A Reform Response to The Shabbos Project, Shabbat Noach 5775, Oct. 25, 2014

We need better marketing.  The Reform movement that is.  Well, Temple Emanuel, too, but this Shabbat, I’m concerned about the broader umbrella of Progresive Judaism.

You may have heard that Jews throughout the world have been called together this Shabbat (Shabbat Noach) to participate in The Shabbos Project.  This Shabbos Project is being marketed as an “international movement to unite all Jews through keeping one Shabbos together.”   Sounds like a lovely idea, doesn’t it?   Though, isn’t that what we do week after week- observe Shabbat with Jews throughout the world?  It was the Israeli writer and philosopher Ahad Ha-am who first reminded us, “More than Israel has kept Shabbat, has Shabbat kept Israel.”   The international construct, if you will, that keeps Jews “together” is already present.  It’s called Shabbat, and it has the potential to unite us.  Indeed, Jews worldwide observe it.

While not so obvious on the Shabbos Project flyers posted throughout our community in places like Starbucks, or in the materials advertising the Baltimore Challah bake that occurred at the JCC as part of the project, this Shabbos Project is far from a pluralistic effort at uniting world Jewry.  It has been organized by a South African outreach organization called Kiruv.   Kiruv’s mission is one of unifying the Jewish people.  Their website states, “Our united efforts, with HaShem’s help, will be the seeds to infuse light, love, and inspiration to all of Am Yisrael.”  What becomes clear when digging a bit deeper specifically into the directions for the Shabbos Project’s hosts, however, is that the goal of unifying the Jewish people is only about unifying us according to one narrow definition of what it means to be an observant Jew. 

Hosts are encouraged to “share the beauty of Shabbos by inviting a less-affiliated Jew into your home.”  I’m not sure what they mean by “less-affliated,” but I have a sense they are referring to folks just like me.  Non-Orthodox Jews.  It is striking that nowhere in the marketing materials are denominational terms used, just “Jewish” and “less affiliated.”  There are guidelines, of course, on how to handle “halachik mistakes” made by guests.  Encourage Torah observance, but don’t judge.  Tell your kids not to make any comments regarding lack of knowledge about basic Jewish concepts.  Remind them, your kids that is, that your visitors have never had the privilege of a Yeshiva education.  Oh, and my favorite suggestion, “when bringing female guests to shul, make sure there is a user friendly mechitza”…If the women’s section isn’t inviting, it is “better to encourage them to stay home with the women of the home.  This is particularly important for beginners.”  The website manual states.

I could share more about the instructions for those serving as hosts for this worldwide Shabbos effort, but you get the idea.  It is less about Shabbat ideals, and far more about promulgating a Halachicly narrow, Orthodox definition of Shabbat observance.  It is not at all about true unity, or making the world a better place, or even providing that taste of redemption.  It's about forwarding one idea about how to keep the Sabbath.

As I said, we need better marketing.

How do we – Reform Jews who do observe Shabbat, who live full Jewish lives, even if not halachikly bound ones – how do we respond to this divisive message that their “keeping Shabbat” is better than ours, that their way is God’s preference?  First and foremost, we must never be apologetic regarding the Reform movement’s stance on ritual, our understanding of history or Torah, or our personal level of Jewish observance.   Whether we tear toilet paper or not or use a light switch on Shabbat, should not be held up as a defining measures of our Jewishness, our connection to God, let alone our moral character.  Moreover, we should speak proudly about how we do express our Jewish observance.   We must always speak in the positive: affirm what choices are made and provide explanations that extend beyond mere convenience. 

Despite the concerns I have regarding Kiruv’s Shabbos Project, I hope it motivates us in one very important direction.  Each of us, regarding of our level of observance should take time to consider what makes us Jewish.  Is it simply a matter of our biology? Or, is it our commitment to social justice, the values of tikun olam?  Is it a matter of a faith in a singular God?  Or, is your Judaism defined primarily through historical and cultural connections to the past?   For so many generations, Jewish identity was assigned to us as much by external forces as by individual choice.  That is no longer the case today.   In our modern, some argue post-modern, world, we are not identified as Jewish unless we choose to be.  And, I’d argue, it behooves us to do so, to each be a Jew by choice.  I firmly believe that we must each consciously and proactively identify as Jewish – we must choose it.  In that sense the Shabbos Project has it right: we must choose to opt-in if we expect Jewish life to thrive into the decades and centuries ahead.

