Tekiah: A Call to end the Violence, Erev Rosh Hashanah 5773

         More disturbing than the midnight shooting that took place in a neighborhood movie theatre this summer, than the shooting that took place in broad daylight on one of Manhanttan’s busiest streets in midtown...more disturbing than the random gun shot that missed its target and hit instead a young mother in Baltimore city, or the gunshot that killed a visitor to Morgan State this past week...perhaps even more disturbing than the shooting that emotionally and geographically hit so close to home for so many of us: that shooting on the first day of school in Baltimore County - - more disturbing than any of these just may be the one that didn’t make front page news. 

Just days after the Perry Hall incident, a shooting at a neighborhood supermarket in suburban New Jersey -- three more dead to gun violence.   The death toll from this shooting was no greater than elsewhere – indeed, far fewer than in Colorado. The scene no more horrific than the others, the explanation no more inexplicable, but this time, it wasn’t even deemed news worthy, at least in Baltimore.  Has gun violence in the public square become such a regular phenomenon that it no longer has enough shock value for the front page of the news?  How about page 2 of the paper? Three?  No, this Pathmark shooting was buried on page eight of the less than hearty Sun paper in which it was reported! Page eight – now that should shock and disturb us.  

         The satirical news outlet, The Onion, sadly had it right in its analysis of the Colorado Batman tragedy. To quote the Onion’s appointed "reporter," “I hate to say it, but we as Americans are basically experts at this kind of thing by now….the number of media images of … citizens crying and looking shocked is pretty much right in line with where it usually is at this point.  The calls not to politicize the tragedy should be starting in an hour, but by 1:30 PM tomorrow the issue will have been politicized.  Also, I wouldn’t be surprised if the shooter’s high school classmate is interviewed within 45 minutes.”  He then went on to describe, how, “in exactly two weeks this will all be over and it will be like it never happened.” (The Onion, 8/3/2012) 

         The inherent truth of The Onion’s commentary on what makes news – the event itself or people’s reactions - aside, its writers have one point entirely wrong, and it’s the point that underscores and validates the entire satire.  It isn’t at all like it never happened before.  It used to shock us.  It has happened so many times now that the shock is gone, forgotten.  We as a society have become numb and at the same time saturated by repeated episodes of tragedy, so much so that occurrences of gun violence no longer warrant front-page coverage, and we know, to quote The Onion again, “with scalpel-like precision” exactly what to expect in the aftermath.  Perhaps that is why it is no longer news worthy.   Our reactions have become too predictable.

I fear that this saturation has lead to a level of complacency.  We accept the possibility of such horrific violence as a disturbing but uncontrollable part of our modern reality.  It has only been two months or so since the shooting in Aurora.  Two months since the horror of it was in our face.  “It’s as if it never happened,” except for the families who lost loved ones, except for the man with a severed spine now dependent on a ventilator for breath, except for the woman with shattered leg, except for all of the victims and their families trying to rebuild their lives, trying to pay for exorbitant unexpected medical expenses, expenses that will no doubt add to the already over-burdened health care system in our country, and trying to navigate through the resulting emotional trauma, the broken hearts and souls, that are the result of living through such an experience. 

Of course, we must not allow the increase in gun violence in our country to paralyze us.  That is not at all a useful response.  At the same time, we must fight against the initial tendency to accept the problem as someone else’s.  Isn’t that why we find the interviews with classmates and co-workers of the shooter so fascinating?  We yearn to hear something that explains the violence away as something that can’t happen to us so that we can continue to live our lives without worry.  It’s over there.  We’re safe over here.  Problem is, it is happening to us – all of us, whether we are direct victims or not. 

And we can’t respond by simply building up our defenses.  Baltimore County’s response to the most recent appearance of a semi-automatic weapon on a 13-year person: hand held metal detectors and increased police presence on school premises.  Really?  Do we really want our schools and work places to look more like potential crime scenes and war zones than safe havens of learning and productivity?  A vigilant environment is not the answer to our society’s gun violence problem, and it is certainly not the environment into which I want to send my children.

