etanu.blog

Thou Shalt Not Covet Thy Neighbor's Car

2012-02-10T12:36:00.000-08:00

Earlier this week, the Federal Reserve released economic data relating to the nation's reliance on loans/credit during the month of December. According to the report, Americans used 9.3% more credit in December, which was preceded by an increase of 9.9% in November! According to the government, this was the biggest two month rise in more than a decade.

As with any economic report, there are always at least two way to interpret the data. On the one hand, this new and marked increase in spending and borrowing on the part of Americans could indicate a real uptick in consumer confidence. Apparently, 70% of the country's GDP is made up of consumer spending....so according to this theory, the increase borrowing and spending is a good thing. The more money we spent on cars and TVs, the stronger our economy will become.

Or, as our rabbis say, dvar acher: a completely different interpretation: what if these numbers are frighteningly scary? What if the increased borrowing numbers indicate that Americans are tired of cutting back and saving responsibly (as they had been doing for most of the recent recession), and that....instead....the numbers indicate that we are irresponsibly relying on credit cards to buy things that we might not actually be able to afford right now? This interpretation is bolstered by the fact that growth in consumer spending noticeably outpaces growth in personal incomes right now. We are spending money that we don't exactly have.

Now, I'm all for consumer spending and the positive impact that the former interpretation might augur for our country! But I do think that this week's Torah portion (Parshat Yitro) does give us a chance to pause and reflect on the questions surrounding the latter interpretation - so that's where I'll be concentrating my energies in this posting.

This week's Torah portion includes the giving of the Ten Commandments. And I am always taken by the relevance of the Tenth Commandment....the prohibition against coveting.

Our rabbis spend a lot of time debating if coveting happens the moment we lust after an object that doesn't belong to us....or if coveting only happens once we actually give in to our desires and acquire the object. (I'll be exploring that question in a little more depth during my sermon at Solel tomorrow morning.)

But in the meantime....I think we can all agree that greed and envy are dangerously unhealthy things. In the words of Rabbeinu Yonah of 13th century Spain: "For the one that covets - all his days are filled with pain, as if the fire of his desire burns in his heart every single day. And so he shall know no peace."

Greedy envy, or covetousness, is something that we are all in danger of falling victim to. If we mistakenly indulge those feelings of desire....we run the risk of being mentally and spiritually consumed....we'll never be grateful or satisfied with what we have. We'll always want more, more, more.

How much of that is reflected in this week's economic data? Do you think that the numbers indicating Americans' increased use of credit cards is a sign of our society's materialistic envy? I'd love to hear you thoughts...

Shabbat Shalom.

Tweeting the Miracle of the Exodus

2012-02-03T15:55:00.001-08:00

This Shabbat, Jews from around the world will be reading from Parshat Beshallach. Part of the significance of the parsha is that there is a long standing custom to designate the Shabbat of Parshat Beshallach as "Shabbat Shirah" - the Shabbat of Song. This is the one Shabbat (in particular) in which we celebrate Jewish music....because that was exactly the way our ancestors celebrated after successfully crossing the Sea to safety from the Egyptians (as told in this week's portion).

Regarding the notion of celebrating through song...our rabbis once asked: why is it that singing was the default way that our ancestors utilized to praise God? They could have praised by making sacrificial offerings, or by organizing the biblical version of a charitable fundraising drive. But instead: they sang! Why?

Our rabbis teach us that they learned of the power of song by listening to the tweeting of the birds during their enslavement in Egypt. All day, every day...amidst the hard manual labor that our ancestors had to endure...they listened to the tweeting and the singing of the birds. And, on some level, that singing....that pure unadulterated praise of God gave the Israelites the hope that they needed to carry on in the midst of their labors. Thus Rabbi Eliyahu Kitov (20th century Poland and Israel) suggests that our ancestors' Song of the Sea was not just a praise to God - but also a tribute to the tweeting of the birds.

Given the importance that our tradition places on tweeting this Shabbat, it seemed like the logical time for me to finally get around to opening a Twitter account! I want to invite all who are interested to follow me @RabbiJBrown. Maybe this will be the week that you'll be motivated to join Twitter as well! Just click on www.twitter.com. I'll look forward to "meeting you" online.

Shabbat Shalom.

A 'New' New Testament

2012-01-27T10:25:00.000-08:00

Christmas has come and gone, but for most American Jews, Christianity is never too far off our radar screen. Maybe that's because most of us have close friends who are Christian, or significant others, or a parent or grandparent. For most of us, to live in America is to be conscious on some level of the fact that our religion differs from most of the people that surround us.For the last 2000 years, Jews have willfully kept Christians at arms' length. Historically speaking, this often happened as a result of the violent anti-Semitism that Jews suffered at the hands of Christians in medieval Europe. There was distrust between our community and theirs....and so we lived separately, worked separately, studied separately, and married separately.

The rise of the Enlightenment and its accompanying Emancipation of Western and Central European Jews changed all of that. For the first time in history, Jews were permitted to live amongst their Christian neighbors, compete with them for the same jobs, study at the same universities, etc. Our communities mixed in other ways, as the phenomenon of interfaith dating (and ultimately marriage) came to be.

Today, even as we strive to authentically maintain the traditions of our ancestors by passing Judaism on to our children in every successive generation, we can celebrate the remarkable degree of acceptance (and some would say 'assimilation') that American Jews have achieved, vis a vis our relations with our Christian friends and neighbors.

And yet...even though we have such a high degree of comfort regarding relations with individual Christians, American Jews continue to keep Christianity (as a religion) at arms length. Some of us are still suspicious of Christian tradition, and to what degree contemporary Christianity embraces the anti-Jewish attitudes that were a part of the Christian past.

One result of this suspicion is our shocking lack of knowledge about Christianity! Jews (many of whom were raised to think that "Jesus" was a word that shouldn't be uttered out loud) hear John and Paul and think about the Beatles first - without even realizing the significance that those names bear to early Christianity.

Thankfully, the last few decades have marked the arrival of a new genre of non-fiction: excellent scholarly books on Christianity written by Jewish scholars for a Jewish audience. I would call your attention to two titles in particular:

A Jewish Understanding of the New Testament by Samuel Sandmel - This is a great source to begin with. I appreciate this text because it is an excellent introduction to "Early Christianity 101" and the New Testament.
Modern Jews Engage the New Testament: Enhancing Jewish Well-Being in a Christian Environment by my teacher, Michael Cook - Dr. Cook's volume serves as a more advanced resource for those who already have some background in Christianity. The text is also excellent for knowledgeable Christians who are curious about some of the longstanding Jewish concerns that have been raised about Christian scripture and theology over the ages.

This year, I can happily announce that there is a third title that is worthy of belonging on every Jewish bookshelf! Drs. Amy-Jill Levine (of Vanderbilt) and Marc Zvi Brettler (Brandeis), in partnership with Oxford University Press, have published The Jewish Annotated New Testament. To put it quite simply: this text is unlike any other edition of any religion's scripture that I have ever seen.

The volume contains a full English version of the New Testament. But every margin in this volume is filled with thought-provoking and engaging commentary offered up by Jewish scholars. This volume is safe for Jewish readers, who are now free to read/learn the New Testament and be guided by commentary, free from any suspicion about the accuracy of the commentary/its religious agenda. (Read a recent New York Times article about the book here.)

For those who are puzzled as to why a rabbi would encourage Jews to become more familiar with the New Testament, all I can say is that we live in a Christian world. I guess I'm presuming that your life is not all that different from mine: I have very close friends who are Christian. My neighbors are Christian. I have made peace with the fact that I live in a Christian world, surrounded by Christians. Shouldn't we Jews who find ourselves in that reality want to learn everything there is to know about Christians, so that we can better understand the people who surround us, and who play such important roles in our lives?

Just as we should want to respectfully share the very best about our own Jewish identities, so do we have the responsibility to learn about the traditions of others. Levine and Brettler's new book most certainly helps us do so.

Shabbat Shalom.

Sacred Talking and Listening

2012-01-20T14:25:00.000-08:00

One of the things that has really set this year's Republican presidential primary campaign apart from primary seasons in years past has been the preponderance of debates. In case you haven't been keeping track, there have been 17 so far (the first one took place on May 5, 2011!). And the unbelievable thing is that Americans continue to tune in in droves! Say what you will about our broken political process, but it does seem as if Americans are genuinely interested in listening to what these candidates have to say.

Interestingly, this week's Torah portion - Parshat Va'eira from the middle of the Book of Exodus - shows us a Moses who struggled in a way that this year's Republican candidates apparently don't have to. Moses was concerned that the Israelites wouldn't listen, or pay attention, to what he had to say.

We read that upon returning to Egypt, Moses "spoke to the Children of Israel [and informed them that he had come to free them from slavery] but they did not heed Moses, for they were exhausted from their labor. So the Holy One spoke to Moses, saying 'Come, speak to Pharaoh, king of Egypt instead...that he might send the Children of Israel from his land.' Moses replied to the Holy One saying: 'Behold, the Children of Israel have not listened to me....so why should Pharaoh? For I have uncircumcised lips!" (Exodus 6:9-12)

The phrase about "uncircumcised lips" has puzzled our rabbis and commentators for more than 2000 years. What does it mean?

I'm quite fond of the insight offered here by the Sfat Emet of 19th century Poland. The Sfat Emet notes on this passage that: "If the Israelites refuse to listen to their leaders, their leaders cannot serve as their spokesmen...and they thus become 'of uncircumcised lips.' Only if there are those who are prepared to listen is it possible to speak, because the leader's power is derived from the people."

There are common-sensical political ramifications to this insight. Even though viewers are tuning in in record numbers to watch the debates, we know that they are not necessarily interested in listening to everyone on the stage. Consider the candidates that were absent from last night's debate in South Carolina that featured Romney, Paul, Santorum, and Gingrich. There was no sign of candidates Bachmann, Cain, Huntsman, Johnson, Pawlenty, or Perry! They've dropped out of the race because they were polling in the single digits: the statistical evidence that few people were interested in hearing what they had to say.

The Sfat Emet's commentary goes on, by exploring the fact that neither the Israelites nor Pharaoh listened to Moses: "Therefore, had the Israelites at least listened to Moses, he would have had the power to speak to Pharaoh and to influence him. Here, though, the Israelites had not been willing to listen to him and so he had become 'of uncircumcised lips.' Thus Moses asked: Why should Pharaoh listen to me?"

Speaking and listening....the basic activities that make the world go round.

Our tradition is suggesting here that if the Israelites had been better listeners, Moses would have been a more effective speaker with Pharaoh. And if Moses had been a more effective speaker...then maybe the Israelites would have been freed earlier, and both the Israelites slaves and the Egyptians (victimized by the subsequent plagues) would have all suffered a lot less.

The Sfat Emet also suggests some important lessons for our own lives today.

In the realm of Jewish ethics, reams and reams have been written on the proper Jewish way of speaking. There are whole legal discourses on the subject of gossip alone!

But there has been comparatively little written about sacred - or mindful - listening.

It seems to me that mindful listening has two components to it. On one level, there's an ethical component. Think about how vitally important it is for us to be good listeners to one another...because the person you are talking to might actually be crying out for help. They might not use those words exactly. But they might be expressing it nonetheless. And we can only pick up on that message, and respond accordingly, if we are listening truly, deeply, and carefully to what someone else is saying to us.

But there's also a spiritual component to sacred listening. Check out, for example, this link...which encourages us to listen more carefully to the sounds of the world around us by way of a guided meditation. Consider how much more appreciative we might become of the beauty of the natural world, if we just became better listeners. (It's one reason that I love going to the zoo so much....not just because of the animals and the stunning landscaping...but because there's such a rich aural tapestry to encounter when you go to the zoo.)

Martin Buber, the great 20th century Jewish philosopher married the spiritual and ethical components of sacred listening in his masterwork I and Thou. In it, he suggests that if we are truly present with others in an ethical way (i.e. deeply listening to what they have to say/being there for them, even as they are present for us)...then the resulting sense of deep, though temporary, connection between the two people is - for Buber - the presence of God (which he called the "Eternal [or Everpresent] Thou").

All of this should serve as a weighty reminder: that our words matter....and that our ability to hear the words of others might matter even more! We shouldn't just mind our words. We should mind the way we listen as well.

Shabbat Shalom.

MLK Day 2012: Crossing Boundaries to Save the World

2012-01-13T12:18:00.000-08:00

There’s been a great deal in the news recently about the rising tensions between the United States and Iran. Iran has argued that their territorial sovereignty extends into the Persian Gulf. And we’ve argued that they have no right to close the international waters around the Strait of Hormuz, which would have an immediate global impact on oil prices and the world economy.

But while all of that bluster has been exchanged by both sides, two related stories were largely ignored by the American press.Did you know that the US military has come to the aid of Iranians in danger twice in the last two weeks?!Ten days ago, the US Navy rescued 13 Iranian fishermen who had been held hostage for more than a month by dangerous Somali pirates.And then, this past Tuesday, the US Coast Guard saved the lives of six Iranian sailors, whose cargo ship was sinking.

Isn’t it remarkable that we’ve done these acts of lovingkindness for a country that is an acknowledged enemy and threat? Our own military doesn’t want to take any credit, insisting that humanitarian missions are a regular part of its mission.But sacrificing oneself for the enemy….or for anyone who is markedly different from you is remarkable in this day and age….and is in my opinion, and in the opinion of our Jewish tradition, worthy of recognition.

That message is especially relevant this weekend, as people of all faiths and colors gather together to celebrate the life of the late Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King. We Jews can look back at the Civil Rights Movement with pride…as a high point in the ongoing relationship between African Americans and Jewish Americans. Different though we might have been, we bound ourselves together for one of the great legislative fights of the last century. And even though relations between the Jewish community and black community have frayed in the present day, we can look back in pride at our shared past….and be inspired to work together again for a better future.

This value is also deeply reflected in the words of this week’s Torah portion, Parshat Shemot…the very first portion of the Book of Exodus.Before we learn of the birth of Moses, we learn of Pharaoh’s genocidal order that the male babies of all Jewish mothers be murdered. And that Pharaoh expected the midwives…the women that actually helped to deliver these babies….to carry out the horrible death sentence.

Take a look at the exact way that the Torah conveys the plight of the midwives: "The king of Egypt spoke la’mi’yaldot ha-ivriyot […] saying: “When you deliver the Hebrew women […] if it is a boy, kill him…” (Exod. 1:15-16).The rabbis of the Talmud 2000 years ago were puzzled by the unique language that the Torah used here. To describe the midwives the text says mi’yaldot ha-ivriyot – the problem with the phrase is that it can be translated two different ways! Either as the Hebrew midwives….which would mean that the midwives were themselves Jewish. Or: the midwives of the Hebrews, which opens up the possibility that the midwives were not Jewish, but were rather Egyptian.

Okay, so there is an established tradition that the midwives were Jewish. But, in all honesty, I find the other interpretation to be more compelling. A number of sources and rabbis have suggested over the centuries that the midwives Shifrah and Puah were actually righteous gentiles….non-Jews who courageously stood up for right, and good, to save the Jewish people! According to this reading, the fact that the midwives were not Jewish makes their actions even more heroic and remarkable.

Now, there are some in our community today who would suggest that the religious identity of Shifrah and Puah does not matter. None other than Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, the well respected Orthodox chief rabbi of Great Britain, once wrote that: “The Torah’s ambiguity on this point is deliberate. We do not know to which people they belonged because their particular form of moral courage transcends nationality and race.”

For Sacks, their religion doesn’t matter. What’s right is right, and what’s wrong is wrong. And the midwives did the right thing. Their actions should be applauded. End of story.

But, with all due respect to Rabbi Sacks….I’m not sure that I see it that way.It seems to me that our identities – who we are at our very core – make all the difference in the world. And that it is infinitely easier for us to do an act of lovingkindness for someone that is just like us….someone that we can totally and completely identify with. Whether it’s someone that is from our same religious community, or who is the same skin color, or who speaks the same language with the same accent, or whose kids go to the same school as our’s, or who live in the same neighborhood, or who drive the same car, etc etc etc…..we naturally identify with, and are more easily sympathetic to…the people that are like us.

That’s why the notion that Shifrah and Puah were not Jewish is so amazing to me. At a time when the Israelites were reviled in Egypt as worthless third class citizens destined to a life of hard labor, these non-Jewish midwives swept in, and not only saved the lives of those babies that were born under their care….but literally saved the entire Jewish people as well. We Jews would not be here today if it wasn’t for them.

I can’t think of a more apt reflection on this Martin Luther King Day Weekend. We don’t just celebrate his life and work….we celebrate all of the people from outside of the black community who came together in the common spirit of humanity to stand with African Americans in the fight toward equality.And as we celebrate that partnership…a partnership that was not unlike the one that existed between the non-Jews Shifrah and Puah and the Jewish women they worked with…may we be inspired to reach across boundaries again today. To think again about those who are different from us….but who nonetheless deserve our compassion and our aid….in order that we might join together to unify and heal our most fractured world.

Shabbat Shalom.

The Great Shave

2012-01-06T14:06:00.001-08:00

It's been a few weeks since our last posting. But while I was gone (happy 2012 by the way!), there was major news for our American Jewish community.

Many of you will have perhaps heard, by now, that the acclaimed American Jewish musician Matisyahu shaved his beard in mid-December. It might not seem like big news. But JTA (the 'Jewish Associated Press') thought it was important enough to mail the news out to its thousands and thousands of subscribers via a BREAKING NEWS ALERT that is typically reserved for things like news of a devastating terrorist bombing.

But no...this was a bomb of a different sort. And it caught everyone off guard.

As background, click here for an introduction to the role of male facial hair in Judaism. And see below for an illustrated guide to contemporary American beards:

I am curious as to whether our interest in Matisyahu as a musician should change in light of this recent move. Although I am not the world's biggest Matisyahu fan, I can appreciate that his beard was a key part of his image. It was a very tangible way for him to broadcast to the world that his music, and his identity, were rooted in traditional Judaism. The beard was a central component of his projected Jewish authenticity.
Should we like his music less because of his choice to become 'less' Jewish? (Ordinarily I wouldn't describe beard-shaving as being less Jewish...but in this case he himself has indicated that the shaving reflects a desire to move beyond the confines of Chassidic Judaism.)

I'm not sure that I have an answer to that question. I guess you should like him if you like his music, and you shouldn't like him if you don't like his music. Leave the beard out of it.

But here's what I am sure of: when we think about the kind of musicians that we do like, there should be space for us to ask ourselves: what values does this person/group embrace and represent? And are those my values? And if they aren't my values, should I allow myself to enjoy that music/art/etc?

I thought about that over Hanukkah a few weeks ago, when everyone was emailing around again (it debuted in 2010) the link to the Maccabeats' song "Candlelight". Do take the time to watch the whole video...it's a catchy song! But if you watch the whole thing, you'll note that there are no women that are featured in it at all!

No offense is meant here to the Maccabeats or their (admittedly good) music. You have a group of guys that want to form an all-male acapella group? You've got no objection from me.

My concern here is really about the Orthodoxy with which the Maccabeats are affiliated (literally: they're a student group at Yeshiva University). Now it's not the same Orthodoxy that Matisyahu used to be connected with. Note that most of the Maccabeats don't sport beards!

Nonetheless, their Orthodoxy prevents them from singing with women. Because traditional Judaism believes that kol ishah - the voice of the woman - is sexually tantalizing and therefore inappropriate in the public (mixed gender) sphere.

For me, there's a basic disconnect between my own progressive Jewish values (which do not at all object to female singing), and the ones being promoted by Orthodoxy (perhaps not consciously but subconsciously in the Maccabeats' music). And that affects my opinion about the Maccabeats and their music.

I'm not trying to be a party pooper here. People have a great deal of Jewish pride when they encounter this kind of Jewish music. There's nothing wrong with that. Jewish pride is a powerful thing. (Read about it here, in this Shmuley Boteach article about Matisyahu and the beard shaving.) But, for me, the price to be paid for that pride is a bit too high.

I'd love to hear your thoughts...about Matisyahu and The Shave. And about whether or not the values (religious or otherwise) of a musician/actor/etc should impact the degree to which we "like", promote, and pay for the art that they produce.

Shabbat Shalom.

Mirror Mirror on the Wall

2011-12-16T13:46:00.000-08:00

Hanukkah is upon us! For all of the general Hanukkah information you could ever want or need, click here for my 2009 Hanukkah blog posting.

This year...I've been thinking about the Hanukkah story. You might remember that the story begins with the evil Antiochus IV (of the "Syrian-Greeks") who is looking to violently foist Hellenism on the Jewish residents of the Land of Israel around 168 BCE.

What is Hellenism? Try here for one answer. But my simplified response is that Hellenism was the values, beliefs, and culture of Ancient Greece. Antiochus, a proud Greek himself, wanted to replicate those values amongst other peoples as well.

The aspect of Hellenism that I want to focus on this week is the one associated with physical beauty. The Greeks, conscious of aesthetics, sought out people and things that were physically beautiful, and celebrated them. Greek mathematics was partially organized around the belief that things that were symmetrical were beautiful...or perfect. This influenced Greek architecture, and art...and even the way that people perceived themselves. And although every culture has always offered up its own definition of what constitutes physical beauty, there is little question that our society's own ideas about beauty can be traced right on back to ancient Greece.

Beyond the question of what constitutes American beauty today, I find it fascinating that - like the Greeks - we put so much IMPORTANCE on the physical appearance of ourselves and others.

I don't know if you heard about it...but there was an extraordinary survey published this week about this subject...and according to the survey, 32% of Americans believe that they themselves are stunningly beautiful - giving themselves an 8,9, or 10 on a scale of 1-10!

32%! Am I the only one that thinks that number is absurdly high?

But here's the best part: we Americans don't just think that we ourselves are beautiful. We have also deluded ourselves into thinking that we are far more beautiful than everyone else!

I say all of this by way of introduction to this week's Torah portion, Parshat Vayeishev. It's the beginning of the Joseph epic (his story takes up all of the rest of the Book of Genesis!). And, curiously, this week's Torah portion contains the following (unexpected!) description of our famous ancestor: "Joseph was well built and good looking" (Genesis 39:6). How bizarre! The Torah does not usually describe our ancestors (especially men) in those kinds of terms.

Interestingly, the history of commentary on this verse sheds light on the Jewish approach to beauty - which, as we might expect given the Maccabean revolt against Hellenism - is notably different from the Greek one.

Rashi (c. 1100 France) criticizes Joseph for spending too much time at the ancient Egyptian version of the spa, especially while he knows that his father Jacob sits at home - inconsolable because he mistakenly believes that Joseph is dead. Rashi notes that the Torah's statement about Joseph's beauty comes right before Mrs. Potiphar (wife of Joseph's boss) attempts to seduce him. Rashi suggests that the attempted seduction is God's way of punishing Joseph for being too vain.

Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch, of 19th century Germany, reads the text differently. The vanity suggested in the Torah itself is so preposterous to Hirsch that he cannot acknowledge that Joseph's looks had anything to do with Mrs. Potiphar's attraction to him. Instead, Hirsch insists that Joseph's "splendid spiritual attainments" far outshone his beauty....and those 'attainments' were the catalyst for the attempted seduction.

Whether you agree with Rashi or with Hirsch...our tradition is clear: a value judgement is being made against vanity and the preoccupation with one's own personal physical appearance. There is a danger, Judaism believes, in concentrating too much on the outside. If we do so, we make ourselves vulnerable to spoiling the beautiful sparks of our souls that rest within us.

As you gather around the menorah in the coming days, and admire the beauty of the lights....consider this week's Torah portion as well....and be reminded of the pitfalls of physical beauty. Contrary to the ancient Greeks, we Jews believe that our inner selves are always more precious and beautiful than our outer ones.

Happy Hanukkah and Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Brown

Pearl Harbor: Seventy Years Later

2011-12-09T15:35:00.000-08:00

Earlier this week, our country marked the 70th anniversary of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor.

