Words - Yes, we need them! Delivered Shabbat Devarim, July 13, 2013

Devarim, words.  Elu devarim asher dibeir Moshe, These are the words that Moses offered….  Up until now, the words Moses recites are almost always preceded by Vayomer Adonai el Moshe, God spoke to Moses.  Only after God advises does Moses then speak to the people.  Now, Moses is ready to speak on his own, and as we will be reminded towards the end of this book of Devarim, Moses does so best through song.   Just as he did at the moment of redemption from Egypt, Moses expresses himself at the end of his life through poetic song.  His final words, his final sermon, if you will ,is not understood as Divrei Moshe, the Words of Moses, but rather Shirat Moshe, The Song of Moses.   Tradition offers Moses the honorific: Moshe Rabbeinu to highlight his role as our first teacher; but, he can certainly be considered just as well as Moshe Chazaneinu.  Moses is the first communal leader, our first Jewish historical figure, to use song as a vehicle for teaching and worship.

Last Shabbat, I was en route home from the annual gathering of the American Conference of Cantors, the umbrella organization of Reform cantors.  The ACC, as it is known (not to be confused with an apparently better known athletic conference referred to by the same acronym), includes graduates and ordinees of the Hebrew Union College’s School of Sacred Music and graduates of other cantorial seminaries who choose to affiliate with and serve Reform congregations.  Each year, the ACC is joined by members of the GTM.  The GTM, The Guild of Temple Musicians, is an organization whose members serve Reform congregations in other non-clergy musical roles – as accompanists, soloists, music directors, choir directors, and composers.  Each year, the ACC and the GTM gather together for a week of worship and concentrated study. 

Back in the youth of my career (as opposed to what I consider the mid-life of my synagogue service), I attended these ACC Conventions regularly, annually.  They provided an opportunity not only to stay tuned to what was current, but also offered the chance to reconnect with former classmates and colleagues.  Due to various life happenings, such as finishing a dissertation and taking congregants to Israel, I have not attended an ACC gathering in 3-4 years.  It was nice to see my colleagues and to learn some new music; but more importantly, attending this year reminded me of the divine pleasures of Torah lishmah, study for study’s own sake, and of sitting back and being an anonymous member of a kahal, a community.

The impact of the text study sessions will appear in sermons or teaching during the upcoming year, I look forward to sharing what I studied with you; but, most immediately, I’d like to share the experience of worship.

We gather for prayer twice daily at ACC Conferences, every morning before study and each evening before dinner.  If only I could bottle the sound.  Imagine: 150 voices, voices of people who are not only confident and competent musicians, but who are passionate about Jewish worship.  Imagine them all coming together in prayer.  The resulting worship trascends the cantorial ego and bravado creating beautiful prayer and spontaneous harmonies in a way that only a group of cantors can acheive.  The simplest nigun becomes sublime in its harmonic complexity.

At the same time as there are moments and melodies that inspire me as a worshipper, a religious leader, and as a teacher of prayer, there are also moments of experimental worship, some of which fall short of what I expect was the intended result.  Conferences are, remember, first and foremost a place to learn and experience the new and cutting edge.   This year, one of these moments occurred during what was billed as “hands-free worship.”  Hands-free worship is a trend that is beginning to find its way from the mega-church movement into many Reform and some Conservative synagogues.  I purposely attended this service, an evening service, in order to experience it first-hand, or shall I say hands free.  Is this something that would enhance our worship offerings at Temple Emanuel?  Could this be a tool for re-invigorating our poorly attended Erev Shabbat services, in particular?

Before I share my ultimate ‘come away’ from the experience, allow me to first describe the setting.  Generally, hands-free worship involves replacing a prayer book with projected images (imagine a large power-point screen at the front of the sanctuary) with text, music, and perhaps graphics.  At the ACC convention’s Hand’s Free Worship, there was no projected text.  I am unclear if this was a conscious decision, such a group as ours really didn’t need the words or music in front of us, we know it by rote.  There was a big screen at the front of the room, just nothing projected on it (the screen was in the room for the entire conference).   At the front of the room was a worship leader seated and leading from a piano and two additional musical leaders seated next to the piano.   I believe the intention of the service was to remove any distractions and maximize what we label “participation.”  The leaders, all cantors, lead beautifully and with great competence.  Indeed, we stood, sat, and sang along on cue.  But, the entire experience felt lacking.  It is not a style of worship that I will be introducing to Temple Emanuel any time soon save perhaps in a religious school classroom or a First Friday Shabbat as a supplement to (not replacement of) the siddur.  My reasons are two-fold.