         We are certainly not the first to struggle with the human capacity for violence.  Many of our prominent Medieval Jewish thinkers discussed the need for subduing the internal impulses and motivations, the yetzer ha-ra, that propel humans toward violence.   Maimonides, for example (and not surprisingly) viewed violence as stemming from irrationality and ignorance.   His prophetic vision of peace stemmed directly from the dominion of the intellect over our destructive impulses; indeed, intellectual perfection, defined as a realization of the rational self coupled with knowledge of God, was deemed the guarantor of peace for the Rambam.

         Similarly, Abraham bar Hiyya, a Jewish mathematician and philosopher who lived during the decades leading up to Maimonides’ birth, saw violence and hatred as falling to the wayside once human beings became masters of their interpersonal relationships.  “If each and every one” he wrote,” …shall love his neighbor as he loves himself, then zealotry, hatred, and covetousness must vanish from the world; and it is these that are the causes of war and slaughter in this world.” (from Hegyon ha-Nefesh)  For Bar Hiyya, constructive use of the intellect wasn’t the solution, but rather the development of compassion, emotional intimacy, and mutual identification among human beings was paramount toward eradicating violence.

         The author of Unetane Tokef, the central poetic addition to our High Holiday Amidah that was written most likely written in part as a response to the horrific experience of the Crusades, viewed supreme justice as the cure for all that ails us and as the key for bringing about ultimate peace and redemption into our world.  It is our good deeds, the poet emphasizes, balanced against our failings, that have the power to scale back horrific events in our world.

           Taken individually, none of these philosophical answers satisfies.  We recognize the idealism and naivité in each.  A society where peace and non-violence reign is held up as a utopian redemptive vision that seems unrealistic.  But as Progressive Jews, we must challenge the notion that redemption is entirely out of our reach.  Utopia, yes – that is out of our reach, but making the world less conducive to violence?  I’d argue that is not only in our reach, but it is our responsibility, part of the mandate of tikkun olam. 

Common to all of these philosophers’ points of view, in addition to a focus on redemption as a state of perfection is also a recognition that we, human beings, are not powerless.   We do not have to sit back and accept the readily accessible presence of guns in our society.  We can advocate against the gun lobby and for tougher gun control.  There is simply no ethical or compelling reason why any regular citizen needs easy access to a semi-automatic pistol.  We must work to instill a sense of derech eretz in our children that fosters not only kindness, honor, and respect, but also teaches them ways to cope with sadness, frustration, and anger before it percolates into violence. 

         It is easy to lay blame on others, specifically on the shooter, on the parents and grandparents who made weapons available, on those who bullied, on bosses who treated workers unfairly, on misdiagnosed or poorly managed mental illness.   There is no dearth of places to point our fingers.  During this period of repentance, however, it behooves us to place, at the very least, some of the responsibility squarely on us. 

Doing so requires Maimonides’ activation of the intellect, Bar Hiyya’s consciousness, love, and respect for the other, and the medieval poet’s sense of divinely mandated mitzvot.    It is our responsibility to make this world inhospitable to violence.  It is our responsibility to work towards bringing at least this aspect of redemption to our world.  

         May we be stirred to care, may we be stirred to action -  Tekiah:  wake up,  shevarim – be disturbed, Teruah – move forward, and let us work towards fixing this world.

(conclude with shofar blasts from around sanctuary)

           

Shelach L'cha - Go Forth for Yourself, in celebration of finishing my PhD, delivered 6/16/2012

By the end of this week’s Torah reading, Parashat Shelach L’cha, the fate of this generation of Israelites is sealed:

כי כל האנשים הראים את כבדי ואת אתתי אשר במצרים ובמדבר.... לא יראוה.

All of those who witnessed my glory and my signs performed in Egypt and in the wilderness, ….they won’t see the land promised to their ancestors – none of them, save for Caleb and Joshua will enter Canaan. (Num. 14:22-23, 30)

This is a pretty steep punishment! After all these folks have been through: slavery at the hand of the Egyptians, witnessing the fright the various plagues brought to their former home and their neighbors, the circuitous and difficult journey out of Egypt through the Reed Sea and into the wilderness of Zin, and the assignment of pre-determined duties in this new, uncertain, and entirely temporary home. And now, they are being told, after all of this – after all of this -- they won’t get to see this promised land of milk and honey that has been held out as a carrot throughout their journey thus far. It will remain promised to their children, but not to them.

