Clergy Posts

Some Reflections from the Rabbinical Assembly Convention

Dear friends,

Last week both Rabbi Pressman and I spent four days with rabbinic colleagues from around the world at the Rabbinical Assembly convention in Atlanta. We were inspired by the Torah-learning that took place and valued the opportunity to speak openly with colleagues about the most important questions facing American Judaism today. Among the most pressing issues we addressed were outreach, inclusivity, conversion, and intermarriage.

Here were some of the other highlights of the week, many of which I live-tweeted @rebohriner and posted to Facebook:

Israeli actor, journalist, news anchor, politician, and founder of the Yesh Atid party, Yair Lapid, spoke about the necessity of furthering religious pluralism in Israel and the importance of Conservative/Masorti Judaism to Israeli Judaism. He also thanked Conservative/Masorti rabbis for “keeping Jewish identity alive”.

Vice President Joseph Biden gave a heart-felt speech in which he stated, “I am a Zionist, you don’t have to be Jewish to be a Zionist!” He spoke of the Obama administration’s strong commitment to Israel and its unwillingness to allow Iran to develop nuclear weapons. I must say that I was personally moved by the Vice President’s address. He is a tremendous ally to the Jewish community, as well as a staunch supporter of the State of Israel.

A highlight for me, personally, was the unveiling of a new publication entitled, The Observant Life: The Wisdom of Conservative Judaism for Contemporary Jews. This work, which explores what it means to live a Jewish life both in terms of ritual and social responsibility is monumental in its scope and depth. It was ten years in the making and was brought to fruition by my dear friend and mentor, Rabbi Martin Cohen, who served as senior editor. I have no doubt that The Observant Life will become a “classic” work of American Judaism. I have one copy and will be receiving more. Stop by my office and take a look!

In between all of these addresses, workshops, and learning sessions, I also participated in a cutting-edge program sponsored by JTS entitled: “Making Torah Relevant to “NextGen”: You’re the App for That!”

Led by JTS Chancellor Arnold Eisen, Rabbi Hayim Herring, and Jane Shapiro, a small handful of colleagues and I discussed the following questions: How can we most effectively reach the generation of Millennials (20s and 30s) in the ever-lengthening phase of life known as “emerging adulthood?” How can we provide Millenials with compelling experiences of Jewish community and Jewish tradition?

Many of the rabbis attending this four-day program were already familiar with the social networking tools available to us in spreading Torah and building stronger communal connections. However, we found that we all use these tools differently in our rabbinate. It was amazing to learn from colleagues about the Youtube vlogs they send to congregants, or the way in which class conversations can continue in a Facebook group. Needless to say, I came back with many ideas that I hope to implement over the course of the coming year so stay tuned!

This year, the RA convention was completely “plugged in”. You can watch many of the plenary sessions and addresses on the RA YouTube channel:

http://ow.ly/aW5YO

Here is a great blog post by Chancellor Arnold Eisen on engaging American Jews, (particularly Millenials) in Torah learning and community engagement through social networking platforms:

ow.ly/1LWmFK

L’shalom,

My Diary from the Rest of the March of the Living

 My apologies for the length of this dispatch. I was kept so busy and tired that I fell behind in updating it. I hope you will find it of interest. 

Friday, 4-20:

 Today we returned to Auschwitz. Just writing those words is somehow chilling. We were there on Thursday. Why would anyone go there twice? The answer is that on Thursday we were there as participants in the March of the Living. Friday our bus returned to tour the Auschwitz Museum. I confess to some ambivalence about this experience. Auschwitz attracts large crowds of visitors. There is a book shop and a cafe, like any other tourist attraction. Buses line up as tour groups of all sorts, including many non-Jews, arrive to visit the greatest murder machine ever created. Yet the museum is an essential experience. We’ve all read about this terrible place, and seen the photos of the mounds of human hair and piles of children’s shoes, but the reality is greater than any secondary knowledge.

A few impressions from the day. In addition to our guide Gila, we had a docent from the museum, a young Polish man. He was very well-informed and added greatly to our understanding. I asked him what had led him to this work, and he told me that his great-grandfather had been a prisoner at Auschwitz, and his grandmother had been a guide there for 30 years. They felt a family responsibility to tell this story.

Throughout our time in Poland, Gila continually reminded us that the huge numbers of the dead can numb us to the essential reality that 6 million weren’t murdered—6 million individuals were. Statistics can get in the way of our seeing the true—and enormous—human cost. So I tried to look at one shoe among the mass, or one hairbrush, and remember that it belonged to a human being, a fellow Jew.

We then returned to Krakow to get ready for Shabbat. One of the themes of this particular day was the renewal of Jewish life in Poland, which takes many forms. Friday night we went to the Temple, which was a liberal synagogue before the war and has been beautifully restored. It was filled with locals but also with many visitors because of the March. The services were conducted by Orthodox leaders, who used the familiar Carlebach melodies, with enthusiastic participation by the congregation and many moments of dancing (of course, it was less fun for the women, who were upstairs and had to be spectators). Still, everyone reported that they enjoyed the service and its ruach (spirit).

Saturday 2-21:

 The next morning most of the kids, exhausted, slept in. I went back to the Temple with one of the teens because I had been led to believe there would be an egalitarian service. We walked in late to discover eight people and someone on the bimah leading the early part of the service.  He turned out to be an American born Conservative rabbi who serves a congregation in Australia (In fact, he grew up in LA, and my father officiated at his father’s bar mitzvah.) More people arrived, but who would read Torah? The community, we learned, was davening nearby at another synagogue, the Kupah. Then a large group from Miami arrived, accompanied by a wonderful Orthodox Rabbi. He knew the person who was reading Torah down the street, and got him to come over after he had read there and read for us. That left some time to fill before we could start the Torah service (and after the person who had the key to unlock the Ark was found!) So the two of us gave short, extemporaneous derashot. We both spoke on the theme of Jewish solidarity and unity which the March of the Living embodies. Here we were, a group of people from all over the world, from different religious movements, putting together a service on the fly with mutual respect, a common liturgy, and even many of the same melodies. It was great.

That afternoon we toured the old Jewish neighborhood of Krakow, rich in history. Rabbi Moshe Isserliss, one of the two composers of the Shulchan Aruch, the most authoritative code of Jewish law, lived here and we saw his synagogue.

The day was also enriched by meeting some non-Jewish Polish teens, and also a wonderful woman, a Christian American-Polish woman who has lived in Poland for 23 years and was instrumental in creating academic programs on Jewish-Christian relations. Walking was cut short by a sudden downpour.

At the end of Shabbat, we had havdalah. At that time I told the kids that havdalah means separation, but also distinction. Usually we thank God for separating between kodesh l’chol (holy and ordinary). But in the next 24 hours we would be going from kodesh l’chol l’ kodesh (holy to ordinary to holy), because we would be journeying to our holy Land of Israel. Even those of us who have been to Israel before would appreciate it all the more having witnessed the results of Jewish powerlessness and lack of a safe haven.

Sunday, 4-22:

 We touched down at 3:40 A.M., with applause and relief. We met our guide, none other than Rabbi Eitan Julius, formerly of Congregation Sinai. We had breakfast at a beautiful restaurant in Zichron Yaakov (the kids were delighted to have fresh vegetables and a great breakfast after the more limited menu in Poland.) We were on a hill overlooking the Mediterranean Sea, which gave us the opportunity not only to say the she-hecheyanu, but also the specific blessing (which we had recently studied in my Friday morning Talmud class) for seeing the Mediterranean.Then we quickly toured the pedestrian mall in Zichron, and headed for the north. We stopped at Karei Deshe, a beach on the Kinneret (Sea of Galilee). Rabbi Julius led the kids in saying a berachah over grape juice and bread, to celebrate having arrived in Israel, and then a dip in the lake as if it were a mikvah to purify us from the evil we had witnessed in Poland. We stayed at a beautiful guest house/youth hostel overlooking the Kinneret. Then the teens went on a disco boat on the Kinneret with a group from Greensboro, North Carolina, and Susan Gavens and I had dinner with my sister Judy, who lives nearby.

I will have more to say about the unique impact of tracing the arc of Judaism’s cataclysmic history in the 20th century. Suffice it for now to say: it’s good to be in Israel!

By the way, since our group led the entire March, and we were in distinctive colors, we got news coverage all over. One example is a photo montage in the Denver Post, with two pictures of our group (in orange and blue) leading the way:   http://photos.denverpost.com/mediacenter/2012/04/photos-remembering-the-holocaust-april-19-2012/33762/#name%20here. Note pictures 2 and 12.

Monday, 4-23

 Today was a chance to experience Israel’s natural beauty. I think that we tend to think of Israel either in terms of history and antiquity on the one hand, and dramatic (and often worrisome) current events on the other. This can lead us to neglect the great variety and beauty of our tiny land. Our excursion today was a walk down the Hatzbani Stream, in one of Israel’s many nature preserves, and one of the sources of the Jordan. We had been told to bring water shoes, and indeed there were times we walked in the stream. It was quiet (except for us!) and lovely.