The first can perhaps best be expressed by my response to a colleague who was lamenting one morning over breakfast how she just couldn’t seem to increase participation in her congregation.  No matter how much she tried, she said, she just couldn’t get them to “participate” more.  She continued to describe how she walks up and down the isles of her sanctuary clapping and encouraging singing.   My, perhaps less than welcome, response: maybe she was limiting her definition of what it means to “participate” in worship.   I could begin a rant here, actually.  I believe one of our biggest failures in the Reform movement is that not only have leaders limited the definition of participation to far too narrow a window, but that limited definition has then been imposed as the best - the only - goal across the board for successful worship. 

Participation does not equal singing along, foot stomping, or clapping.  These are valid ways of participation, no argument there; but, so are sitting back and listening, being engaged and inspired by the texts before us, meditating on prayer and Torah perhaps while others around us are singing (one of my favorite ways of participating at ACC worship by the way, not one I can do here in my role as service leader) – these are all also valid ways of participating even if they can’t be measured by an enthusiastic response.   Participating often means closing our mouths, opening our ears, and taking in the fullness of a worship experience.  As a dear teacher and cantorial colleague, Dr. Eliyahu Schleifer, once reminded me, though there are no congregational refrains in sermons or drashot, your attention, your involvement, is expected.  Why do we expect any less for our liturgy?

Even though the “Hands-Free worship” was participatory in the sense that everyone was singing along, it felt performative instead of engaging.   We were a front focused audience – a sing a-long one for sure – but not so much a congregation. 

My guess as to what made it feel so performative was the lack of a hands on text.   I do believe that there is something binding about us being literally on the same page whether we are singing aloud together or not.    I don’t care if the text in my hand is paper bound or digital (btw, Mishkan Tefilah is available as a very usable ipad app), but I believe there is value in having a shared text.  I didn’t realize how visceral that attachment to text was until it was removed from my hands.  On the one hand, this attachment could be attributed to my academic and bookish interests, but it seems to me that Judaism becomes vacuous without text.  Why would we want to remove the text or place it further away from us? It is our textual traditions – biblical, rabbinic, and liturgical – that ground us, and these texts belong firmly in our hands.

Devarim – words.  On parchment, on paper, on a digital screen -- our liturgy, our poetry is just that, words.  It is only one aspect, but an important, aspect of prayer.  It is the very combination of our written texts and the oral renderings and interpretations that we bring to the words the make them sing.  It is this combination of what is in our hands and what is beyond our hands that give Jewish worship the potential of being a rich and meaningful experience.   So, let's keep the words in our hands.

 

 

 

 

My Remarks at the 2013 Annual Meeting of Temple Emanuel of Baltimore

This past week’s Torah portion, Shelach l’cha reminds us that we all have our own perceptions about what is a reasonable challenge.    We can imagine ourselves like grasshoppers in the face of nephilim, or we can remain focused on our skills, strengths, and the vision that has been set forth before us.   Choosing the latter does not mean that we ignore real obstacles.  It doesn’t mean we proceed with overly-confident, rose colored visions of the future.  No, it means we engage in the work, often time consuming work, required to meet challenge and overcome obstacle as best as we are able.

This annual meeting provides the opportunity to thank our lay leaders for doing just that – our executive committee (members of which are seated here and from whom you will hear), our Board of Trustees, and our Visioning for the Future committee.  These are the leaders in our midst, who like Caleb and Joshua are willing to proceed forward with great effort and expenditure of time and creativity in order to help Temple Emanuel have a promising future.  Please don’t take \their efforts for granted!   Their work is for all of our benefit.

The end of a fiscal year is also an appropriate time to reflect on the successes and challenges of our congregation.  Let me first enumerate just a few of the successes:

Shabbat morning worship: unlike many Reform congregations around the country, we have a regular gathering every Saturday morning, and we pray as one community celebrating milestones together and enjoying each other’s company.  We create Shabbat community, week after week.

TESCA: Our Temple Emanuel Studio of Cooperative Artists not only bring a beautiful aesthetic to our midst, but more importantly TESCA is a modern and creative extension of Torah and gemilut chasadim.  And, I’m proud to say that it is uniquely ours.

We have drastically reduced our operating budget, and we have done a remarkable job of reigning in deficit. When I first attended Board meetings in 2000, budget deficits were pushing into the 6-figure range.  There is still work to do in order to get us to a predictably fully balanced budget, but the effort to get us this far in just a few years must be recognized as a success!