The anniversary provides us with the chance to reflect on our national and Jewish values...particularly as they apply to the question of war.

(For a broad introduction to Jewish law and what constitutes a "just" or permitted war, click here. And click here for the landmark Reform responsum on the specific question of whether the war in Iraq meets the threshold of a Jewishly permitted war. That document is all the more pertinent as our country marks the formal conclusion of an American military presence in Iraq over the next few weeks.)

To frame this conversation, I want to refer you to this article, which made the rounds this past week on a number of Jewish websites, written by JJ Goldberg, a prominent writer in the Jewish press.

Goldberg starts the article by insisting that we should not be afraid to use our military strength. He does this by articulating the two fundamental lessons (that he thinks we need to learn) from Pearl Harbor (and about the related subject of America's pre-Pearl Harbor hesitation to get involved in WWII):

1) "There are times when you can't run away from a fight, when you have to stand and face evil, when nothing will do but to struggle and win."
2) "America is the essential nation. It is not enough to be a beacon of democracy and freedom: We must be their defender as well. There is no greatness in solitude, nor honor in indifference."

In other parts of the article, he seems to be implying that he takes this position because of the Jewish loss of six million during the Holocaust. If the US had gotten involved in the War in Europe earlier...more lives could have been saved. (Fascinatingly, see Rabbi Daniel Gordis' piece this week from Israel, in which he observes the opposite: while mourning the losses of Pearl Harbor, Gordis also expresses gratitude for it...because it ultimately got the US into the War and prevented the total annihilation of the Jewish people. Which perspective speaks to you?)

Okay. Back to J.J. Goldberg.

Remember, as I quoted above, Goldberg begins by seeming to suggest that the ultimate lesson of Pearl Harbor is that the US was too slow in using its force to police the Axis Powers.

But, at the end of the article, Goldberg seems to switch gears! Writing about the aftermath of WWII, and our long Cold War with the Soviets, Goldberg acknowledges that: "not every foe is pure evil and not every compromise is 1938. We used to understand that."

To me, that's a statement which argues for much more restraint regarding the use of force.

This question of what constitutes a "kosher" use of force could not be more important or relevant today. Even as we are withdrawing our troops from Iraq, they remain in Afghanistan. We remain unsure of a possible future war with Iran, or North Korea. And even further down the line: China?

We hope and pray for a future filled only with peace.

But sadly, it seems to me that there will still be more wars to be fought, before the era of peace dawns. And if that is the case, then we American Jews should take this moment to reconsider: Which of Goldberg's approaches resonates more with you, and the Jewish values you hold dear? The former, which urges us to be fearless when it comes to exercising our military might? Or the latter, which urges restraint?

What are the conditions that seem "just" to us in using force? Saving more than X number of lives? The lives of a certain race? Or religion? (Are we more sympathetic to the saving of Jewish lives?) And how are our thoughts about Israel connected to all of this? In what cases should America's military be used to protect Israel? And when not? And when should Israel use force? And when not?

There are no easy answers here...only hard questions. I welcome your thoughts either publicly here on the blog (commenting works best when you are browsing with Internet Explorer) or privately over email.

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Brown

Taking the Blame

2011-12-02T11:48:00.000-08:00

There was an important news story that came out of Pakistan a few days ago….though most of us were probably too busy finishing off our turkey leftovers, and beginning our holiday gift shopping, to pay attention to it.

A week ago, American and NATO forces engaged in an operation against Taliban fighters around the infamous and amorphous border than runs between Pakistan and Afghanistan.

In the process, 24 Pakistani soldiers were mistakenly killed.

Tensions between our country and Pakistan have been running high since we captured and killed Osama bin Laden in May….without the help of the Pakistanis – because of our concern that they might have been complicit in hiding him over these last few years.

The trouble is that we can’t just wash our hands of Pakistan. They are an essential and strategic partner in the ongoing war against terror….particularly vis a vis the American military presence in Afghanistan.

Which brings us back to the unfortunate loss of life that occurred in Pakistan seven days ago.

Washington has been abuzz about whether or not President Obama should publicly apologize to Pakistan for the apparent error. As best as we can determine, the State Department is in favor of an apology, in the hopes that that would placate Pakistan, and ease the way for continued partnership in the region.

And the Defense Department has advised against such an apology, pending a thorough review of the incident that could take months, or even years, to complete.

In the meantime, Secretary of State Clinton and Secretary of Defense Panetta have issued a joint statement expressing their “deepest condolences” to Pakistan on the loss.

The question is: is that enough? Or does our president and commander in chief have the responsibility to take the blame, and publicly apologize on America’s behalf?

This is partially a partisan political question.

But for me, there is also a relevant Jewish question on the table. What is the inherent value of an apology? And when should we be offering one?

The question arises, in part, from this week’s Torah portion, Parshat Vayeitzei. The portion includes the saga of the complicated relationship between Jacob and his father-in-law Lavan. After years and years of living together as an extended family, Jacob finally seeks to cut the cord…and settle down with his children on property that is separate from Lavan’s. But Jacob’s departure isn’t a simple matter. Lavan is concerned that Jacob’s departure is tied to some trickery…and he becomes paranoid that Jacob has stolen from him. Lavan insists on inspecting all that Jacob has, to make sure that none of his stuff is hidden within.

Jacob is naturally insulted that is father-in-law so distrusts him. He makes a speech in which he passionately reminds Lavan that time and again, he [Jacob] always "took responsibility" (Gen. 31: 39) for any of Lavan's property that was lost under his watch (particularly when he served as a shepherd of Lavan's animals).

The text is attempting to make a profound statement about ethics in general, and about the Jewish qualifications for leadership more specifically. What happens under our watch is our responsibility.

Jacob is described as a respectable leader, and a praiseworthy individual, because he is someone who is willing to accept responsibility, and take the blame, when things happen. Even if he did not want or choose for them to happen. If they happened under his watch, then he knows that the responsibility rests with him.

Our commentators are quite interested in Jacob's use of the phrase I took the blame. What does it mean in our tradition to accept responsibility for our actions?

Rashi, quoting the first century Torah translator and commentator Onkelos, offers one possible answer: "Onkelos [1^st century] alternatively translates this phrase as ‘that which is lacking and missing’ as in ‘Not one person is missing from us.’ Whether something went missing by day or by night, ‘I [replaced that which was missing] by compensating for everything.’"

According to Rashi, Jacob took responsibility – and we can do the same – by offering up some kind of compensation…something tangible to the party that we wronged. Not in terms of replacement value – because sometimes the things we take from others are priceless – but because compensation is an act that signifies that we recognize that a loss has happened. And that even though we can’t go back in time and change the past, we can offer up some sort of restitution that will allow for some healing to take place…so that we can begin to make whole that which had been ruptured in the relationship.

Perhaps it is premature for President Obama to apologize this week to the Pakistani people. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to do an investigation to find out exactly what happened, as the Defense Department has suggested. But if the investigation indicates that the United States military was liable, then…Jewishly-speaking…I would humbly encourage the President to apologize. The words “I’m sorry” carry tremendous weight. Especially when they come from the most powerful person in the world, those words carry a certain value…Thus an apology becomes compensation…..It’s not monetary. But it is a gesture that would indicate to Pakistan and to the world that we made an unfortunate mistake, and that we are prepared to rectify it. By taking responsibility for it.

These are all lessons that can be easily applied to our personal lives as well. How often have we felt bad about something that we said or did to someone else, but failed to verbalize it? Perhaps we were afraid that an apology would make us less powerful, or appear weak. Or maybe we were just embarrassed.

Our tradition reminds us that feeling bad about something is not enough. The Talmud notes that "thoughts of the heart – thoughts that have not been articulated out loud – are as if they do not exist" (Kiddushin 49b).

Words matter. Saying the words “I’m sorry” makes all the difference in the world. Even when it not the easy or popular thing to do, our tradition is clear: we have to step up and lead, and be role models…just like our ancestor Jacob was…and take responsibility for our actions.

May God grant all of us the strength and courage to do so…as we say…Shabbat Shalom.

The Parsha and the Pilgrims

2011-11-18T14:43:00.000-08:00

With Thanksgiving just a few days away, we can’t help but think of some of time-honored values associated with our American tradition. Even as we recall the bounty that was shared between Pilgrim and Indian alike, so are we moved to think of all of those in our midst who might have less. We reach out to them – as our Pilgrim and Indian ancestors looked after each other so many years ago.

But while I would never want to minimize the ethical notion of tzedakah – of sharing our bounty with others who are in need – this week’s Torah portion, Parshat Chayei Sarah, challenges us to explore other important values that are embedded in this Thanksgiving season.

We begin with the fact that this week's Torah portion contains the story of Eliezer (Abraham's servant) and his search for a wife for Isaac. The text refers to an elaborate and scripted test that Eliezer had constructed with God….a test that would prove to Eliezer that the woman who was generous with water was the worthy future wife of Isaac, his master’s son.

But our rabbis, who teach us that every word in the Torah is laden with meaning, can’t help but notice the fact that the wording in the Torah is somewhat strange. The text goes out of its way to indicate that Eliezer ran to meet Rebekah at the well in the center of town. Why would Eliezer have run to meet her? After a long journey in the desert, wouldn’t we expect him to be thirsty and tired? Hardly the kind of physical condition that would allow someone to run toward a stranger…

Rabbi Yehezkel of Kuzmir (19th century Poland) offers one provocative answer when he writes that Eliezer ran because he had seen the water perform a miracle!! The water magically rose up to meet Rebekah, so as to make it easier for her to draw it out!

He goes on to wonder...if Eliezer had in fact witnessed a true miracle, then why did he and Rebekah still have to follow the 'script' that God had constructed to prove that Rebekah was the right person? Rabbi Yehezkel's answer: "From this we can see that a single instance of proper behavior is more important than a hundred miracles and signs."

No doubt this will be music to the ears of the rationalists and humanists that follow my posts.

But I would humbly remind you that Judaism is not wholly rational and humanistic. At the core of our identity is a willingness to grapple with that which cannot be Seen or always Understood. We Jews have affirmed the existence of God for more than 3000 years. And although God cannot be witnessed in the physical sense of the word, the quest to come to know God lies at the heart of our Jewish experience nonetheless.

And let us not forget that it lies at the core of our Thanksgiving story as well. This holiday is not just about being grateful for our food, and for being reminded of the obligation to share it with others.

Thanksgiving also celebrates the fact that the original pilgrims came to this country in search of something….not just of a new kind of political freedom…but also a new kind of spirituality…they were seeking an experience of God, or of Holiness, that could not be found in the Europe of the17th and 18th centuries. They sought it here….in this wildly beautiful and expansive land that we are all fortunate enough to call home.

Imagine what it must have been like for the people who sailed on the Mayflower back in 1620. There wasn’t just anxiety about what the New World would bring. There was also hope, which grew out of a faith that there was more in the world, and that there could be more to their lives, than the existence that they knew in England.

I think that Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel understood, on some level, what the Mayflower’s voyage was all about it, when he wrote that:

"The search of reason ends at the shore of the known; on the immense expanse beyond it only the sense of the ineffable can glide. It alone knows the route to that which is remote from experience and understanding. Neither of them is amphibious: reason cannot go beyond the shore, and the sense of the ineffable is out of place where we measure, where we weigh.

We do not leave the shore of the known in search of adventure or suspense or because of the failure of reason to answer our questions. We sail because our mind is like a fantastic seashell, and when applying our ear to its lips we hear a perpetual murmur from the waves beyond the shore."

On this Thanksgiving, let us not just learn from the pilgrims’ example about the importance of sharing our bounty with others. Let us rejoice in the pilgrims’ faith, and curiosity…the fact that they heard the “perpetual murmur from the waves beyond the shore” and responded to it…by packing their bags, boarding a ship, and coming here….to found this country that we are all blessed to call Home.

And as we eat our turkey on Thursday, may we too pause long enough in our feasting to give ear to the “perpetual murmur from the waves beyond the shore” that speak to us. What are the dreams and possibilities that we yearn for in the weeks and months ahead? And what oceans are we willing to cross…what journeys are we willing to go on…to achieve them?

Shabbat Shalom and Happy Thanksgiving!

Aspiring to a Life on the Ladder

2011-11-04T14:29:00.000-07:00

My daughter, now five, definitely qualifies as a “picky eater.” We have about ten or fifteen go-to foods in the house that she loves, and is happy to eat in quantity. But getting her to try something new and – God forbid – actually like it…is virtually unheard of in our house.

At first, Amy and I thought there was something wrong…either with her, or with our parenting. But we soon came to discover that a lot of kids are incredibly picky, or “discerning,” eaters.

In fact, today, most pediatric nutritionists believe that parents have to expose their children to a new food more than 20 times before there’s any realistic chance that the child might try it. 20 times! Of just putting it on the plate, and hoping for the best.

The more I’ve thought about that statistic over the last few years…the more I’ve concluded that there is something fixed in our human nature regarding regularity, and routine.

We get stuck doing what we do…We’ve always done it this way…And it is so hard to imagine ever doing it differently. Change, in other words, is incredibly hard.

This week’s Torah portion, Parshat Lech Lecha, seeks to shake things up a bit….by arguing against our inherent defense mechanism of retaining the status quo. We grow, our tradition asserts, when we take the risk of leaving the comfortable and familiar.

That's reflected in the story of Abraham - which opens by informing us that God commanded our patriarch to start his journey as a Jew by leaving Ur…his homeland, the only place he ever knew.

Why – we wonder – does Abraham have to leave his home to begin the journey that will ultimately create Judaism?

Rashi, the great Torah commentator of medieval France, suggests that great benefit…or substantial positive change in our lives…only comes about when we have the courage to pick up our bags and start walking…away from that which we’re used to, and towards a destination that is fraught with uncertainty.

There are some in our tradition that suggest that Ur, Abraham’s homeland, was somehow tainted…That there was something stale in the air that would have prevented Judaism from flowering there…and so God had Abraham begin travelling toward the Land of Israel.

But I think there’s a larger metaphorical point to be made here. It’s not that there was anything wrong with Ur. It was merely an awareness on the part of God that we can only become our best selves when we switch things up…when we physically move ourselves, or alter our routine, to give ourselves the chance to become something, and someone, different.

Thus the brilliance of this week’s Torah portion, which seeks to teach us that all we have to do is start moving. Not just in a physical sense – though that’s an easy way to live out this value, by getting up and exercising…or by getting up and moving to a different town or city.

But we can move in other ways…by changing the way we think about something, or by changing the way we talk about someone or something. Even the slightest change can put a process in motion that could result in a major difference in our lives for the better.

To start moving is to begin walking the path, being on a journey…rather than remaining fixed in an unmoving spot. The Austrian author Arthur Schnitzler was an advocate of moving…of being open to going on the journey. He once wrote that: "The meaning of our life is the road, not the goal. For each answer is delusive, each fulfillment melts away between our fingers, and the goal is no longer a goal once it is attained."

To live a meaningful and fulfilled life is not to reach or achieve certain goals, according to Schnitzler. It is, rather, to remain committed to always going…always journeying…always seeking and moving toward a fuller and richer sense of self….a more meaningful way of looking at, and acting in, the world.

In the 19^th century, the Chofetz Chayyim brought this approach to life as he contemplated the mysterious image of Jacob’s ladder, which is described in Chapter 28 of the Book of Genesis. The Chofetz Chayyim wrote that: "Jacob dreamed of a ladder standing on the ground and reaching to heaven. This means: We never stand still. We either ascend, or we descend."

For the Chofetz Chayim, and for Abraham’s grandson Jacob, the ladder is just a dream…an ideal that we can, and must, yearn for: a vision of our lives in which we would be empowered to always keep moving…to never get stuck on a rung…but to always be exploring, experimenting, and even risk-taking. Sometimes we are blessed to ascend, and sometimes we are forced to descend. But the path toward a more fulfilling life is the one in which we never stand still for too long.

Shabbat Shalom.

Celebrating...Responsibly

2011-10-28T12:08:00.000-07:00

To all of the non-baseball fans out there, I wanted to make sure you knew about last night's Game Six of the World Series between the Texas Rangers and the St. Louis Cardinals. Commentators are already declaring the Cardinals' victory, which forces a Game Seven tonight, the greatest World Series game of all time!! Read the local St. Louis coverage of the game here.

One of the things that caught my eye in reading all of the coverage of the game this morning was the fact that the Rangers' staff had already started preparing their locker room for the World Series victory party (which would have taken place had the Rangers won the game....which they literally on the verge of doing). But alas, the Cards won. And so, the hanging of plastic sheets over TV monitors and computers (to protect them from champagne) proved premature and unnecessary.

...

I love baseball (RIP 2011 Philadelphia Phillies). But I never understood why locker room celebrations had to be marked by an excess of champagne and beer (televised live of course).

Either the Cards or the Rangers are going to win tonight's game, and the Series. And one of them is sure to be doing some serious celebrating. But at the risk of being a "party pooper," I want to devote this week's Etanu to the question of celebrating responsibly.

Some have suggested that champagne use be curtailed in baseball's postseason....Major League Baseball has asked teams to make sure that non-alcoholic choices are available...But I am going one step further. I want to go on the record today to say that there is something wrong with the public glorification of excessive drinking - even when a team has just won the World Series.

I am deeply concerned about the mixed messages that we send our kids (and adults who continue to struggle with making healthy choices about alcohol) when network television broadcasts our larger than life heroes celebrating with champagne.

I'm not suggesting that Judaism is "dry" and believes we should be too. Our tradition firmly accepts that there is a time and a place for enjoying alcohol responsibly...in moderation. Adults in our community are invited to enjoy a little bit of wine during kiddush on Shabbat. And we're invited to have four cups of wine on Passover (seders can get long and boring, after all). But maintaining that sense of moderation is key. Our tradition never allows or encourages binge drinking. And it certainly never endorses alcohol-induced irresponsible behavior like drunk driving.

Judaism's approach to alcohol comes from several different places in the Torah, including in this week's Torah portion, Parshat Noach. The portion is famously known for the story of the Great Flood...of Noah and his family (and all the animals) hunkering down on the Ark for 40 days and 40 nights....until eventually the rain stopped, they could get off the boat, get on with human history.

Except...there's a strange post-script to the story (Genesis 9:20-29). According to the text, the very first thing that Noah did when he got off the boat was plant a vineyard. (One commentator suggests that it was because Noah had an unhealthy dependence on alcohol, and desperately needed wine after the Flood. And so, before planting fruits or vegetables, he started taking steps so that he could ultimately drink.)

Later, when he finally drank the wine, there is a bizarre incident with his sons. It involves Noah being naked. It's way strange. The text isn't clear if something sexual happened...or if Noah just got so drunk that he became immodest/didn't realize that he was stripping...

What is clear is that the Torah is teaching us that alcohol (especially when we abuse it) has the power to make us do things that we don't even realize in the moment that we are doing. And that is terribly problematic when it comes to a Jewish way of life. Our ethics demand that we are constantly aware of our actions, and that we are always striving to make good, healthy, safe choices.

This strange incident with Noah and his sons teaches us about the danger that we put ourselves (and others) in when we lose control, and give up the ability to evaluate our actions/interactions with others.

So: to the Cardinals or the Rangers...whoever wins tonight...be conscious of your behavior, and of what kind of message your champagne party is sending to impressionable Americans who are watching on TV.

And for the rest of us: a reminder that drinking requires a tremendous amount of maturity - to be self aware to know when we are approaching our limit, to know when we are potentially putting our bodies in harm's way...to know when we absolutely should not be getting behind the wheel of a car, or hooking up with someone that we hardly know (or trust).

For anyone that has struggled with alcohol, the good news is that there are amazing resources to help! Click here for the website of Alcoholic Anonymous (AA) or click here to find AA meetings around the country. Everyone should also know about JACS (Jewish Alcoholics, Chemically Dependent Persons, and Significant Others)...the Jewish response to Alcoholism. Click here for a directory of their local meetings.

Hoping you'll keep all of this information in mind...And that the next time you have occasion to celebrate...that you do it responsibly.

Shabbat Shalom.

The Release of Gilad Shalit: Finding (and Fulfilling) Our Purpose in Life

2011-10-21T10:27:00.000-07:00

Hopefully by now you've heard about the big news from Israel this week about the release of Gilad Shalit, after being held for five years as a hostage by Hamas.

In exchange for his release, the Israeli government agreed to release more than 1000 Palestinian prisoners - many of them convicted murderers and terrorists. (It's so important to remember that, even as we rejoice in Gilad's safe return, many of the families of the victims of other acts of terror are suffering - in knowing that the murderers of their children are being freed. Do take the time to click here to read the short but poignant reflection written by my good friend Rabbi Micah Streiffer about Gilad Shalit and our friend Marla Bennett z"l (who so many in San Diego knew and loved).)

The transaction of 1000 terrorists for one soldier presents a pressing moral question.

I'd like to briefly examine it through the lens of this week's Torah portion, Parshat Breishit - the very first portion of the Torah.

Breishit of course tells the story of creation. And one of the things that the text goes out of its way to emphasize is that every single thing in the world was created for a particular purpose. Light was created for Day. And Darkness was created for Night. Rivers were created to flow. Etc. Etc.

And according to the Torah, the essential purpose of humanity is to tend to our relationships with our loved ones.

How do we know this?

Because Adam (the first person) is never expected to live a solitary existence. From the moment Adam is created, God is conscious of the fact that Adam needs a partner (thus explaining the existence of Eve). Adam is not whole until he enters into relationship with another.

To be human is to constantly be compelled to do everything in our power to care for the ones we love.

In light of the Gilad Shalit situation, I have been thinking about the families that I know that suffered the devastating and horrible loss of a child. And how that suffering can never fully be relieved because there is nothing that we can do to bring that child back.

And then I think of the Shalit's. And about the fact that even though the circumstances must have made them realize that getting Gilad back was extraordinarily unlikely...that they devoted their lives over the last 5 years to making it happen. They never gave up hope. They couldn't imagine doing so. Because, as parents, their chief purpose in life was to do everything they could to bring Gilad back. That's just what we do. It's how God made us human.

And so, in that sense, there's nothing terribly complicated for me about the transaction that Israel agreed to. A parent, or a country, can't really give up on one of their own. It's not how we were created to be. We're human. God endowed us with a DNA that dictates our concern for our own. It's our purpose in life.

What about you? On this Shabbat I challenge you to look in the mirror. Who do you see in the reflection? What is the reason you (in particular) were put on this planet? What is the unique purpose that you have? And what, if anything, are you doing to fulfill it?

Shabbat Shalom.

Sukkot: Challenging the Way We Think About the Other Religions of the World

2011-10-14T14:49:00.000-07:00

Sukkot is the perfect time of year for us to think about those who are religiously different from us. The very nature of the design of the sukkah (a walled structure that is also open) hails visitors and guests of all backgrounds to come in, and join the occupants for a meal.

The long-honored custom of ushpizin (of ritually welcoming guests into the sukkah for hospitality) also encourages diversity. Check out this attempt at an interfaith ushpizin ritual.

The non-permanence of the sukkah also suggests that the holiday is a time for us to meditate on breaking down boundaries/divisions, rather than establishing new ones.

This theme is also played out in the Haftarah reading that Jews around the world read on the first morning of Sukkot (this past Thursday). According to the prophet Zechariah, one of the things that might happen at the end of time is that: "The survivors of all the nations of the world who came against Jerusalem [and the Jewish People] shall annually go up to worship the Sovereign God of Heaven's Hosts and celebrate the festival of Sukkot" (Zechariah 14:16).

Some might read this passage as suggesting a fervent belief by our ancient Biblical ancestors that their religion was superior to all of the other religions of the world. And that, at the end of time, everyone else would realize the "error of their ways" and come to embrace Judaism as well.

But that would be a significant mistake. The passage doesn't say anything about everyone needing to be Jewish. It only suggests an immense value in having all of the people of the world do something (in this case, celebrate Sukkot) together.