Then we went to Tzfat, one of Israel’s four holy cities and a key place in the history of the Kabbalah. It’s also a great place to shop. We toured synagogues and then did our  best to help Israel’s economy. Then we drove to Tel Aviv for our overnight in preparation for our morning encounter with Israel’s history.

 Tuesday, 4-24

 This morning we went to Independence Hall, where Israel’s declaration of independence was signed. As we sat in the historic hall, our guide, Itzik, held the kids’ attention with an eloquent and gripping account of the background of the founding of the state. Some of the points he made: 

• How do you know when a war is over? When you can go home. In May of 1944, the war in Europe ended. Soon, the Americans went home, the British went home, even the Nazis went home, but thousands of Jews were in DP camps with nowhere to go.
• The phrasing of the declaration of independence is precise—Ben Gurion knew ten languages!—and declared “the establishment of the Jewish State in the Land of Israel to be known as the State of Israel.” It is the state not just for Israelis but for the entire Jewish people.
• All of you have cell phones (a lot of the technology in them was created by Israelis–a cell phone is a piece of plastic with a Jewish brain). You can call 911. The Jews of Europe had no one to call. But now the Jewish state exists to answer 911 calls from Jews any and everywhere.

We then heard the historic recording of Ben Gurion reading the Declaration of Independence, the recital of she-hecheyanu, and the singing of Hatikvah. I confess that I always cry when I hear it. 

After some time shopping in the colorful area of the Carmel Market, we rode to Jerusalem, for a brief stop at Yad Vashem. The teens learned that Yad Vashem was established in 1953 by the Israel government, as “the world center for documentation, research, education and commemoration of the Holocaust.” They visited the memorial to the Righteous Gentiles, and the simple and moving children’s memorial. The other part of Yad Vashem that we visited had particular meaning: the Valley of the Communities, described well on their web site: “The Valley of the Communities in Yad Vashem is a massive 2.5 acre monument literally dug out of natural bedrock. Over 5000 names of communities are engraved on the stone walls in the Valley of the Communities.” We found the names of the places we had visited, and some kids also knew their grandparents’ home towns. After Poland, we had a context for understanding the enormity of the loss that the Valley represents. 

We then drove to the Massada Guest House. That night was Erev Yom Hazikaron (Israel’s Memorial Day), and we were privileged to join with Kibbutz Ein Gedi for their commemoration. In additiontosolemn national observances, every community all over Israel has such a ceremony, where those from that place who fell in Israel’s battles are remembered. We assembled outside, waiting for the sirens to sound, as they do all over Israel both Erev Yom Hazikaron and at 11:00 on the next day. The whole crowd of several hundred people stood in silence, and then we went into the auditorium for the ceremony.  I’ll just mention one detail that was meaningful to me. At the beginning, they showed pictures of community members who died in Israel’s wars—most of them heartbreakingly young. One young man was named Danny Frishman. He looked like he could have been a cousin of mine. I have attended a few of these local observances over the years, and they drive home very specifically the human cost that Israel has paid for its security.

Wednesday 4-25

 We were up at 4:00 AM to ascend Massada by the snake path. If you don’t know about it, its name describes it well—a winding, steep climb, some of it stairs, 1200 feet up the sheer side of the Massada mount. We reached the top in time to see the sun rise over the Dead Sea and the mountains of Jordan. It was a small challenge to keep up with the teens, but I managed. It’s been a long time since I came up that way, but it was worth it. The view from the top was magnificent, and davening there was very meaningful. As we toured the site, our guide Eitan pointed out that the archeologists had found tefillin there and other evidence of the Jewish life of the time. We also heard the story of the last stand by the Zealot fighters, and got a sense of the fearsome and cruel power of the Roman war machine.

From there we went to ride camels and float in the Dead Sea. By “we” I mean the teens. Having done both activities in the past, I put them in the category of the essay by David Foster Wallace, “A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again.”

Then we went up to Jerusalem, stopping at the Haas Promenade south of the Old City for one of the best views in the world. That night, erev Yom Ha-Atzma·ut (Independence day) was spent on Ben Yehudah Street, a pedestrian mall/tourist magnet. The whole central triangle of Jerusalem was surrounded by security barriers (we needed our March of the Living wrist bands to get through). There were bands playing, people dancing, and a general joyous balagan (a useful Hebrew word that means “chaos”).

 Thursday 4-26

 Yom Ha-Atzma·ut. The main event for the March of the Living was a gathering in Safra Square near the Jerusalem City Hall, where there was more music and dancing, and then marching to the Kotel (Western Wall). This was an experience of world-wide Jewish solidarity, as we were surrounded by teens from Canada, Mexico, Panama, Argentina, Brazil, Belgium, France, and even Cuba! We all knew the same songs and we were all there sharing a love of Israel. At the Kotel, of course, the women were separated, and I’m sure that effected their experience, but nonetheless it was moving to hear all the voices sing out with the Shema and the Hatikvah.

That night there was dinner and a concert at the Tank Museum at Latrun, which has a large amphitheater. In an impressive feat of logistics, thousands of people were fed outdoors with vast buffets of food, on tables with tablecloths, real plates and flatware. Then it was on to the concert, which was done in a spectacular, even an over-the-top way, with dozens of dancers, fireworks, lasers, video-screens, etc.

Friday, 4-27

 The morning was spent in tunnels. The first was Hezekiah’s tunnel. This dates to the 8th century BCE, and was designed to give Jerusalem a secure water supply in the event of siege. It still has spring water flowing through it, so there we were walking through water again! It is pitch black, so we took flashlights. This also gave us the opportunity to see the latest results of the excavations in the City of David. This drives home how far back our history extends, and how old a city Jerusalem is. The kids were in good spirits and the third of a mile went by quickly. You come out of the ground, turn around and enter another tunnel recently opened to the public. This is a drainage tunnel from the Second Temple period, which brings you up at the Davidson Center, near the southwest corner of the Temple mount.

We returned that night for services. We chose to be at Robinson’s Arch, which has been designated as a place where egalitarian worship is allowed. We were joined by the group from North Carolina and southern Virginia. Again, we had that wonderful feeling of Jewish unity as we prayed together and felt the holiness of Shabbat in Jerusalem.

Shabbat, 4-28

 Shabbat morning, some of us got up to go to services at Moreshet Avraham synagogue, the oldest Conservative synagogue in Jerusalem, which is at the Fuchsberg Center. The woman service leader was wonderful, the Rabbi greeted us and other visitors warmly, and we ran into Charlie and Miriam Marr from Beth David. Shabbat afternoon was for rest and receiving visitors. That evening we gathered on the terrace of the hotel for Havdalah, and then the teens took turns expressing how much the trip meant to them. It was very moving and inspiring to hear their heartfelt words. I then said farewell to this group of wonderful young people and their dedicated staff, and (at 2:00 AM), they left for the airport. You should know that Ruth Zaltzmann as group leader and Susan Gavens as chaperone were absolutely wonderful.

I have stayed on a few extra days in Israel to be with my sister, who lives in Israel. I will then be taking a few personal days with my daughter, son-in-law and granddaughter in Washington, D.C. After that I will be attending the Rabbinical Assembly convention in Atlanta, and will be home on May 10th. I know this dispatch has been long, but I’d like to conclude with the D’var Torah I gave Friday night. It was well-received, and I have been encouraged to share it with you. It expresses some of my feelings and reactions to the whole March of the Living experience.

Acharei-Mot Kedoshim 5772: Jerusalem

So here we are praying together at the holy Temple Mount, in the holy city of Jerusalem, in our holy Land, celebrating the holy Shabbat. And if that isn’t enough holiness for you, this week’s Torah reading is Aharei Mot-Kedoshim. Kedoshim is a particularly rich parashah. Tonight I want to talk just about its first words: va’y'dabeir Adonai el Moshe leimor: dabeir el kol adat b’nei Yisrael v’amarta aleihim: kedoshim tih’yu ki kadosh ani adonai Eloheichem. And the Lord spoke unto Moses, saying, Speak unto all the congregation of the children of Israel, and say unto them, You shall be holy: for I the Lord your God am holy.” 

This is one of the great overarching principles of the Torah. We must be holy, which includes striving for closeness to God, living an elevated spiritual life, and treating others with kindness and compassion.

Unsurprisingly, people usually focus on the second part of the text: “You shall be holy.” But one great hassidic rabbi, Rabbi Kalonymos Kalman ha-Levi Epstein, who lived in Krakow [which we visited] asks us not to ignore God’s introductory words: Speak unto all the congregation of the children of Israel, and say unto them. This is an unusual phrasing. He asks, “What is the significance of knowing that this section was proclaimed in full assembly?  Isn’t it likely that most mitzvot that apply to all of Israel were proclaimed in full assembly?”