Our Religious school is vibrant and compelling.  Our building is at our liveliest when school is in session.  Our teachers are sincerely interested in raising up a new generation of Jews, our students are interested and engaged, and our program is continuing to be current, educational, and creative.

We have shared in each other’s joys celebrating weddings, Bar/t Mitzvahs, and baby naming.  And, I’ve watched our members comfort and support each during times of challenge and loss, both communal and individual loss.  

I feel great pride in serving this congregation, and the source of that pride is you: the members and the programs you support and prioritize.  The vision of Torah coupled with social justice, and interest in worship that expresses our liturgy with integrity -  this is what gives me immense pride as this congregation’s rabbi and cantor.

Are challenges still present – no question.   There are nephillim that at times feel insurmountable and make us feel reduced to grasshopper size.  From my perspective, I see two:

Friday night worship.  As our Shabbat morning gathering has grown and become a stable fixture in our congregation (something that was not so 20-25 years ago), regular Friday night attendance has dwindled.   

And 2: We face the continuing challenge of fostering Jewish engagement and making synagogue affiliation and involvement – involvement that translates into financial and volunteer support -- a priority.

We are not unique in facing these two challenges; they reflect national trends in suburban communities; and, I don’t have an magical or easy solutions to these two challenges.  But, I don’t believe they are obstacles that should make us turn away or give up hope on synagogue life.  It is clear to me that our successes far, far outweigh these challenges.  I hope that it is clear to you as well.

As we continue our meeting, let us remain mindful of our leadership’s need of our support.   Can we remain committed to the expression of Jewish values through the synagogue?  As we offer our respect to the presentations our lay leadership has for us, may each of us be further inspired to continue our journey towards future promise, as a cohesive progressive congregation! 

Chazak, chazak v’nitchazek – may we be strengthened as we proceed into a new fiscal year in our congregation.

 

 

 

The Yuval: A Call for Liberty! Delivered Shabbat Behar-Bechukotai, 5/3/2013

          BeHar, we are still standing at Sinai.  This Shabbat, as we conclude the reading of the Book of Leviticus, we review the last pieces of the legislation given to Moses by God on the top of this mountain.   The legislation contained within these last two portions of Vayikra, Behar & Bechukotai, are confounding at first glance.  In a moment, Carly will address the challenges of the system of divine retribution laid out in the latter of these readings, in Parashat Bechukotai.  Allow me to take a moment to reflect on Parashat Behar. 

          Parashat Behar opens with laws regarding land ownership: first, the command to give the land a Sabbath year of fallow every seventh year, what is called the shemitah; and second, the commandment regarding the yuval, the Jubilee marked every 50 years.  After counting off seven weeks of years – seven times seven years, or in simpler terms after counting 49 years, the Israelites were to sound the shofar on Yom Kippur to announce the start of the yuval.  The first instruction after the call of the shofar:

וְקִדַּשְׁתֶּם אֵת שְׁנַת הַחֲמִשִּׁים שָׁנָה וּקְרָאתֶם דְּרוֹר בָּאָרֶץ לְכָל-יֹשְׁבֶיהָ

You shall sanctify the fiftieth year, and you shall proclaim liberty throughout the land and to all its inhabitants.  Sound familiar, “You shall proclaim liberty throughout the land & to all of its inhabitants!”  This Levitical verse found its way onto the Liberty Bell that sits proudly as a national symbol on Independence Mall in Philadelphia.  The Torah portion continues from this now famous verse to detail the instructions for the yuval, in short the specifics for the release of one’s material holdings (in the biblical period this amounted to land, loans, and people).

          Liberty.  The Hebrew original:  dror, translated on our nation’s bell as “liberty,” is of interest.  The translation comes from the Church of England’s King James bible whose 1769 edition became the gold standard of bible translations in the non-Jewish English speaking world.  Ironically, of course, though it was crafted in London, the Liberty Bell was commissioned to celebrate political independence from Britain.  Our bell, however, became a popular national symbol for freedom only decades later when “freedom” took on the added connation of personal freedom from slavery and bondage.  These modern notions of liberty are lovely, and the Church of England’s translation fits with our American values; yet, it behooves us to consider what the biblical writer intended for us to understand as dror, as liberty or freedom.  Given the context of the narrative in Leviticus, which was inked long before any idea of America, let alone American Revolution or Civil War entered human consciousness, the word choice warrants attention.    

Most often when referring to freedom (such as the setting free of a slave or servant), the bible uses an entirely different word, חופש  (chofesh), a term that in modern Hebrew today still retains the notion of freedom as it is used for vacation.  In Israel, when school lets out, chofesh  begins.  