Behind that statement is an assumption that we are more alike than we are different. And that whatever surface level religious beliefs might distinguish us from each other, at the end of the day we are all seeking a Higher Power and a worldview that will enable us to do Good in the world. And that, occasionally at least, it would be an awfully healthy thing if we were able to figure out a way to become friends with one another.

Off the top of my head, I would say that the Olympics are the closest we come in our society to actually pulling this off today. Once every four years (okay, every 2 for a Winter Games, and every 2 for a Summer Games), the whole world (regardless of race, religion, or political philosophy) comes together to celebrate, and compete in, Sport.

The bad news is that we have 287 days to go until the London Summer Games.

And, pending some other domestic or world crisis (God forbid), the only thing we have to distract ourselves with on television until then is...the Republican primary for the 2012 presidential election.

Remarkably...one of the dominant news stories coming out of that race thus far has been....the candidates' religion!

Watch this video from Chris Matthews' show on Hardball (Oct 13, 2011). It covers the basic background surrounding the suggestion by Rick Perry (and others associated with the Republican Party) that Mitt Romney (and, by extension, Jon Huntsman) are not qualified to be President because they are Mormons.

Some conservative Christians would discriminate against Mormons because of their religious beliefs. And some would discriminate against Catholics as well.

JFK's Catholicism has long been documented as an important component of the 1960 Presidential Campaign. But in 2011...we're still talking about this? Are people really going to cast their vote because they are suspicious of a candidate's religious affiliation?

I know...I'm naive. But it is so hard for me to believe that Americans are fixated on some one's religion in this day and age. Yes: I get that a person's religion informs their politics (my Judaism informs my politics, anyway). But - if I were ever to run for office - I don't think I would ever want someone to vote for or against me, just because I was Jewish. Voters should back the candidate that shares their overall values, and has a vision for the future of our country that they agree with.

So: my hope and prayer on this Sukkot is that the lessons of the holiday reach all of those in this country who would seek to use religion to divide us. Sukkot is a holiday that teaches us that our world will be better, and stronger, if we can find occasions when we can all join together: celebrating that which unites us...rather than that which pulls us apart.

Chag Sameach and Shabbat Shalom.

Yom Kippur Sermon 5772: The time to forgive with compassion is Now.

2011-10-07T10:28:00.000-07:00

It wasn’t a good year for Masataka Shimizu. He earned terrible marks for his leadership of the Tokyo Power Company, as the March nuclear disaster engulfed the Fukushima Dai’ichi reactor in Japan.

In short order, experts concluded that Shimizu’s faulty leadership was responsible: for the accident’s environmental impact, which will equal that of Chernobyl; for the tainted food and water, which even resulted in the detection of plutonium in Tokyo’s tap water…and for the human impact - whereby 50,000 families permanently evacuated their homes. They all must now start over again, because TEPCO couldn’t fulfill its obligations to the Japanese public.

Japan might be half a world away. But surely all of us have survived nuclear disasters of one kind or another in our personal lives.

For example, I am still grappling, years later, with unanswered questions about the friend who repeatedly lied to me, and about the family member who callously said horrible things about me to my face. Both individuals’ words ruptured my relationships with them…in one case, permanently.

The Fukushima Dai’ichi incident is a sad analogy for our personal lives. All of us are haunted by disasters in our past. They begin as moments of anguish. But they turn into seasons that stretch on, in which the hurt of being wounded prevents us from picking up the pieces, and going on with the rest of our lives.

Today is Yom Kippur: a day on which forgiveness is sought and granted.

The Torah describes today as the Sabbath of Sabbaths: a day of rest in which time stands still. When we forget the other obligations of our lives, and concentrate instead on seeking forgiveness for ourselves, and – as we shall specifically explore tonight: granting forgiveness to others as well.

We will confront hard questions…questions about whether there are sins that are unforgivable. And how it is that we are supposed to “move on”, when we have been hurt so deeply that we can barely get out of bed, let alone turn the page on a painful chapter of our life.

But before all of that, I want to begin by acknowledging what Judaism takes for granted: that none of us is perfect. All of us have made mistakes. And according to the Jewish value of teshuvah – of repentance – we must seek forgiveness from those we have wronged.

Yet our rabbis cautioned that forgiveness is a two way street. We seek forgiveness for that which we have done wrong…and at the same time, we forgive those who have wronged us.

Thus we read in the Talmud: “Whose sin is forgiven? The sin of the one who forgives others.” Our tradition believes that our ability to attain forgiveness is contingent on our willingness to absolve others.

Rabbi Joseph Telushkin tells the story of Linda Kenney, a woman who almost died at the hands of her anesthesiologist after he made a mistake during a procedure. Upon leaving the hospital, her husband immediately engaged a lawyer to sue the anesthesiologist for everything he had. But Linda and her husband were caught off guard by the handwritten apology that they soon received. In the letter (and you can just hear the hospital’s lawyers groaning in the background), the doctor takes full responsibility for the errors that he made!

Over time, the doctor’s wish to apologize to Linda in person had the desired effect: the Kenney’s decided to forgive him. And from that forgiveness came the joint establishment, with the doctor, of a new organization devoted to helping doctors and patients deal with trauma resulting from medical errors.

In telling Linda’s story, Telushkin teaches us that her capacity to forgive made her more righteous…and thus more deserving of being forgiven by the ones that she had wronged in her own life.

There are certainly situations in which Judaism advises against forgiving: like when a murder has been committed. Murder is unforgivable because the victim cannot do the forgiving.

Gossip is also unforgivable, because, like murder, it is not un-do-able. Our reputation can be assassinated when an evil gossiper spreads terrible lies about us.

And of course there are pre-meditated violent crimes that are considered unforgivable too: violations like rape, other kinds of sexual and physical abuse, kidnapping, and even mugging. When a criminal commits these heinous acts, he obliterates the innate and precious trust we have of our fellow human beings.

But putting those exceptions aside…on this Yom Kippur we come to terms with our own shortcomings. And as we do so, we can channel that awareness into the realization that everyone else is also flawed. Even as we seek to accept our own shortcomings, I would challenge you to take this season to become more accepting, and forgiving, of the flaws in others as well.

Forgiveness, of course, is not something that should be offered automatically! Even when we consider a situation that doesn’t involve an extreme example like rape or murder, Jewish law dictates that forgiveness should only be granted after the offender has done teshuvah, or fully repented.

There are three basic steps to doing teshuvah, and we should be familiar with them – so that we ourselves can repent, and so that we can judge whether others should be forgiven.

The first step towards Jewish repentance is cheshbon nefesh: an accounting of our soul, that enables us to be self-reflective about our actions. This is the critical first step of repentance because without it, we would never even REALIZE that we had done something wrong!

Consider two of this year’s most public sinners, and the way they handled their chesbon nefesh.

First, we have former baseball superstar Roger Clemens ample evidence to the contrary. Clemens continues to maintain his innocence, and thus he has never apologized. He does not seem to have received the memo about cheshbon nefesh!

And on the other hand, we have former congressman Anthony Weiner. The congressman does not deserve any rewards for his wildly inappropriate use of Twitter. But give him an ounce of credit: at least he resigned and apologized. He took responsibility for his mistakes by doing a cheshbon nefesh, even though the damage of his transgressions had already been done.

Maimonides emphasized the criticality of an apology, and so it is the second necessary ingredient for repentance. Maimonides wrote that: “It is…praiseworthy for the penitent to confess…and announce his sins, and reveal…the transgressions he committed against his neighbor. He should say to them: ‘Truly I have sinned ….But now I am turning, and repenting.”

Anthony Weiner apologized. And so did our friend Masataka Shimizu, who even went on an apology tour…visiting several shelters throughout Japan to meet with, and apologize to, displaced families impacted by TEPCO’s mismanagement of the nuclear disaster.

Nonetheless, teshuvah is not fulfilled simply by doing cheshbon nefesh, and apologizing. Real teshuvah happens when the penitent proves she’ll never repeat the same mistake again.

The staff at Fukushima Dai’ichi won’t have the ability to do this teshuvah because their plant will never come back online. We’ll be cleaning up there for decades to come.

But consider another Japanese example: Toyota made a number of manufacturing errors over the last year or two. It did cheshbon nefesh, and offered its apologies. Only time will tell if the company has really changed…whether it is taking its responsibility for safety seriously, or whether it will cut corners again to make more money by producing cars on an ever larger scale.

On this Day of Repentance, like God, we sit as Judges against the ones who have harmed us. As they ask for forgiveness, we must discern whether they have been self reflective, offered apologies, and truly changed. And if they have: we must re-embrace and forgive them. Our tradition is clear. So long as we have not been the victim of an unforgivable sin, and so long as the offender has done teshuvah: then we are obligated to forgive.

The trouble is….that’s easier said than done.

I return, once again, to the imagery of a nuclear explosion. Think about the word “meltdown.” Doesn’t that word convey the whole range of emotions that we experience when the people we care about most do terrible things…that don’t just hurt us, but actually call into question the future viability of the relationship? There is the pent up blast of anger and rage that is eventually released in a furious confrontation! And then…the disturbingly quiet aftermath that is as depressing as nuclear winter.

Our upset doesn’t go away after a single day, week, or year. For some of us, the hurt is so deep that we become convinced that we will never be able to get over it.

The question is: what are we supposed to do if the person that we are really, really, angry with comes and seeks forgiveness before we’ve cooled down?

Rabbi Harold Kushner, writes, that during the months, years, or even decades that we remain angry – it is as if we are holding a white hot club in our hands…always waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike back against the one who wronged us. But of course, Kushner writes, those moments never come. The only thing that comes of all that anger is that we wind up metaphorically burning ourselves, by holding onto the anger for so long.

Seneca, of ancient Rome, suggested that “anger will cease and become more controllable if it finds that it must appear before a judge every day.”

He notes that one we way can cope with our anger, and ultimately find the strength to forgive, is by acknowledging the pain that lies within us, and talk about it.

Some of us do that in therapy, or in a private conversation with clergy. Others do it by practicing the Jewish art of musar in a casual support group, where we can learn how to be self reflective by listening to one another.

Sometimes, forgiving becomes easier if we just practice saying the words “I forgive you” out loud.

One Jewish tradition suggests that we take on the spiritual practice of reciting the following meditation each night, just before saying the Shema and going to bed: “Master of the Universe, I hereby forgive anyone who angered or antagonized me, or who sinned against me – whether they did so accidentally, willfully, carelessly, or purposely.”

What a beautiful practice: naming our anger out loud…and then letting it go.

Even if we don’t actually mean it: by getting into the habit of offering forgiveness each day, we prepare ourselves for the moment when it will actually count. When another person will approach us. When we hold the power in our hands to release them from the guilt they suffer for what they once did to us.

Our obligation to forgive is a serious one. And yet Jewish Law allows that if a person comes to us the first time begging for forgiveness: we can ignore them! After all…they hurt us so deeply – it can’t possibly be reasonable to expect that we’ll forgive them the first time they come apologizing.

And even if we brush them off a second time a few weeks later…our tradition is compassionate. The pain we carry around is real. Letting go is not easy.

But if the person comes to us a third time…we have no choice. We must forgive. However much it hurts us. However impossible it seems. As long as they haven’t raped, murdered, mugged, or lied about us to others…then we must forgive. And if we don’t, then we are in the wrong. For we have shamed the one who has come to us in authentic repentance. And now, we must go to them, and beg forgiveness for being stubborn.

It is fitting that on Yom Kippur afternoon we read from the Book of Jonah. In that story, God discovers abundant compassion to forgive the people of Nineveh for their transgressions, for they repented, and changed the way that they lived.

In contrast: it was Jonah who was stubborn, for he could not find it within himself to forgive. He was convinced that the Ninevites were monsters. He could not open his eyes to see that they were just flawed and imperfect – not unlike himself.

Jonah failed God’s test, not because Jonah didn’t trust God. But because he was so stubborn that he couldn’t trust in the possibility of good within others.

This is the very task that lies before us today, and in our lives. It is the task that the people of Japan must confront, as Masataka Shimizu continues his tour of repentance. And it is what you and I are called to do at this very hour as well.

Yehuda Amichai wrote:

A man doesn't have time in his life
to have time for everything.
He doesn't have seasons enough to have
a season for every purpose. Ecclesiastes
Was wrong about that.

A man needs to love and to hate at the same moment,
to laugh and cry with the same eyes,
with the same hands to throw stones and to gather them,
to make love in war and war in love.
And to hate and forgive and remember and forget,
to arrange and confuse, to eat and to digest
what history
takes years and years to do.

Would that we were immortal! Would that time stood still every day of our lives as it does on this Sabbath of Sabbaths! Would that the length of our days was unending, so that we could put off the task of forgiving others until tomorrow.

But the sun will set on this day, and Yom Kippur will be over. And we will be left with the unavoidable realization that our presence on this earth is finite. The clock is ticking. The time to forgive with compassion is: Now.

Rosh HaShanah Sermon 5772: Tradition!

2011-09-28T13:22:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite pictures of the last year carried the caption: “Devastating Damage of the East Coast Earthquake.” Above it: a photo of spilled paperclips on an otherwise tidy desk! It’s just too easy to laugh at the sudden anxiety of our loved ones back East.

Suffering, of course, is no laughing matter. You don’t have to live through an earthquake to know this is true. Turn inward, and consider how you have suffered since our economy soured several years ago.
Media headlines trumpet new realities: pervasive job loss, salary freezes, costly health insurance. And we continue to reel from an unstable stock market.

Nervousness isn’t just something East Coasters feel when the earth trembles. It can also overwhelm us when financial stability and normalcy become something we yearn for, rather than something we take for granted.

On Rosh HaShanah, we wish one another a happy and sweet New Year. How can we celebrate a new year marked by widespread poverty, unemployment, and distress?

As Jews, we rejoice because we – are – here. We – are – alive. The breath of life remains within us.

For millenia, we have endured even as empires sought to destroy us. The Romans. The tsars. The Nazis. And so many others. They have all tried to end Judaism permanently. Yet: we are here.

How have we survived in the face of so much anguish?

Tevye asks the same question at the very beginning of Fiddler on the Roof. And his answer: Tradition!

Like our ancestors, we can endure the current economic crisis, by drawing strength from the essential values of our Tradition. Tonight, I shall draw your attention to three of those traditions in particular: to emunat tikvah: faith in the power of hope; to shalom bayit: peace in our homes; and to klal Yisrael, to the connection we share with the entirety of the Jewish people. These were the sources of light that our ancestors relied on during times of darkness. And tonight, we shall consider how they can illuminate our way forward into the year ahead.

Long ago, our people described God as their Rock and Redeemer. God was their on-call Rescuer, standing by to assist in times of trouble.

How I wish that my own faith came so easily.

Alas, I came of age as a skeptic. I struggle with the assertion that if we simply believe in God, then everything will automatically improve.

And yet, I believe in miracles. Not the kind of miracles that our ancestors believed in. But if we define a miracle as a completely unexpected experience that moves us spiritually and emotionally to places we did not think we could go….then I believe in miracles.

I believe that in the midst of the darkness that personifies our world today, there are sparks: moments of miracles.

As the tears on my face attested, I experienced the miracle of love as Amy and I were married under our chuppah. And even though the nurses made fun of me for it, I wept uncontrollably as my children Siona and Avi were born.

Others sense miracles in the desert, or atop a mountain…moved to the point of tears by the miraculously unexpected beauty of the natural world.

I believe in the miraculously unexpected possibilities of tomorrow – and so I believe in Hope.

The prophet Jeremiah refers to God as Mikveh Yisrael – the Hope of Israel. Jeremiah offers us a wonderfully contemporary way of thinking about God – not as God per se – but as a representation of the possibility of tikvah, of hope: hope in the assurance that things won’t always be as stressful and chaotic as they are right now.

800 years ago Maimonides noted that “The world is ordered and beautiful, even if it seems ordered against us.”

During this Rosh HaShanah season of renewal, how apt it is that Maimonides reminds us that even though we might feel overwhelmed, we must keep our eyes open…ready to sense the miracles that surround us. For even if the world seems ordered against us, the world is still ordered, still beautiful, and still full of hope.

Faith in the possibility of a better tomorrow is just one of the traditions that sustained our ancestors during times of trouble. Even as they yearned for glimpses of hope, they also sought support from the ones who were dearest to them…through the longstanding Jewish value of shalom bayit – peace in the home.

George Santayana once wrote that “The family is one of nature’s masterpieces.” And for the entire span of Jewish history, our people have agreed.

Our families identify us. They offer a structure for transmitting culture, tradition, and values to our next generation. And they provide us with a set of relatives that are supposed to stand by us…no matter what.

Our tradition doesn’t just believe that family should be there to help us cope during crisis. Judaism envisions the family as a genuine source of happiness. Thus the Vilna Gaon wrote that: “The aim of the Torah…is to induce us to want to cause happiness. Let there be no dissension in our households…but let love and brotherliness reign.”

In my experience, when things are going right at home - when we are getting along with our parents and grandparents…with our children and siblings…then – on a certain level – everything is right with the world. Not because all of our struggles disappear. But because our challenges become lighter burdens, when we know that we have the love of the people that matter most to us.

The opposite is also true. That no matter how much wealth we’re blessed to enjoy, none of it matters if things are not right with the most important people in our lives. Whether it is with a loving partner or a best friend: The state of our relations dictates our sense of happiness and fulfillment – even more than the balance in our checkbook.

Our Torah readings during Rosh HaShanah emphasize the fragile bonds that tie our families together. When we read the story of Creation, we are uneasily reminded of how Adam and Eve blame each other for the problems that befall them, rather than taking joint responsibility for eating the Forbidden Fruit.

And when we read the Binding of Isaac, we cringe at the dysfunction that would impel our patriarch to willingly sacrifice his son.

For Adam and Eve, and for Abraham and Isaac, their lives are forever defined…not by their economic status…but by the brokenness of the relationships that were once so important to them.

Our job on this Rosh HaShanah is to learn from their mistakes: by not letting the anxieties of this moment distract us from the enduring Tradition of shalom bayit: of tending to the relationships that matter most. In doing so, may we find the happiness and fulfillment that this latest crisis threatens to withhold from us.

Faith in the power of hope, and a renewed commitment to our loved ones, are two of the core values that our ancestors relied on to get them through times of trouble. But the secret of the survival of the Jewish people cannot be wholly explained through faith and devotion to family. We have persisted through the ages because we see ourselves as part of something bigger: Klal Yisrael, the Jewish People.

Look around and see the power of Klal Yisrael at work right now. Our community is often absent from the synagogue. And yet…these Holy Days draw us together. We reconstitute ourselves as part of Klal Yisrael this evening: proclaiming that we are part of something bigger…something that is more important than our individual identities.

The importance of being part of a team…I was fascinated to learn this past year that in the Tour de France, cyclists do not enter as individuals; instead, they enter as members of a team. For the good of the team, most riders focus on supporting their team captain, so that he has the best chance of winning the race.

Like competitive cycling: we are commanded to look out for the other members of our team. And as in the Tour de France, the success of our team – the Jewish People – is dependent on whether we look out for one another.

The Talmud says: Kol yisrael areivim zeh ba zeh – all of Israel is responsible one for the other. How does that principal enable us to cope with our current hardships?

First, it is a reminder to anyone in this room who suffers that you are not alone.

Here at Solel, we try to live this out by working to insure that no one is turned away from temple membership because they cannot afford it.

Equally important is the counseling that Rabbi Frank, Cantor Tiep, and I have done with those going through a rough patch. We continue to be standing by: for you and for others, in the weeks and months ahead.

The same ethos is reflected in other institutions in our San Diego Jewish community, like Jewish Family Service. Did you know that JFS offers interest free loans and subsidized counseling with licensed therapists?

Re-embracing our sense of peoplehood…of being part of something bigger extends beyond our personal needs. We don’t just invoke Klal Yisrael to demand something from it. Klal Yisrael is also about identifying with Jews around the world. It means caring about Jews who suffer in Cuba, Russia, or Argentina, and then doing something about it.

But our sense of Peoplehood can best be expressed by the love and support that we offer to our brothers and sisters in the State of Israel.

The news in recent days of the Palestinians’ attempt to gain recognition from the United Nations is merely the latest in a long line of reasons why we should care about Israel and her well-being.

Shame on the Palestinians for seeking a unilateral resolution to their existential crisis at the UN, which has been historically unsympathetic to the needs of Israelis.

I am one of the few people left on the planet who believes that a peaceful resolution can be achieved through bilateral negotiations in our time…And so, for me, the United Nations cannot be the answer. It may make the Palestinians feel good about themselves in the short run. But it will not bring peace in the long run.

Caring about Israel has been a concern of Jews for 2000 years. We face Israel when we pray. We strive to teach our children Hebrew. And we plant trees there to mark the seasons of our lives. We do all of this so that we can be there for Israel…because we know that – should we ever need her – Israel will be there for us.

Caring for each other has been the third secret to our survival. I stand in awe of the interdependent support system that the notion of Klal Yisrael helped to construct. Those in need were always helped by their sisters. And those who were able to give always gave, so that their brothers could be sustained. Times have changed, but this essential element of our Jewishness remains constant: we must continue to support and care for our own if we are to survive.

Hemingway wrote that “The world breaks everyone, but some people are strong in the broken places.”

This year has been a difficult one for our community. Some have suffered more than most. But all have been affected. All of us have tasted the anxiety that comes with loss of wealth, and with concern about our future. In Hemingway’s words, all of us have become a little more broken this year.

But we know, from the long history of our people, that we can and must endure, by discovering the strength that is hiding in the broken parts of our souls.

Our tradition is the wellspring of that strength. If you look, you will find it entrenched in our age-old commitment to the vitality of Klal Yisrael: the Jewish People and the State of Israel. And you will find it reflected in shalom bayit…in the love and support that is waiting for us at home, and within the most important relationships in our lives. Most of all, you can find it rooted in emunat tikvah: faith in the power of Hope…in the belief that the miracle of a better tomorrow is not only possible, but probable.

Our rabbis spun a tale about Adam, all alone at the end of that wondrous first day of existence….the very first day in the history of humanity.

After getting to enjoy the glorious light and heat that the sun provided him…he began to feel anxious. He realized, late in the afternoon, that the sun was setting. That…little by little…the sun was sinking down towards the horizon. And as it set, it got progressively darker. And colder. And as the darkness and cold set upon him, Adam had no idea that the sun was going to rise the next morning! He feared that he might never enjoy light again!

And so God comforted Adam, by presenting him with stones. And God taught Adam how to rub the stones together, so as to produce light.

On this Rosh HaShanah, let us be comforted in knowing that we have been blessed with the ability to endure times of darkness just as Adam did. We, too, have the ability to transform our darkness into a dazzling hopeful light.

According to legend, Adam’s stones had names. And our’s do as well. They are the foundational traditions of our People…the traditions that have sustained us across oceans and millennia. And they are called: Hope, Family, and Israel. As we reaffirm these traditions today, on this New Year, may we be blessed like Adam was, with the ability to bring new sparks of light into this darkened world…sparks that will illuminate the way forward for us, and radiate warmth and support for the ones around us.

Keyn Yhi Ratzon – May this be God’s will.

All Things Israel

2011-09-16T12:10:00.000-07:00

Welcome back! After our customary summer hiatus, I'm pleased to be back online with the first posting of the new school year. As always: I welcome your feedback - especially publicly! What do we have to do to start getting you to be comfortable posting your feedback online for the world to see (and respond to)? It is amazing when I get your private emails with your incredible thoughts, questions, and responses. But this is a blog...It is begging for your public participation! If you have any questions about how to post your thoughts online, email or call me and I'd be happy to walk you through it.

In the meantime, the news is abuzz with items related to Israel. If you have been tuning Israel news out during the summer, then you missed the unbelievable expressions of democracy that have been sprouting up all over the place! Some of the rallies featured more than 450,000 Israelis, peacefully gathering and demonstrating for social justice and economic reforms. Check out video of the protests here.