The reason for the punishment most often cited is the community’s lack of faith in God. Twelve spies are sent out to scout this promised land. Two, Caleb and Joshua, return optimistic and refortified in their ability to move forward. The remaining ten return dismayed by the apparent strength of those dwelling in this new land and work to instill doubt among the masses. “They are so much stronger than us,” they report back. Taking advantage of the flexibility of the classical Hebrew, the Talumdic sage Rav Hanina (b. Papa) argues that the 10 spies weren’t solely reporting back that the people there were stronger than the Israelites, rather, the failure was that they deemed this foreign people to be stronger than God.

According to Rashi, the opening imperative sh’lach l’cha highlights the very act of sending the spies as an expression of faithlessness. The text doesn’t simply say sh’lach anashim, send men. Rather, the biblical author uses the idiomatic shelach l’cha, understood as “send forth,’ but that translates literally as, “Send for yourself” – the implication being “Do it for yourself, not for me.” As far as Rashi is concerned, God has already made it clear that this promised land is good; there is no need to investigate it further. The impulse to do so is entirely human not at all divinely mandated.

If, however, the punishment of being denied entrance into the promised land was solely a result of doubting God’s promises and power, then, it seems to me, that the punishment would have come immediately after the spies were sent. That was the moment when the Israelites’ doubt is first evident. Even Rashi admits in his interpretation of this passage that God was ultimately okay with the sending of the spies. God may not have been pleased with the doubt in God it represented, but in Rashi’s imagination, God doesn’t interfere at this point in order to provide the community a chance to trust in itself as well as in God.

Change is hard. New ventures are scary. It is far easier to stay put, or even return to the past – as rough as that past may have been, than to chart a course forward into the unknown. This is where the ten and the broader community who succumbed to the negative and discouraging reports of the ten failed. The failure was the utter lack of trust they had in themselves. When faced with the nephilim, foreigners they viewed as giants, they can be expected to report “we were like grasshoppers in our own eyes.” (Num 13:33) But, the assumption that follows, וכן היינו בעיניהם, "so we must have been in their eyes,” is just that – an assumption, and one based on fear of the unknown at best. As the midrash asks, how could these ten men possibly know how they appeared to the Canaanites?

Pursuing a doctoral degree can feel at times like a journey through the midbar towards a held out promised land. They journey requires a significant amount of study, both in the classroom and out. It requires an eagerness to research a topic that no one else has found interesting enough or had time enough yet to explore. It requires an interest in writing – a lot of writing -- and revising. The most important requirement, however, has nothing to do with knowledge or the mastering of a subject manner. The most important requirement is a willingness to be open to another’s opinion and to remain persistent in the face of doubt and weariness. Those of us who finish aren’t any brighter than the others, but we are, perhaps, better able to model Caleb and Joshua in terms of how we face our nephilim. And, we have something Caleb and Joshua didn’t have: the support of a community behind them, trusting their vision.

That’s the challenge in facing any new venture, isn’t it? How we approach our nephilim -- those obstacles that appear so giant that they feel insurmountable - and garner support for our goals. Whether it’s making the courageous decision to commit to learning the aleph-bet for the first time as an adult (well-done Melissa!) or whether deciding to dig into the task of pursuing a formal academic degree -- regardless, in order to succeed we must first trust in ourselves. We must trust that we can succeed; and perhaps even more importantly, we must trust that we can survive setbacks and even failure. Only then can we have any chance of moving forward to that place of promise. Only then, with any luck, can we also trust in the transcendent and uncontrollable force in the world we name God.

Naso et Rosh: Lifting up Liberal Judaism in Israel, delivered June 2, 2012

Change can be very difficult! But sometimes, it is absolutely vital to progress!