          So, why dror?  Why not chofesh like elsewhere in the Torah where freedom and liberty are referenced?  Rashi, the well-known and beloved eleventh-century French commentator, views dror as specifically the freedom from living under someone else’s rule - under someone else's thumb, an understandable understanding given the reality of Jewish life in medieval France and Germany.   A thirteenth-century grammarian, R. Avraham Bedersi, argued similarly that chofesh implies solely a reduction of servitude or serf-labor, whereas “dror signifies its total abolition.”  Certainly the abolition of serfdom was an ideal of liberty for many (especially Jews, who were as a people barred from owning land) during this period.   Later scholars too add that while chofesh marks the absence of labor perhaps even for a length of time, dror denotes the polar opposite of subservience.    Dror demands that each person become his or her own master. 

Contemporary scholars Tamara Cohen Ezkenazi and Rabbi Andrea Weiss, the editors of the 2008 Women’s Torah Commentary published by The Women of Reform Judaism, remind us that the laws regarding the land in Parashat Behar, including our venerated proclamation of liberty, “aim to protect economically disadvantaged members of their community from losing their freedom and means of livelihood.” The yuval, the 50^th Jubilee year, was instituted, was legislated, into the biblical calendar as a vehicle for economic adjustment as an, albeit theologically-based, system for the balancing of power and ownership in society.   

          For all of our American valuing of liberty, I wonder how well we are doing at maintaining dror in our society?   I am no economist or wealth manager, but it seems to me that our society reflects anything but the balance of power, wealth, and ownership across the citizens of our nation.  Proclaiming a liberty that extends beyond chofesh, simply an extended vacation from labor for some demands that we take very seriously the positive mandate of dror and the responsibility liberty entails.  Becoming master of our selves, of being released from being subordinate to another, is not a mandate to accumulate excessive wealth with the intent of holding onto it in such a way as to keep others subordinate. 

America’s founders understood this as well.  The responsibility and determination required to establish a new country free of familiar monarchy and based entirely on new and democratic ideals, required dror.  It required the liberty to release and allow others to claim.  Those who commissioned our nation’s bell, I believe, fully understood the context of this proclamation of liberty.   Proclaiming dror ba’aretz, proclaiming a release that allows for the experience of true liberty, is a mandate to take care of the world – and all that we claim from it as material possession – for the time that it is ours to do so.  The privilege of that liberty demands also that we do so in a manner that promotes liberty and justice for all.   

Yesh Kedoshim Achare Mot: A Reflection on Boston, delivered Shabbat Achare Mot-Kedoshim, 4/20/2013

We may consider baseball the quintessential American pastime, especially from April through early October; but, if there is any competitive sport that captures the essence of the American spirit, it is running.  And the canonical game in the world of running is the marathon, a race that covers 26.2 carefully measured miles typically spread over the landscape of any American city or town.  Most every major city has one: NY, D.C., Chicago, Philly, San Francisco, Orlando, Houston, Baltimore… I could go on... and of course, Boston.  Many small towns too proudly host them.  No stadiums are required for the marathon; no, its playing field weaves through main street America, through the neighborhoods where we live, where we work, where we play. 

The marathon draws spectators from all walks of life.  No ticket is required to attend – there is no entrance fee to watch the race unfold – conversely, race spectators often come with gifts to share: motivational music and sideline entertainment, gummy bears or orange slices, and shouts of encouragement for all the runners.  The best racing tip anyone has ever given me?  Put my name in big letters on my shirt!  “Go Rho!” – there is nothing better than being encouraged on by hundreds (in some races, like Boston, thousands) of strangers, who want nothing more than to see and support others, particularly the regular runner as they head forward towards the finish line.  Everyone is on the same team during a running event.  We are all pointed towards the very same goal.

Taking on the marathon, especially the goal of Boston, is an extraordinarily democratic endeavor.  It requires everything we value as Americans: self-driven dedication and determination.  Anyone with two-feet can do it.  And these days, due to the advances in prosthetic devices and specially made aerodynamic wheelchairs, feet are loosely defined.  There are many who complete the marathon powered by their arms or balanced on the weight of artificial limbs.  There are even those who unable to run or walk on their own are carried over the course and across the finish line by a loved one.  The marathon is a sport that creates a tight-knit community that crosses all demographic and racial boundaries, that includes all shapes, sizes, and colors.   To watch a mass of runners in a race is to view a slice of America.

