God and reason as necessary ingredients to religion, particularly Judaism.
Do you? As we embark on a new year, when we are tasked with the introspective work of t’shuvah, how many of us are taken by a billboard that not only reassures us that we are not alone in our theological doubts but more importantly in our frequently all-too-ready desire to shed the burdens of responsibility to our religious faith and institutions? Let’s be honest with ourselves. It isn’t easy to support a synagogue: to make the time and commitment to attend worship services, to prioritize religious instruction in our lives, whether for our children or for ourselves, among all of the other activities available to us, to pay dues and support Temple fundraisers particularly in economically trying times. These tasks require conscious commitment as does carving out the time to gather together here in order to pursue social justice through a Jewish lens. Yet, we do it! Those of us who are present today celebrating the beginning of 5771 within the context and embrace of our synagogue community do it.
Why? Is God part of our motivation? Is God a necessary factor to our commitment to synagogue life? The popular punch line is familiar, shared from this pulpit on a number of occasions: “Max comes to shul to speak with God; Sam comes to speak with Max” Does the synagogue depend on us believing in God, or is being a Beit K’nesset, a place simply to gather enough? No question that the social connections we form within these walls are vital, but I wonder, if that conversation ‘Sam’ seeks to have with ‘Max’ is enough to keep synagogue life thriving well into the 21st century.
According to a study reported a year ago in The New York Times Magazine, a study by the Pew Forum, a non-partisan research think-tank that strives to understand the juncture between religion and public affairs, 75% of Americans report that they pray at least once a week while only 39% attend a worship service on a weekly basis. Now prayer doesn’t necessitate a belief in God; however, arguably this interesting statistic suggests that most Americans believe in something greater than themselves, something toward which to pray. Call it God, a Higher Power, The Divine, Adonai, Elohim, Shechinah, Jesus, Allah – whatever ‘its’ name, there is something towards which prayer can be directed for most Americans. Yet only a minority of those who believe in and actively pray towards some form of deity seem to require an organized communal outlet for this God seeking. At first glance, this study seems to suggest that God trumps the social connections we make within these walls.
It isn’t our lack of faith or our doubts about God, our atheistic and agnostic tendencies if you will, that keep us from connecting more fully, more actively to the synagogue. Clearly, as the Pew Forum’s research indicates, there are many who believe in God but still choose to remain outside the institutional walls of organized religion. And I’d bet, that a number of those who choose to come inside and engage in organized religious practice have a belief in God that is far less secure.
So if it isn’t our theological doubts that prevent us from connecting more fully to religious life, what is preventing so many? One possibility is our insecurity regarding our ability to pray and engage despite theological struggles. Prayer is a skill. As the Rev. Daniel Henderson, a Baptist minister and former head of a suburban mega-church in Minneapolis who now leads a non-profit organization that runs how-to worship seminars, notes “…people just assume they know how to pray. But … Prayer is a lot more than reciting words. It requires a [mastery of] both theory and technique.” Few of us are cognizant of the level of skill development required for prayer which leads us instead to assume that we can’t or don’t want to engage in liturgical recitation. The comparison between prayer skill and physical fitness, one I make often, offers a useful metaphor. One cannot expect to run a 10-mile race without skill and endurance training. The muscles, particularly the brain, need to be prepared for the activity. We know this; we expect to have to work towards physical goals, yet we have difficulty transferring this understanding of preparation to less physically demanding, more mindful goals such as prayer. Instead, we grow quickly impatient and give up assuming there is little or no meaning in the task.
One of the greatest challenges of Reform Judaism, frankly, is our overall liturgical illiteracy. We may balk at the keva, the routine and fixed nature of the traditional liturgy. We liberals emphasize kevanna, that is spontaneity over rigidity, but here is an area in which we could learn a few pointers from our more traditional brethren. It is that adherence to the structure of the siddur that enables Orthodox Jews to at least know what to do when they walk into the doors of their synagogues and to have the endurance to focus on the task at hand for an extended period of time regardless of whether they fully understand what they are saying or why, for that matter. The skill set is in place; it’s rote. Mind you, I wouldn’t trade our tendency toward kevanna or our responsiveness to modernity for that skill set, nor would I relinquish our movement’s commitment to the highest aesthetic expression of worship; yet, it would behoove us to learn from that commitment to skill development by acknowledging that prayer requires a certain level of literacy and skill.