He answers, “What this means is that the topic of this very section—the quest for holiness—must be ‘in full assembly,’ that is, within community.   For it is impossible for a person to achieve holiness unless he first joins a community devoted to sacred service.”

We are so used to the communal nature of Jewish life that we can forget that there are many religious traditions which believe that if you want to be holy, or religious, or Godly, you must detach yourself from the world. Judaism recognizes that sometimes we need quiet, private time, but it insists that the highest degrees of holiness require a community. The minyan is both symbol and practice of this idea; There are certain holy prayers—kaddish and kedushah, for example—and certain practices—like public reading of the Torah—which must have a minyan, the minimum number that can be called a community.

Our rabbis and teachers understood that community gives us the support of like-minded individuals. Community gives us fellowship. Community tells us that we are not alone in our desire to be holy. Community gives us connection with others, but also connection with God.

In short, Judaism can’t be practiced in solitude. For example, imagine having a Seder all by yourself. Pretty lonely! Now try to imagine doing our March of the Living journey all alone. I suppose that someone could arrange a private tour of Poland followed by a private tour of Israel. I’m sure that they would get something out of it. But how can that be compared to the impact of walking ten thousand strong from Auschwitz to Birkenau? And where would they find the emotional support that we received from friends, guides, staff and survivors? Furthermore, if one Jew stands at Auschwitz and says, “I am here! Hitler did not succeed in wiping out the Jews. I pledge to strengthen my Jewish commitment and to support the state of Israel,”—that’s great. If ten thousand people do that—that is holy.

Likewise, if one person walks from the new city of Jerusalem into the Old City, stands by the Wall, and says, “Am Yisrael Chai—the people of Israel live”—that is wonderful. But when thousands join their voices, it multiplies holiness. Being surrounded by throngs of fellow Jews, feeling at ease with them, knowing we share history and values, gives us a sense of being part of kol adat b’nei Yisrael—all the congregation of the people of Israel—a kingdom of priests and a holy nation.

More specifically, our bus from four Jewish communities has become our own kehillah kedoshah, our own holy community.  We have shared unique experiences and deep emotions. We have followed the trail of our people’s tragic and triumphant 20th century history. It has been an exceptional and challenging experience. Because we did it together with concern for each other, it was also holy.  May our new understanding of the holiness of Jewish community continue to guide us as we learn and grow as Jews.

May we keep and build on what we have felt for these past two weeks — tears for the Holocaust, love for our fellow Jews, commitment to Judaism, and devotion to Israel. Because, as Rabbi Epstein taught, holiness comes from community, and as we have learned, we need each other, we need community, we need Israel and Israel needs us. When we know that, and we act on it, we will be what God called us to be: a kingdom of priests and a holy nation. Shabbat Shalom.

Yom HaZikaron and Yom HaAtzma’ut

Dear friends,

This week we observe Yom Hazikaron (Memorial Day) and Yom HaAtzma’ut (Independence Day). For those of you who have never experienced these consecutive two days in Israel, know that they are qualitatively different from Memorial Day and Independence Day here in the U.S., particularly because they are conjoined.

On Yom Hazikaron, places of entertainment are closed. Radio and television stations play programs about Israel’s wars. An air raid siren plays twice, stopping everyone and everything in their tracks as people get out of their cars and stand at attention in memory of those who died defending Israel. Hardly any Israeli remains untouched by the loss of a loved one or friend who died for their country. As Yom Hazikaron draws to a close, an official ceremony on Mt. Herzl in Jerusalem returns the flag to full staff and Yom HaAtzma’ut begins. The beginning of Zion’s redemption and the Jewish people’s return to its land cannot be separated from the memory of those who died fulfilling our 3,000 year-old prayer—to be a free people in our land, the land of Zion, Jerusalem.

Then the entire mood shifts.

When I lived in Israel Yom HaAtzmaut was the most joyous of occasions. The morning prayers, recited so frequently for so many years, felt as if they had been answered in a true and visceral way as I thanked God for the miracle of the modern State of Israel. I sang Hallel with an intensity of emotion. The scent of Bar-b-que wafted throughout Jerusalem while I celebrated in the Garden of Independence in Jerusalem.

These two holidays are not just Israeli holidays. They are Jewish holidays. They recognize the centrality of Israel for us as a people and the necessity to be connected to its existence. So, how do we bring some the uniqueness of observing these days in Israel to our own lives here in the U.S.?

Here are some ideas:

Have an Israeli-themed  meal with friends and/or family. Here is a falafel recipe:

http://ow.ly/auHZz

Have a Yom HaAtzma’ut seder. Here is one created by the Jewish National Fund

http://ow.ly/auHyH

Spread the word about wonderful things Israel has given to our world:

http://www.jnf.org/positivelyisrael/learn-more.html

Learn about important Zionist figures:

http://ow.ly/auHQy

L’shalom,

Report from the March of the Living

Greetings from Krakow, Poland. I am here with a group of our teens for this remarkable event, bringing together 10,000 participants from all over the world. You can read more from www.motl.org. Aliza Aitchison, Gabriela Fine and Danielle Lerner from Beth David are attending with a delegation from Silicon Valley, sharing a bus with groups from Tucson, Las Vegas, and San Diego. Here is my diary for the past few days:

March of the Living, Monday 4-16-12

April 15-16: The day regain inauspiciously.
The first flight of our trip was delayed for two hours. Fortunately Ruth Zaltzman, the head of our trip, had left a long layover time in Chicago, so no harm done. We met up with the kids from San Diego, Tucson, and Las Vegas and their staff members with whom we will share our bus. They seemed like nice kids and that impression was confirmed throughout the day.

We arrived in Warsaw around 9:30 AM as did all our luggage (no small thing!). We met our guides, a Polish man named Teddy and an Israeli woman named Gila who works for Yad Vashem in Jerusalem. Teddy’s job seems to be to smooth things over, deal with the locals, and help navigate around, while Gila is as an educator and guide, helping the kids understand the meaning of what they are seeing. The day then began.

Our first stop was the Warsaw Cemetery, which goes back 200 years. It includes many memorials to those who died in the ghetto and in the uprising. There is a moving statue of Janusz Korzcak, the beloved educator who chose to go on the transport with the children from his orphanage rather than escape. (Picture right:)

We then were taken to an undistinguished apartment block. We went into its courtyard to find a fragment of the ghetto wall. It was a powerful reminder that the Nazis cordoned off half a million Jews in the center of Warsaw. They could see the city going about its daily life, but they were trapped behind those high brick walls.

At every stop Gila emphasized how the Jews and their Judenrat leadership lived in extremis and were faced with terrible suffering and impossible decisions.

We then were taken to a memorial on the site of the Umschlagplatz (collection point), where the Jews were assembled for deportation to Treblinka. The memorial includes a wall with many names on them, familiar Jewish names that remind us that they were our family.

Finally, we visited the Nozyk Synagogue, which has been revived as a place of worship— a little ray of light and Jewish persistence.

Here is one thought I had toward the end of the day:

At the Warsaw cemetery, there are retaining walls made of stone fragments. It seems like a metaphor for the Warsaw experience. This was once a vibrant community, diverse and creative. Now there are only fragments left. Bits of the ghetto walls wedged in, surrounded by banal apartment blocks. A mound and a monument bearing witness to the courageous address of Mila 18. A monument to the Umschlagplatz where the Jews were mustered for death. Broken stone stele in a circle, marking the anonymous mass graves that necessity required to bury the ghetto dead of starvation and disease. The Jews who survived, scattered over the world, their voices of testimony fading as death takes the aging remnant of child survivors. Fragments to serve as memorials, reminders and warnings.

After dinner in a hotel we took our bus to Bialystok for our overnight.

One last thought: when we arrived, the kids were divided into small groups to process the day. The prompt was, “What did you bring with you to this trip.” Many of these young people come from families of survivors. One girl mentioned her great-grandparents, who are still alive. They were thoughtful and seemed committed to having this intense experience.

March of the Living, Tuesday, April 17th, Bialystok-Lublin

Today our first stop was the memorial to the great synagogue of Bialystok. It was destroyed when the Nazis rounded up two thousand Jews, trapped them inside, and burned it down. All that remains is the skeleton of the dome.

Then we rode to Tykocin, known to jews as Ticktin, a genuine shtetl, though today without Jews. It is notable for its large synagogue right by the former market square where many Jews earned their livelihood, well preserved, which is now a museum. We met up with a group from Greensboro, North Carolina and the Reform Rabbi from the group told a story about people dancing during the holocaust which led into the kids all dancing and singing, bringing life to this dead synagogue The group had a father and son who were musicians (father on clarinet and son on violin), which added to the freilach atmosphere.

From there we went to the Tykocin forest, site of a terrible massacre. We went to the mass graves, lit candles, and said El Maleh and Kaddish. The young violinist played a composition of his which was incredibly beautiful and moving.

One of the features of each day is that each participant was asked to do a presentation on a topic, and the kids have been quite conscientious and well-spoken.