Few go to a marathon to watch the elite racers who make a profession out of the sport.  Most spectators are there to watch everyone else.  What makes the race so compelling to watch is that completing it, the ultimate ‘win’ of those who ‘race,’ is within reach of virtually anyone who tries it.   It is truly a test of endurance far more than skill.  It requires the motivation to put one foot in front of the other, over and over and over again, despite exhaustion, despite rain, heat, or wind, despite any challenges that lie ahead.  It requires training even when motivation wanes.  It requires knowing when to rest, when to back off, when we get overly eager.  Indeed, training for, participating in, and then finishing a marathon offers an incredibly powerful metaphor for engaging in life.   Running, even racing, isn’t about being first or being most powerful; for the sheer majority of runners, it’s about finishing what we’ve started.  It is about continuing to put one foot in front of the other despite discomfort and adversity.  It is all about accomplishing a reach, a seemingly unattainable goal that is the result of sheer effort and will.   Perhaps that is why the marathon is so darn compelling.  Perhaps that is why every single person who crosses the finish line medals!

Yes, everyone who crosses that finish line, whether it takes 3 hours, 4 hours, 6 hours, or 12, whether they are walking, running, or shuffling, everyone who completes the course gets a medal.  Only a small number of entrants race to win the top prizes and spots in more competitive venues. The majority of those who run and participate in races, in these “running events,” run in the middle to the back of the pack, and most all who come to watch are there for them: for the runners who run in memory of a loved one, for the runners who run as a way to raise money for an important cause, for the runners who take up the challenge on behalf of those who can’t, for the runners who took up the sport as a way of dealing with crisis and then stuck with it because of the emotional healing running provided, for the runners who run simply because running feels good and provides an escape from the everyday demands of life.  

These are the runners that make up the bulk of any marathon even the prestigious and well-known Boston race whose spots are so coveted among runners.  And, in a marathon, it is these mid-packers (as we are called) who finish in the 4-5+ hour range.  On Monday, it was these Americans and their families who came out to support them – Americans just like me and just like you -- who bore the brunt of the carnage.  I have no doubt the timing was purposeful, an attempt to inflict maximum damage while striving to crush the tenacious spirit of those who have put forth the most effort in order to be there.  The attack on the Boston Marathon was aimed directly at the heart of the American spirit.

 This Shabbat, we conclude the reading of two Torah portions, Achare Mot and Kedoshim.   After the sudden death of Aaron’s two sons, after what must be viewed as a traumatic event, there is still the capacity for holiness. This Shabbat, let our readings remind us that yesh kedoshim achare mot, there is the capacity for holiness after trauma.  The news headlines have been, as expected, consumed with the tracing the root of the horror.  A focus on the human capacity for evil instead of goodness.  In the spirit of the marathon and what it stands for, however, we must remain cognizant of the extraordinary acts of holiness that took place even in the midst of digesting the reality of the scene:

 How many runners, despite their own exhaustion after running the 26.2 mile course, continued to run in order to help others; how many emergency responders and ordinary citizens rushed in to deliver aid; how many Bostonians opened their homes to help stranded individuals, spent runners and panicked family members, trying hard to re-connect over the din of the tragedy.   Kedoshim t’hiyu: these actions remind me that there is holiness in humanity.  The veteran who reassuringly held the hand and talked with a complete stranger while she was waiting for medical attention simply because in his words, “If there was nothing else I could do, I could talk to her” reminds me that anachnu kedoshim, we can behave in a sacred manner.    The small gesture of the finisher who took off his finisher’s medal and placed it around the neck of a runner who was a ½ mile from the finish line when a bomb exploded erases any doubts I have with regard to the potential for holiness in our world.

The marathon represents for many, to quote the former Sun writer Michael Hill, who himself ran Boston 8-times, “a place of stunning human achievement that [maintains] an innocence and joy so often absent in our sports…What we must do now is take our lesson from the marathoners. You get to around mile 20, 21, 22 and it hurts. It hurts like hell. But you reach down deep within yourself and find something and keep going.”   And, remarkably, even if we don’t see it coming, and “though it seems like it takes forever, soon enough the pain is replaced with joy.”   

Yesh kedoshim achare mot.  One of running’s life lessons is that no matter how well you train, there is a significant degree of unpredictability come race day that impacts performance.  In athlete speak, we call our body’s response to unpredictability, “bonking.”  Bonking is when our bodies fail to respond to our brain’s desire to keep pace after an extended period.    Sometimes no matter how prepared we are, how much we will ourselves, we still face a wall.  Bonking, however, doesn’t mean we must stop.  It means we have to change our plan.  We may have to slow down, walk, refuel, but we can keep moving forward; we can – and runners do, still reach the finish line.