In 2005, IRAC – Israel’s Religious Action Center (and counterpart to our own Religious Action Center in DC) began its push for the recognition of non-Orthodox rabbis in Israel. Specifically, IRAC submitted a petition on behalf of Kibbutz Gezer’s congregation Birkat Shalom and its rabbi, Miri Gold demanding equal funding from the government as is provided to Orthodox rabbis in Israel. Let me remind you that Israel does not benefit from the separation of Church and State to which we are so accustomed here in the United States, and in many ways, Israel is thus less democracy than theocracy. The Religious Service Ministry has historically financed the salaries of Orthodox rabbis who lead and serve in Israel, a benefit that has never been extended to non-Orthodox rabbis and their liberal communities -- that is until this week.

On Tuesday, after more than seven years of effort, a small but significant and quite substantial change has been made to this system. For the first time, the term “rabbi of a non-Orthodox community” has been recognized by the Israeli government paving the way for the funding of non-Orthodox rabbis such as Miri Gold and 14 other non-Orthodox rabbis, and for – hopefully in time – the recognition and validation of Liberal Judaism more broadly within Israel.

Still, there is still much progress to be made before naso et rosh, everyone is lifted up to be counted:

1. This decision is limited to regional councils and farming communities – it does not extend into the major cities of Israel.

2. Those listed under this new “rabbi of non-Orthodox community” title have no authority over religious and halakhic matters. A couple of practical outcomes of this limitation: A Reform or Conservative Jew still cannot legally marry outside of Orthodox law. They must either travel abroad for a civil ceremony or be married by the Orthodox establishment in order to be legally recognized as wed within Israel. And, still, all conversions conducted within Israel must have Orthodox supervision in order to be valid. Orthodox interpretation of Jewish law remains the law of Israel.

3. And, finally, and perhaps most troubling in the overt message it sends: financing for this new legal category of non-Orthodox Rabbis will come not from the Religious Services Ministry but rather from the Culture and Sports Ministry. Liberal Judaism is being pointed categorized as Tarbut, cultural, not religious.

Despite these limitations to this step forward in “naso et rosh”, of lifting up the status of liberal Judaism in Israel, this small change is paramount and necessary for forwarding religious freedom and pluralism in Israel. The rift between the Orthodox and non-Orthodox in Israel is deep. There are those for whom this recognition presents great challenge. The current Religious Services Minister, a Shas party member, for example, has threatened to resign immediately if he is forced to pay the salaries of non-Orthodox rabbis. Recognition of Liberal Judaism – both Reform and Conservative – is viewed by him and those who share his views as a lethal threat to Jewish life. Such a position in my opinion grows solely out of fear and closed mindedness.

Jewish life in ancient Jerusalem was not nearly as monolithic as the Orthodox challenge us to believe. The rigidity and singular vision of the religious right is a modern phenomenon, a reaction to what is viewed as an intrusion instead of a welcome addition. Too often in our history, ‘modernity’ has been made the fall guy for assimilation, and yet in every single generation of Jews dating back as early as the biblical period, syncretism – the modeling and absorbing of outside cultural elements (contemporary elements) into our own – has been present, and it has often worked to revitalized Judaism. Where would we be, for instance, without the writings of Maimonides, a figure who was greatly impacted by the ‘modern’ culture of his time? Where would we be without the system of ta’amim – the vowels and cantillation that bring Torah to life for Jews of every denomination throughout the world that weren’t formally added to the biblical text until the 10th century? The Masorites who finalized this system, and those who preceded them, were impacted by the then new academic trends of the mid- medieval period. Even today’s Haredim who claim to be preserving authentic Jewish life are modeling, even in their dress code, 18th century Eastern Europe. How is that any more authentic than our modeling today’s sensibilities? 

Israel’s first, but bold step in formally recognizing Liberal Judaism in Israel today is a critical step towards restoring Israel as a truly representative center of Jewish life. I’m envious of my daughter, Ande, who, even if she is oblivious to the daily news during her travels, can look back and say she was in Israel when this momentous decision was made! Continued progress, of course, is needed and can work only to strengthen Jewish life both within and without the State of Israel. Ken y’hi ratzon b’yameinu …may it happen in our day! And – kol ha-kavod to those progressive leaders working to make it so!

Kedoshim: The Choice to be Holy, delivered May 5, 2012

קדשים תהיו כי קדוש אני יהוה –“Holy you will be, because holy am I,” God declares.