Then it was onto Treblinka. This was a death camp where in the space of 13 months 870,000 Jews were murdered. The Nazis razed the camp, but the Polish government built an eloquent memorial, delineating the geography of the camp. There are rough carved stones commemorating the countries of origin of those who died, and the centerpiece is a large sculpture standing where the gas chambers were, representing the packed bodies of the dead. This is surrounded by 17,000 stones commemorating all the communities of origin of those slain in the camp.

Here we held a commemorative ritual, led by some of the kids and the two rabbis with our group, and once again said Kaddish and El Maleh.

Once again the kids shared great feelings and insights at the breakout sessions that night. I was particularly moved by their reactions to another groups of teens we encountered at Treblinka. They were not taking the experience seriously, and our youth were offended. It really showed how seriously they are taking this experience.

March of the Living, April 18: Lublin and Majdanek

We got up early today so that we could get to Majdanek as it opened. The first thing that struck us is how close it is to Lublin. It took about ten minutes to get there. Unlike other camps, it is surrounded by development, and was even 70 years ago it was close in. This is because it originated as a prisoner of war camp for Russian soldiers captured in the fighting after Hitler broke the Ribbentroff-Molotov Treaty and the eastern front war began. It became a concentration camp primarily for Jews.

This was an intense day. We spent three hours there. In Warsaw, there is little left of the Ghetto, and at Treblinka, the original camp was obliterated. The memorial built in its place is eloquent and ties the lineaments of the camp, but it is still an abstraction. Majdanek is the real thing, vast and grim–barracks, barbed wire, guard towers, gas chambers and crematoria intact.

You enter by a large, dramatic memorial sculpture. The installation is set up so that you walk through an artificial canyon. You enter by means of a ramp, descending easily. You exit by steep stairs. This mimics the reality of the camps–easy to a enter, thanks to German efficiency; difficult to leave–alive.

We have all seen pictures of the camps. The reality is emotionally powerful because it is concrete; there in front of you. The first gas chamber was smaller than I expected, and yet they packed it with hundreds of people. It was a moment for tears and desolation to be confronted by the raw fact of this terrible place. We saw how these buildings were built for maximum efficiency–factories of death.

Our guide Gila helped us understand what we were seeing with the testimony of one survivor of Majdanek, Helena Birnbaum. At every stage she had kids read from Helena’s memoir describing her journey into this branch of the Holocaust Kingdom. It turned in incomprehensible numbers into a human reality.

We have had the benefit of having with us Bill Kugelman, a survivor who lives in Tucson. He added his plain-spoken dose of reality. He talked about living in hunger and fear, and the daily struggle for survival. He has also provided the dramatic end to our memorial rituals by sounding the shofar.

At the end we walked up stairs to a large dome covering the Mountain of Ashes, the remnant of the largest crematorium. It carries the inscription,”Our destiny is a warning to you.” At this place we had a small memorial service, arranged by Rabbi Stephanie Aaron, led by the students. I had the honor to chant the El Maleh Rachamim.

From there we went to the site of the famous yeshiva of Lublin, now restored. This was the elite yeshiva founded by Rabbi Meir Shapira, who established the Daf Yomi program. I was asked to teach some Torah there, and after that the kids sang and danced. It seemed that they needed to affirm life after their encounter with so much death. Am Yisrael chai!

Now we are in Krakow, and tomorrow is the Yom Hashoah and the march itself, from Auschwitz to Birkenau. Our group has been chosen to lead the march!

What Do We Mean by “Next Year in Jerusalem”?

Dear Friends,

I hope  you are recovering from seders and having a meaningful Pesach! As I have written here before, Seders are perhaps my favorite evenings of the year, and this year did not disappoint. Friday night at the first seder I made a point of focusing on the last line of the Haggadah:“L’shanah Habah Birushalayim! (Next year in Jerusalem!)” I spoke about the idea of a Yerushalayim shel Ma’alah, the heavenly Jerusalem, a Utopian ideal, the typology of perfected society that will pervade the entire world during the messianic age. It was a beautiful drash (if I do say so myself!) and an idea that I certainly believe in. However, as the days of Pesach pass I find myself thinking of my words and feeling discomfort.

What does it mean when we gloss over these profound words and their clear, literal meaning? On a “meta” level, the “Jerusalem” of the Haggadah might be some idealistic vision of peace, harmony, and holiness, but invoking this notion during Pesach points to a clear discomfort with the entire idea of the Diaspora and our people’s 3,000 year old desire to physically live together in the Land of Israel. I am sure that I am not alone in my ambivalence. I count my blessings every day to live in the United States, in Northern California, in a wonderful community of Jews dedicated to increasing the role Judaism plays in their lives. We have kosher restaurants, grocery stores that carry kosher food. We live in relative comfort and safety without the threat of rockets or bombings.

Given these realities, what role does the concept of Diaspora play in our lives? Do we feel that we are living in Diaspora?

In February, a colleague of mine, Rabbi Jeff Cymet, wrote an article about the idea of Diaspora and its centrality to Judaism, particularly to Conservative Judaism, which is the only movement that claim to have been Zionist in outlook from its origins until today. I invite you to read the article, published by Haaretz online, and see some of my thoughts below:

Diaspora Jews need to be reminded that they are living in exile. By abandoning the feeling that Jews outside of Israel are in exile, we risk losing everything.

By Rabbi Jeff Cymet

According to the Jewish sources, there is no worse fate than living in exile. Without the hope and the inspiration that a nation can be restored to its land, a people in exile will eventually die out. Only the Jewish people survived homelessness for almost twenty centuries, and we have done so in large part by cultivating the doctrine of exile.

As Jews, not a single day is allowed to pass without reminding ourselves that we are in exile; we pray daily for our ingathering. As comfortable as we may be personally, wherever we may be, we regularly remind ourselves that we are part of a nation that yearns to return home. Regardless of how loyal or grateful we may be to the host countries that provide us with refuge and sustenance, we are meant never to mistake those countries for home: this year in exile – next year in Jerusalem.

After two thousand years of praying for a return from the exile, a new generation of Jews – the Zionists – emerged late in the 19th century and decided to rebel against the accepted halakha. They worked to end the exile. Those Zionists recognized that if the Jewish people were going to rise above the degraded circumstances to which they had been led, they needed to demand the full benefits of modernity – including the human, civil and national rights that are essential to the progress of any people – while requiring full emancipation from the rabbinic leadership that opposed it. The Zionist founders of the State of Israel knew that Judaism, as the national culture of the Jewish people, was something that could not be lived naturally outside of its own land. The Zionists worked diligently to undo everything that signified our exile, and sacrificed much in order to end the exile once and for all.

When the State of Israel was created in 1948, our exile was meant to be over. The ingathering of the dispersed from around the world proceeded speedily and Jews poured back into our restored homeland. We were home again – or at least we could go home, if we wanted to do so. The redemption of the entire nation appeared close at hand.

However, over 60 years later the redemption has not yet been completed. Millions of Jews still have not returned to Israel. There are many reasons why this is true. Israel is still not at peace, and it can be daunting to leave peaceful lands for life in a country that is always under threat of war. Others worry about their ability to support themselves or their family if they were to return to the Jewish state. Not everybody is able to take advantage of this unique opportunity in history.

More importantly, however, not everybody wants to move to Israel. Many Jews today refuse to consider life outside of Israel as “exile.” Israelis, for example, often resent any ideological demand that potentially threatens to limit their freedom of choice regarding where to live – the era in which moving away from Israel was considered disloyal is long gone. Meanwhile, Diaspora Jews, especially in lands with little anti-Semitism, increasingly feel completely at home in their countries of residence among their non-Jewish neighbors, a fact that naturally attenuates their feeling of exile or the primacy of their bonds to the Jewish people.
However, by abandoning the feeling that Jews outside of Israel are in exile, we risk losing everything. Jews who no longer feel that they are in exile when living in a non-Jewish land are increasingly on a trajectory of assimilation in which they find that they identify more with the peoples of their host countries than with their own people throughout the world. Meanwhile, Jews who no longer feel the primacy of Zion over other Jewish communities in the world might not necessarily be willing to sacrifice as much on her behalf.

But trajectories are not destiny. They can and must be reversed. We must once again have the courage to remind Jews worldwide that if they choose to live outside of Israel, they risk exiling themselves from their own heritage and from sharing in their national destiny. Many cultures, religions and peoples share our universal values. None share our particular history. Only in Israel can we live not only according to our universal values but also immersed in our unique Jewish culture as it has been shaped by our own heritage.

And if anyone continues to believe, as they very well might, that they need to remain in exile, they must constantly remind themselves, on a daily basis, that the Jewish people is their extended family, that Israel is their home, and that though they may be in exile this year – next year, if possible, they pray to be in Israel.