My hope – a hope that is at least as passionate as, if not more so, than the one behind Kiruv’s Shabbos Project—is that Progressive, Reform Judaism remains a vibrant, accessible, intellectually engaging, aesthetically beautiful and welcoming place for all Jews to opt-in.

  

Purple Shabbat: What Makes us Human, Delivered Shabbat Bereshit, 10/18/14

            Central to the biblical creation story, or at least one of the stories preserved in Bereshit, is the Tree of Knowledge.  Smack dab in the middle of the garden grew both the Tree of Life and its companion, the Tree of Knowledge.  It is the latter that comes to define the human condition.   A contraction in the tale stands out and can serve to inform us:  At the start, God makes it clear in his warning to Adam, “you can eat from any tree except this one.  You eat from the Tree of Knowledge, and you die.”

            But, that isn’t what happens is it?  Here the serpent does know better.  Neither Adam nor Eve meet their end from touching or eating this tree’s fruit (at least not immediately or any time soon).   The consequences were, perhaps, far more complicated: their eyes were opened to a reality far beyond the idyllic delights of Eden.  It’s as if a switch clicked on in their brains that made them suddenly aware, suddenly capable of complex thinking and understanding.  The consequences of this awareness brings with it challenge and arguably responsibility (it is knowledge of good and evil), but the very fact that the story was written and preserved in the manner in which it was, included in the Torah, no less, highlights how much we value this awareness, how much we value the ability to comprehend and evaluate, to distinguish between right and wrong.   There is a clear assumption to this story: we wouldn’t give up the so-called “curses” delivered, such as the need to toil and labor throughout our days on earth, if it meant giving up the companion gifts received from the ability to think and evaluate coherently. 

            We value our brains and its functions.   As liturgist Eugene Kohn expressed so well in a poetic work included in the 1948 Liberal British mahzor, Petach Teshuva, and then adapted later by Chaim Stern for our American mahzor, our mind and the way it functions is what distinguishes us from the rest of God’s creations.   After outlining the gifts bestowed on the animal world, Kohn continues:

But upon one species, more than upon the others,

Thou hast lavish Thy gifts;

Upon one species whom Thy creative word called into being

            Among the last

Of species still extant –

The species, [humankind].

Thou gavest him not the fangs and claws of the lion and tiger;

            Thou gavest him not the thick hide of the elephant;

            Or the scaly armor of the alligator;

            To the gazelle, we were slow of foot,

            To the lioness, a weakling,

            And the eagle thought us bound to earth.

            But, Thou gavest us powers greater than all these,

            A skillful hand,

            A probing mind,

            A loving heart,

            A soul aspiring to know and to fulfill its destiny

as governed by [Divine] wisdom.  (p. 368, Petach Teshuva, adapted)

            Whether we are better or not than the rest of the animal kingdom for it, we do value our brain function.  We even have an entire academic discipline, the humanities, that concerns itself with human thought and culture and does so with the analytical and critical processes central to our brains and our human condition.

            Imagine if those processes slowly disappeared: the ability to remember even simple details, the ability to reason through a problem or dilemma, the ability to navigate in familiar surroundings – even in one’s own home, the ability to remember the histories of beloved family and friends, the ability to take care of basic personal needs.   Having tasted knowledge, I can assure you, it wouldn’t be a return to Eden.  And, it isn’t for those suffering from Alzheimer’s Disease and other forms of dementia.

            This Shabbat, in our Baltimore community, is Purple Shabbat.  Nothing to do with the Ravens - really, Purple Shabbat marks the Jewish Community’s joining with other faith communities who will mark Purple Sunday tomorrow, in an effort to raise awareness of the work of the Alzheimer’s Association and to provide access to materials and resources for those who are dealing with this disease. 

            The facts are stark.  Alzheimer’s disease is an irreversible, progressive – currently uncurable -brain disease that, according to the NIH, is the most common cause of dementia in older adults.  It not only impacts the individual suffering from the disease, but it brings with it extraordinary consequences and conditions for caregivers who most often are also immediate family members who are simultaneously dealing with the slow and progressive loss of their loved one.  