Is it a choice? Though the writer of this well known introductory verse to our Torah’s Holiness Code did not employ the grammatical imperative tense, it certainly reads like an imperative. “You will be holy!” God demands. The expectation is clear: we will behave in a manner which is respectful, generous, and in turn, holy. It is easy to focus on the behavioral expectations. We should all respect those elders who nurture, protect, and guide us. We should leave the corners of our fields for those who are hungry. We should care for the stranger in our midst. We should strive to be fair in all of our dealings. And it is easy to criticize those who don’t and blame them for their own failings.

What happens, however, to the ability to behave according to the expectations of this Levitical Code when the opportunities for experiencing a sense of holiness, a sense of respect and well-being, is so far out of reach that even trying to behave well, according to “the code,” doesn’t get you there?

At the start of this week, I had the extraordinary opportunity to ride along with a Baltimore City police officer during his patrol shift through a segment of the Western District of Baltimore city. This opportunity came about due to my involvement in the Baltimore Jewish Council, an organization that works to nurture community relations and inspire community activism. I had never been to the Western District of our city before. Now, I’m not a native Baltimorean.  I’ve been here for almost 20 years, a short time by Baltimore standards, but certainly long enough to take a tour through the entire city, even those parts deemed less than savory by most. Yet, I’ve never had reason to venture deep into this part of the city. I’d bet there are plenty of life-long Baltimoreans, too, who have failed to take note of this particular side of town and the utter desolation that is a daily constant there. This is an area of town where entire blocks of bordered up and partially destroyed homes have become haven for the culture of drugs, prostitution and violence that is so firmly entrenched there. This is an area of town where Edgar Allen Poe’s former residence resides, but where armed guards are called upon to patrol the entire area when students come to visit (imagine the message this sends to our youth). This is an area where children have been raised to spit at the very feet of those who have chosen to devote their days to trying to maintain law and order and keep them safe.

Where are the opportunities for kedoshim there? Where are the opportunities for holiness in a place where respect and generosity have been replaced by fear and disdain of even those whose primary service is to protect them. Where are the opportunities for holiness in a place where behaving in a respectful and generous manner may put you – or your loved ones - in harm’s way?

The assumption of our Torah portion is that everyone has the same opportunity for reaching towards and being holy. If only we behave according to the terms laid out before us, then we, like God, will be holy and all will be well. Such an idealistic understanding, however, leads us too quickly to blame those who get stuck in places where the opportunities for kedoshim – for success -- are so far and few between. The stark reality is that not everyone has the same opportunities for living according to these terms. There are those in our world who have never witnessed the kind of generous and respectful behavior the Holiness Code is seeking to establish. There are areas of our world controlled by people who work to instill a different “Code of Honor,” and it isn’t at all honorable. There are areas of our world where hunger – emotional and physical -- runs so deep, it is simply too hard to think, let alone act, beyond it. How on earth can one be asked to behave in a respectful or generous, if one is living in such conditions? How on earth can one be asked to behave respectfully or generously if one has never seen or experienced it? How can one be asked to simply “pull themselves up out of it” when they have no sense of what they are pulling themselves towards?

Perhaps that’s why the biblical hand opens with the mandate that everyone in the community will be holy simply because God is holy. Before any rules are outlined, we are subtly and continually reminded that we are made Btzelem Elohim – ani adonai elohechem. It is not up to us to judge those who fail to reach a certain standard too quickly or too harshly. According to biblical tradition, we are all made in the image of God. Whether we live in areas that provide us great, or even moderate opportunity, to thrive or in areas that seem to squash our inherent capacity to succeed, we all are equally human and deserving of those opportunities for kedoshim. The question remains, how do we make those opportunities present for all!