There are two other Israel-related things things that should be on your radar screen right now. The first has to do with the fact that the Palestinians (who do not have an officially recognized state of their own) have decided that, instead of pursuing bilateral peace negotiations with Israel, that they will instead be approaching the United Nations in the next few days for official status recognition. Today's New York Times coverage of the story can be found here. Nearly every Jewish organization has positioned itself as opposing the Palestinian action, including our own Reform movement. Learn about the Reform position and sign ARZA's (the Israel advocacy arm of Reform Judaism's) petition here. For those like myself who sometimes situate ourselves on the left-leaning side of the Israel political spectrum, it is important to note that even J Street has declared itself as opposing the Palestinians' UN maneuvering. In the spirit of dialogue, you might be interested in reading the article here for an impassioned argument in favoring of utilizing the UN to end the Israeli-Palestinian conflict (though I respectfully disagree with it).

Beyond all things UN-related, there has been a parallel conversation unfolding online about the current younger generation of American Jews, and their connection to/attitudes toward Israel. Some months ago, Rabbi Daniel Gordis (a widely-read commentator on all things Israel - you should subscribe to his email list even if you don't agree with him!) wrote a provocative column...one version of it was published in Commentary Magazine. It's a long piece, but well worth reading. Basically, he makes a number of observations surrounding the fact that younger Jews today care less about Israel/are less connected. Nothing about his piece is surprising...there have been plenty of demographic/population studies that have been telling us this for quite some time. But Gordis is a talented writer. And the way that he addressed the situation got a lot of attention, and raised a number of thought provoking questions/responses. Some of them were just published in Commentary's September issue. These are also well worth reading.

I share all of this material by way of turning to all of you...and in particular our college students on this list....to welcome you to the conversation. Your opinion on Israel matters! (And for our purposes in this setting, all views and perspectives are welcome, so long as they conveyed in an appropriate and respectful tone.) I would love to hear from you: what do you think about what is going on in Israel right now? How do you feel about the Palestinians, and what is the best/most reasonable way for Israel to deal justly with them, and protect itself in the process? And how do you relate to Israel? What role (if any) does the Land or her people play in your life?

What I would beg you to avoid is apathy....for it would literally break my heart if you felt so little connection to Israel, that you weren't even motivated to have an opinion about it. That would be a great tragedy for the Jewish world, and for you as well. (If you don't have an opinion about Israel - let today be the beginning of a change in that department!)

These are exciting and important and controversial times that we are living in. I hope this forum can be a place where you will feel comfortable coming to learn, to ask, and to share your thoughts on how you can contribute to the great (Jewish) debates of our day.

Shabbat Shalom.

Lag B'Omer: For Hope and Faith

2011-05-20T10:21:00.000-07:00

SPOILER ALERT: I WILL BE EXPLORING THESE THEMES DURING OUR SHABBAT MORNING SERVICE THIS WEEKEND.

I'm curious: have you paused recently to do a personal mental health check in? (It's always a healthy thing to do periodically.)

I raise the question now for two reasons....First of all: for the graduating seniors that are part of our Etanu community, now is an obvious 'season of tension' as you navigate the transition from college life to "the real world." Job/graduate school/new living arrangements/etc all have to be dealt with. It's only natural to feel anxious during this transition (or possibly even sad if things have been particularly difficult). The inventory provides a more formal mechanism to enable you to monitor how you're doing.

More broadly, I raise the question of how everyone is doing, and feeling, because we Jews have always associated the springtime with....sadness.

It's strange: springtime is all about re-birth, hope, and happiness. Well: that's true in our wider Western culture. It's just not true for Jews.

The four and a half weeks following Passover (a period that we're about to reach the end of this weekend) have always been a period associated with grief and mourning in Judaism. Instead of celebrating we're supposed to be un-celebrating during this time of year. Traditional Jews let their hair and beards grow out (so as to not worry about their physical appearance), and they avoid scheduling weddings (so as to not subject their guests to the happiness of a celebration) - all in order to mimic Jewish mourning practices! Because....we are supposed to be sad right now.

Why? Here are a few traditional reasons:

Some rabbis suggested that this is the season when our ancestors were most affected by the destruction of the Second Temple (in the year 70). Just as the barley and wheat were making their initial appearances, our people were reminded that there was no temple where they could bring the biblically-commanded agricultural sacrifices.
Others associate this season of loss with a famous story in the Talmud, which notes that Rabbi Akiba – the great second century rabbi, lost thousands of students to a devastating plague during the first few weeks after Passover.
Others read that story as code – that his students didn’t die from plague, but rather heroically died in the Bar Kochba Rebellion: the last courageous stand of our ancestors before falling, once and for all, to the Roman Empire.

Speaking of the Romans, contemporary anthropologists remind us of the ancient Roman belief that the spirits of the dead returned to earth every springtime. Thus Romans avoided marriage during this season. (We might have copied the practice from them!)

On top of all of these "traditional" reasons for Jews to be sad around now, we have some serious things going on in our world...none of which is particularly comforting or hopeful:

The economy is still pulling down far too many in our community, even as economists insist that there are verifiable signs of recovery.
We still live in fear of terror – and we continue to wage two wars overseas - even though Osama bin Laden has been killed.
We watch in disbelief as yet another year goes by in which Israelis and Palestinians fail to find a way to talk to one another, and make progress on the significant list of issues that continue to lie before them – blocking the path to peace.
We live in a state of frustration and concern because the partisan divisions that affect our state and federal governments are preventing our leaders from compromising and making the hard but necessary decisions about our fiscal future.
And we live with regret that leaders like former Gov. Schwarzenegger and former IMF Managing director Dominique Strauss-Kahn made terrible choices, violating promises they had made to their families, while also failing to live up to the expectations we had of them as worthy role models for our children.

Like our ancestors of old: even as spring blooms all around us, we are weighed down by sadness and despair.

Yet our tradition provides a small measure of relief: the 33rd day following Passover (known as Lag B'Omer) has always been a day of joy and release. It is a day on the Jewish calendar that gives us permission to not be weighed down by our own personal troubles, and the tzorus of the world around us. Instead: Lag B'Omer is a day to reconnect: with the people that are important to us, and the incredible natural beauty that surrounds us. Weddings and all manner of celebrations are permitted on Lag B'Omer (even haircuts!). DON'T WORRY, BE HAPPY is the message of the day.

Here's the good news: this Sunday is Lag B'Omer!

My hope and prayer to you: as we all embark on the beginning of our summers (and - for our graduating seniors: the beginning of the rest of your lives!), is that you never lose hope. That you always have the ability to experience the world with open eyes and open hearts...to find beauty everywhere: in the presence of friends and loving partners, in nature, and in the satisfaction of helping others. In doing so, I hope you'll come to appreciate that sadness and suffering are not absolute. Lag B'Omer is a passionate reminder from our tradition that no sadness is forever. There is always a break from whatever troubles us. A new beginning is always around the corner.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Brown

63, 24, 3...HIKE!

2011-05-13T12:19:00.000-07:00

I've always been intrigued by the custom of football quarterbacks to call out random numbers before screaming HIKE! to start a play.

Low and behold: those numbers aren't totally random - they are part of an elaborate team code, so that the QB can tell his teammates what the play is going to be, without giving it away to the opposing defense. (Don't trust me on this because I know nothing about football. Read more about it here.) Enjoy this satirical interview with Peyton Manning about it:

Of course, football players actually take this stuff very seriously. They need this system of codes in order to be able to communicate with one another. It allows their community (if you will) to function.

I've been thinking that Judaism is pretty similar. We also have code numbers that help to define who we are/what we're about. The numbers of our code help to tell the story of who we are as a people...where we've come from, and where we're going.

This season on our calendar, in particular, is filled with code numbers.

This past Tuesday, Jews around the world marked Yom Ha'Atzmaut - Israeli Independence Day...the 63rd birthday of the State of Israel!

For more on Yom Ha'Atzmaut in general, click here.
For information about attending our San Diego communal Israel celebration this Sunday, click here.
For news about Israel's observance of Yom Ha'Atzmaut this year, click here.
Here is Prime Minister Netanyahu's official Independence Day Greeting:

The number 63 signifies for us an affirmation: that after 2,000 years of dreaming, a State of our own has become an established reality. And yet, 63 is also a cautionary warning: that Israel continues to face significant challenges that threaten its long term safety, security, and ultimately its existence. This week is a chance for us to celebrate 63 amazing years, but also to recommit ourselves to continuing to support Israel so that it will remain strong long into the future.

This season isn't just about counting the years of Israel's existence. It is also about counting the days - the days in between Passover and Shavuot, in connection with our custom of counting the omer. Today marks the 24th day, which is three weeks and three days of the omer. (Check in periodically until Shavuot - the uncounted 50th day - by clicking on the humorous Counting the Homer website, in honor of Jewish fans of "The Simpsons" everywhere.)

Finally, this week's Torah portion (Parshat Behar), teaches us about the ancient custom of counting the years in cycles of seven. Just as God rested on the Seventh Day of creation (hence the invention of Shabbat), so too does the Torah indicate that our farm land should get to rest every seventh year. We shouldn't plant seeds during the seventh year. And we don't get to harvest/pick food from the land during the seventh year (if the foods were grown in Israel, according to a literal interpretation).

This might appear, on the surface, to be the least relevant of the counting customs mentioned in this posting. None of us, in all probability, are farmers.

Nonetheless in this age when we should all be striving to become more ecologically conscious, surely we can buy into the idea that there are environmental advantages to letting our land lie fallow occasionally? Click here to see how this practice (called shmita in Hebrew) falls within the wider context of Jewish environmentalism. For those that want to keep track for the future: we are currently in year 3 of the seven year sabbatical cycle. (Year Seven is the Year of Rest for the land.) The next sabbatical year will be in 5775 (2014-2015).

63, 24, 3 -- code numbers that help to tell the story of our people: a history of the modern state of Israel; an ancient practice of mindfully counting the days between two of our most important holidays; and an annual system of counting that reminds us of our ultimate responsibilities towards our planet.

What about in your own story...what are the numbers that are significant to you or to your family? Who is responsible for keeping track of birthdays and anniversaries? Years since a loved one passed away? Years until a younger relative becomes Bar/Bat Mitzvah or graduates from college?

Numbers are code - they help to tell the stories of our lives.

As always: I'm standing by, eager to hear your's.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Brown

Justice, Justice Shall You Pursue

2011-05-06T14:41:00.000-07:00

Well, of course we have all been transfixed this week about the news concerning the death of Osama bin Laden. No doubt we all feel a sense of relief that this heartless terrorist is no longer able to threaten the lives of innocent civilians, as well as our brave men and women in uniform.

I have had a number of conversations with congregants in the last week. Many of them have expressed a bit of frustration: they aren't sure how they are supposed to be reacting to this (unexpected?) news. Should they be rejoicing like the revelers in this video:

Or is something subdued more appropriate for this occasion?

A more subdued reaction would be Jewishly appropriate, if we think about it in terms of the fact that a human being died here. Jews don't typically rejoice when a person has died. We believe, after all, that every human being was created in the image of God - that every person has some essential spark of divinity in them that makes them non-completely- and-totally-evil. That God weeps, on some level, for the loss of every person - and therefore, so should we.

(This is the basis for our Passover Seder practice of dipping our pinkies in the wine for each of the Ten Plagues: to lessen our joy by recalling the suffering of the Egyptians.)

Do you think that God is saddened by bin Laden's death, as God would be by every other human being's? Or, was he so evil that he becomes an exception to this principle?

Certainly we've had other exceptions over the course of Jewish history. The Book of Esther, for example, notes that following the deaths of Haman and his sons: "That was on the 13th day of the month of Adar; and they rested on the 14th day and made it a day of feasting and merrymaking" (9:17).

What about a Jewish basis for actively opposing bin Laden's killing?

There has been a minority strain in Judaism surrounding the issue of pacifism.

In terms of a more specific analogy from the Jewish past to compare bin Laden's killing to, we might recall the execution fifty years ago of the Nazi war criminal Adolf Eichmann. (Holocaust scholar Deborah Lipstadt explores the comparison between these two here.)

Hannah Arendt, in her famous chronicle of the Eichmann trial, notes that:

"The President [of Israel] also received hundreds of letters and telegrams from all over the world, pleading for clemency; outstanding among the senders were the Central Conference of American Rabbis [the CCAR - the Reform rabbinical organization], and a group of professors from the Hebrew University in Jerusalem, headed by Martin Buber, who had been opposed to the trial from the start, and who now tried to persuade Ben-Gurion to intervene for clemency."

The CCAR's position on this matter is news to me! I am trying to track down a more detailed statement about their position on this. If I find it, I'll post it here. Buber's position (given his well known liberal political credentials) is less surprising to me.

We can see, from all of this, that there are clearly options on the table here - in terms of different emotional reactions to the death of someone like bin Laden.

How have you reacted? (As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts publicly here on the blog or privately over email.)

Are you overjoyed (as in the Purim story)?

Are you relieved, but not overjoyed (as in the Passover story and our seder custom of removing wine from our glasses)?

Or are you actively opposed to what happened (as Jews in the past have been because of their pacifism, antipathy toward the death penalty, etc.)?

However you are feeling, you should definitely make it a point of checking out the New York Times website. Click here to see their interactive feature that allows people to graph their own reactions, and add comments about how they are feeling. Chart yourself and/or see what others have posted. It is fascinating.

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Brown

Debunking The Myth

2011-04-28T15:00:00.000-07:00

SPOILER ALERT: I WILL BE EXPLORING THIS MATERIAL DURING OUR SHABBAT MORNING SERVICE THIS WEEKEND.

One of the great myths of American Judaism has been the decades-long assertion that a Jew with tattoos can’t be buried in a Jewish cemetery. (Have you heard that before?) I imagine that most of you probably have.

I have no idea where that story came from. But we should begin today’s posting by acknowledging that that myth has no basis in fact. There is no Jewish text in existence (that I am aware of) that prohibits burial in a Jewish cemetery because of this issue.

Where did the myth come from? And what can we learn from the traditional Jewish prohibition against tattoos?

Let’s begin with this week’s Torah portion: Parshat Kedoshim from the middle of the Book of Leviticus. Leviticus 19:28 reads: ”And do not put tattoo marks (more literally: permanent inscriptions) on yourselves: I am the Eternal.”

Based on the other prohibitions of Lev 19, some historians have suggested that the Torah doesn’t have anything against tattoos per se (indeed other parts of the Bible seem to embrace the practice!). Rather, Lev 19 could just be a list of things that the Israelites weren’t supposed to do because the practices were associated with their enemies (neighboring Ancient Near Eastern civilizations).

Concern about imitating neighboring Canaanite idol worshippers is obviously not a high religious priority for us today. It’s also clearly not a matter of concern for the whopping 40% of Americans aged 25-40 who have at least one tattoo.

Yet, there is a part of me that is still sympathetic with the traditional Jewish prohibition against them.

My thoughts about tattoos aren’t just derived from this week’s Torah portion. I am also heavily influenced by the traditional Jewish notion of respecting our bodies: of treating our bodies with care and dignity because they are representations of God (we’re created in the Divine Image, after all). Or: to put it another way, our bodies don’t belong exclusively to us. They are gifts to us, from God. And throughout the duration of our lives, we should humbly see ourselves as stewards of those bodies…intent on returning them to God in as close to pristine condition as possible.

This might be an uncomfortable thought for some of us. After all, we live in a day and age where American culture/society empowers us to do virtually anything we want to our bodies. Alcohol or drugs? Not that big a deal. Controlled substances to affect our athletic performance – or our performance in the bedroom for that matter? No problem – everyone’s doing it! Deciding what we do to our bodies is a freedom that our secular culture celebrates. Judaism, on the other hand, argues for limits and boundaries. Part of being in a relationship with God (a covenant) means forgoing some of those freedoms.

How does that sit with you? Do you feel like your Jewishness gets in the way of you getting to do what you want to do? And if so, is that a difficult/frustrating/bad thing? Or is it something that you’re happy to accept as part of your Jewish identity?

There’s another side of the Jewish tattoo debate. If we return to the original text from this week’s Torah portion (see above), you’ll note how the verse ends with the words “I am the Eternal.” Some of our rabbis over the centuries have suggested that the tattoo prohibition is limited to TATTOOS OF GOD’S NAME! They read Lev 19:28 as saying “Do not tattoo yourselves with the words ‘I am the Eternal.’”

According to this reading, tattoos are only Jewishly dangerous if they are disrespectful of God (or Judaism).

This interpretation would suggest that it is OKAY for Jews to tattoo themselves, so long as they are choosing tattoos that go out of their way to be pro-God or pro-Jewish.

Indeed there is a whole new expression of Jewish identity going on among a certain segment of the American Jewish population, where people are choosing to express their Jewishness by getting JEWISH TATTOOS!

What do you think about these? I am fascinated by them…particularly the one of the words tzedek and shalom (justice and peace) inscribed on someone’s knuckles. There is something beautiful about taking a part of the body that we sometimes associate with violence (fists) and inking them with words of peace instead.

These people should also get points for creativity, irony, and satire: all essential elements for an amazing tattoo.

This new brand of Jewish tattoos still doesn’t address the value of respecting our bodies (unless you want to argue that choosing such pro-Jewish messages is automatically respectful of our bodies but I wouldn’t go that far). And it doesn’t do anything to address my concern about the issue of permanence either. (Tattoos are dangerous because…what if you grow to dislike the image that you chose for yourself??)

Nonetheless, I am curious to hear from you about whether you feel like they are an authentic vehicle toward the expression of our Jewish identities. CHECK OUT THIS RECENT ARTICLE WHICH SUGGESTS THAT THEY ARE.

As for our parents and grandparents and their concerns about the cemetery….tell them that I explained to you that tattoos are a sin (according to traditional Judaism) – but that we all sin. We all make different kinds of mistakes over the course of our lives. If cemeteries were to turn away any Jew who had ever sinned, I can assure you that our cemeteries would be completely empty. While I’m not behind the idea of tattoos 100%, let your parents know that tattoos are no better and no worse (according to Jewish law) than any other “sin” you might commit over the course of your lives.

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Brown

Passover: An Ode to Karpas

2011-04-08T14:09:00.000-07:00

SPOILER ALERT: I WILL BE EXPLORING THIS MATERIAL IN THE CONTEXT OF MY REMARKS DURING THE SHABBAT MORNING SERVICE OF 4/16/11.

Well...it's that time of year again. Jews around the world are actively preparing for the arrival of Passover.

To begin, a little Passover treat:

One of the challenges in navigating the holiday - and especially the seder itself - is keeping track of all of the symbolic foods, and the multitude of meanings that each one of them carries.

In this posting, we devote ourselves once again to the mysterious karpas: the ritual of dipping a vegetable (commonly parsley but you can use potatoes or celery too!) into something bitter like vinegar or (more commonly in America) salt water.

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, the Chief Rabbi of Great Britain, offers a culinary interpretation about the importance of karpas in his recently published commentary on the Haggadah. He notes the paradoxical mixing of tastes and the metaphoric application to our lives today. He writes:

The karpas, itself sweet, is dipped in salt, and [later in the seder] bitter maror [is dipped] in sweet charoset [...] What is the connection between these contradictions and freedom? Human beings are deeply conditioned to crave the pleasant and the sweet and avoid the unpleasant. This is a natural tendency. However, to be free means relating fully to all experience and choosing how to act because we wish to realize our values and commitments.

Taste is an important component of our Passover experience. Sacks' suggestion that we understand karpas as a ritual that brings different tastes together is a beautiful segue into a larger discussion of our Jewish responsibility to deal [via tikkun olam] with everything that is unpleasant in the world.

But the beauty of Judaism is that there are always a multiplicity of voices: competing ways of understanding the traditions that have been passed down to us. Here's an alternative (and poetic) exploration of the meaning of karpas from the landmark feminist haggadah published by Ma'yan: The Jewish Women's Project in 2000:

Long before the struggle upwards begins,
There is tremor in the seed.
Self-protection cracks,
Roots reach down and grab hold.
The seed swells, and tender shoots
push up toward the light.
This is karpas: spring awakening growth.
A force so touch it can break stone.

And why do we dip karpas into salt water? To remember the sweat and tears of our ancestors in bondage.

To taste the bitter tears of our earth, unable to fully renew itself this spring because of our waste,
neglect, and greed.

To feel the sting of society’s refusal to celebrate
the blossoming of women’s bodies and the full range
of our capacity for love.

And why should salt water be touched by karpas?

To remind us that tears stop. Spring comes.
And with it the potential for change.

According to this interpretation, karpas is a ritual that is filled with the potential to heal: our earth, our relationships, and ourselves.

Which interpretation speaks to you? Why? I'd love to hear your thoughts here on the blog or privately over email.

Please do feel free to print out either/both readings and share them with the people you'll be spending your seder with!

Chag Sameach and Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Brown

Looking Into The Mirror

2011-04-01T13:48:00.000-07:00

SPOILER ALERT: I WILL BE EXPLORING SOME OF THESE THEMES DURING THIS WEEKEND'S SHABBAT MORNING SERVICE.

On the surface, this week's Torah portion (Parshat Tazria) is fixated on everybody else. What are the people around us doing? Do we see anything out of ordinary? Does anyone look strange?

The Torah is especially concerned about that last question - because our text this week revolves around the question of tza'ra'at - a mysterious leprosy-like skin disease that was common in ancient times. According to this week's Torah portion: the disease was dangerous! Community members had to be constantly monitoring each other in order to identify an outbreak as soon as possible.

On one level, the sense of danger was connected to the community's physical vulnerability. The disease was easily spreadable. In order to protect the community, those afflicted with the disease had to be isolated, so as to insure that others couldn't get sick.

But our rabbis have never read these passages as being limited to communicable disease. According to their worldview, the illness was a physical manifestation of a more serious phenomenon: Divine punishment from God for a moral lapse. (And not just any lapse. The rabbis zoomed in on the Hebrew word for 'one who is afflicted with tza'ra'at': metzorah. They read metzorah as code for one who gossips.)

Obviously, our tradition is strongly opposed to gossip, slander, and libel - in all of their insidious forms. You can click here for a number of different Jewish resources if you are interested in learning more about the Jewish position on gossip.

What I am most fascinated by, however, is not the Jewish prohibition about gossip itself...but rather this notion that the Torah seems to be encouraging us to police each other about it. If someone in the community notices an outbreak of tza'ra'at - other people are supposed to report it immediately. For the rabbis of the Talmud (who insisted that a person with tza'ra'at was a gossip), that meant that they were basically codifying the Jewish obligation to be a tattletale. (Like children, we are supposed to report to the teacher if a peer of our's has been gossiping!)

There is a story about Rabbi Israel Salanter, founder of the 19th century Musar movement, which offers us a different perspective:

In 1848 there was a cholera epidemic in Vilna. As usual in times of calamity, the Jews began to examine what sins of theirs might have brought this about. One person came to Rabbi Israel Salanter and told him that a certain person was violating the Torah. Rabbi Israel said to him: “A person with tza’ra’at was sent outside of the camp in the desert, because, as our Sages tell us, tza’ra’at is caused by the slandering of others. But the sin of slander does not consist of spreading lies about others. Rather it is caused by seeking the faults in others, rather than in oneself. Thus the one who slanders is told: if you are so good at finding fault, go out of the camp, remain isolated by yourself, and search for your own faults and sins. Thus Rabbi Salanter taught: The reason a person who finds fault with others is committing a sin is because he should have used that time to find fault in himself.

The passage is damning to both the slanderer AND to the person who was reporting the slanderer to Rabbi Salanter!

According to Salanter, and the movement of Musar that he helped to establish, we should avoid the usual human pitfall of judging others. Instead, we should be using that time and energy to look into the mirror and identify shortcomings in ourselves...in an attempt to begin a process of ethical improvement of the self.