            At the same time, there is support and there are resources to help.  One of the primary goals of the Alzheimer’s Association beyond research is to provide support to individuals and families.  Information is available on their website.  Information is also immediately available in our lobby. Take advantage of it.  Share it.   

www.alz.org

An Avodah for Emanuel, Delivered Rosh Hashanah morning 9/25/2014

            Rosh Hashanah, the start of a new Jewish year, should be a time of joy and celebration.  Yes, the weeks leading up to this holy day, those of the month of Elul, slowly invite us to begin the process of cheshbon ha-nefesh, that introspective task of taking an inventory of our thoughts and actions that will culminate days from now on Yom Kippur.  Our Slichot service held this past Saturday evening formally ushered in our season of repentance and Rosh Hashanah marks the start of the most intense period of that season, the ten Yamim Noraim, the ten Days of Awe and Reflection; but, Rosh Hashanah is also a celebration of new beginnings.  The apples and honey, the sweet cakes and kugels that will be served at our holiday tables, they remind us that this day is to be celebrated with sweetness and delight. 

            I have always loved Rosh Hashanah and as a child eagerly awaited its arrival each year.  Getting “back to shul” outfits to replace outgrown clothes, going to services where I met up with friends in the youth lounge; singing along to the music of the liturgy; enjoying the Kiddush in our synagogue’s courtyard, and then heading home for a festive meal with grandparents and lots of honey, challah, apples, and my grandmom’s chocolate chip oatmeal squares.   

My holiday looks different now than my childhood one did.  The places where my grandparents sat, all born in the first 5 years of the 20^th-century, have long been filled with children of my own.   New clothes now mean an occasional update (perhaps new shoes) to a well-worn suit or dress.  Singing along has been replaced with my taking a formal leadership role in worship, and I now make the chocolate chip bars; but still, always, I have found simple and sweet joy in Rosh Hashanah, the sound of the shofar, and the opportunity to start a new year.   The Jewish calendar has it right: Fall is the perfect time to stop and take a moment to celebrate the possibilities for renewal.

            I must confess, however, that the joyous anticipation I normally feel this time of year has been elusive.   One could argue that national and global events have dampened the sweetness of this holiday.  Indeed, there has been much in our world that could weigh heavily on our hearts and minds.  Just since this past spring, our world has witnessed:

            The kidnapping of hundreds of school girls in Nigeria by the extremist Islamic faction, Boko Haram, a group that has been wreaking havoc generally in Nigeria.  We have witnessed the erosion of a woman’s right to access complete healthcare in this country.  We continue to bare witness to a seemingly unrelenting and intractable conflict in the Middle East.  Earlier this week, we watched and listened as our country and its allies began a proactive military response to the recent increase in volatility (and inhumanity) of ISIS.  And, this past summer, we witnessed racial tension in our own country that elicited a response that mirrors all too vividly other images from my early childhood that are not nearly as sweet as my Rosh Hashanah memories. 

            But, as difficult as such events as these are to comprehend and digest, what weighs perhaps most significantly upon my heart and mind as we usher in 5775 are the challenges and tensions we are feeling here in our own small congregation.  Thankfully, our challenge is not a bloody one (let’s keep it that way, please), but nonetheless, it weighs heavily on my heart, and I expect on yours as well.

             Deciding to sell this building evokes genuine and legitimate feelings of loss and disappointment even as it is clear that it is a good and thoroughly considered decision, arguably the best in the face of our current circumstances. This sanctuary and building have been Temple Emanuel’s home for 18 years.  We can talk all we want about how community is defined by people, not space (and I assure you, I will continue to do so), but it is this physical space that has enabled us – the people of this place - to gather easily for worship, for study, for lifecycle events – baby namings, Bar and Bat Mitzvahs, weddings, and funerals. 

We have gathered here to celebrate birthdays, anniversaries, and other special events; we have gathered here to watch our kids master skills; we’ve gathered here for the most simplest of needs: for food, for solace, for compassion.  Indeed, the building has served as a physical residence, a home, for our congregation.  So, sadness is warranted.  We – perhaps especially those who were involved in building this space – have every right to name that sadness and to mourn that this building didn’t house and will not house the future imagined when it was envisioned and built.

            At the same time, let us be sure to mourn only the loss of the physical plant and the specific vision that went into building it.   Let us be sure that we are not prematurely mourning the loss of Temple Emanuel.  The building must not become our sole identity.  