Parashat Metzora: A Tale of Slander, delivered Shabbat morning 4/28/2012

Once… many, many generations ago, in a time and place that was in so many ways not so unlike today, there was a young man struggling to keep his friends. I must tell you, that this young man at one time was very popular. He had lots and lots of friends. Everyone in the community seemed to be drawn to him and his remarkable ability to tell tales – elaborate and entertaining tales. The problem was, it was soon noticed, that most of his ‘tall tales’ were told at the expense of others. He was able to weave a brilliant story, but too often used his gift of storytelling in order to spread gossip and rumor. Slowly, as his words and stories spread, his friends and neighbors, one by one, started avoiding him. They didn’t want to be the source of his tall tales. The young man couldn’t understand why everyone was beginning to leave him alone. They were just words…he may have exaggerated here and there, or shared negative gossip that he had heard, but it wasn’t like he was actually hurting anyone? Or, so he thought.


After awhile, he began to apologize for his behavior, but he was still left alone. No one wanted to be his friend. So, he went to his Rabbi for advice (as was common in that day and age), asked, “Rabbi, how do I make friends again?” I’ve tried to say I’m sorry, but no one will listen to me.

The Rabbi asked the young man if he truly want to make amends for his behavior. The young man respond eagerly, “yes!” So the Rabbi told the young man, “Go and fetch a pure feather pillow and a pair of scissors, and then return to me.” The young man was very confused by the Rabbi’s request, but he followed the instructions nonetheless. He found a pure feather pillow and a pair of scissors and returned to the Rabbi’s study. “Ok, here I have the pillow and scissors. Now what?”

And the Rabbi responded, “Go now to highest hill in our district, cut a hole in the pillow, and let all of the feathers, every single one of them, out into the wind; then return to me here. “ The young man, thought the Rabbi was a bit nuts, but he was eager to have his friends back so he complied with the unusual request. He went out that evening to the top of the highest hill, cut open the pillow, and watched as all of the feathers took flight into the wind. He then dutifully returned to the Rabbi’s study.

“I did everything you told me, Rabbi! I took my pillow and scissors out to the highest hill and let all of the feathers from the pillow out. It was beautiful watching all of the feathers float in the air, but I’m not sure I understand: how will this help me get my friends back?”

The Rabbi continued carefully, “I have one more task for you. I want you to go back to that same hill and collect all of the feathers into this paper bag.”

The young man was outraged! “What? How am I ever supposed to do that? The feathers have already blown to the next town by now…heck, they are probably all over many towns far beyond our small hamlet. How could I possibly gather them back up? You have set up an impossible task!”

“Ah…,” the Rabbi answered. “So it is with your words and your stories. They have spread far and wide, and it is an impossible task to gather them back. It will take time, patience, as well as effort, in order to earn your friends’ and neighbors’ trust back. In the meantime, keep your words close to your heart and your lips, and guard your tongue from evil or malicious speech.

This well-known, and often adapted, folk tale expresses the essence of the Rabbinic understanding of Parashat Metzora. Particularly by the late Rabbinic period – the period known best for its aggadic interpretations, the unknown affliction known in the ancient world as Tazra’at (and mis-understood by moderns as leprosy) was viewed as a punishment for engaging in slander and malicious gossip. Metzora was viewed as a metaphor for motzi shem ra, for bringing forth or furthering a bad name or reputation. Simply put, slanderous talk was viewed as a threat to the very foundation of human society. The Talmud, for instance, links the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem to claims of gossip (B. Gitten 65a). Kohelet, the anonymous author of Ecclesiastes, writes “many have fallen by the edge of the sword, but not as many as have fallen by the tongue.” (Kohelet 28:18) And, it is noted in Genesis Rabbah that “what is spoken in Rome may kill in Syria” (Gen. Rabbah 98:23).

Short of transporting ourselves back in time to the biblical period in order to ask if the intent of parashat metzora was in fact to deal with impurity brought upon the community due to slanderous talk, we will never know how much the Rabbinic interpretation was born out of a real desire to curb gossip or an effort to contemporize and relate to a challenging text that they too didn’t fully comprehend. An interesting question for sure for the historian.  From the rabbinic perspective, however, it doesn’t quite matter. Rather appreciating and, more importantly, learning from the creative and valuable lessons of rabbinic tradition and incorporating them into our time becomes our mandate as modern Jews.