Musar is a formal method of studying ethical texts in our tradition, as well as implementing a process of self reflection which enables us to become more aware of the ethical decisions that we are all constantly making. Musar provides a framework for evaluating those decisions, and then empowering us to make better ones in the future. To learn more about that approach you might consider reading Alan Morinis' "Everyday Holiness: The Jewish Spiritual Path of Mussar". If you just want to become more familiar with the ethical texts and traditions of Judaism, you might read "The Jewish Moral Virtues" by Borowitz and Schwartz.

But you don't have to be formally "doing Musar" to get connected with these values. All you have to do is teach yourself to be a little more self aware and self reflective. Consider using a journal, and just begin to keep track of the things you do, and how they make you feel. If your conscience indicates that you might have just made an error, write about it. Over time, your journal will become a baseline for you to return to - to become better acquainted with who are now. Ideally, your journal can become like a mirror: enabling you to see yourself in new ways: some that you're proud of - and others that you'll be motivated to change and improve. (If the idea of a journal doesn't sit well with you, consider beginning/continuing a relationship with a counselor, therapist, or trusted mentor. Sometimes it takes another person to help us see who we are/how we are behaving. They too can motivate us to become better people.) That's what Musar is all about.

Wishing you a Shabbat - and a lifetime - of self reflection,
Rabbi Brown

The Triangle Shirtwaist Fire: 100 Years Later

2011-03-25T11:34:00.000-07:00

SPOILER ALERT: I WILL BE EXPLORING THIS THEME DURING THIS WEEKEND'S SHABBAT MORNING SERVICE.

Today marks the 100th anniversary of a terrible tragedy that you might never have heard about.

The date was Saturday March 25, 1911. It was at the end of a long work day, and a long 50+hour work week for the mostly Jewish immigrants who were employed as garment workers in the Triangle Shirtwaist blouse factory in Greenwich Village in New York City. The factory - it's important to note - sat on the 8th, 9th, and 10th floors of a ten story building.

The building itself was state of the art: everything inside the building was fireproof: the interior and exterior walls, the floors, etc. Take the time to read the New York Times original coverage of the event (including the incredible pictures) and you will see that the whole thing lasted only half an hour.

How did the fire start? Some say that one of the workers was sneaking a cigarette, and that a match/ashes ignited the piles of clothing scraps that littered the floor of the factory. Others speculate that sparks flew from one of the sewing machines.

Regardless: 146 garment workers lost their lives that day in the worst disaster in New York City - until September 11th.

The tragedy of it all is that the workers didn't have to die. They enjoyed the luxury of working in a state of the art fireproof building!

Yet they died because the factory owners routinely locked down all the exits from the factory so as to prevent the workers from stealing clothing. Thus the women (more than 120 of the 146 were women between the ages of 16 and 23) couldn't use the stairs or the non-functioning elevators. And they couldn't rely on the fire department to save them either. Because as it turns out: the fire department's ladders could only reach up to the 7th floor.

Thus, the victims had to choose between staying inside the factory to face certain death, or take the risk of jumping out of the windows. The fire department was standing by with netting to catch jumpers. But the netting tore, because so many were jumping at nearly the same time.

There is immense tragedy, of course, in the needless deaths of so many people. It is made all the worse by the fact that the victims were almost entirely immigrant women: relatively uneducated, forced to take factory work in order to help support their families.

The incident has become a major turning point in American Jewish history: it highlights the plight of Eastern European immigrants who were coming to this country in droves at the turn of the century. (Indeed, I am especially struck by the event because my great grandmothers could have easily been counted among the victims.)

Nonetheless, I think that it's important to point out that the Triangle fire was also a pivotal turning point in the history of New York City and our country. The fire is directly responsible for spawning an extensive range of safer building codes and workplace safety standards - things that we mostly take for granted today, but which were life and death issues 100 years ago.

The web is full of rich resources for further exploration on this important historical event. I want to encourage everyone to sample some of the following:

All of the comprehensive coverage that you would expect from the Forward (whose Yiddish edition at the time was the newspaper of choice for Eastern European immigrants). The website include (for the first time ever) English translation of the original Yiddish coverage, articles on Jews and political activism, and even a poetry contest to commemorate the event.
A blog posting from the AFL-CIO which does a great job of explaining the fire's short term impact on the growth of labor unions, and some of the other issues from the fire that still remain unresolved when it comes to workers' rights today.
The extensive online resources that Cornell University has posted on all things related to the fire, including an excellent diagram of the 9th floor of the factory illustrating the fire dangers.
Check out the way-cool smartphone friendly website from the US Department of Labor. The next time you are in New York City, you can use it to take a free guided audio tour of all the relevant locations connected to the fire and its history. (The factory building still stands today.)

I know that, on the surface, it might seem that this fire doesn't have very much to do with our lives today. All the more so if you didn't have relatives living on the Lower East Side at the turn of the century.

Keep in mind, though, that while the flames burned out long ago, the issues that they raised have not. We live in a society whose values guarantee that workers have the right to organize, in order to protect themselves. And that right is increasingly being questioned by some on the political right.

Perhaps, if the fire's anniversary touches you in no other way, then at least it will invite you to (re)consider your stance on the issue of workers' rights. Perhaps you will be motivated to get more involved in this pressing political issue. Find out everything you need to know about our Reform movement's position on the issue by clicking here. Regardless of where you fall on this issue, I'm interested in hearing your thoughts about it, and your reflections on the fire. Please do click on the Comments button below to publicly post.

May the memories of all those who perished 100 years ago live on - to be for a blessing, and as a reminder to all of us: that there is always more work to be done to make our world a healthier and safer place.

Shabbat Shalom.

Hoping, Praying, and Fasting? for Health and Peace in Japan

2011-03-18T13:18:00.000-07:00

I am sure that, like me, you have been anxiously following the latest details to emerge from Japan: now one week after that country experienced a devastating earthquake and tsunami.

According to Wikipedia (I'm writing this on Thursday), the numbers are stark:

5692 people are confirmed dead
2409 others are wounded
9522 are officially missing

There are several basic Jewish responses that our tradition teaches:

PRAYER: Prayer has always been an authentic Jewish response, when we are forced to witness the needless and senseless suffering of others. Here's one prayer that is appropriate, based on material written by Rabbi Jonathan Wittenberg of London:

Prayer In Response To Disaster

God, be with all those who mourn and pray for all of the people who have been affected by the recent tragedy in Japan.
May our solidarity strengthen them. God, help them manage to live on in spite of their pain. Give them courage, hope and purpose.

God, be with all those who have been traumatised, young and old. Bring trust and hope back into their lives. May the love they receive prove stronger than the horror they have experienced.

God, be with all those, of all peoples, who are suffering.

God, remove thoughts of violence and hatred from every heart. Strengthen our readiness to understand one another. Give us tolerance and insight. Teach us all to live together in peace.

May Isaiah's words speedily come true:
לֹא-יָרֵעוּ וְלֹא-יַשְׁחִיתוּ בְּכָל-הַר קָדְשִׁי כִּי-מָלְאָה הָאָרֶץ
דֵּעָה אֶת ה’ כַּמַּיִם לַיָּם מְכַסִּים

'They shall not hurt nor destroy in all my holy mountain; for the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the Lord, as the waters cover the sea.'

And let us say 'Amen'.
***

TZEDAKAH: Beyond praying, our tradition has always empowered us to DO SOMETHING about the brokenness of our world. And, short of hopping on a plane to Japan to lend a hand (which may not be advisable for a number of logisitical reasons - i.e. you'd just be another homeless person needing shelter), your best bet is to donate. Down the line, charities will probably be in need of goods. But right now, what they need most is our money. Consider making a small charitable donation to the American Red Cross or you can donate via the Jewish communal response to the disaster: the Jewish Coalition for Disaster Relief.

***

There's one other authentic Jewish response that might be worthy of our consideration at a time like this: FASTING.

I know fasting is such a strange thing to do...something that many of us typically only do once a year - on Yom Kippur.

But, actually, our tradition has a long history of communal/individual fasting when the community is facing a pending disaster that they are seeking to avert.

I am writing this on Thursday, which our Jewish calendar designates as Ta'anit Esther: the Fast of Esther. According to the Book of Esther (which we will reads on Purim this weekend), Esther fasted just before she confronted King Ahashuerus of Haman's pending genocide against the Jewish people. Indeed, our tradition ascribes the miraculous happy ending of the Book of Esther to her fast...as if her fasting swayed God toward a place of compassion and Divine Intervention.

As for the Japanese situation: we don't know how it is going to end yet. Several Japanese nuclear facilities are on the brink of major accidents...accidents which could harm tens of thousands of people that live in their vicinity.

Just as Esther hoped for a miraculous happy ending so many thousands of years ago, we too hope for the same in Japan. So many have already suffered. But a miracle now could prevent more suffering, more illness, more homelessness, and more loss of life.

So, at some point in the next few days, I would invite you to fast...either doing it the traditional way by abstaining from food and water from sunrise to sunset. Or by skipping a meal. Or by simply skipping a special treat that you might otherwise indulge in on a regular basis. Take on a little bit of suffering on your own - in order to prevent the suffering of others.

Even as we rejoice over the happy ending of the Purim story, we humbly temper our celebrations, knowing that others are hurting in our world today.

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Brown

Do American Men Need to "Man Up"?

2011-03-11T11:13:00.000-08:00

In the last few weeks, sociologists who study Americans in their 20s and 30s were all abuzz about two competing trends that seem to be affecting 20s/30s somethings (and particularly men in that demographic).

The first relates to a new study just released by the National Center for Health Statistics (an arm of the government's Centers for Disease Control). You can read an article about the study here. In a nutshell, the study seems to indicate that Americans age 15-44 are having LESS intercourse (and other forms of sexual contact) than they used to. The most interesting number from the survey: among Americans 15-24, 28% have had no physical contact with a romantic partner - ever. That number is about 5% higher than the last time this study was done a few years ago.

What factors might explain this decrease in sexual contact? Is it a shrinking American libido, brought on by the stress of high school and college? Or brought on by the stress of the current state of the economy?

Is it that young people are finding a sexual outlet for themselves that doesn't involve actual physical contact with partners? (I'm thinking here of sexual encounters that take place online in chat rooms and the like. You might also want to check out this CBS News report on virtual sex in the online word of Second Life. By the way: All of this is separate from the equally troubling issues surrounding online porn addiction.)

Or is it that we are living in a moment when our lifecycles are being stretched out....we're living longer....the onset of true adulthood is being delayed (more on this below)...and so maybe our young people are just "blooming" later than they used to.

***

Even as the debate goes on about this seeming trend toward less sex, a separate conversation has been going on in the last few weeks, in response to an essay that appeared in the Wall Street Journal by Kay Hymowitz. There, Hymowitz argues that American men in their 20s and 30s have officially become a 'slacker' generation - even as their female peers go on to graduate school or begin building successful careers. (Think of the dynamic between the Seth Rogen (slacker) and Katherine Heigl (successful career woman) characters in the movie "Knocked Up.")

According to Hymowitz, American guys have no real incentive to "man up" (and pursue a real education/career/etc.) because their female peers continue to hook up with them, and even sometimes pursue real relationships with them. She argues that if men won't "man up" on their own, than women should rise up and withhold sex from their male peers - so that there is a real incentive for the demographic to change! (Did anyone else have to read Aristophanes' "Lysistrata" in school?)

***

Now I turn to you - to find out what you think about all of this. Do you agree with the assessment of the CDC - that we find ourselves in a moment in which our society is less engaged when it comes to acts of physical intimacy? And if so: why is that? Is the trend good for our society? Or maybe not so good?

Or perhaps you are skeptical of the CDC study...and the Wall Street Journal article speaks more to your worldview...that American guys in their 20s and 30s are having plenty of sex...and that women maybe have some role in getting those guys to "man up" for the sake of the future health of our society?

I can't close without mentioning that our Jewish tradition calls us on to make good and healthy choices when it comes to how we conduct our (romantic) relationships. If you want to get up to speed on Jewish Sex Ethics, click here and invest the time to listen to the audio recording of a class I taught on this subject last year.

As always, I'd love to hear what you think.

Be safe, and Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Brown

Giving Voice to Your Values

2011-03-04T12:47:00.000-08:00

I want to begin by making sure that everyone knows about the disgusting story that came out of France a few days ago: That the noted French fashion designer John Galliano turns out to be a raging anti-Semite.

I am going to spend the rest of this column writing about Israel and Zionism. But I begin with the Galliano story because it's imperative to remember that...for Theodor Herzl, the initial impulse to organize, and ultimately call for a World Zionist Congress at the very end of the 19th century was in response to the latent French anti-Semitism that showed itself during the infamous Dreyfus Trial. For Herzl, the Dreyfus Trial was a knock upside the head - a realization that anti-Semitism would continue to persist....even in the most rational and enlightened countries of the world. And that the only reasonable Jewish response to the ongoing "problem" of anti-Semitism is Zionism: the establishment of a Jewish homeland - the one place in the world that Jews would be theoretically guaranteed to be safe from anti-Semitism sponsored/supported by the government under which they lived.

What is the state of Zionism today?

I offer one perspective on that question today, as I reflect on my experience attending the latter part of the national gathering of the organization known as J Street in Washington, DC.

J Street bills itself as "Pro Israel and Pro Peace." If you are interested, you can read about their platform here. Highlights from the conference can be viewed here. Rabbi David Saperstein (head of the Reform movement's Religious Action Center) opened the session with this speech, which courageously pressured J Street to re-think its approach on the UN resolution from a few days earlier:

As you may know, J Street is not without controversy in the wider Jewish/Pro-Israel community.

That controversy stems, in part, from the fact that J Street prominently advocates for a two state solution. The organization passionately believes that the Palestinian people have a right to be treated humanely and fairly - and that they have waited long enough for a Palestinian state. J Street continues to call for American and international pressure to be put on both the Israelis and Palestinians to enter immediately into final status negotiations so that a Palestinian state can come into existence, and so that Israel can thus end its more than four decade "occupation" (in and of itself a controversial term) of the West Bank.

There are aspects of J Street that I am not in full agreement with:

I don't know enough about the history and relationship between Israel and Syria to know if I agree with the J Street platform's call for a 'land-for-peace' deal with Syria.

And I know that I felt saddened by the fact that the organization seemed to put more emphasis on its Pro Peace (i.e. Pro-Palestinian) message than its Pro-Israel one. More specifically, J Street's Zionism is left largely undefined. It never seemed to be rooted in anything particularly Jewish...no reminder to me of the Jewish reasons for the continued existence of a secure Jewish homeland. This - to me - is the essence of Zionism, and could have been more prominently discussed.

But all of that aside: for me, personally, it was unbelievable to be in a room with more than 2000 progressive Jewish activists who had the courage to say that the Palestinians deserve to be treated with respect. That they deserve a state of their own. That settlement-building, in the context of the Palestinians and their right to a state, is immoral. That treating Palestinians as second class citizens is immoral.

To be sure, there is a trade off of values that is at play here.

Most of the Pro-Israel activists who disagree with J Street do so on the grounds that J Street is putting Israel's security at risk, by so aggressively pushing for Palestinian statehood. Many say: what's the hurry? Let's wait until relations with the Palestinians improve...when things on the ground become more stable....then we can work towards their state.

J Street's answer is that that magical moment will never come. So long as settlement building continues, and the occupation continues, it will never be that the Palestinians suddenly wake up one morning and want to be friends. Instead, J Street reasons: we Jews must take the initiative, and give them their land, and withdraw. That, in turn, will make for a more secure Israel.

My own response to that line of reasoning is conflicted. Israel courageously withdrew from Gaza several years ago, and Hamas filled that vacuum. It's hard to argue that Israel is more secure now because Hamas is there. What if the same thing were to happen in the West Bank?

But, for me, there are equally pressing questions: what do we make of the fact that the occupation compels Israel and the IDF to violate Jewish values in their interaction with the Palestinians?

That is a huge problem for me. And according to Peter Beinart in his widely-publicized article in June: it's a problem for lots of my peers as well. I (many of us?) wrestle with what it means to support a State of Israel whose government and army lose sight of basic Jewish moral values from time to time, at least when it comes to how Palestinians are treated.

I know that many disagree with me strongly on these issues. There are some in our community who don't think it's appropriate to criticize Israel under any circumstances. And there are others who struggle with being sympathetic to the Palestinians.

Nonetheless, I bring all of this up because what I have walked away from...after leaving the conference this week...is a newfound desire to re-open this conversation. It was one that I broached, in passing, in my 2009 Rosh HaShanah sermon. And it is one that I hope we can begin having again - together - starting now.

One of the things that J Street passionately believes in is a Big Tent: the notion that our Jewish and Zionist communities become stronger when there is room for a diversity of ideas to be presented and discussed.

Perhaps, you will be moved to respond to this posting by commenting publicly here on the blog. Just click on the "_ comments" link immediately below. (You can already see Dr. Rob Weisgrau's response - below - to an earlier draft of this posting. I encouraged him to share his thoughts, as a way of helping to move our conversation forward.)

Of course, you can always email me privately as well.

Or perhaps you'd prefer to have a conversation in person or over the phone. That would be fantastic too.

Whether you want to tell me how completely and totally wrong I am, or how much you applaud my way of looking at this situation....or maybe that you've never seriously considered how you feel about Israel (especially vis a vis the Palestinians)...and you just have some questions.

For all of those reasons and more: I'd like to hear from you.

The story about John Galliano is enough of a reminder to us that horrific anti-Semitism still flourishes in the world...and that fighting for Israel's continued existence is the only response to that.

The nature of Israel's existence...that's what this debate is really about. And now is as good a time as ever to enter that conversation once again.

Thanks for reading - and Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Brown

Reform Judaism: Nothing to Be Ashamed Of!

2011-02-25T11:31:00.000-08:00

The talk radio host Glenn Beck made news this week when he compared Reform rabbis (and by extension Reform Jews everywhere) to Islamic fundamentalists. He subsequently apologized for these comments - see below.

His offensive comments were made during his February 22 radio program. You can hear them here (the relevant part begins at around 2:55).

Beck's comments stem from an earlier incident...which began when Beck called into question George Soros' past - and specifically his behavior during the Holocaust. (Soros is a Holocaust survivor and noted philanthropist who supports primarily liberal causes, which Beck takes issue with.)

A coalition of 400 rabbis from across the Jewish spectrum, organized under the umbrella organization Jewish Funds for Justice, recently took out ads in prominent newspapers condemning Beck for his attack on Soros, and for his too-frequent comparison of his political enemies to Nazis.

Beck's February 22 comments were a response to those ads.

His initial comments earlier this week were quickly and widely denounced by the URJ (our Reform Movement) and the ADL (among others).

The good news is that yesterday - February 24 - Beck apologized for the comments at the top of his show, describing his original Feb 22 remarks as being misinformed and "one of the worse analogies of all time." He followed up those on-air remarks with an open letter to the ADL reiterating his apology. Abraham Foxman, national director of the ADL, accepted the apology and now considers the matter closed.

Jewish Funds for Justice does not.

What do you think?

My initial inclination - as a Jew - is to generally be open to an apology. Our understanding of teshuvah implies that forgiving someone is as important a mitzvah as asking for forgiveness. Of course, our Jewish understanding of teshuvah presumes that the offender won't repeat his error again in the future. Only time will tell if Beck will hold himself to a higher standard than Tuesday.

In the meantime...putting aside his offensive comparison of liberal Jews with radical Islamists (we have literally nothing in common)...let's examine his original contention that there is something wrong with a religion that applies its values to the political process.

I don't have to tell you that that notion is anathema to Judaism. Our values aren't just ideas that we live out in the privacy of our own homes. They make up our hopes and dreams: our collective vision for what life on this planet could be like if we were able to figure out a way to get along, and care deeply for one another.

Part of what it means to be a Jew is to take those values out into the world, and to practice them. That's why it's such a mitzvah to give tzedakah to the unknown homeless person on the street -- because even though they are not related to us, or connected to us in any concrete way...nonetheless, we Jews believe in our moral obligation to help that stranger...and to end the plight of the homeless everywhere.

Fighting homelessness (or your other favorite social justice issues) isn't just done on the street. It's done in Washington, where all Americans have the opportunity to lobby their representatives for either more or less funding for this cause or that cause.

To be sure, Jews comes in different political stripes. We have Jewish Democrats and Jewish Republicans. And those two groups tend to disagree on a lot of issues. Quite passionately.

But one thing that they have in common is that neither is embarrassed about their Jewishly-informed passion to engage on the pressing political issues of the day.

And I, for one, agree. There is nothing to be ashamed of about being a Reform Jew in general. And there is nothing to be ashamed of about wanting to be politically involved...and to base that involvement on one's own individual religious values. Just the opposite. It's a mitzvah to be involved Jewishly and politically in that way.

I understand, and respect, that there might be some in our community who are/were fans of Glenn Beck, because of his advocacy for a political agenda that many in this country are captivated by.

But if this most recent incident has left a bad taste in your mouth - about who Beck is, and the political tactics that he represents, you might consider adding your name to the Jewish Funds for Justice petition that continues to circulate, calling for him to be fired - not in response to this week's remarks which he has apologized for, but for his repeated and inappropriate invocation of Holocaust metaphors that are insensitive to Jews. You can find that petition here.

In the true spirit of democracy, and of respectful discourse, I encourage you to share your thoughts on this matter by weighing in in the Comments box below.

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Brown

Paying Our Fair Share?

2011-02-18T10:56:00.000-08:00

SPOILER ALERT: I WILL BE EXPLORING THESE THEMES DURING THE SHABBAT MORNING SERVICE THIS WEEKEND.

Though the college students who frequent this blog might not realize it, it's Tax Time. The H&R Block lawn signs are up. Your 1099s have been mailed to you. This is the season for us to calculate what we owe, and then fork over our share to the government, which will theoretically use it to fund things like government salaries, the military, scientific research, social service/safety net programs, and (if President Obama has his way) high speed rail.

This week's Torah portion (Parshat Ki Tisa) gives us the opportunity to step back and consider our position on tax policy...and more specifically: the Jewish ethical stance as to WHO should be taxed (and by how much).

That taxes exist as a necessary evil is something enshrined in the Sixteenth Amendment of our Constitution.

But - as you may be well aware - there is also significant disagreement in American life today about how the burden of taxes should be distributed. Our current system has graduated tax rates: the more you earn, the higher the tax rate you're supposed to pay.  (We'll that's a dangerously simplified explanation of it, anyway.)

There have been any number of alternatives floated in the last few decades. Maybe we should move to a flat tax, which would stipulate that all Americans' earnings would be taxed at the same rate.  Others would do away with income taxes altogether, and shift to a nationalized sales tax approach.

We often think about this issue as a political one.  You can see that Democrats (p.24-ff.) and Republicans have vastly different partisan approaches to this subject.

But it's a religious issue as well.

In this week's Torah portion, we learn that Moses instituted an annual half shekel tax on every adult (male) Israelite in order to fund the building (and in subsequent years, operation) of the Tent of Meeting. (The Tent of Meeting was the portable structure that our ancestors carried with them as they wandered thru the desert, which they used in order to encounter God.)

The text (Exodus 30:15) is explicit that EVERYONE in the community pays the same amount: one half shekel. The rich are not allowed to pay more, and the poor cannot pay less.

The Jewish critique here is one of unfairness: the contribution of the poor man represents a much larger percentage of that person's wealth than the contribution of the rich one.

Our tradition offers us a few responses to this difficulty. Rabbi Joseph Caro, author of the monumental Shulchan Aruch (16th century), notes that there is nothing inherently unfair about the half shekel levy, for the rich man and the poor man each benefit equally from the Tent of Meeting. The same religious sacrifices are performed on behalf of both in that structure. Thus, they should in theory each pay the same.

Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch, of 19th century Germany) disagrees. He believes that the Torah is not meant to be read literally in this case, because such a reading would be contrary to Jewish ethics. As a results, he imaginatively argues that the rich are supposed to give fully according to their abilities, and the poor should do the same. If both do that, then it will be as if they both gave the same amount - which they did, to the extent that both gave substantially - even if the actual monetary value of their donations was vastly different.