Rabbi Cymet’s article sparked quite a debate amongst my rabbinic colleagues, and I have thought quite a bit about his words. I disagree with Rabbi Cymet’s statement about Jews living in the Diaspora. I do not believe we more closely identify with others in the US than our Jewish brethren throughout the world, nor do I believe living in the US attenuates our bond to the Jewish people. However, I ultimately agree with Rabbi Cymet in his overall assertion. Diaspora is a reality for us as Jews living outside of Israel. And that reality raises some existential difficulties. To think of ourselves as being in exile is to acknowledge that the United States is not really home. Embracing the concept of Diaspora means grappling with the thought that we are in some way “foreigners” here in the United States. It is unpleasant and perhaps difficult to imagine a time when we will not be welcome in the US or persecuted for our beliefs.

I humbly and readily admit to you, my beloved congregants, that this is an aspect of Jewish faith with which I struggle, as evidenced by my glossing over it at our seder. On certain days it is hard to imagine living in Israel, dealing with the issues of being a Conservative/Masorti Jew, struggling with my Middle School level knowledge of spoken Hebrew, all while eking out a meager living. Yet, on other days I find myself in tears while looking at a new website about Machane Yehuda (the shuk) in Jerusalem, wanting to be in Israel more than anything. Like many of you, I live with this tension.

For me, there is only one way of living with this tension and that entails keeping it at the forefront of our consciousness. We must become chovevei tzion, lovers of Zion. Educating ourselves about the political realities in Israel, buying Israeli products, giving money to Israeli causes, and visiting frequently are all positive ways of being cognizant of the fact that we do not live there.

As we enter into the final days of Pesach with the melody of “L’shanah Habah Birushalayim! (Next year in Jerusalem!)” playing in our heads, we all have an opportunity to contemplate how we might make Jerusalem and Israel more a part of our lives in the coming year. Perhaps you will visit Israel this year, give more money to an Israeli cause, or make learning about Israel a priority. While fulfilling these goals cannot take the place of making aliyah, they are ways of keeping the tension of living in Disapora a part of our consciousness.

L’shalom,

Rabbi Philip Ohriner

P.S. While I always welcome your comments, this week I heartily encourage you to write me with your own thoughts about Diaspora, making aliyah, and the place of Israel in your beliefs.

Good to the Last Verse

The Seder suffers from its familiarity. We do it every year. The Seder is long, and especially after the meal it’s hard to keep focused. As one of our members said to me after Rabbi Ohriner and I taught at the Mishpaha program, “Now I know how to keep the children involved; but what about the ADD adults?”

We keep our attention by digging deeper into the Haggadah’s many layers of meaning. This is certainly true of the final parts of the Haggadah. They are important, because they complete the story, or rather, they point us toward its ultimate fulfillment: the redemption of the world. We open the door for Elijah, herald of the Messianic era. We chant Hasal Siddur Pesah, the concluding poem, ending with a rousing L’shanah ha-ba·ah birushalayim—next year in Jerusalem. And even the lighthearted songs have a message of ultimate hope. This is particularly true of the one that seems most like a children’s song: Had Gadya.

The song depicts a chain of predation, but Jews understood the kid to be the people of Israel, and all the others symbolize the nations that tried to destroy us. But at the end of the day, and at the end of time, the “one kid” remains.

More than that, as Rabbi Jonathan Sacks writes, “At the end of days God will vanquish the angel of death and inaugurate a world of life and peace, the two great Jewish loves.” This is a message of hope. It’s remarkable how we Jews sustained hope through our long centuries of exile, wandering, oppression, pogroms and genocide. Hatikvah is not just the national anthem of Israel; it is the theme song of our march through history. As Rabbi Sacks writes, “I find it almost unbearably moving that a people who knew so much suffering could summon the moral courage to end this evening of Jewish history on the supreme note of hope, and write it into the hearts of their children in the form of a nursery rhyme, a song. For what we give our children on this night of nights is something more and greater than the bread of affliction and the taste of Jewish tears. It is a faith that in this world, with all its violence and cruelty, we can create moments of redemption, signals of transcendence, acts of transfiguring grace. No people has risked and suffered more for a more slender hope, but no hope has lifted a people higher and led it, time and again, to greatness. So we end the night with a prayer and a conviction. The prayer: ‘God of life, help us win the victory over the forces of death.’ And the conviction? That by refusing to accept the world that is, together we can start to make the world that ought to be.”

So be sure to finish your Seder properly: with hope, vision, and song.

Here’s another resource for your Seder’s end: a wonderful poem by the great Israeli poet Nathan Alterman:

The Kid of the Haggadah

There in the market place, bleating among the billy goats and nannies,
Wagging his thin little tail—as thin as my finger—
Stood the Kid—downcast, outcast, the leavings of a poor man’s house,
Put up for sale without a bell, without even a ribbon, for just a couple of cents. 

Not a single soul in the market paid him any attention,
For no one knew—not even the goldsmith, the sheep-shearer—
That this lonesome little Kid would enter the Haggadah
And his tale of woe become a mighty song. 

But Daddy’s face lit up,
He walked over to pat the Kid’s forehead—and bought him.
And so began one of those songs
That people will sing for all history. 

The Kid licked Daddy’s hand,
Nuzzled him with his wet little nose;
And this, my brother, will make the first verse of the song:
“One only Kid, one only Kid, that my father bought for two zuzim.” 

It was a spring day, and the breezes danced;
Young girls winked and giggled, flashed their eyes;
While Daddy and the Kid walked into the Haggadah
To stand there together—small nose in large hand, large hand on small nose. 

To find in the Haggadah—
So full already of miracles and marvels—
A peaceful place on the last page,
Where they can hug each other and cling to the edge of the story. 

And this very Haggadah whispers,
“Join us…you’re welcome here … you belong,
Among my pages full of smoke and blood,
Among the great and ancient tales I tell.” 

So I know the sea was not split in vain,
Deserts not crossed in vain—
If at the end of the story stand Daddy and the Kid
Looking forward and knowing their turn will come. 

Links:

A famous version of the Chad Gadya by the great Hazzan Moshe Oysher

A good article about Chad Gadya, which includes a choral version by the Israeli composer Yehezkel Braun:

Let All Those Who are Hungry Come and Eat

Dear Friends,

There have been a number of humorous moments throughout the history of the Ohriner family seder, as I am sure there are in most other family seders. If you haven’t heard my story of a ninety-year-old man gleefully hitting an young attractive college student with a bunch of leeks remind me to tell you about it sometime! However, each year there is one moment that always receives a somewhat uncomfortable laugh. Just as we begin the Maggid section where we tell the Passover story, we recite Ha Lachma Anya while holding a plate of matzah:

This is the bread of affliction that our fathers ate in the land of Egypt. Let all those who are hungry come and eat. Let all who are needy come and celebrate Passover. This year we are here, next year may we be in the Land of Israel. This year we are slaves, next year may we be free.

The awkward laughter comes when we open the door to our home, just in case there is a hungry individual waiting outside our suburban, single-family domicile waiting to come in and join us. For most of us, it is hard to imagine a situation in which  someone would actually be waiting outside our house, without anywhere to go for seder and nothing to eat. We probably wouldn’t know what to do with ourselves if there was, in fact, someone standing there! So we open the door and awkwardly close it, wondering about the symbolism of this seemingly empty ritual.

Yet, our tradition provides us with an opportunity to imbue this moment of our seder with meaning, removing the awkward chuckle that normally accompanies it.

The Or Zarua, a 13th century Halakhic compendium, cites a statement in the Jerusalem Talmud in the name of Rabbi Yossi bar Bun establishing the custom of giving wheat to needy Jews so they could take it to the mill and make  matzah for Passover. As the times changed and commercial bakeries became prominent, the method of providing this Passover assistance shifted. It was more convenient to give money to the poor, who in turn bought wheat and baked their own matzot or had them baked in a commercial bakery. This form of Passover assistance became known as maot hittin (money for wheat). Today, Synagogues and Jewish communal organizations throughout the world collect money, generally during the process of selling hametz, and distribute food packages to Jews in need.

Most Jewish law codes do not consider the fulfillment of maot hittin to be a normal act of tzedakah (charity). Rather,  it is considered a “communal tax”. In this sense, there is a second level of obligation to provide for the poor during Passover  beyond the general requirement to give tzedakah all year-round. The 20th century halakhic commentator, Rabbi Israel Meir Kagan Poupko, wonders about this special obligation during Passover. He writes that it is an extraordinary affront to God for us to allow other Jews to be bound by the shackles of hunger on Passover. How can the celebration of our people’s freedom permit those with means to recline and dine in joy while others find themselves without the means to even buy matzah and wine for seder?

Thankfully, we all have the opportunity to bring a greater sense of freedom to Jews in our community, fulfill this custom, and symbolically open our doors during seder with pride. Congregation Beth David is once again partnering with Jewish Family Services of Silicon Valley to feed over 1,100 people through Project N.O.A.H. The Project N.O.A.H. (“No One Abandoned Here”) Food Assistance Program seeks to decrease food insecurity and hunger in Silicon Valley by providing food packages, prepared kosher meals, and supermarket gift cards to those in need. The Passover food drive is a critical component of the program and helps ensure every Jewish person in Silicon Valley has food for Passover.