Life is terribly unpredictable, and too often uncontrollable, unforeseen events take us off guard.  The human capacity for holiness, however, is a constant.  Our challenge is behaving in a manner consistent with kedoshim even when “bonk,” even when we are tired, spent, and believe we have we have hit our physical and emotional limit.   

Let us be inspired by the runners who take on the challenge of completing the marathon.  When we are confronted with pain, hardship, even horror,  when we come face to face with our own physical limitations, we must remained committed to the next step, and the step after that, and the step after that.   Even if we are forced to adjust our pace and our goals, we must remain committed to the mandate of our Torah, to kedoshim t’hiyu, ki kadosh, ani Adonai, to modeling the divine and bringing sparks of holiness into our world.   

 

 

         

 

 

The Great Quiona Debate, delivered Shabbat ha-Gadol 5773 (3/23/13)

Shabbat ha-Gadol! This is the Great Sabbath that precedes Pesach. The Sabbath’s special name most likely originates from our haftarah reading for this Shabbat wherein Malachi prophesizes about the coming of Elijah and that Yom Adonai hagadol v’hanora, that Great and awe-inspiring day which will herald God’s redemption. The name is also fitting because historically Shabbat ha-Gadol was one of two Sabbaths during the year (the other being Shabbat Shuva) when there was an expectation for the community’s rabbi to share instruction, and that instruction was often quite gadol. There is much to be discussed regarding Passover and its laws, and Shabbat HaGadol provided the opportunity to review the litany of detail particularly related to the dietary prescriptions and restrictions of the holiday.
 

Recall that there was a time when a rabbi’s primary role was not one of worship leader but rather one of legal decision maker and advisor for the community. Their job was to interpret the law and advise individuals accordingly. Members of the community, chazzanim and darshanim, led worship and offered thoughts on Torah, not necessarily their rabbinic leaders.

The tradition of the Rabbi preparing and delivering a grand sermon on this Shabbat – and one,davka, that would serve as a highlight of the year – comes as a challenge to those of us who serve pulpits while also taking care of sick children and preparing for the holiday seder. The world has changed a great deal from the model set forth by history. As women have entered the Rabbinate and men’s roles in parenting and household responsibilities have changed, today’s Rabbis have an entire breadth of non-rabbinic responsibility that our pre-modern ancestors couldn’t imagine.
 

Our pre-modern ancestors may also have been hard pressed to imagine the preponderance of discussion regarding the great quinoa debate that has arisen in recent years around Pesach. Thus, following at least part of the Shabbat HaGadoltradition, I would like to discuss the dietary rules of this upcoming festival with regard specifically to this charming rebel-rousing seed, known as quinoa.
 

Quinoa is just that - a seed, a seed that resembles, cooks, and tastes like a grain but is not at all a grain.
 According to a website providing historical information on this seemingly new food item, quinoa has been a staple in South American diets for over 6000 years despite, until the last decade or so, our lack of awareness here, up North. I personally first discovered Quinoa during my years as a vegetarian learning about it from a vegan cooking instructor. It is a primary food in non-meat and non-dairy diets due to its being a nutritionally complete protein source. Quinoa is actually a member of the goosefoot family, a category that includes beets, swiss chard, spinach, and amaranth. Despite its grain-like quality, it has no relation to any of the 5-grains forbidden on Passover, namely wheat, spelt, oats, barley, or rye; nor is it related to the extended category of kitniyot(such as rice and beans) that most Ashkenazic Jews continue to avoid during the days of Pesach.

 Initially, as early as 1997, quinoa was deemed kosher for Passover by mainstream Orthodox kashrut standards. It was understood that it had no relation to any grain or kitniyot, and it was tested in order to make sure it had no leavening qualities. It didn’t, thus it was deemed fair game.

The issue did not rest, however. Looking for reasons to prohibit, to further tighten the limits around this festival, some Orthodox authorities are arguing to include quinoa among the foods in the kitniyot category. The basis of that ruling has all to do with the possibility that quinoa could be confused with grain or infected with grain. The Orthodox Union has now officially stated that, "There is a difference of opinion among Rabbinic decisors (machloket ha-poskim) as to whether quinoa is considered kitniyot. Ask your Rabbi for his guidance…”
 

I am fascinated with this quinoa debate in part because I continue to eat a lot of quinoa despite my no longer being a vegetarian, but more so because of what the debate seems to represent. Pesach celebrates our liberation from bondage, and yet, there continues to be such a strident effort to limit what is okay to ingest during these festive days. There seems to be far more attention paid to what goes into our mouths and stomachs then towards celebrating our spring festival. The level of scrutiny that is being applied to this entirely non-grain food source – a food source that could enrich Passover meals -- represents a legal system that has become thoroughly distorted and detached from the spirit of the festival. It’s okay to eat kosher-for Passover cereals and noodles that look, act, and strive to taste like chametz, but it isn’t okay to eat quinoa which has no relation whatsoever to chametz? 