Here we have two very different approaches: one extreme which believes that the services of the community should be funded radically evenly by everyone giving the exact same amount (Caro's initial proposal), and the other extreme (Hirsch) which believes that the services of the community should be supported mostly by the rich (who are able to give the most - freely and easily).

To what extent are these two extremes caricatures of Republican and Democratic tax policies? I know that that is a loaded question in this hyper-partisan atmosphere of our country. I'M NOT TAKING SIDES, JUST ASKING A PROVOCATIVE QUESTION! :o)

With tax policy high on Congress' agenda in the coming year (Republicans are looking to make permanent the tax cuts that were passed during the Bush Administration), these are not just academic questions. How we answer them will have a real long term fiscal impact on our economy and society.

In the spirit of political pluralism, and of compromise, there is a third way: one that might navigate a course in between these two extremes.

Rabbi Moshe Isserles (16th century Poland), who penned the Ashkenazic gloss on Caro's (Sephardic) Shulchan Aruch, suggests that half of a community's taxes be raised according to the wealth and means of the taxee, and half raised via a uniform amount charged to everyone. He notes that many of the Eastern European communities that he was familiar with had already embraced this pluralistic model - 450 years ago!

To what extent can Isserles' ruling serve as a model of compromise for our times as well?

As always, I'd love to hear what you think.

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Brown

Privacy: In Peril?

2011-02-11T10:04:00.000-08:00

SPOILER ALERT: I WILL BE EXPLORING THESE THEMES IN THE CONTEXT OF THIS WEEKEND'S SHABBAT MORNING SERVICE.

Several weeks ago, I blogged about the dangers of the Internet, in the context of how dangerously easy the online world makes it to engage in gossip.

This week's Torah portion gives us the chance to explore the dangers of the Internet from a different perspective: that of our privacy (or lack, thereof).

A central question that our society has to wrestle with right now is whether or not there should be any notion of privacy online. The success of facebook (which is built on the premise that the more we share about ourselves to others, the better) challenges long held beliefs about what we share with others. (Everyone would do well to read the Time Magazine Person of the Year profile of facebook founder Mark Zuckerberg to see his views about privacy.)

There are social ramifications to what we share about ourselves online: if we post something via a social networking app about something we did that was clearly at odds with a policy of our employer's, we could lose our job. With specific regards to facebook, one of the ways that you can minimally protect yourself against this sort of thing is to be more actively involved in manging your facebook privacy settings. Better yet: be extra judicious about what you put online in the first place!

And there are also economic ramifications. Right now, many online advertisers have the ability to sneakily read the cookies in our computers. In doing so, they learn about our recent Internet activity, and can then customize advertising that fits a profile based on our background and interests.

Thankfully, Congress is finally moving with legislation that will begin to offer Internet users a minimal amount of protection from corporate America's invasion of our online policy. To get up to speed on some of the proposals that Congress is considering, click here or here.

How coincidental that this week's Torah portion (Parshat Tetzaveh) offers us one of the foundational prooftexts for the longstanding Jewish assertion of a fundamental right to privacy. Tucked into the details of the Torah's description of the unique garments that Aaron was supposed to wear when he was serving as High Priest in the Tent of Meeting, we read that:

"On its [Aaron’s High Priest robe] hem, make pomegranates of blue, purple, and crimson yarns, all around the hem, with bells of gold between them all around […] so that the sound of it is heard when he goes in to the sanctuary before the Lord and when he goes out – that he may not die (Exodus 28:33-35)."

How curious that the Torah would go out of its way to insist that the garment should have bells on! It was the Biblical Author's way of suggesting that no one - even the High Priest - has the right to enter a space without knocking...without getting the permission and consent of the person(s) who might be inside.

Internet privacy is of course not exactly the same thing as being concerned about someone walking unannounced into your home. But our tradition absolutely sees it as conceptually similar. Because when someone consumes data about us online without our permission, our privacy has been violated - in a way that carries all of the same consequences as someone who comes in unannounced.

Relatively little has been written about these issues from a specifically Jewish context. One text that is worth reading is the decade-old responsum from the Conservative movement on the subject. At one point in the document, it asserts that "In sum, individuals, under Jewish law, have a right to decide who will have access to their correspondence and private information."

In a day and age in which our identities can be compromised so easily, and at a time when companies can easily scan our online history without our permission - the problem does not just fall to Congress. We cannot sit around and wait/hope that the Legislative Branch will somehow miraculously protect our best interests. The responsibility falls to us. This week's Torah portion teaches us clearly: we have a right to privacy. What steps are we willing to take to protect it?

Will we be more vigilant about the browsers that we use and the sites that we visit? Will we be more thoughtful about who we share our facebook profiles with?

Or is privacy an outdated notion? In this day and age of Wikileaks, maybe transparency and full disclosure are more valuable?

What do you think? I'd love to hear your comments.

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Brown

All Stressed Out

2011-02-04T11:32:00.000-08:00

There's nothing like a good, upbeat news report to put a smile on your face!

Unfortunately, the New York Times' article last week about a recent survey of mental health on college campuses does not fall into that category. The Times' piece is well-worth reading - I'd rather not summarize it here. Suffice it to say: stress and depression levels are the worst that have been measured in the 25 year history of this well-respected study. The economy seems to be the primary reason for all of this: students are concerned earlier than ever about financial aid; they're nervous about finding jobs at school/during the summer/after graduation; and their parents are hurting because of the recession too.

The news of this survey and its results scares me.

Mental health doesn't just exist in a vacuum. It organically impairs so many other aspects of our lives: our ability to socialize with others; our ability to complete our school work; and our ability to stay physically healthy.

I wish I could wave a magic wand and make all of this stress disappear. But, alas, that is not a part of my rabbinic superpowers. Instead: I want to devote the rest of this week's blog posting to some basic coping mechanisms. And - if it isn't obvious by now, I should note that these suggestions are as relevant to the adults who follow this blog, as they'll be to our college students. Here are three important steps that we can all take to manage our stress:

1) We should remember that coping with stress or mental health challenges is not something that we have to experience alone. Nor should we. I cannot overstate how vitally important it is for all of us (even the most relaxed among us!) to consider seeking out a rabbi, counselor, or therapist to talk to. There is something about the sense of release that comes from unburdening your stresses with a non-judgmental professional that is strikingly different from the experience of sharing your innermost secrets with a best friend. Counselors are trained to listen, and to help you reflect on who you are, and why you get stressed out by certain things more than others.

The great news is that, for college students, free or heavily subsidized counselling is almost always available on campus by the university. Your school probably has a Counselling Center that could assist you.

If you prefer a Jewish venue (beyond calling me, which you're all welcome to do), you might consider calling your local Jewish Family Service. JFS's almost always offer subsidized counselling services. (The only thing Jewish about JFS counselling is that there's a stronger likelihood that the counselor is Jewish.) Click here for JFS of San Diego or click here for the North American directory of the Association of Jewish Family and Children's Agencies to find a JFS near you.

Local rabbis and Hillels can always refer you to a more secular oriented counselor or therapist if you prefer.

So: seeking out a person to talk to is one step toward managing stress.

Another is exercise. I'm a huge believer in the notion that our bodies, minds, and souls are joined on some deep existential level. When we "exercise" (or care) for one aspect of ourselves, the other two cannot help but benefit from it as well. Thus, our minds can be eased by a little exercise.

If you haven't gotten hooked on exercising yet, you may not realize that most campuses have incredible fitness facilities that are free to students. Take advantage of it, and skip out on pricey gym memberships. And if working out in a gym isn't your thing (it isn't mine either), then head outside. Get some fresh air by going for a walk or a run. Or find a local state or national park to do some hiking or biking. Sitting on your butt and watching television might distract you from the challenges of life for the first half hour. But that's not a long term solution. Exercise, on the other hand, can provide you with a regular outlet to burn some stress and clear your mind.

Finally: our souls. Perhaps you have never seriously given thought to it. But I'm your rabbi - so take it from me. Even if you don't believe in God, you should believe in the existence of your soul. Not as something that needs to be "saved" (Jews don't buy into that). And not as connected to anything having to do with the afterlife. But think about your soul as the essence of your inner self: a spark inside that needs to be tended, and cared for, just like our bodies and minds. The inner life of our spirit (if I may call it that) affects us - just as our physical and mental health does.

What can we do to foster that sense of inner awareness? Attending synagogue and praying formally are obvious answers. Making time to study more about Judaism and your Jewish identity is another way to go. You might begin on your own with a website like http://www.myjewishlearning.com/, and then reach out to me for further reading suggestions. Yoga and other meditative practices can also be a route toward greater inner awareness.

Whatever you choose from these three categories....do keep in mind that we all have to choose something. Because to do nothing is to make ourselves vulnerable to the pervasive pain and suffering that is spreading through our society right now because of the economy.

This week's Torah portion (Parshat Terumah) echoes this message. Our parsha is focused on the many details concerning the building of the Tabernacle: that portable structure that our ancestors carried with them through the dessert, allowing them to encounter and interact with God wherever they went.

Our rabbis ask the question: does God really care if the Tabernacle is exactly X feet long and Y feet wide. Does the Holy One actually need this structure to dwell in at all?

The rabbis of the Midrash laugh at the notion that the Blessed Holy One, whose presence pervades the universe, needs any kind of physical structure from us. Instead, we learn that the Tabernacle - with all its detail - was meant for us. As a set of suggestions or guidelines - a recipe, if you will, for us to build something in order to construct some meaning out of a sometimes meaningless existence.

Or, to put it in other words: our ancestors were stressed out, just like we are. And their coping mechanism was to devote themselves to building this structure - and then using it.

We would do well to follow their example. Today I have outlined a list of possibilities...different activities that we can build into the everyday routine of our lives. And our hope is that - just like our ancestors in the days of old - these structures or routines will enable us to find a sense of healing, and of meaning, that will enable us to cope with the sometimes difficult task of making it through the day.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Brown

Twitter: Armed and Dangerous?

2011-01-28T11:38:00.000-08:00

SPOILER ALERT: I WILL BE EXPLORING THESE THEMES AS PART OF MY REMARKS DURING TOMORROW'S SHABBAT MORNING SERVICE.

There's been this news story floating around Hollywood over the last few years (the incident here took place in March of 2009), about a dispute between music personality Courtney Love and a Texas fashion designer. It seems that they had a falling out over their business dealing. Love was seriously upset...and proceeded to start accusing the designer of doing other malicious and unseemly things.

We may never know to what extent any of these charges are true. What we do know is that the dispute didn't get played out in a trendy LA restaurant, or on the set of one of Love's music videos. It played out on Twitter.

Now the designer has filed a lawsuit against Love alleging libel. The designer believes that her reputation was severely tarnished thanks to Love's tweets, and that her business is suffering as a result. (Love had between 40,000-60,000 followers on Twitter when this all took place.) According to legal experts, this is the first celebrity libel lawsuit - involving Twitter - that has ever taken place. Observers are anxious to watch the events play out, as many believe that it will be a landmark case that sets the tone for future legal discussions about free speech and the Internet.

According to this article, it looks like Love's legal team is weighing a few different defenses. One is their assertion that Twitter is purely a forum of opinion. People post their thoughts all the time...and everyone knows that you're not supposed to take Twitter posts too seriously. Alternatively, the legal team is also exploring whether they can claim that she was temporarily insane....because she was addicted to Twitter. Her attorneys are suggesting that her Internet addiction proves that she did not set out to be purposely malicious to the designer (a requirement in libel lawsuits).

The Jewish response to this pattern of behavior, and these defenses, is clear. Thanks, in part, to this week's Torah portion (Parshat Mishpatim), we know that Judaism abhors any and all kinds of gossip. As our parsha notes: "You must not carry false rumors."

Judaism takes gossip and rumor-mongering so seriously because we understand that our words (whether they are spoken or tweeted) have the ability to do permanent damage. Certainly they can be emotionally hurtful to the person whom we are talking about.

But the dangers of gossip are broader than just hurting another's feelings. As is illustrated in the Courtney Love case: the designer is arguing that her reputation was permanently diminished, because tens of thousands of people followed Courtney's twitter feed (and thus saw the things that Love had written about her). (According to Jewish law, it is entirely irrelevant if the things that Love wrote were true or not.)

Regardless of whether the California court system finds Love guilty of libel (stay tuned: the case goes to trial in early February), this incident should give us pause. It should remind us that how we behave online - especially what we post on social networking sites - matters. Our actions have consequences. We are liable when we actively spread gossip of one kind or another.

And, according to Jewish tradition, we are also liable if we simply take part in the gossiping of others. The obvious example here is when we buy a copy of People Magazine, or visit a gossip website. Our purchase of the magazine, or our visiting a website only fuels this industry, and encourages more gossip.

The Talmud famously asks the question: why are our fingers shaped like pegs? The rabbis' answer: so that when we hear something improper, we can simply plug our ears.

Shutting out all gossip may not be a realistic response, given the day and age that we live in. But that doesn't mean that we can't aspire to the Talmud's approach. At the end of the day, we aren't responsible for what other people are writing or saying. But we can be responsible for what we hear or read.

Let's learn from Courtney Love's unfortunate situation: and stay away from the dangerous gossip that calls out to us online.

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Brown

The Ten Commandments

2011-01-21T11:21:00.000-08:00

This week's Torah portion, Parshat Yitro, contains the first of two renditions of the Big Ten that appear in the Torah. (The other is in the Book of Deuteronomy.)

For many, the Ten Commandments provide the foundation for a Jewish (and sometimes even Christian) definition of what constitutes an ethical life. According to this view, the 10 are serious - worthy of our reflection as we seek to be good people in the world. Some Christians imbue these words with so much significance that they actively seek to have the Ten Commandments displayed in public spaces: in the belief that the display will convince more people to follow them.

Now, when it comes to important parts of the Torah - the Jewish response is always commentary, commentary, commentary. For thousands of years, our scholars and rabbis have turned this text inside and out, attempting to explain every nuance of its language and meaning. One example of this approach can be found here.

But I'd prefer, today, to sample some more contemporary and creative responses to the Ten Commandments.

There are the requisite standard film editions:

Here's the last part of "The Prince of Egypt" - it's interesting how they used the giving of the 10 as a sort of epilogue on the story (whereas I always thought of the giving of the 10 in the Heston movie as THE POINT of the movie itself).

We also have the requisite parodies (from Mel Brooks' "History of the World Part 1" and satires (the foul-mouthed but hilarious George Carlin):

As we return to the realm of the serious, it's also worthwhile to point out a significant new commentary on the Ten Commandments that was just published by Moment Magazine. In Moment's current cover story, the magazine features a series of responses from prominent Americans about the contemporary relevance of the Big 10.

Is there a part of the Big 10 that really speaks to you? Or is it an outdated list that no longer speaks to the ethical challenges that confront us?

More to the point: what are the basic fundamental values or rules that guide the way you live? Where do those rule derive their authority from? From the Torah? From American law? From a philosopher who has reasoned them out and convinced you that it is worth following?

For all of the jokes that George Carlin or Mel Brooks might be inclined to make about these commandments, let's not be so quick to throw them out the window. They might not always speak to us. And we certainly don't always follow them. But, for better or worse as Jews: this is the best we've come up with so far....the best attempt at summarizing the basic expectations that we have one another. Until we come up with something better, maybe these 10 deserve another look.

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Brown

Remembering Debbie Friedman

2011-01-14T13:24:00.000-08:00

It is with considerable sadness that I devote this week's posting to mark the passing of Debbie Friedman.

Perhaps you've never heard Debbie's name before. But, if you've stepped into a synagogue in the last 30 years so, I can virtually guarantee that you've heard her music.

She is almost single-handedly responsible for rejuvenating the musical content of American Reform worship. She drew on her wide knowledge and appreciation of American folk melodies of the 1960s and 70s, and applied the genre to Jewish liturgical texts and themes.

I first experienced her music during my three years as a camper at Camp Harlam, the URJ camp in the Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania, not too far from where I grew up. My Jewish experience at camp was punctuated by the music. Like so many others who have spent a summer at camp, my Jewish identity was brought to life through song. Prayer suddenly became spiritual - and meaningful - in large part because of Debbie's music.

The first time I saw her in concert was at the NFTY National Convention held in Washington, DC in the winter of 1995. We all piled into buses at the hotel and went to the cavernous sanctuary at Washington Hebrew Congregation, where she performed. What a moment for me: to have the chance to experience, in person, the composer of all of those melodies that had made such a deep impression on me just a few years earlier!

I remember, at that concert, that somebody made a big deal about insisting that no one should take any flash photography during the show. I only learned later that she suffered from an illness - and that one symptom of the illness was acute discomfort from flashes of light.

That illness, which was never fully diagnosed - and certainly not cured - stayed with her all through the years. It is incredible, to me, how she transformed her own sense of pain, suffering, and struggle - into music that would ease the pain and suffering of others. That's a gift that she gave to anyone who ever heard, and was moved by, her rendition of the Mi Shebeirach (prayer of healing).

There were lots of other Debbie Friedman moments over the years: other concerts, cameo appearances that she made at Jewish conferences that I attended, and even the first time Amy and I played a Debbie Friedman CD for Siona. Her music was a core part of the Jewish soundtrack of my life.

To get a sense of her impact on the Jewish world (and particularly our Reform movement), watch this tribute which was produced as part of the presentation of the prestigious Schindler Award, which Debbie received at the 2007 URJ Biennial here in San Diego:

You can find obituaries marking Debbie's passing in: the New York Times, the Los Angeles Times, and the Forward.

You can add your own reflections about Debbie's music - and its impact on you - here on this blog in the comments section below, or here on a page sponsored by the Union for Reform Judaism.

You can buy Debbie's music on Amazon or itunes.

So many of the remembrances that have been flooding in online about Debbie have had a particularly serious tone to them. Here's something a little bit more lighthearted, offered up in the spirit that 'imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.' Enjoy:

May her memory - and her music - live on to be for a blessing.

Shabbat Shalom.

Saying What You Mean, and Meaning What You Say

2010-12-17T12:17:00.000-08:00

I don't know if you caught this item in the news this week...but it seems that the Nixon Presidential Library and the National Archives declassified another batch of transcripts from Nixon's infamous Oval Office taping system. The New York Times reported it in this story.

Initially, the media's focus on this week's release was on Nixon and his already well-documented use of ethnic stereotypes and slurs (including evidence of anti-Semitism).

But many leaders in the Jewish community have been focused, instead, on a quote that is almost buried in the aforementioned New York Times story about the tape release. That article notes that:

An indication of Nixon’s complex relationship with Jews came the afternoon Golda Meir, the Israeli prime minister, came to visit on March 1, 1973. The tapes capture Meir offering warm and effusive thanks to Nixon for the way he had treated her and Israel.

But moments after she left, Nixon and Mr. Kissinger were brutally dismissive in response to requests that the United States press the Soviet Union to permit Jews to emigrate and escape persecution there.

“The emigration of Jews from the Soviet Union is not an objective of American foreign policy,” Mr. Kissinger said. “And if they put Jews into gas chambers in the Soviet Union, it is not an American concern. Maybe a humanitarian concern.”

“I know,” Nixon responded. “We can’t blow up the world because of it.”

Wait a second....did Kissinger - the Jewish Secretary of State and Holocaust escapee - just go on the record as indicating that he wouldn't care if the USSR sought to kill Soviet Jews in an act of genocide?

What in the world are we supposed to make of that statement?

It certainly doesn't add up. Kissinger has long been honored by American Jewish organizations for formulating the Nixon Administration's pro-Israel stance (connected, for example, with the 1973 Yom Kippur War) to insure Israel's survival.

How do we reconcile Kissinger's well-respected and well-earned reputation with these disgusting comments?

Abraham Foxman, who leads the Anti-Defamation League, has gone on the record by defending Kissinger. Foxman's piece is well worth reading. He basically makes two important points about the Nixon Administration: (1) for sure many, including Nixon, were anti-Semitic and bigoted. But they were also fixated on a realpolitik approach to foreign affairs - and, through that lens - they believed that the US had a significant responsibility to defend Israel (because it was in America's national security interests). Foxman goes on to argue that (2) given the rampant anti-Semitism that we know to have existed in the Nixon White House, it is not realistic for us to expect that Kissinger would be free to entirely express his own views on Jewish-related issues. Foxman believes that Kissinger - like some of us (?) - found his workplace to be hostile to Jews, and did whatever he had to do to not bring further attention upon himself and his Jewishness. That could explain the almost anti-Jewish attitude that is reflected in the quote above.

This story isn't just important because of the historical and political questions that it raises. The story is also relevant because it raises a basic ethical question: IS IT WRONG TO SAY/THINK ONE THING, BUT ULTIMATELY DO ANOTHER?

Consider the question for a moment.

Pure and simple hypocrisy is always easy to identify. That would be if someone comes along and says that they love Jews. And then a few days later: that individual enacts a policy at his business which prevents Jews from being hired.

We would all agree that that kind of (oversimplified!) two facedness is clearly wrong - a violation of our Jewish and secular ethical standards.

But the Kissinger story is an inversion of that example: where the speaker says terrible things about someone/something else, but his actions are actually a fine example of 'doing the right thing'! Is that also hypocrisy, or is it justified?

What about in our own lives?

Can you think of situations where you were with other people and you felt pressure to 'talk the talk' with them, by using the kinds of language that others were using, or offensive terms (or jokes) that others were using/making? And what does it mean to do that when you know - deep down - that those things are wrong and violate your own personal system of ethics? Do you justify it by saying to yourself that they're just words....but that your actions represent the real you - the person who would never actually objectify a woman, or harass someone who was gay (to draw on two male stereotypes here)?

I think that there are competing Jewish values at play here, which makes this situation so difficult to navigate.

On the one hand, Judaism absolutely believes that our words are powerful: that they have the ability to hurt people, deeply - just as they have the ability to heal and help. What we say matters, no matter what the circumstance.

And on the other hand, Judaism is certainly realistic. There are times when it is okay to lie/be hypocritical a little, when it comes to preserving either our own lives, or the feelings of others.

So...my question to you: WHAT DO YOU THINK? Is Kissinger two-faced, or is he just a complicated person like so many of us? Is it wrong when we do the same kind of thing that he did - by saying one thing, but doing another?

As always, I'd love to hear what you think. Join the conversation by posting a comment in the box below.

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Brown

The Dignity of Difference

2010-12-10T11:54:00.000-08:00

SPOILER ALERT: I WILL BE EXPLORING THIS MATERIAL DURING SHABBAT MORNING SERVICES TOMORROW AS WELL.

Well...Hanukkah has come and gone, which means that Christmas is right around the corner.

I imagine that we all navigate through the month of December differently. For those of us who grew up in a home with a non-Jewish parent - or for those who are currently in a relationship with a non-Jewish partner, then Christmas is/was perhaps an annual family tradition - either in your home, or in the home of your grandparents (or other family members). Or maybe you have a close friend who celebrates Christmas, and you're often invited to join them as they mark their holiday season.

Maybe you just enjoy this season - because of the lovely lights, the stirring music, and the message of peace and hope that surrounds us.

Or: maybe you're like me, and you have a hard time getting through the month of December. Not because of the stresses of shopping (see last week's posting!), or family...but because of the existential angst that I experience every year around this time.

(Okay: let's be honest. I'm a recovering neurotic East Coast Jew. I've got existential angst about pretty much everything, not just being a Jew around Christmas!)

Be that as it may, my honest confession is that I struggle with my own Jewishness during this time of year - because this is the one time of the year when I really feel different from the rest of the community that I live in.

And since no one likes to stick out like a "sore thumb" (at least I don't), I've typically seen this angst as a bad thing...something I wish I could get rid of.

Well...the good news for me, and anyone else out there who struggles with this as well...is that this week's Torah portion (Parshat Vayigash) addresses this existential dilemma.