Our society as a whole could learn from the rabbinic concern with slander. Just look at the manner in which many of our political candidates speak about each other. Look at the print media with which we are bombarded at various check out isles. Listen to the manner in which so many of our television characters and personalities speak to each other. It is incumbent upon us to model a better example for our children. Our capacity for language is one of the critical characteristics that separate us from the rest of the animal world. We’d be wise to view our abuse of language, as the early Rabbis did, as threatening to humanity. We’d be wise to use our words – whether spoken, typed, or texted – in a manner which forwards compassion and understanding in the world.

Shabbat Toldot: Legacy - Opportunity and Burden, delivered Shabbat morning, 11/26/2011

It is difficult for me to find much redeeming in the narrative that makes up the bulk of our Parashat Toldot. I can’t help but read the portion as an example of dysfunctional family dynamics. Parashat Toldot is filled with sibling rivalry run amuck and parents contributing to the drama through their own actions of deceit and denial. It seems that the best we can do with it is accept it as a painfully true depiction of humanity; and as such, recognize that even our beloved patriarchs and matriarchs (or at least the authors of these stories) were entirely human and subject to the same emotions and insecurities that we are. The story of Isaac imitating his father by passing his wife off as his sister to Abimelech and the Philistines, for instance, challenges us to consider the natural tendency towards following in our parents’ footsteps, even if when it means unintentionally repeating their mistakes. Legacy can be both an insightful teacher and a burdensome yoke. The story of Rebecca’s manipulation of events at the end of her husband’s life unsettles us and challenges us to consider how we treat our own loved ones, perhaps especially our children who rely on us as role models. Do we respond appropriately to the differences in our children? Do we help them overcome, or do we encourage their rivalries? Do we help them forge their own paths, or do we burden them and use them for our own gain or for the fulfillment of our own goals? Rebecca is a curious figure to be held up as a matriarch. Yet, she is. Despite all of the challenges of the story, it is part of our Biblical canon. We accept it as part of our sacred historical narrative.


One significant lesson that can be drawn from this portion is that, despite dysfunction, all can come out okay. We aren’t doomed by our human failings. Our destiny isn’t necessarily plagued by the mistakes of our parents or ourselves. At the end of our Biblical narrative, the Israelites will still receive the benefits of the covenant made originally with Abraham. Their descendants will still get to stand at Sinai and ultimately enter the promised land of milk and honey. Unfortunately, though -- and perhaps my frustration in the portion lies right here: implicit in this lesson is the deeply troubling message that deception, Divinely mandated deception no less, is necessary for the covenant between God and Israel to be brought to fruition.

This dilemma is not a new one, and our generation is not the first to recognize it. The traditional Rabbinic exegesis offered on Parashat Toldot redeems the deception by expanding on the limited characterizations of Jacob and Esau provided in the Biblical text. Accordingly, as typical in Jewish commentary, the peshat, the simple rendering of the text, must be coupled with the later layers of oral tradition in order for the reader to understand why the deception is acceptable, indeed necessary. In the Rabbinic mind, Jacob doesn’t just yoshev ohalim, sit in his tent, but rather is portrayed as a pious and devoted student of Torah while Esau’s outdoorsman character is painted as a wild fan of idolatry. Jacob is compared to a rose’s sweet fragrance while Esau to its thorns. Rebecca’s behavior is thus forgiven, even celebrated, because she was ultimately forwarding Torah, and God’s agenda, in her actions. Rebecca apparently needed to resort to deception in order to assure God’s plan.

Unfortunately, outside of the most traditional circles, the midrashic apologetic no longer fully satisfies. I doubt that I am alone in not being so easily placated by the traditional rabbinic explanation, an explanation that raises a difficult theological dilemma: what are the ramifications of a theology that grounds the continuation and longevity of the covenant between Israel and God on deception?

I don’t have many useful answers this morning. I, like you, have been busy digesting turkey and caring for my children who were off from school the latter half of the week. However, I mused on these questions as I sat with my family – between my aging parents on the one side and my teen and almost teenager on the other -- and celebrated Thanksgiving. In musing upon them, it dawned on me that perhaps answering the question is far less important than being aware of it. We needn’t reject the text or God simply because the text unnerves us. As liberal Jews, we believe that the Torah and the additional layers of Oral Law, were written by the human hand. As such, the story reflects the entire gamut of human strengths and weaknesses. Our sacred narrative reflects the experiences of its authors; and, we have the ability, perhaps responsibility, to add to the layers of Oral Law by engaging with the dilemmas raised in the text and creating our own generation’s commentary.