Though this debate is taking place largely outside of our Progressive circles, it should challenge us to consider what it means to be an observant Jew, regardless of denomination. We are deep into the book of Leviticus, a book consumed with ritual detail and rules. The purpose of these numerous rules, as I expressed last Shabbat, were in essence to define the community and draw the Israelites together and towards God. They provided a structure for this newly liberated people so that they could function well as a society. As we begin to experience and celebrate Pesach, our Z'man Cheiruteinu, our season of liberation, let us be mindful and conscious of the choices we make. Let us ensure that the limitations we place on ourselves are not for the sake of stridency but rather for the sake of recalling our history, celebrating our redemption, and reminding ourselves of the mandate to continue working towards that task.

 

           

Vayikra & the Lessons of Downton Abbey

            There is a great deal of rabbinic comment on the opening verse of our Parashah – the opening verse of the whole of Leviticus:   ויקרא אל משה וידבר יי אליו

The syntax is awkward:  The subject is assumed in the opening verb and two verbs are used where one would seem to suffice:  “He called to Moses, then Adonai said to him.”    Why not simply:  “God spoke to Moses” like we see throughout Torah?  Of course, JPS’s translation is not incorrect.  The Hebrew can certainly be understood as “Adonai called Moses and spoke to him,” but the manner in which the Hebrew is presented emphasizes the calling.  The action of God calling is front and center:  Vayikra el Moshe, “He called to Moses” only after that, vayidaber ‘then did he speak to him’ at the tent entrance.

            The Rabbis understand this call as a prophetic one.   A Midrashic discourse found in Leviticus Rabbah, for instance, concludes that this call puts Moses in the category of malachim, Divine messengers.   Our Medieval Frenchman Rashi comments that only Moses could hear the details being outlined by God.  The words, he imagines, could not be heard beyond that entrance to the tent of meeting.  They were for God’s chosen, for Moses, alone.    Rashi’s, at least in this instance, dutiful grandson the Rashbam confirms Rashi’s understanding saying that one should not budge from his understanding of this section.   What is unclear, however, is why the need for such a call to begin with?  Why the need to raise these instructions, the detailed rules for the offerings to be brought to God, to the level of prophecy?   Sinai wasn’t all that long ago.  Wouldn’t Moses’ authority among the people already be assured without this prophetic call?

            While counterintuitive, the call may serve to remind us that what follows isn’t at all about Moses.  It is all about the message that follows, namely the instruction for the worship ritual to take place inside this newly built portable Tabernacle.   The instructions, guidelines, and expectations.   Leviticus provides the detailed and necessary rules and laws regarding this community center.  These laws cover staffing, building maintenance, worship implements, communal impact (what we might label today broadly as public health), as well as the specifics of worship, the sacrificial procedures.  According to the text, there is a proper manner necessary for the successful functioning of the Tabernacle and by extension the community that supports and is supported by it.    

            Rules, guidelines, expectations.

            We modern, progressive Reform Jews are not so fond of rules.  Individual autonomy reigns, and prescribed ritual is deemed a useless remnant of the past.   The Levitical author would disagree, and I wonder if we shouldn’t pay better attention to the message sent by his elevating what appear to be tedious rules – limitations and structure to our behavior -- to the level of prophecy despite our discomfort with the bloody mess of the details.

            I’ve been watching the first season of Downton Abbey, a PBS Masterpiece theatre offering that has gone mainstream.   The first season takes place during the time that passes between the downing of the Titanic and the start of World War I.  It offers a lovely window into a world consumed with rules and manners that work to ensure the smooth functioning of a particular society.   The idealist in me is impressed.  Perhaps this is the intention behind the conservative concept of supporting “job creators.”  Employer and servant staff serve each other as part of a greater system, and those who hold the economic and social power understand the responsibility incumbent upon them to care for those who serve them – providing adequate salary, housing, health care, job security, and perhaps as important as all of these, compassionate respect and consideration.  As a dear friend reminds me, however, and perhaps what seasons two and three will point out, is that we can’t rely on Nobless Oblige to ensure such proper behavior of those who hold all of the resources.  Downton Abbey, so far, has shown just that: the ideal.  Not the reality.  Unfortunately, for every Lordship who had his cook’s eyes fixed, there were several who turned out their cooks out because their eyes failed them.  Labor laws and unionization, guidelines and limitations on what is permitted, are necessary because history and experience have taught us that decency and ethical morality are not motivation enough for too many. 