The portion presents us with the epilogue of the Joseph narrative. He formally reconciles with his brothers, and they immediately make plans to bring their father Jacob and the rest of the clan from Israel to Egypt to weather the rest of the famine.

In our portion, Joseph gives his brothers VERY PARTICULAR instructions about what they should say to Pharaoh, upon arriving in Egypt (see Gen. 46:31-34). He tells them that they should identify themselves as shepherds, knowing that Egyptians object to the practice. Joseph correctly predicts that the Egyptians will want to make sure that Joseph's family lives separately - outside of any Egyptian settlement. And so it is that the family is "sequestered" in Goshen - the Jewish designated ghetto of Egypt (so to speak).

The question that we ask is: WHY IS IT SO IMPORTANT TO JOSEPH THAT THE FAMILY NOT INTEGRATE WITH THE EGYPTIANS?

Chiddushei HaRim (a 19th century Chasidic source) remarks that Joseph was "establishing a pattern for his successors to follow in every generation: […] Neither emulate their [non-Jews’] ways nor mingle with them socially. […] Knowing that the animal-worshipping Egyptians detested shepherds, Joseph had them introduce themselves as herdsmen. Thus, Pharaoh would shun them and let them settle in the relative isolation of Goshen" (cited in Artscroll Chumash).

Our tradition validates Joseph's inclination to keep his family separate from the Egyptians. He is, in effect, role-modelling a certain kind of behavior for all future Jewish communities: that it's safer if we never mixed with those who were different from us.

Now - to be sure - there is something problematic and offensive (to us) about the way that Chiddushei HaRim frames its comments. Don't mix with them socially?! Except for the ultra-Orthodox, all Jews have basically let that one fall by the wayside over the last 200 years. Diversity is something that Western society celebrates today. There is value in having friends and neighbors that are different from us.

But what are the limits to this approach?

The image of the melting pot (shameless plug for one of my favorite restaurants) is useful here. We often cite the melting pot as an example of America's greatness. That America's magic is derived, in part, from the unique blend of populations who have come here to call this land home. The cultures of those populations have been mixed together here...and voila! Presenting: American-ness.

But if you think carefully about the cooking metaphor, you will realize that individual ingredients typically "disappear" into a recipe. To be sure, they contribute a unique taste or consistency. But - when the cooking is over and the food is ready to be eaten, most of the individual ingredients are no longer in tact. They have been absorbed into the larger dish.

That is the danger of assimilating. If we strive to be more like the larger whole, we run the risk of losing ourselves - the essence of what makes us special, or unique.

And so it is with this December season. The social pressure to "fit in" and "do Christmas" so that we can look more like our neighbors - and, indeed, be more like our neighbors - is all well and good, until our Jewishness: the undefined essence of who we are as a people, religion, culture, ethnicity, etc....begins to disappear.

For me, the message that being different is OKAY...that it is, indeed, necessary to be different in order to maintain the Jewish tradition is somehow comforting. It gives me the strength and courage to wish others a Merry Christmas, or Happy Holiday, without wishing that it was my holiday as well.

***

Let me end by recommending an incredible book: The Dignity of Difference by Rabbi Jonathan Sacks. In it, he writes that: "Universalism must be balanced with a new respect for the local, the particular, the unique. There are indeed moral universals [...] but they exist to create space for cultural and religious difference: the sanctity of human life, the dignity of the human person, and the freedom we need to be true to ourselves while being a blessing to others. I will argue that the proposition at the heart of monotheism is not what it has traditionally been taken to be: one God, therefore one faith, one truth, one way. To the contrary: it is that unity creates diversity. The glory of the created world is its astounding multiplicity: the thousands of different languages spoken by mankind, the hundreds of faiths, the proliferation of cultures, the sheer variety of the imaginative expressions of the human spirit, in most of which, if we listen carefully, we will hear the voice of God telling us something we need to know. That is what I mean by the dignity of difference."

For Sacks, that is a long way of expressing the value that comes from minimizing assimilation and the melting pot phenomenon. For him (and for me), the more diverse our world remains - the more different we are from one another, than the more possibility there is that we can learn from each other...not by imitating the rituals and practices of those who are different from us, but by respectfully learning about them, and experiencing them as honored guests.

I'm interested in hearing how you navigate December. Is it easy or hard? Why? I hope you'll consider posting your comments publicly (just click here) so that others can join in our conversation.

Wishing you a very meaningful rest of December,
Rabbi Brown

HANUKKAH 2010: Gifts, Gifts, Gifts

2010-12-03T14:29:00.000-08:00

Thanks to the accident of the Jewish calendar, and the situating of Hanukkah during the winter holiday season, we cannot help but observe that the commercialization of Christmas is now (and has been for some time) the central part of our holiday as well.

We marginalize any remembrance of miracles and history. Even the ethnic/culinary aspects of Hanukkah are overshadowed. One wonders if American Jews would even light the menorah as much as they do if the giving of gifts wasn't so strongly associated with the ritual.

Now...before you start calling me Scrooge...let me go on the record as saying that I don't have any objection per se to the giving of gifts during Hanukkah. Who doesn't like to give/receive stuff? (God knows that our economy would benefit from more gift giving too.)

But even as we exchange gifts with family and friends this year, I would encourage you to consider that there is more than one way to understand the word 'gift.'

As we typically think of the term, a gift is something that is given...a commodified object that someone had to buy, or make. That gift requires money, and/or time and energy to produce it, and for us to convey it to the person that we are giving it to. The investment that we make in the gifts that we give has value: that's the reason why it's so critical that we say thank you for what we receive: because whoever gave it to us invested a part of themselves to help make that gift happen. We should acknowledge that.

There's also a second kind of gift...Here, I think of the term 'gift' as being synonymous with the notion of 'blessing.' There are things that we have been gifted - that we have been blessed to receive. And I'm not talking about the latest video game system. I'm thinking about our health, the abundance of food that most of us (but not all of us) have access to, and the gift of relationships that we enjoy (with friends, significant others, family).

Now: where you think these gifts came from is a personal matter. Perhaps you are inclined to give credit to God. Others invoke the power of Fate or Mother Nature. The point is that, this week - during Hanukkah, our job is to become a little more humble, and acknowledge that there are forces at play in the universe that can impact us....that we're not always as in control of our lives and our destiny as we would like to think we are.

Hopefully, from that place of humility, we can be moved to a place of gratitude: to a sense of thanksgiving for the gifts that permeate our lives...gifts that we know could be taken from us in an instant.

Imagine how different our country would be if Americans everywhere somehow came to embrace this message. If, as a society, we were to come to realize that the only gifts that really mattered were the intangible ones: our health, and our sense of security - our sense of rootedness to, and in, the world. Imagine how different our relationships with one another would be - especially during this time of year. We would be relieved of the stress of having to find the "perfect" gifts for the people on our lists, and we'd be relieved of the obligation to fake our surprise/joy when someone gives us a gift that wasn't necessarily on the top (or even middle) of our lists. And instead, our only responsibility would be to ourselves: to foster a sense of gratitude for the things that truly matter in our lives, things that aren't sold online or at the mall.

Wouldn't that be a miracle worth celebrating?

Wishing you and your's a Happy Hanukkah.

Only in America

2010-11-05T10:54:00.000-07:00

SPOILER ALERT: I WILL BE SPEAKING ON THESE THEMES DURING SHABBAT MORNING SERVICES THIS WEEKEND.

This week's Torah portion - Parshat Toldot - continues the narrative of our ancestors' origins. Isaac and Rebekah welcome twins: Jacob and Esau.

The Torah goes out of its way to indicate that Rebekah's pregnancy wasn't an easy one: "But the children struggled in her womb, and she said, "If so, why do I exist?"" (Gen. 25:22). You can almost feel Rebekah's existential anguish. She is convinced that her (unborn) children won't get along at all.

Our rabbis pick up on this anxiety and - following the Torah itself - the Midrash establishes the Jewish belief that Jacob and Esau aren't just two brothers that don't get along. They are also a metaphor for the ongoing conflict between Jews and non-Jews. (In Biblical times, Esau character represented the evil Edomites. To the early rabbis, Esau represented the Roman Empire. Later, that association morphed into Christianity.)

For thousands of years, then, we had rabbis living in Eastern Europe (in Christian countries), where they often witnessed terrible and demeaning acts of anti-Semitism. And every year, as they read through this week's Torah portion, there was validation for them: that this is (unfortunately) how the world is destined to be. According to their reading of the Torah, Jews and Christians are not supposed to get along with one another.

And, by and large, that held up until about 200 years ago. Then, the Enlightenment happened. The Enlightenment brought us the philosophical ideas of rationalism, and of equality among humanity. And although the Enlightenment began as a European phenomenon, I think it's safe to say that the movement found its fullest expression here....on our side of the Atlantic...in the United States.

The 350 year story of Jews in America is remarkable: precisely because it defies the fatalism of this week's Torah portion. The Biblical Author, and the rabbis of 1000 years ago might never have been able to imagine a society in which Jews were able to become fully integrated and equal (with a relatively few minor exceptions). But we certainly can. All we have to do is wake up every morning, and celebrate the great success story that we Jews have found/made for ourselves here in this unique land.

One "proof" of that is a significant milestone that will be taking place next weekend in Philadelphia. Dignitaries - including Vice President Biden - will be joining together to mark the grand opening of the National Museum of American Jewish History. Located on Independence Mall in Philadelphia, the museum is a concretized expression of our pride: at the achievements of American Jews, and of the contributions that we have made to American life in general.

I strongly recommend that you take a few minutes to watch this lovely film that was made to mark the museum's opening:

Speaking of notable videos...you should also check this next one out too. It's a promotional video for the charity American Jewish World Service made by American Jewish filmmaker Judd Apatow:

Besides the fact that I'm a huge fan of AJWS, I love the video because it highlights this wonderful convergence of Jewish and non-Jewish Hollywood stars who are all proudly standing behind a great Jewish cause. More importantly: they're all standing behind a core Jewish value: the idea that, no matter who we are, or where we come from...everyone deserves the right to live in dignity, free of poverty, and to be free in general.

Incidentally, that's the reason that Jews came to this country in the first place.

It's also the reason America was founded in the first place. So that people of diverse backgrounds would have a haven and a homeland: to live together, respecting one another no matter what their differences, in order to be free.

You know....it's worth calling your attention to the speech that Joe Lieberman gave back in the summer of 2000, when he accepted the Democratic nomination to be Al Gore's Vice President. (He's the first - and only - Jew to ever receive a major party nomination for VP or Prez.) In the speech, in which he reflects on his family's biography, he keeps returning to the refrain "Only in America."

It was such a fitting sentiment then, and it still is today.

With the possible exception of the modern State of Israel, "only in America" have Jews been able to blossom: religiously, culturally, academically, ethnically, etc. etc. etc. And we've been able to fully come into our own because - contrary to this week's Torah portion - we have been blessed to live in a society that believes that people of different backgrounds do not have to be in conflict. That it is entirely possible, and preferable, for all of us to get along with one another. And to do it in such a way that it doesn't just benefit ourselves - but the rest of the country as well.

As we celebrated the honored place that our community has within America today, may we also reflect on what we owe in return: what obligations do we have - as Jews - to better America, because of all that America has given us? I'd love to hear your thoughts about this important question.

Shabbat Shalom.

Paging Dr. Freud: Halloween Edition

2010-10-29T11:33:00.000-07:00

SPOILER ALERT: I WILL BE PRESENTING A VARIATION OF THIS MATERIAL DURING SHABBAT MORNING SERVICES ON OCTOBER 30TH.

Well...It's Halloween weekend. Millions of kids (and adults like you?) are getting ready to don costumes, put on masks, and set out on the annual quest of trick-or-treating.

Besides the candy, I think that Halloween is so amazing because of its escapism. It's one of the few times during the year when we get to mask ourselves...we get to hide/forget who we really are, and instead pretend to be someone or something else. For a few hours - thanks to the magic of a costume - we get to put our baggage aside. Gone are the issues with our spouses or parents, and our siblings and children. Goodbye real and authentic and complicated selves. Hello Superman, Lady Gaga, and Disney Princess.

I would say - however - that this is part of the trick of Halloween. We might think that we can make our real selves disappear. But there's a part of ourselves - maybe the most inner and central part of our personalities that we carry with us wherever we go. Our unconscious - which helps to define who we are as people - is not something that can be hidden away, or covered by a costume, even for Halloween (or Purim for that matter). Our unconscious is something that is constantly demanding to be acknowledged and examined. It is something to be reckoned with, for if we don't - we might be unconsciously influenced by it, to make choices that we might not otherwise have made.

Freud understood this well, and devoted his life's work to writing about it. But the amazing thing, to me, is that the unconscious is alive and well as a notion in the Torah and its accompanying commentaries too! And we need look no further than this week's Torah portion - Parshat Chayei Sarah - for proof of it.

One of the highlights of this week's portion is the news that Abraham's servant has found a wife for Isaac. Rebekah is introduced to Isaac, and the next thing we know: "Isaac brought her into the tent of his mother Sarah. He married Rebekah, and she became his wife, and he loved her" (Gen. 24:67).

Why would the Torah go out of its way to mention "the tent of his mother Sarah"? Sarah dies at the very beginning of this week's Torah portion. But what does her tent have to do with Isaac's later marriage?

Well....according to Rashi, the pre-eminent Torah commentator of the Middle Ages, it isn't just that Isaac is still grieving Sarah. It's that Isaac had unresolved feelings of love/infatuation for his (now deceased) mother. Rashi actually writes in his commentary that when Rebekah enters Sarah's tent - she becomes Sarah (in Isaac's eyes). The second part of his comment is more politically correct: Rashi says that what he means is that Rebekah had spiritual 'powers' just like Sarah did. But the meaning of the first part of his comment is provocative: Rashi suggests that Isaac fell in love with Rebekah because she was (on some level) Sarah.

Isaac's unconscious must have been in overdrive at the moment. Standing in the tent with Rebekah - his eyes are blinded. (Incidentally, the Midrash notes that Isaac was blinded during the Akedah in Genesis 22.) He only sees what his unconscious shows him (her resemblance to his mother) and not who she actually is.

I would argue that this is bad news...As it happens, Isaac and Rebekah wind up having a totally dysfunctional marriage later in the Torah, culminating in the irresponsible way in which they raised their twin sons Jacob and Esau. One can only wonder if that dysfunction stems from the complicated way that Isaac and Rebekah's relationship began in this week's Torah portion: with him marrying her in order to meet a psychological need that had been left unhealthily festering inside himself for who knows how long.

What about with us? What are the hidden conflicts or losses in our own unconscious? How do they impact the choices that we make in our lives – not just in our choice of partners, but in the way we interact with others?

Halloween may be one of those days on the calendar when we have permission to ignore all of these questions. When it is perfectly acceptable to put on a costume and pretend to be someone else – unfettered by the complex relationships that typically weigh us down.

This week’s Torah portion, on the other hand, reminds us that our unconscious cannot, and should not, remain unexamined. Rather than don a costume, the story of Rebekah and Isaac’s marriage is a reminder to us about the importance of being self-reflective and self-aware. The more we understand about who we are – on a deep inner level – the healthier our relationships will be.

So – when Halloween is over – let’s all take off the masks that we usually wear in order to avoid having to face the messiest parts of our lives. And instead, let’s be courageous enough to take a small risk, by reaching out to a therapist, a rabbi, or a friend. To begin a conversation about our parents, and our siblings, and about all of the other people and factors that make us who we are. And once we’ve begun to do that, then maybe we can assert a little more control over our unconscious as to who we are destined to be.

Shabbat Shalom (and Happy Halloween!)

How Committed Are You?: Acting Constructively (Not Destructively) In Our Romantic Relationships

2010-10-22T14:28:00.000-07:00

Ah...the world of romantic relationships. So exciting. So complex.

Unless you've made an ideological decision to be celibate (not typically a Jewish decision, though there are some rare exceptions), every Jewish adult - on some level - confronts the question about the nature of the romantic encounters/relationships that he/she has had (or not had) in the past, is having (or not having) presently, or wants to have (or not have) in the future.

For singles: this might mean considering what your emotional and physical needs are, and what kind of person might be able to meet them.

For those who are already in a relationship: it means evaluating your current situation. Is your partner meeting your emotional and physical needs? And if the answer is no: how do you handle that situation?

If we are going to be honest with ourselves, then we must acknowledge that these are not easy questions. The answers to these questions don't just reflect on the other important people in our lives: they are also deeply revealing about who we are. Whether we feel a sense of loss or mourning because there's something important that might be missing. Or a sense of unresolved anger because an ex hurt us and/or caused a previous relationship to end.

Like I said: this is all very complex.

In typical Jewish fashion, there's a little bit that we can learn about all of this from this week's Torah portion, Parshat Vayera. This week's Torah portion includes the troubling story of Hagar, Sarah's maidservant who becomes Abraham's mistress (with Sarah's permission because Abraham and Sarah wanted a child but had wrongly presumed that Sarah was infertile). Once Sarah gives birth to Isaac, Sarah has Abraham banish Hagar and her son Ishmael - for fear that Abraham might prefer Ishmael over Isaac.

There's lots of things that are messed up with these family arrangements. But the number one thing that hits me is that Abraham foolishly believed that he could somehow make these synchronistic (being in more than one relationship simultaneously) relationships work. How could he truly "be there" as a loving partner should, to both women at the same time?

Regardless of Sarah's initial collusion, the results are disastrous: he is forced to choose one over the other. And he doesn't just break Hagar's heart. He also breaks apart a family (Ishmael, after all, never got to fully know his father).

You might counter by saying that there are plenty of examples in the Torah of polygamy (being married to more than one spouse at a time). And I would say: it didn't go well in any of those situations either.

One of the tragic lessons of this love-triangle-gone-bad is that we human beings are not built to truly be invested and committed to more than one loving partner at a time.

This is part of the basis for the Jewish legal value of monogamy, and the broad Jewish ethical value that I will describe as 'exclusivity.'

For those of you who are single: our tradition is clear...exclusivity is the goal of an ideal Jewish romantic relationship.

To our college students....where the entire formal enterprise of dating might seem anachronistic, you have a tremendous challenge before you. We live in a cultural moment where "hooking up" - enjoying casual acts of intimacy (a paradox if I ever heard of one) - with partners that you hardly know at all is not just socially acceptable....it's the norm. Everyone is doing it.

Romance, in Judaism, is anything but casual. It's an incredibly serious enterprise: a chance for us to make ourselves emotionally (and perhaps even physically) vulnerable. Is this really something that should be done randomly or casually? Is it something that is really supposed to be done with multiple partners during a single week/month/etc?

What about if you're already in a relationship? I'm not talking about a person that you've been out with one or two times. I'm talking about someone that you already have significant feelings for....maybe you've already had a formal conversation about your exclusivity (i.e. not seeing other people). Maybe you're formally engaged or married. What are the ramifications to those relationships, if you wind up becoming intimate (physically or emotionally) with someone else? How are you supposed to honor your committments to your partner in that kind of compromised scenario?

I wish there was an easy answer to that last question. There isn't one. The only advice I have is: we have a Jewish obligation to do everything in our power to use some personal will power and resist those unfortunate entanglements in the first place. As we learn from Abraham this week: no good can come from being in two romantic relationships at the same time.

That's why I think it's so important for all of us - no matter if we're single or in a relationship, to do a little reflecting this Shabbat. We have got to know ourselves. what are our needs? Are they being met?

And if they're not being met: what's the healthiest way, and the most ethical way, to address that? If we're in a relationship, maybe the obvious place to begin is by having an honest conversation with our partner. For all of us, there are always counselors, therapists, best friends, even rabbis (!) to share with for support and guidance.

For me, one thing is for sure. This week's Torah portion teaches us that we are ultimately responsible for our choices. Here's to hoping that, in the future, we are all strong enough to make choices that are constructive, rather than destructive.

What about you? Do you agree that exclusivity...being in one committed relationship at a time...is an appropriate ideal? Or do you think that it is "okay" in this day and age to puruse multiple relationships simultaneously? I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Shabbat Shalom.

Love The One You're With

2010-10-15T13:50:00.000-07:00

This week's Torah portion, Parshat Lech Lecha, introduces us to Abraham and Sarah (aka Abram and Sarai), the founders of the Jewish people. The portion opens in Genesis 12:1 with lofty prose as we witness Abraham going forth from his father's house, as he heads out, on his way to the Land of Israel. But by 12:10, the text takes a sharp turn:

"There was a famine in the land, and Abram went down to Egypt to sojourn there, for the famine was severe in the land. And it occurred, as he was about to enter Egypt, that he said to his wife Sarai: 'See now, I have known that you are a beautiful woman. And it shall occur, when the Egyptians see you, that they will say 'This is his [Abram's] wife!' Then they will kill me, but they will let you live. Therefore, please say that you are my sister...' (Gen 12:10-13).

Biblical scholars refer to this story as part of the "sister-wife" motif. (Fascinatingly, the motif repeats itself in Genesis 20 and 26. More on that some other time...)

We could certainly spend ample time criticizing Abraham as to why he would basically prostitute his own wife off onto the king of Egypt in order to save his own skin. But not this week.

This week, I want to read Abraham's motives more sympathetically. Imagine how difficult it must have been for him to have to go to Sarah - the woman he loved - and put her in the position. Maybe we can presume that Abraham truly felt like he had no other choice. If they were to survive, this drastic series of steps had to be taken.

And so, he lied about who he was, and about the nature of his relationship with his significant other.

He had to lie about who he was - and about the nature of his relationship with his significant other.

Who knew that the sister-wife motif could be read as a pre-modern clarion call for gay rights?!

Bear with me as I try to explain.

Egypt, in our tradition, is always associated with degradation, humiliation, and enslavement. Abraham was never enslaved like his descendants (of the Passover story):

His degradation was of a different sort: he was forced into the closet (so to speak), prohibited by circumstance from publicly loving his partner.

How sad it is that that same humiliation persists in the world today, as a private Egypt to be borne in the closet, by gays and lesbians around the world. The recent, and utterly tragic/horrific/depressing suicide of Tyler Clementi on September 22 is a reminder that there is still much work to be done in our society to insure that those who identify as LGBTQ are granted the same respect, rights, and freedoms as any heterosexual individual.

There is, indeed, much political work to be done in this regard. Gay Californians, for example, are still waiting in limbo to find out if they have the legal right to marry. And there is much talk in Washington (and a federal court case right here in California) about ending the ban on openly gay soldiers serving in the military. Interested in getting involved in the political fight? Visit our movement's Religious Action Center webpage on LGBT issues before Congress here, and visit the "Take Action" page of the Human Rights Campaign here. Sign your name onto the important Jewish community pledge here, and then visit the website of Keshet (a national Jewish gay resource and activism center).

Did you know that the Reform movement has long been a proud proponent of gay rights in this country. You can read a Union for Reform Judaism resolution in support of gay rights going back to 1977 here and a resolution from the Central Conference of American Rabbis in 1993 here. Closer to home, you can read Rabbi Frank's moving 2008 Rosh HaShanah sermon on gay marriage here.

Although this might be a political battle - at the end of the day what we really need is a sea change in our culture....when we can shift from a society that is suspicious of anyone that is a little bit different, to a society that recognizes the humanity embedded in each one of us. We hope and pray that when that day arrives (and may it come soon), then the Abraham's (and Tyler's) of this world will never feel like they have to hide in the closet again.

Shabbat Shalom.

Can You Believe It?

2010-10-07T12:03:00.000-07:00

SPOILER ALERT: I WILL BE PRESENTING SOME OF THIS MATERIAL DURING OUR SHABBAT MORNING SERVICE THIS WEEKEND.

It's hard for me to believe...But, according to a Gallup poll published this past spring, only 53% of Americans believe that the planet is being affected by global warming. And, similarly, 48% of Americans think that public concern for the future health and safety of the environment is grossly exaggerated.