There will be a bin in the Beth David lobby for the rest of the week to bring your maot hittin, and you can always send a check to JFS earmarked for Project N.O.A.H.

This year, as you recite the words of Ha Lachma Anya and symbolically open your door to those who are hungry, replace the awkward chuckle with a prideful smile that will come in knowing that you helped fellow Jews in need right here in Silicon Valley by giving maot hittin. Tell seder attendees about JFS and Project N.O.A.H. Do your part during our festival of freedom to bring an end to food insecurity so that we may all recite the following words in earnest this Passover:

Let all those who are hungry come and eat. Let all who are needy come and celebrate Passover. This year we are here, next year may we be in the Land of Israel. This year we are slaves, next year may we be free.

L’shalom,

In Every Generation

I write these words the day after our enchanting weekend visit from master storyteller Peninnah Schram. She taught us the central place of stories in Jewish tradition. As she writes in the introduction to her book, Jewish Stories One Generation Tells Another, “The Jews are a storytelling people. We cherish our memories and celebrate them through our stories. We are called the People of the Book, but we are also a People of the Spoken Word. Biblically, the world was created with the spoken word; the Torah was given at Mount Sinai along with the spoken word; and the stories of our people are told and retold orally, for we all carry within us ancient memories of our history, legends, songs and movements that must be passed along.”

Could there be a better example than the Haggadah? When we gather for the Seder, we are there to tell the story, the story of the Exodus, our liberation from slavery, and the beginning of our journey toward Sinai and becoming “a kingdom of priests and a holy nation.”

The Haggadah also tells a later part of our people’s story. Right before the core narrative of the Maggid section, it mentions God’s promise to Abraham, and it says: V’hi she-amdah—“It is this promise that has sustained our ancestors and us. Not just one group has risen up against us to destroy us, but rather in every generation they rise up against us to destroy us. And the Holy One of Blessing saves us from their hand.”

Pharaoh was not the last enemy. We don’t yet live in a redeemed world. This is well depicted in the picture by Michel Kichke in the Haggadah, A Night to Remember. It shows a raging pursuing mob brandishing weapons, including Cossacks, Spanish soldiers, Queen Isabella, Egyptians, Crusaders and Nazis.

In every generation they rise up against us. This week’s chapter of hatred was the cold-blooded murder of four Jews in Toulouse. Let us remember their names: Rabbi Yochanan Sandler, his sons Aryeh and Gavriel, and Miriam Monsonego. The methodical, well-planned way the murderer went about his task is chilling. And we can be certain that his attack on the school was driven by hatred of Jews.

It helps me to realize that our ancestors who lived through all those times of enmity, oppression, and murder found hope and dignity in the Haggadah and the Seder experience. Even hidden in Spanish cellars or the basements of the besieged Warsaw Ghetto, we held Seders and told the story of our liberation from bondage. We traced the Exodus narrative path from g’nut (degradation) to shevah (praise), and we took courage from the last sentence of the v’hi she-amdah: “And the Holy One of Blessing saves us from their hand.”

We end the Seder with the same message of hope in the whimsical form of the Chad Gadya. Of course, this song of the strong devouring the weak has a deeper meaning. As Jeffrey Goldberg writes in the New American Haggadah, “If you accept the political interpretation of ‘Chad Gadya,’ that the kid represents the Jewish people, and Rome the ox, and so on, then the message of ‘Chad Gadya’ is nothing less than the message of the seder itself: It may seem that persecution will last forever, but it will not—and it will be the righteous God who brings about its end.”

We will gather around our Seder tables this Passover because despite our history of persecution, we Jews never gave up hope and faith. In fact, the Seder and the Haggadah sustained us through troubled times. This will be a sad Passover for the Jews of Toulouse, and for all of us, but when we read the Haggadah’s many words of comfort and hope, may we take them to heart. And, as Eli Wiesel counsels, “When we are persecuted, our response must be: We will remain Jewish — and do everything to become more Jewish.

Links:

The full statement by Elie Wiesel: http://www.algemeiner.com/2012/03/20/exclusive-by-elie-wiesel-the-tragedy-in-toulouse

An eloquent drawing about the Toulouse murders by Michel Kichke: http://kichkaen.files.wordpress.com/2012/03/toulouse-massacre.jpg

The Power of Stories: Come hear Scholar-in-Residence, Peninnah Schram

THIS WEEKEND

Dear friends,

Those of you who know me well know that I really enjoy hearing and sharing stories, particularly Jewish stories. Mostly, I love telling them to my own children and the children of our congregation. Stories touch us and teach us in a way a class, lecture, or even a discussion cannot. I am always amazed when kids approach me and remind me about a story I shared with them last year or even during my interview weekend here at Beth David. If only they remembered everything I taught them that well!

Often, on Friday evenings when I tell a story, I remind people that stories are as much for adults as they are for children. We too remember the stories we hear. That is why I believe there is no better teacher than a good storyteller. We are blessed to be welcoming such a teacher into our community this coming weekend as our scholar-in-residence. Peninnah Schram is an internationally known storyteller, teacher, author, and recording artist. She is a recipient of the prestigious Covenant Award by The Covenant Foundation and the 2003 Lifetime Achievement Award from the National Storytelling Network. She is also Professor of Speech and Drama at Stern College of Yeshiva University in New York City.

I own many of her compilations of stories and have enjoyed her storytelling for years off the printed page. I am personally ecstatic to be welcoming her to our community and look forward to hearing her in person. Peninnah will be with us all weekend (see the schedule below). Treat yourself by joining us for one or more of her sessions and bring your children and grandchildren to the child-friendly events. I know you will not be disappointed!

L’shalom,

Sacred Money

Last Shabbat, we honored the donors to our annual campaign. This gave me the opportunity to reflect on Judaism’s attitudes on money and wealth. I’ve reworked it a bit for this message.

I enjoy my work, but like anyone, there are some parts of it that I don’t relish. One of my least favorite things is when someone says, “Why should I have to pay to pray?” One answer might be, “You don’t pay to pray. You pay to have a place to pray and people to lead the prayer.” However, I doubt that this person ever said, “Why should I have to pay to eat?’ or “Why should I have to pay to attend a ball game,” but when it comes to a religious institution, somehow that’s objectionable. Some people consider dues and fundraising to be an unworthy and unspiritual. Well, I’m here to set the record straight. First, our maftir Torah reading makes it clear that fundraising and dues go back to the very beginning.

God spoke to Moses saying, “When you take a census of the Children of Israel… this shall they give — everyone who passes through the census — a half shekel of the sacred shekel (shekel hakodesh)” (Exodus 30:11-13).

If we move forward a few centuries, we find a reference in Midrash Vayikra Rabbah, from the second century c.e. that begins, “One day the great Sages Rabbi Eliezer, Rabbi Joshua and Rabbi Akiba came to Antioch…” Why were they there? To teach Torah? No, “…to collect money for the support of needy scholars.” These great Rabbis did not consider themselves to be above the job of asking for material support for their schools.

Then there is the letter found the Cairo Genizah (if you don’t know about this, see link below).  It seeks donations for the great mitzvah of redeeming captives. It is signed by none other than Rabbi Moshe ben Maimon—Maimonides—one of the greatest scholars and sages of all time.

So we must conclude that there is no Judaism without fund-raising, and thus without donors. Furthermore, the idea that religion shouldn’t be tainted by contact with the material world is not just impractical; it’s not Jewish. Nachmanides, also known as RaMBaN, in his comment on shekel hakodesh, suggests how money becomes holy. The standard shekel mentioned in the Torah was used for a number of holy purposes. It is similar to calling Hebrew l’shon ha-kodesh, the Holy Tongue, “because the words of the Torah, and the prophecies, and all words of holiness were all expressed in that language.” So money and language become holy when they are used for a mitzvah.

Rabbi Benjamin Blech spells this out. He starts by pointing out that the primary goal was to take a census. So why was it done by means of collecting the half-shekel? Even Moses was perplexed, “because he couldn’t believe that for counting Jews something so seemingly non-spiritual and materialistic would be used. How could money play a role in defining Jews and holiness?”

This is exactly the question with which I began. Why should I pay to pray? Why tarnish the spiritual with the material? It turns out that God was trying to teach something important by using the coin as the counter.

So, a Midrash says, God showed him “a coin of fire” and his mind was put at rest. Rabbi Blech says that like fire, wealth can be destructive or constructive. “Wealth may destroy those who possess it but it can also be the source of the greatest blessing.”

This exemplifies Judaism’s approach to the material world: It sees it neither as an impediment to the spirit nor as something to be worshipped. Everything that God made can be sanctified and put to holy use. Money can be squandered, used selfishly, and pursued relentlessly, heedlessly and immorally. Money can also help the poor and the oppressed, fund research to cure disease, and build and maintain synagogues. Money rightly spent becomes holy.