The development of prayer skills need not be all that difficult, but it requires attention and mindfulness. To quote Rabbi Marc Gellman, a Long Island Rabbi made famous by his appearances on ABC’s Good Morning America throughout the 90’s, “when you come right down to it, there are only four basic prayers: Gimme! Thanks! Oops! And, Wow!” “Gimme” - expressions of petition; “Thanks” - expressions of gratitude; “Oops” - requests for forgiveness; “Wow” -- wondrous expressions of praise. I’d bet we all can and have used these expressions of prayer often in our daily lives. The challenge for the modern synagogue is helping each other to recognize and then communicate these colloquial (and comfortable) expressions of prayer through the language of our siddur within the context of our congregational community – a community comprised of many generations with rich yet incredibly diverse backgrounds. Far easier said than done, for sure. Communal prayer requires that we set aside some of the individualism for the sake of communal cohesiveness -- again, no small task, but one that is vital to the sustenance of communal prayer and the synagogue community.
Communal prayer demands a bit of vulnerability and perhaps unreasonableness. To recite prayers that may indeed challenge our own personal theological struggles, and to do so in a public setting among friends and acquaintances, seems counter to our modern desires for individual integrity. Our fear of being vulnerable, our fear that we have to check our reason at the door, these may be more likely factors that keep some from entering those doors than issues of belief. Our fear of fundamentalism on the one hand – unchecked theology that leads to unbridled religious passion; and our resistance to using our reason thoughtfully, that is taking the time and effort to formulate for ourselves a workable and well-reasoned theology on the other (in other words using our brains), both of these extremes can prevent us from taking steps that would connect us to the very community that could support us in so many significant ways through the valleys, heights, and plains of life.
God & Reason – both are necessary for worship and for the sustenance of synagogue life, and both can be found in the sense of community that gathers here whether around Torah, worship, a TESCA event, or even a highway clean up. Perhaps the joke about Sam coming to talk with Max isn’t far off the mark. God isn’t necessarily found in some tightly held theological belief system. God can often be found simply in our presence, our actions, and our willingness to bring our modern sensibilities – including reason – into our religious pursuits.
The Hebrew word for face offers us a beautiful and compelling metaphor. Panim, face – those familiar with the rules of Hebrew grammar will note that it rests in the plural. Indeed, it only appears in the plural form, panim. In theory, it has a singular root ( פ-נ-ה ), though, in practical usage, the singular is non-existent: ‘face’ never appears panah; it always appears as panim – ‘faces’, plural and inclusive. The Hebrew implies that our ‘face’ ceases to exist in the singular. For all our post-Enlightenment interest in the sanctity of the individual, our humanity still requires us to interact with others. Moreover, the Midrashist adds, in a commentary to the Priestly Benediction, that only when we greet each other directly פנים אל פנים ‘face to face’ is God’s countenance lifted upon us (Numbers Rabbah Naso. Accordingly, God becomes present in Sam’s conversations with Max even if, and perhaps all the more so because Sam isn’t consciously seeking God. It is within our effort to connect with others, to honestly engage with each other, what 20th century Jewish philosopher Martin Buber identified as our I-Thou moments, that Divinity, that God, even has a chance of entering.
The rhetoric of the Religious Right in our country gives us plenty of reason to want to avoid God completely. And, there is no question that God without reason has the tendency to lead to fundamentalism on the right and at the same time, untamed mysticism on the left; yet, let us not be so quick to throw out the baby with the bath water. A willingness to at least contemplate God’s existence coupled with the activation of our hearts and minds is required in our modern day synagogues. Recall that in the ancient world the lev, the heart was understood as the seat of our intellect as well. We need both heart and mind to fully activate our intellect, and we need our reasoned intellect in order for us to develop a well-honed and flexible theology, God-system, that can help us navigate through our daily lives.
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