            Centralized law is required for the proper and peaceful functioning of our society even when it may seem at first glance to curtail our immediate rights and entitlements.   As the hymn that we will sing in just over a week on Pesach reminds us: law and freedom are partners, the former – with all of its limiting detail - ensuring the latter.

            This weekend is being marked by faith groups throughout the nation as “Faiths Against Gun Violence.“ The goal of drawing attention to the issue of gun violence in our country is not in order to take away rights from responsible citizens.  It is about that wake up call I discussed on Rosh Hashanah: it is all about acknowledging that our country needs more in the way of instruction, guideline, and expectation in terms of gun ownership and use.  It is about acknowledging a serious problem in this country and working to ensure a safe, secure, and non-violent environment for the broader community.    As the Union of Reform Judaism stated back in 2008:

Our task as Reform Jews is to challenge America’s conscience and to heed the biblical injunction that we must not stand idly by the blood of our neighbor. We must embark on a moral offensive and send the message to our elected officials that we care deeply about this issue and will hold them accountable.

            Rules, guidelines, instruction.   They are necessary.   Vayikra Yisrael!  Vayikra Amerikanim! Let us not be afraid of being called to work towards ensuring a society that functions well and ensures the safety and freedom for us and future generations.

Jethro and the inauguration, Shabbat Yitro 2/3/2013

Standing on the inaugural lawn

Between the stone likeness of Jefferson

And the grandeur of the Capital

Between Monument to our first President

And the White House that has served as

Home and office to presidents since 1800

The video stream was hazy

The audio painfully distorted

Yet

Being there

Being present

Despite the chill in the January air

Despite the inability to hear all that was taking place

On those Capital steps –

I felt like an American, a participant in the democratic process,

Yes, just one more American citizen

Among so many others

Standing together

Standing with our President

As he committed once again to the oath of office

To faithfully lead us,

Protect us,

defend us.

The challenge and courage of leadership:

This man – a husband, a father: he has duties at home,
He could take on another occupation,
still
He commits himself to this country,
To us.

It is a remarkable moment watching the installation of our President into office.

Someone remarked to me on that cold inaugural morning that it is the closest thing we Americans have to royal pomp and circumstance.
This may indeed be true, and thankfully so. 
The governing of our country does not rest in the hands of one individual.  It rests in a democratic process and a balance of power ideally shared with congress and the Judicial branch.  The President of the United States has a great deal of power, for sure; but, he simply cannot have his eyes, ears, and full attention on every situation that arises.  He must be able to trust and rely on others to further justice here and abroad.   And we, in turn, must trust in the leaders appointed to assist him in this task and resist any hasty temptations to attack their credibility.  

Thank you, Jethro!  “Now listen to me,” Moses’ father in law instructs him in Chapter 18 of the book of Exodus, “you cannot do it alone!”  Even Moses, God’s selected and appointed charge, cannot manage the implementation of fair justice among his people entirely on his own.  Placed between the dramatic scenes of heroic escape through a splitting sea and the thunderous revelation at Sinai, it would be easy to overlook chapter 18 of Shemot. But, I wonder, if the placement of Jethro’s council isn’t a pointed warning offered by the biblical redactor.

As important is the law that is about to be presented is the manner in which it is implemented.   The system for adjudicating law may not lend itself to a divinely dramatic biblical moment, but it is understood by Rabbinic tradition as critical to the survival of the Israelite nation.  It is worthy of awe.   Indeed, Rabbinic legend credits Jethro’s immortalization in Torah to this very moment where he serves as Moses’ advisor and rewards Jethro further for his sage advice with a copious down pouring of Manna offered solely in his honor.  The bible may not have provided miracles for this moment -- the rabbis did!

As we stand this Shabbat to reenact the giving of law at Sinai, a Shabbat that falls mid-way between our Presidential inauguration and our country’s marking of President’s Day, may we remain cognizant that while our Jewish tradition celebrates the revelation of law – emphasizing it liturgically and in the festival calendar -- the just and balanced interpretation and implementation of law is paramount to the proper functioning of any society – including our own.