One last implication of that coin of fire: Rabbi Menahem Mendl of Kotzk says that God said, “Such as this they will give” to teach that “if they don’t just give a coin, but give it with fire and hitlahavut, burning enthusiasm, offering up a part of their soul  — it will indeed be a ransom for the soul.”

One of the joys of soliciting for our Annual Campaign is hearing people talk with positive passion about Beth David and what it means to them. I thank all of our donors for their ongoing generosity to Beth David, but also for the enthusiastic support that it represents. In turn, all of us involved with Beth David will continue to strive to assure that these donations will indeed be sanctified through our kehillah kedoshah (holy community).

Links:

On the Cairo Genizah: http://www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/jsource/History/Genizah.html

A typically insightful article by Alan Morinis on the trait of generosity: http://www.aish.com/sp/pg/48907677.html

HIPAA and My Work as your Rabbi

Dear friends,

I often receive emails and phone messages from congregants letting me know when we have a congregant in the hospital or when someone has fallen ill. My reply always begins by thanking them for letting me know this kind of information. If you have contacted me regarding a fellow congregant who might benefit from a pastoral care call or visit, I thank you once again! I thank you (profusely) because without the help of Beth David members, I would regularly miss important moments in the lives of our congregants.

As you might know, in 1996 the federal government instituted the Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act (HIPAA). When HIPAA took effect in 2003, it required health care providers and hospitals to implement new policies and practices to protect the information of patients. Prior to HIPAA, hospital staff members and volunteers would just give generous amounts of information to rabbis about their congregants. For example, in many hospitals, rabbis were permitted to view a complete list of all patients to see if congregation members or other community members were admitted. Some hospital staff would even share details of an individual’s diagnosis and course of treatment with the rabbi. These kinds of informal practices made it easier for rabbis to identify and stay connected with congregants dealing with health issues and provide meaningful pastoral care. Unfortunately, this arrangement led to the notion that the rabbi “just knows” when congregants are hospitalized or admitted to health care facilities.

While the pre-HIPAA days were probably easier for rabbis, HIPAA is clearly an important protection of our privacy. However, there is a pastoral “up-side” to HIPAA.  It forces us to foster a stronger sense of community. Today, your rabbis do not “just know” when you need us. We rely on you and other Beth David members to be “tapped in” to what is happening in our community and let us know when there is a pastoral need. We must work in partnership and be in communication with one another as fellow community members. We must also not assume someone else is taking care of “letting the rabbis know”. I would rather receive emails or phone calls from four people letting us know of a situation rather than not hearing from anyone.

Additionally, our ability to help as a congregation through chevrat chesed our “caring committee” can only work if we have information. Chevrat chesed provides short term assistance to members of our community who have suffered a loss, are ill, or are welcoming a new baby. Some of the services they provide include preparing meals, running errands, arranging rides and visiting with those of our members who are ill. However, they can only do their work when they know it is needed.

Providing pastoral care during serious and scary times in life, regardless of degree, is the rabbinic role I take most seriously. I cannot do this work without your help. So, thank you for emailing Rabbi Pressman and/or I when a friend gets a diagnosis or goes to the hospital and please continue to look out for one another.

L’shalom,

Rabbi Philip Ohriner

Torah at the City Council

I recently had the opportunity to offer the invocation at a session of the San Jose City Council. As it turned out, they were recognizing the International Holocaust Remembrance Day. There were a number of Holocaust survivors present, who were presented with plaques by Mayor Chuck Reed. Our long-time member Jack Tramiel spoke briefly and movingly. So it was nice that the invocation had a Jewish flavor. Whenever I am asked to give an invocation at a public event, I use it as an opportunity to teach an appropriate Torah text. I’d like to share what I said.

In Jewish tradition, we begin events and meetings with a D’var Torah—a text from our tradition to provide a proper framework for the occasion. Judaism offers a rich body of teaching on leadership and governance, since we view the Bible and its commentaries as concrete principles for creating a just and well-ordered society.

In that spirit, I’d like to offer one of my favorite texts. It comes from Sifrei Devarim, a 2^nd century commentary on the Book of Deuteronomy. The book begins with Moses reminding the Israelites that before they received the commandments, he set up a system of government—delegating and distributing authority. After all, without a system of implementation, laws are just words on a page. Moses then says, And I charged your judges at that time — judges in Biblical governance filled both judicial and legislative functions—, saying, “Hear the causes between your brothers, and judge righteously between every man and his brother, and the stranger who is with him.”

The comment on the words “And I charged your judges at that time,” understands Moses to mean: “In the past you were independent, but now you are the servants of the community.”

2,000 years ago, our rabbis understood that the Bible affirms the model of servant leadership. In our times, this idea has been well articulated by Robert Greenleaf. He urges leaders to evaluate their motives and goals against the ideal of the servant leader. “The best test, and difficult to administer, is: Do those served grow as persons? Do they, while being served, become healthier, wiser, freer, more autonomous, more likely themselves to become servants? And, what is the effect on the least privileged in society? Will they benefit or at least not be further deprived?”

There is much cynicism today about government and public officials, but, as the Bible affirms, no society can do without them. My personal experience has been that most are dedicated and very hard-working. So I suggest that, instead of calling our elected leaders “politicians,” a tarnished term, we use “public servants.” In a democracy, that is certainly the right model and the essential aspiration. For city councils, which deal daily with practical, street-level issues and services, challenged by limited resources and conflicting constituencies—how much more so!

So I offer the prayer that this council, as servant leaders, will be granted the wisdom, the strength, the inspiration—and the resources!— to meet their challenges in governing this great and complex city. May God crown their efforts with success and, as the blessing of the Psalmist, may San Jose go from strength to strength. Amen.

Links:

Daniel Elazar was a great scholar of both the Jewish idea of covenant and American Federalism. You can find a long, but fascinating paper here: http://www.jcpa.org/dje/books/kincon-ch1.htm

And a fine article about Jewish concepts of leadership: http://www.myjewishlearning.com/practices/Ethics/Caring_For_Others/Ethical_Behavior/Leadership.shtml

What Does it Mean to Be a Jew? READ THIS TO FIND OUT!

Dear friends,

Two weeks ago I wrote to you with a link to a poem written and recited by Andrew Lustig entitled “What it Means to be a Jew.” I was impressed by Lustig’s work and perceived it as an invitation to respond. So did many of you! Below are selections of poetry and prose written by Beth David congregants about what being Jewish means to them.  I was truly moved by the responses I received, and they helped me focus my own thoughts.

There are commonalities in much of what our fellow Beth David members wrote about what it means to be a Jew: shared values, mutual obligation, common tradition, cohesive community, interconnectedness, culture, struggle, history, memory, Israel, and Hebrew. These similarities reflect the underlying purpose of belonging to a group people, sharing an ethnicity, and adopting a particular religion as a way of life. Fundamentally, Jews share in a covenantal relationship with God exemplified through the performance of mitzvot. We all feel an obligation to Jewish community and also understand the necessity of our role as Jews in the larger world. However, being Jewish is also a quite personal experience. We each live out the hallmark features of Jewish existence differently. Just as no moment can be experienced by two people in exactly the same way, being Jewish cannot be experienced by two Jews in the same way. (As we all know, two Jews experience Judaism in three ways!) This is an obvious fact of life and reality. However, the panoply of ways Jews define what it means to be Jewish reflects another facet of Jewishness worth sharing.

In his epic work, Man is Not Alone, Heschel writes: “Judaism is a theology of the common deed…dealing not so much with the training for the exceptional, as with the management of the trivial. The predominant feature in the Jewish pattern of life is unassuming, inconspicuous, piety…Thus, the purpose seems to be to ennoble the common, to endow worldly things with hieratic beauty; to attune the comparative to the absolute, to associate the detail with the whole, to adapt our own being with its plurality, conflicts, and contradictions to the all-transcending unity, to the holy (p. 271).”

In essence, being Jewish is dramatically different for each of us because Judaism’s predominant focus is on the quotidian moments in our lives. The essence of Judaism is not about liminal moments in lifecycle events or awe-inspiring Yom Kippur experiences or even about the rockin’ Passover seder you have every year. Rather, our Jewishness is best observed in how we approach the normal, unremarkable moments in life. Being Jewish is about how we eat and sleep, how we spend our free time, how we interact with our friends and family. Being Jewish is about how we think about war and peace, justice and freedom, love, friendship, sexuality, and history. Being Jewish is about acting Jewishly in every moment of every day in every situation.

This is why being Jewish is a different experience for every Jewish person. Each of us lives a different life from one another. Furthermore, we all let Judaism into our lives to a greater or lesser extent. Therefore, our experience of what it means to be Jewish varies. However, the tie that binds us together as a people is the perspective through which we approach our varying daily routines. Being a Jew is about elevating each moment, interaction, word, and deed from the sublunary to the holy. Being a Jew is about imbuing the quotidian with meaning and purpose. Being a Jew is about enacting God’s will and bringing God’s presence more fully into our world to the greatest extent possible. For me, this is the central element of what it means to be a Jew.