No doubt my personal bias is shining through here. But it is astonishing to me that basically one of out every two Americans thinks that global warming is a bunch of baloney!

God knows that I am not a green saint. I could recycle more. And I could cut down on the amount of waste that me and my family produce. (Every time I change my new baby's diapers, I feel totally conflicted.) But I proudly drive a hybrid car, because it's one small, but tangible way that I can help the world, by using less gas/producing less air pollution.

What about the one half of our population that doesn't believe that global warming is real? What will it take for them to buy into the idea; and, more importantly: what will it take to get them to start doing a few little things to help the planet heal?

Believe it or not, this is precisely the same question that this week's Torah portion, Parshat Noach, asks as well.

The debate over the subject arises because of the Torah's curious choice of wording regarding the circumstances that led to Noah actually boarding the Ark that he had built at God's command.

Genesis 7:7 notes that: "Noah, with his sons, his wife, and his sons' wives, went into the ark mipnei the waters of the Flood."

The Hebrew word mipnei can be translated either as: 'before' OR 'because of.'

The conflicting translations carry very different meanings.

If we translate mipnei as 'before' than Noah is akin to the Al Gore's of the world. Like Gore, Noah was a visionary: he took God at God's word, understood the threat that was facing the planet (in the form of the coming Flood), and acted to do something about it - before the disaster arrived full on.

The problem is...that Noah is looked down upon by our rabbis of the last 2000 years. He is not seen as a tremendous role model or saint. Instead he's seen as a reluctant partner of God's. Thus our great commentator Rashi writes that "Noah had little faith - he only half-believed that the flood would actually come, and so he did not enter the Ark until the waters were before him.

Rashi translates that pesky word mipnei in the causative sense. Noah got on the boat because the waters were actively rolling in his direction. He waited until the last possible minute, because he didn't believe that the disaster would come.

This not-so-generous assessment of Noah's character is representative of the one half of our country who deny that our world is broken right now...and who won't act until our weather really acts up, or until we see a melting Alaskan glacier float past Moonlight Beach.

Of course: it is not very Jewish to think like this. The stature of Rashi aside, we're not supposed to denigrate Noah in those terms, and it's not very respectful for me/us to look down on our fellow Americans who aren't moved to go green now either.

In that spirit, I want to share with you this beautiful Hasidic commentary:

"Heaven forbid that we say that Noah, who was a righteous and perfect person, had any doubts about his faith [or about God]. Noah believed in those who lacked faith - he was certain that they would change [which would have prevented the Flood], and that was why he didn't [get on the Ark sooner] and that was why he didn't think that the flood would come at all."

This is an incredible teaching: that faith isn't just about believing in God, or about believing in the impending crisis facing our planet. It's also about believing in our neighbors: in their potential to change the way they live - that they might join in our efforts to make this world a better place.

Sure, there is a part of me that is depressed by that Gallup poll. But I will also work harder to see the poll as an invitation: for me to seek out a renewed sense of faith and trust in the people that surround me. Even when the data suggests otherwise, I have hope in our shared capacity to change. To work together. To heal our world. To insure that humanity will never be faced with an impending Flood. Again.

***

There are so many resources that are available to help us on our quest to heal the environment (Jewish and non-Jewish). Here's a brief selection - for you to use on your own, or to share with anyone you know who might be a little skeptical about the dangers facing our planet.

The Evidence for Global Warming, as presented on Al Gore's website. The site also offers a simple list of easy suggestions that we can all pursue to begin doing our part to help. (I'm a big fan of the idea behind Meatless Mondays!)
Climate Change resources from the Federal Government can be accessed here. Resources from the United Nations can be found here.
COEJL (Council on the Environment and Jewish Life) is the Jewish community's leading environmental-advocacy organization.
The Reform Movement has a long history of green leadership. Here is a URJ resolution on the subject from 1991. More recently, the CCAR (Reform rabbis) passed this resolution in 2005. And you can click here for an array of resources from our movement's Religious Action Center (RAC) in Washington.

And, finally, just to inspire you...I wanted to mention the amazing ad campaign that the Alliance for Climate Protection did a few years ago, emphasizing how important it is for Americans of all different backgrounds to come together on behalf of our environment. Enjoy these three brief commercials:

Wait, Wait...Don't Tell Me.

2010-10-01T15:14:00.000-07:00

The media is all abuzz about the new report from the Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life. Depending on how you read the results, it's either really bad news for the future of American religious life (because we Americans apparently don't know anything about religion), or really good news (because we apparently know a lot more than you might expect us to). (You can take the quiz - which was the basis for the new poll - yourself by clicking here.)

For me, the most interesting part of the survey was the data about how much American Jews know about Judaism. To find this information, you have to dig for it. Check out pp. 26-ff of the full survey report.

The survey asked two questions about Judaism: when does Shabbat begin; and what religious tradition was Maimonides associated with?

We Jews get an A Plus for knowing when Shabbat begins: 94% knew the correct answer!

Regarding the Maimonides question: not so much. Almost half of the Jews surveyed did not know that Maimonides was Jewish!

Now, I'll be the first to tell you that Maimonides is right up there - in terms of the top 3 most important and greatest rabbis of all time IMHO.

But is even an elementary knowledge about Maimonides indicative of general Jewish knowledge? I'm not sure.

More to the point: what are the most important things that Jews should know about Judaism? That's the question that has been on my mind ever since the Pew results came out.

It's an especially relevant question given that Simchat Torah was observed this week. Simchat Torah isn't just a celebration of Torah in general. It is, more particularly, our celebration of Jewish knowledge - of the transmission of Jewish learning from one generation to the next.

So, in that spirit, this week's posting is meant to get you talking: about what you think the most essential elements of Judaism are. The really essential things that you think we should all know a little bit about.

There's so much to choose from! Maybe you think that our Jewish identities are focused around the notion of "love your neighbor as yourself." Or maybe, for you, the key part of Judaism is the way in which our religious values can speak to the way we think politically - whether we situate ourselves on the left or on the right.

The beauty of this exercise is that there's no right answer.

If I were asked to compose the Jewish elements of the next Pew survey, these are the 3 things I would ask about. (Ask me tomorrow and I'll probably change my answers!)

1) GOD. Jews believe in God. Okay: many (most?) American Jews aren't certain about their belief. And we're definitely not very comfortable talking about it - we'd rather define our Jewish identities ethnically. A few have taken the bold step to absolutely refute God's existence. But all that being said, I would assert that a central tenet of the Jewish tradition is that God exists. One God in fact. But Jews don't just believe in a "supernatural" God - a God that absolutely hears our prayers and answers them; a God that performs verifiable miracles; and a God that can directly intervene in our personal everyday lives. For more than a hundred years, many (most?) Non-Orthodox Jews have believed in a less supernatural (more rational) God/Presence in the world. Many of us (myself included) think of God as the Force (or conscience) that impels us to do good in the world (see Rabbi Mordecai Kaplan). And others think of God as being the Profound Byproduct of two people that are genuinely present and caring for one another (see Martin Buber). More than Maimonides, Kaplan/Buber/the other great names of contemporary Jewish thought are the essential theologians that Jews should know about today: because they give us the vocabulary to speak about what it might mean to believe in God in the 21st century.

2) TORAH. Speaking of Simchat Torah...It is absolutely essential, in my opinion, that Jews today understand that there is a big spectrum of belief that exists about the authorship of the Torah. Sure, there are some in our community that still believe that God dictated every word of it to Moses. But it is devastatingly sad to me that so few Non-Orthodox Jews realize the tremendous scholarship that has existed since the middle of the 19th century regarding a more scientific or academic approach to the authorship question today. Not only can one be a good Jew and believe that human beings wrote the Torah. But in my opinion, that is the most authentic belief to have, if one has made the choice to live a Non-Orthodox life. What I wish more contemporary Jews knew about Judaism is that we behave Jewishly in the world, today because Jewish ritual and values speak to us, validating our past and present, and charting a meaningful way forward into our future. And I would want everyone to know that we should never do something Jewish because we erroneously believe that God wrote something down on a piece of paper, and that we'll be punished (here or in the afterlife) if we don't follow the rules.

3) ISRAEL. Jews have an inalienable claim to the Land of Israel. But what I wish more Jews understood is that that claim doesn't come from the Bible (a man made document as I argue above). It comes from the fact that my and your Jewish ancestors have been screwed by history. We have been discriminated against - just because we're Jewish. By every major Western empire and civilization for the last 2500 years, with the exception of America. Time and again, crazy people have tried to wipe us off the face of the Earth. Hitler just happens to have been the most successful, and most recent example, of a much larger phenomenon. But Theodor Herzl, who understood the reality of anti-Semitism more than three decades before Hitler came to power, dreamed up an incredible answer to this persistent problem: a homeland. A Jewish homeland. The one place in the world where Jews would be guaranteed to be free, and safe from discrimination and genocide. And from his dream, the State of Israel was born. And even though Arab countries have sought Israel's destruction since before its birth...still we believe, and still we hope, in the possibility for peace in the Middle East. Because what other choice do we have? What I want every Jew to know, and to pass on to their children, is this: that we can't necessarily make anti-Semitism disappear from the world. But we can stand up for ourselves, and demand a right to be safe, and to exist. Even after all of these years.

God, Torah, and Israel. The Big Stuff. That's what I wish we Jews knew more about.

What about you: how much of this stuff did you already know? More importantly: what parts of Judaism are most important to you? If there were only three things, or values, that you could pass along to your kids what would they be?

Shabbat Shalom.

Sukkot: Doing "The Wave" (Or Why The Rabbi Says It's Okay to Pray for Your Favorite Sports Teams)

2010-09-24T11:00:00.000-07:00

Chag Sameach everyone - wishing you a Happy Sukkot. Sukkot, of course, is the weeklong fall festival meant to celebrate the ancient harvest season, and recall the unique dwellings that our ancestors lived in as they wandered through the desert.

Sukkot is also the season dedicated to the waving of the lulav and etrog. For video of people shaking the lulav and etrog, click here. And if you really can't find your way to a sukkah over the holiday to shake the lulav and etrog, well...I guess you could click here to do it virtually with your iphone.

Our ancient Israelite ancestors shook the lulav and etrog primarily as a kind of a rain dance. The rainy season begins in Israel during this time of year. And our ancestors knew that for a healthy harvest next summer, the land needed exactly the right amount of rain in the coming winter. The shaking of the lulav and etrog is probably an expression of their desire for a healthy dose of rain.

We are like our ancestors: we don't know what the coming year will bring for us either. Will it be a comfortable and bountiful one, or will it be more austere? Will we be blessed with life and strength to make it through the winter to the springtime?

That being said, waving the lulav and etrog isn't really about asking for rain anymore. At least not to me. Because - frankly - I don't really believe that God is going to make it rain just because I ask God to. Rain happens for scientific/meteorological reasons.

But there's a part of me that still needs a reason to wave the lulav...for the ritual to make sense to me, I have to be asking/hoping for something.

Now I suppose I could (should!!) be waving the lulav for peace in the Middle East, or a cure for cancer.

But instead, I'll be waving the lulav and etrog in honor of my Philadelphia Phillies, who look like they could be cruising toward their third World Series appearance in as many years. (Tut tut tut...knock on wood...)

Now I know...it's sort of inappropriate for a clergyperson to encourage people to actively pray for their favorite sports team to win. That's not really what God is, after all. God doesn't take sides in Heaven. God isn't a Yankees fan or a Red Sox fan. God is God, and it cheapens the Holy One to think that God is rooting on any one team in particular.

That being said: I'll still be waving my lulav this year for the Phillies. I'll do it because this is the time of year, after getting through the High Holy Days, and as we prepare for the onset of Fall and Winter, when we are searching for some kind of reaffirmation...some verifiable sense that the world is in order, that our place in it is secure, and that will be blessed to live through to see another (baseball) season.

That reaffirmation can come from any number of sources. We can find it after having a spiritual experience in nature, or within a new or renewed relationship with a loved one.

But can't it also be found in sports? Think about the incredible high that we experience when our team wins a big game. It's not just a sense of jubilation because we won. It's also because - for a brief instant - the world makes sense. It is aligned as it should be. The good guys (our team) won. Life is good.

This reaffirmation is fleeting, to be sure. The glow from a big win only lasts a little while. But here's the good news: so does the sting of defeat. Our disappointment, when a sports team loses, or when we experience a more substantial 'life setback' is also only temporary. Because we know, deep down, that a new season - a new beginning - is always around the corner.

So, yeah, I'm going to wave my lulav for my Phillies this year. Because I'll hope - like I do every year around this time when they're playing well - that this will be a good year, my year, our year. That a win for my team will be the reaffirmation I am looking for, right now, that says: all is right and good in the world...That, because of a Phillies appearance in the World Series (even I'm too humble to pray for a World Series win), I might have the strength to keep on going, with a renewed sense of hope that I'll live to the springtime...to witness a new (baseball) season, and a whole new set of new beginnings once again.

Chag Sameach.

Yom Kippur Sermon 5771: Minding Our Mortality

2010-09-17T09:53:00.000-07:00

There’s the story of the man who remarks to his friend: “I’ve sure gotten old. I’ve had two bypass surgeries, a hip replacement, new knees. I’m half blind, can’t hear anything quieter than a jet engine, take 40 different medications that make me dizzy, winded, and susceptible to blackouts. I have bouts with dementia: Sheesh, I can’t even remember if I’m 26 or 86! Plus, I’ve lost all my friends….But thank God, I still have my driver’s license!”

Aging: it’s a subject that makes all of us a little uncomfortable. The word itself conjures up anxieties of potential loss: of our good looks and sharp minds, of our independence, and – eventually – of our very own lives.

In an attempt to ignore the ticking of our own internal clocks, we deny our mortality; using every trick in the book (and sometimes going to great expense as well) we hide our true age from our friends, and from ourselves.

For proof of this, one need only look as far as the August edition of Vogue, the publication’s annual issue on aging.

At first glance, I found much worthy content in the magazine. There was an impressive list of essays written by diverse contributors, all considering the different challenges of aging that women face in each decade of their lives.

What was less than impressive to me were the advertisements that appeared on the pages in between the essays. They carried with them a decidedly different message. Within the first 90 pages of the magazine, there were no fewer than eight full pages ads, along the lines of the one touting Estee Lauder’s Advanced Night Repair Cream. The copy for that ad promised “a dramatic reduction in the visible signs of aging.” And, just in case I missed the message the first time, the cream also delivers “comprehensive anti-aging like no other formula.”

Our own Jewish tradition offers a markedly different response to the question of how we are supposed to come to terms with our aging and ultimate mortality.

The Midrash tells us that Abraham was not only the first Jew of all time. He was also, according to the rabbis, the first person to ever show signs of aging. In the beginning, according to the story, human beings never aged physically. How did that come to change?

It seems that Abraham and Isaac looked remarkably alike. And as Isaac aged, he was increasingly mistaken for Abraham as they went out and about. And it got to be so confusing that Abraham got fed up. Finally he prayed that God would alter his appearance. Abraham wanted people to know which of the two of them was deserving of the respect befitting such an important communal leader and elder. God heard Abraham’s plea, and ever since – we have all been fated to physically age as we get older.

Amazing: Abraham wanted to age.

Perhaps it is not realistic for us to ever want to age, but we can’t avoid it either. We are commanded to accept it.

Today is Yom Kippur. It is the day we stand before God in judgment, unadorned by the tools that we use to hide our true age. We wait, on this day, to learn if we will be inscribed for life, or for death, in the coming year. Today is the day – the only day on the Jewish calendar, when we come face to face with our own mortality.

And so we wonder: what will the coming year have in store for us? Will it be another year of our denying the passage of time and the ticking of our own clocks? Or will we have the strength to acknowledge: that our clocks are always ticking? And that all we can do is embrace each day with gratitude, with awe, and with the commitment to improve ourselves; thankful for the gift we have been given, and charged by God to make the most of it.

On the subject of gratitude, the German writer Thomas Mann wrote: “Hold fast the time! […] Disregarded, it slips away. […] Hold every moment sacred. Give each day clarity and meaning, each the weight of thine awareness, each its true and due fulfillment.”

Mann teaches us that our time on earth is finite and precious: that every day is a gift. And the only way we will ever be able to appreciate that gift, and be grateful for it, is if we pause long enough to examine our lives and marvel: how wonderful it is that I am blessed to live.

Our prayerbook expresses this sentiment in seemingly mundane fashion. Daily, upon arising, we are taught to recite the blessing asher yatzar. In contemporary practice, we recite the blessing in the synagogue, where it has come to express gratitude for the health of our bodies in general.

But the passage was originally written with a different intention. The text was to be recited immediately upon using the bathroom for the first time every day. It was, and is, a vehicle for us to express gratitude to God: that all of the intricate organs, and passageways in our bodies function as they are meant to, enabling us to live in good health.

If we think about our bodies – and more broadly our lives - in these terms, it truly is a miracle that we are able to get up in the morning. And the only reasonable Jewish response to this miracle is to answer with blessing.

But reciting a simple blessing is not enough. We also have the opportunity, in expressing gratitude, to live our lives as a blessing. To realize that life each day is a gift, and to make the most of that gift by living it to the fullest, in contributing to our world, and by seeking out meaningful and enriching relationships with others.

A number of my own friends and peers in their 20s and 30s are having a hard time following this advice.

According to social scientists, my generation is caught in suspended animation somewhere in between adolescence and adulthood.

Frank Furstenberg, who studies these issues for the MacArthur Foundation, calls the notion of the onset of adulthood occurring at 18 or even 21 as positively “archaic.” Friends: we are, witnessing a massive change in American demographics.

Did you know that a quarter of all 25 year old white men are living with their parents? To be sure, some of those numbers are caused by the recession…It’s only natural in tough times for children to want to return to the safety of the nest for parental support, financial and otherwise.

But there is a larger shift at play within these numbers. By choice, my generation is increasingly delaying the start of their first “real” jobs. We are putting off saving for the future. And we are less interested in pursuing long term romantic relationships.

On one level, this is happening because my generation is being told that living to 100 is practically a sure thing. Maybe there is no real urgency to start living a “normal” adulthood. Who cares if we bum off our parents for another five years, or couch surf our way through a friend’s apartment. We have our whole lives in front of us. What’s the rush?

But on this Yom Kippur, I would respond by suggesting that my generation seems, frankly, ungrateful. Ungrateful for the gift of life it has been blessed with (which we all know might change at any time), and ungrateful for the opportunities that we have been given.

The clock is ticking for all of us. Perhaps the ticking means something different for someone who is 25, compared to one who is 75, but the clock is ticking for all of us nonetheless. Our time – our lives – are not meant to be wasted. We have the potential to live so richly: by helping others, raising families, and contributing to the health and vitality of our world. And the first step toward living that kind of meaningful life is by fostering a sense of gratitude: by finding a way to say thank you for the gift of life. Not by delaying our aging, but by embracing it.

Fostering a sense of gratitude is only one key ingredient when it comes to a compelling vision of Jewish aging. Our tradition insists that gratitude be accompanied by a profound sense of awe.

Awe is an emotion and mindset that affects the way we judge: ourselves, others, even the natural world around us. Thus Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel wrote that: “Just as the grandeur of the sun or an oak tree is not reducible to the function it fulfills…so a human being must be regarded as significant and valuable in himself or herself.”

Heschel was chiding all of those who might try to describe Mt. Everest as simply being the world’s tallest mountain. To behold Everest in all its mystery and beauty is to experience something that is far greater than any measurement.

Similarly: we transcend our statistics. We are more than a B.A. from Berkeley, or the CEO of a major company. There is nothing wrong, of course, with being proud of these personal accomplishments. But to live with a sense of awe is to be mindful of the majesty of creation: of the fact that we are far more than the summary of our resumes.

This is an important message to keep in mind as we retire. As we transition out of regular working life, we are counseled to practice a sense of awe regarding ourselves and others. We are never just the retired Vice President of So-and-so. We are individuals who can contribute in so many other unique ways - ways that transcend the outdated structure of an employer-employee relationship.

Fostering a sense of awe isn’t just about how we think of ourselves, it’s also about how we treat our bodies as we age.

There is an unfortunate tendency in our society that rewards youthfulness. We already saw how the cosmetics industry plays on this theme in its marketing. We can also see it in the disturbing trend toward the increased use, and abuse, of steroids in athletes. Older athletes abuse steroids because they are convinced that they’ll only be able to win if they trick their bodies into turning back the clock, by synthetically manipulating themselves to behave as if they were five or ten years younger.

Beyond all of the other risks associated with this kind of drug use – this behavior is a violation of the Jewish imperative to live with a sense of awe…a sense of deep and profound respect for our bodies, and the way that God created them.

We are more than our resumes at the end of our careers, and we are more than the speed of the fastball we can throw. When we forget to foster awe, we are not just misjudging others and ourselves, we are also ignoring our tradition’s teachings about how we are to age, and live, in the world.

Jewish aging begins with gratitude and with awe. But as we age, we are also commanded to turn inward – to reflect on how we have lived – so that we might repent and improve.

On this Yom Kippur, devoted so centrally to teshuvah, it is fitting to recall the words of our rabbis, who wrote that: “People act wickedly in their youth, but as they age they have the ability to perform good deeds.”

We have the ability to change. This is a central tenet of our tradition and it applies as much to the young adult as it does to the senior citizen. It is never too early, or too late, to change for the better.

Lillian Hellman, the American Jewish author, used the metaphor of a painting to describe the possibility of repentance as we age. She wrote that: “Paint on canvas, as it ages, sometimes becomes transparent. When that happens, it is possible in some pictures to see the artist’s original lines: [for example] a tree will show through a woman’s dress […] That is called pentimento because the painter repented, and changed his mind.”

On this Yom Kippur, let us strive to embody both artist and canvas: that we might be blessed with the ability to consider our pasts…and then be empowered to change for the better. No matter how young, or how old: to age Jewishly means always being committed to repenting and re-painting the brush strokes of our lives.

A few years ago, the US Postal Service issued instructions to post offices around the country to improve customer service. A recent poll had indicated that Americans were frustrated because they spent too much time waiting in line to mail their packages. The centerpiece of the ensuing customer service campaign was a directive to 37,000 local post offices to remove any clocks from public view, thereby hoping that customers would be less conscious of how much time was passing while they were waiting in line.

With all due respect to those devoted civil servants in Washington, we know that that strategy doesn’t work. Hiding the clocks from our view can’t change the fact that the clocks are still ticking.

Of course the clocks don’t just tick while we wait. They tick – every second of every day – for all of us, marking out the moments and seasons of our lives, and ticking – one second closer – to our fated end.

All we can do is make a choice: we can either deny that inevitability, or accept it. On this Yom Kippur, the one day on our calendar devoted specifically to contemplating our eventual death: the choice is clear. Our age-old tradition teaches us that we should accept our mortality.

On this day, let us foster gratitude, awe, and a commitment to constantly improve ourselves. Then we shall surely be blessed: to make the most of the gifts we’ve been given, by living our lives to the fullest.

Shanah Tovah

***

To access a collection of archived Temple Solel High Holy Day sermons, click here.

In addition to the links above, you might enjoy the following:

John Glenn's return to space in 1998 was a watershed moment, in terms of the scientific study of aging (in space); and, more specifically, it was a remarkable celebration for our society of the limitless possibilities that older Americans might pursue even as they age. For more, click here.

There are a number of excellent books written about Judaism and aging. I recommend: A Heart of Wisdom by Susan Berrin and The Price and Privilege of Growing Old by Gunther Plaut. There are also many fine online resources, like this one from the Reconstructionist Movement.

There is no better example of our society's denial of death than the movement in favor of cryonics. Robert Ettinger's landmark 1964 book introduced the possibility to the world.

Check out The Death of Death by Neil Gillman for a comprehensive introduction to the question of Judaism and the Afterlife.

The September 2003 issue of the Jewish newsletter Sh'ma explored the connection between Yom Kippur, Death, and Meaning.