We are far from the first Jews to be in a position where we may lose our beloved building.  Recall, the Jewish people of the first century not only lost a physical plant that was their beloved Temple, but lost it for good.  This was a traumatic period for that generation of Jews, far more traumatic than ours, but they were able to seize upon a working vision – one painstaking worked upon by leaders in the community – a vision that transcended space.  A vision that created a future that was no longer dependent on that building that they knew so well, that building that had housed their worship for generations.

 Our prayer book and our holidays spend a good amount of time and energy reflecting upon that Temple of old, but if we look carefully at those prayers and the festive days that call us back to the Temple, it is to the goings on within, not the structure itself that is deemed significant.  

For example, the Yom Kippur Avodah.  The Avodah is a lengthy rubric of prayer that we recite every year on Yom Kippur afternoon It recalls, replays in a sense, the ritual of Yom Kippur worship as it took place in the Temple that stood in Jerusalem and sets it poetically into the context of Jewish history.  One could argue that the Avodah is long, even tedious (it certainly has its repetitive moments); but as poetry, it’s brilliant.   For, this Avodah worship narrative of Yom Kippur provides a literary vehicle that has sustained itself for over a millennium – even as it has evolved – while telling us about the worship in which the community engaged inside the walls of the Temple.  It doesn’t tell us much at all about the structure.  It tells us a great deal about how the community functioned and what was valued.  Versions of the Yom Kippur Avodah have been written in most every era of Jewish history, and they continue to tell us not about our buildings, but about us – the folks who make up the community.  This worship narrative tells us about how we act and pray.

 Maybe we should write our own Avodah about our Temple.  What would it tell us of ourselves?

Chai

            18 years of Torah

Have taken place here,

In these rooms

            Life

            Legacy

            And Prayer.

Did the walls learn?

Did the rafters sing?

Can the emotions felt

 Bar Mitzvahs,

funerals

            Weddings,

namings

Can they be infused into concrete, dry wall,

into paint?

If they could, which would laugh?

            Which would cry?

Maybe that was it!

 our roof emoting

            Tears rushing in

            During every rain?

The inquiry absurd

Of course

The building doesn’t care

Even as it has proudly stood

            Labeled Emanuel

            At our bequest.

The rabbis insist

Study

Worship

Justice

Al shelosha devarim,

These are the legs that sustain us.

For all the yearning for a Temple

I don’t ever recall

A demand

 for any ceiling,

            Door

 Or mantle.

A structure – even Jerusalem’s Wall –

can’t satisfy

            Such a human call

That requires us,

            To engage

to comply

to the values

passed down through time.

            Yet, still we need

and desire

            A place to call home,

A place for Emanuel

and Ha-Makom.

            A place for us to gather

                        and fill more rooms

 with Torah

worship

                                    And lots more Chai

      

Proverbs reminds us

            How to build

                        With pursuit of

chochmah,

Da’at

                        U’vitvunah,

            They are the gems

            That provide

            For length of day,

                        And years of chai.

           

Seeking

            Torah,

            justice

            and compassion

Can we grasp

            Can we comprehend?

These are the tools

                        That we must hold on to --

 fast.

As we strive

                        To keep Emanuel

                         And its legacy

                        Alive.

            ______

Considering our congregation’s next steps into the future raises tensions among us that have the potential to divide.   We must remind ourselves that these tensions reflect loyalty and love for our congregation.  They are evidence that we care.  As we begin this New Year, 5775, I challenge all of us to refuse to let difference of opinion about our future to divide us. 

Our congregation’s, Temple Emanuel’s, identity can survive without this particular building.  It can’t survive without its people – without you.  I believe that the almost 60 years of this congregation’s history can be sustained into the future.  But, in order for it to do so, we must be open minded and willing to change our tightly held views about just how it can do so.  We must guard against being too inwardly focused in our thoughts about what a synagogue, what this synagogue, must be while remaining committed to imagining what it can be.   And perhaps, what it can be a part of.

This is the season for renewal.  This is the season when we can commit ourselves to seeing things differently.  In order to move forward, we must mourn the past.  We must let go of unrealized goals and vision.  That is, for sure, a difficult and critical part of cheshbon hanefesh, of taking that internal tally that is so much a part of the process of teshuvah.  But, it is required; for only then, can we move forward embracing a revised vision that benefits us, that benefits those who come after us seeking a place to nurture their Jewish identities, and that benefits the broader Jewish community that this synagogue was founded to serve.

Copies of my Avodah for Emanuel are available in the lobby.  I invite you to take one and consider what you would add to it.