We elevate the story to canonical status, and in doing so create very high expectations for the text and the early commentary that is coupled with it. Expecting unrealistic perfection from humanity only prevents us from taking away valuable lessons from the text and adding new ones to it. It also prevents us from seeing ourselves in the characters. Isaac and Rebecca are held up in our tradition as our parents. We will make some of the same mistakes they did. Hopefully their example will also lead us to some better choices as well.

We Did it Right! Shabbat Noach & the Dedication of our Outdoor Chapel In the Woods

God may very well be smiling today!


I don’t use anthropomorphic language to imagine God very often. I’m too much of a rationalist, and I doubt too much. But indeed, if this week’s Torah portion parashat Noah is meant as lesson – a guide- for how the human race is supposed to build and sustain our world, then we at Temple Emanuel got it right. We got it right with the building of our outdoor sacred space, a sacred space we dedicate this morning in honor of Nathan Lawless and his parents, who brought us together in this wonderful project, and in memory of Joseph K. Rosenblatt, Jr. whose family has ensured that this space will be maintained in a beautiful and accessible fashion well into the future.

Too often we read parashat Noach with children’s eyes; it’s easier that way. The animals gently herded into the ark by Noah becomes a charming story of seemingly patient salvation as opposed to the devastating narrative it was meant to be. Excuse my blunt language, but the essence of the story can be summarized succinctly, and in a manner I believe Joe would have appreciated: we screwed up, God is pissed, and God’s starting over! We know the destructive power of endless and constant rain. I can’t imagine this story was ever intended to be as cute as we’ve made it out to me.

The stories that follow the flood narrative, the first we hear of the generations that follow Noah, indicate that destructive punishment doesn’t lead to learning or positive change. Take the Babel story, a story that has become a charming midrash for the myriad of human languages that exist in our world.  It is a story that on the surface reads as a productive and communal building project, כל הארץ שפה אחד the entire nation was speaking the same language; they were on the same page. Unfortunately, the page they were on was the wrong one. Their singular, and thoroughly misguided passion, according to Rabbinic tradition, was building something tall and grand, a skyscraper, that would in the Torah’s words, נעשה [להם] שם, establish for them a name. The failure of this early building project? It was celebrated for its grandeur and its size, not for what it could provide for the community.

God is smiling today. We got it right with the building of our outdoor chapel!

The seeds of this project were planted many years ago by AJ Benjamin. These early plans were put aside for various reasons, but when Nathan expressed interest in furthering this project, those plans were generously shared by the Benjamins so that he could build upon their early vision and work. Nathan, with some gentle assistance of his parents, motivated our entire congregation to build and create this chapel for our congregational community; and in doing so, he earned the well deserved rank of Eagle Scout. Yasher Ko-ach to him! Though the project and effort involved was certainly grand -- it was a tall order: it involved all of us participating: from the challenges of fund raising and physical planning (not so easy on our grounds) to the last layer of mulch being spread across the chapel floor; yet, the goal of the building project was never about size or establishing “a name” for those involved, it was all about working together in order to provide a sacred gathering space for learning and worship.

Nathan’s work did more than to inspire the creation of the chapel. His efforts inspired Doris and her family to continue the work of creating and building upon this space into the future. Working with TESCA and the Lawless family, Doris has ensured that we can continue Nathan’s efforts; and in doing so, has reminded us all of Joe’s legacy. An life-long participant and leader within the Boy Scouts of America, Joe would be proud to be remembered and honored by the continuation of such a grand and special project.

Yup – God is smiling today, despite the rain and snow (maybe God is simply overcome with emotion …how’s that for anthropomorphic imagery), we got it right! In appreciation of their efforts, we invite Nathan and his parents and Doris and her children up for the aliyot to Torah.  And, though we formally dedicate the chapel this morning, we look forward to following up in the spring when the weather will allow us to carry out the Torah for study and worship in this wonderful outdoor space!