L’shalom,

Rabbi Philip Ohriner

What it Means to be a Jew—Gary Nankin

Being a Jew means being part of a story that tests everyone’s imagination. Is it rational that such a small People survived more than three millennia while other much larger and more physically domineering civilizations have become extinct? How can we explain our existence in the face of incredible adversity with so many powerful enemies who have aggressively sought to destroy us? The fact that Jews have not only survived, but also thrived to impact the world so disproportionately to our numbers raises countless questions about our secret sauce.

The answers lie in our strong foundation.  Notwithstanding our challenges, being Jewish is far more of a gift than a burden.  Our identity goes hand in hand with the ideal and most important values that we have contributed to civilized society: family, social justice, compassion, charity, education, etc.  The legacy of the Jewish experience is our treasure, but carries with it a special obligation for each of us to play our part to make the world a better place.

Our continuity has depended and will depend upon our ability and willingness to live up to our responsibility to teach and inspire our children and next generations about the richness of our history and our heritage.  Only by perpetuating our tradition to retell our story can we continue to thrive as a People, enabling Jews, individually and collectively, to follow the path of our ancestors who moved from slavery to freedom. We are all still enslaved in our own ways, so this is an ongoing mission.

The kinship that we have with each other, as Jews, is enhanced because of our common destinies. We are guided by the central theme that we are created in the image of God; the more we live our lives accordingly, the greater will be our sense of fulfillment, as Jews and as human beings, and our contribution to the world.  In the Torah, it is written: “I call heaven and earth to witness you today: I have put before you life and death, blessing and curse; therefore choose life”; our tradition sends a clear message that every action we take from birth to death matters, as we strive for tikkun olam.

Today, particularly in America, internal threats to Jewish continuity are more dangerous than external ones. Jews here can affirm or ignore their identity, so we must consistently answer the question “Why be Jewish” to current and future generations. The Jewish world has changed so quickly in many of our lifetimes as we have seen the renaissance of Jewish sovereignty in the State of Israel and the re-awakening of Jewish life in the former Soviet Union. As Israel is so central to our continuity and sense of connection and purpose, and its future existence is not assured, we can take nothing for granted, so we must “Stand With Israel”, regardless of our individual political views.

Finally, Judaism thrives by creating a sense of connectedness like having an enormous extended family.  In our individual ways, we can ideally use our incredible history, tradition, and teachings to infuse spirituality into our daily lives.  By doing so, we can not only strive for personal redemption, but we can also uplift humankind with the moral and ethical principles that are at the core of our being.  This is the essence of our Covenant, providing all of the valuable tools we need to deal with the complexity and hectic nature of modern life.

Judaism is—Aaron Nankin

Judaism is the space between God and humanity where we strive to be

teetering back and forth as if each Jewish life was a drawn out Kedushah

Judaism is a framework that shapes extraordinary lives

breathing godliness into lungs

forging selfless fingers and hands onto arms

and molding holy language that can inspire nations

Judaism is patience, and understanding that long term gain is all about evolution not just creation

Judaism is gold, not the color but the value, a precious stone which needs to be discovered, mined, melted down, and delicately carved into an intricate masterpiece

Judaism is more than a stale bagel left to harden after Sunday brunch

It is the cream cheese, spread with ease, like an ancient breeze on the Dead Sea

It is the porcelain god, just kidding, it is that herring and cod, mashed together into an abhorrent ball to create an ancient staple we call Gefilte Fish

Judaism are the principles, on which a people so mighty and resilient, holy and brilliant have been built

It is loving thy self, thy mother, thy father, thy wealth, not money but health, not honey alone, but milk as well

Judaism is community glue

it is me

it is you

it is that child in the Alum Rock School District who is beaten by his father and is reading 3 grade levels below average

it is the brilliant Biomechanical Engineer studying robotic arm design to save lives in East Africa

It is the professor whose paper on Alzheimers will shake the foundation of societal mental decay

It is the mental wrestling match I experience each time I make a difficult decision on how to conduct a holy life

a decision which sometimes has me pinned on the mat for days, months, even years

struggling with all my might to roll over, praying the referee won’t blow his whistle

It is Broken Glass on KristalNacht, and Broken Glass of joyous marriages

It is a clumpy alphabet soup containing acronyms like BBYO, JDC, ADL, YAD, AEPI, AIPAC and USY

It is Amare Stodamire’s appearance on Shalom Sesame,

Jon Stewarts wit pointing out truth using comedy

Rick Recht’s lyrics uniting a thousand Campers in song

it is Adam Sandler from Don’t Mess with the Zohan

It is this poem, it is all poems, and it lies within the absence of poetry

Where unlikely beauty is hidden

What It Means to Be Jewish—Jeanette Lerner

What is means to be Jewish is having an identity, a core set of values, a feeling of belonging and sense of pride.  A rich history giving me the basis for the above.   I love being Jewish.

What It Means to Me to Be Jewish—Len Jacobson

To feel pride when something good happens to or because of a Jewish person (or because I perceive the person is Jewish)

To feel sadness or shame when something bad happens to or because of a Jewish person

To feel the warm, nostalgic feelings I feel when I remember the holidays with my grandfather, hoping he would call on me to read part of the Hagaddah , sitting in shul on Yom Kippur when he would daven the Mincha service, and remembering the huge smile on his face on the day of my Bar Mitzvah when I looked down at him from the bimah

To feel enormous pride when they talk about the proportion of Nobel Peace Prizes awarded to Jews around the world

To be struck incredulous at the unfair, illogical treatment that Israel receives in the world community

To be outraged when the world demands that Israel return one inch of land that it won in war, when the entire span of recorded history shows no other case of a victorious nation having the same demand placed upon it

And to not even know the words to use to explain my complete outrage when some will declare that Israel has no right to exist

To feel pain when I listen to the words of a song, written and performed by a young Israeli girl, Yedidah Freilach – she says:

רק לישראל אין זכות להגן,

כי מדם יהודי העולם מתעלם.

Only Israel has no right to defend itself,

Because the world ignores the blood of the Jew.

To love the idea that our children speak Hebrew

To feel enormous pride that our younger son, David, is the president of his shul, that he and his wife keep a kosher home (even though we do not), that he goes twice a month to the maximum security federal penitentiary in their town to lead Jewish services for the Jewish inmates, that his children know beyond a doubt that they are Jewish

To feel joy that our older son, Danny, and his wife light candles every Friday night (even when we are not with them!!), that the first word I ever heard their younger daughter say was מוצץ (pacifier) and the second word she said to me was סבא (Grandpa).  (Not to exaggerate this – the rest of the words were all in English.)

To brag to anyone within earshot about the Hadassah Medical Organization and how my wife was the President of the Northern California region and how she devotes so much time to Hadassah.

To realize that I have a need to let people know that I am Jewish in the most subtle or unsubtle ways within minutes of meeting them.

Andrew Lustig’s poem:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GJe0uqVGZJA&feature=youtu.be

Kohen and Kohenet

Since I was ordained 38 years ago, one of the major developments in Conservative Judaism has been its transformation into a predominantly egalitarian movement. There is a spectrum of practices, but the overwhelming majority of Conservative congregations grant women equal roles in ritual practice, as well as rabbinic leadership. One remaining area has been puzzling to me, and after research and reflection, I am proposing a change in our practice. That is the status of women as Kohen and Levi in terms of synagogue honors.

First, let me note that Beth David has never insisted on only calling a Kohen and a Levi for the first two Aliyot. If we did, on Shabbatot when there is a Bar or Bat Mitzvah, we would not have flexibility in giving out the two congregational Aliyot. However, on other Shabbatot, we do try to fill the first two Aliyot with a Kohen and a Levi.

Over the years, women who are bat-kohen or bat-levi have asked that they be called to the Torah the same way as male kohanim and levi·im. I had felt that somehow these status issues were different from other matters of equality, since they trace back to specific roles in the Temple worship that were only taken by males. The question persisted, and so I looked to the decisions of the Committee on Jewish Law and Standards of the Rabbinical Assembly, which is our authority on halakhah (Jewish law). There is a responsum (legal decision) from the committee that was written by Rabbi Joel Roth. Roth is one of our great experts in Jewish law and typically comes down on the stricter side. In this case, his research led him to conclude that female kohanim and levi·im should be given the same honors as males.

The discussion revolves around one key question: “whether the rights of the priests and Levites to the first two aliyot accrue to them by virtue of their general sanctity, or by virtue of their right to offer sacrifices on the altar. If we discover that their right is dependent on their sacrificial responsibilities, the daughters of kohanim are excluded from aliyot because they do not share any right to offer at the altar with their brethren. If we discover that their right is dependent upon their general sanctity, and not exclusively upon their rights to serve at the altar, we shall have to analyze whether the daughters of priests possess sanctity at all.”

Rabbi Roth then analyzes a wide variety of sources (the 14 page paper has 53 footnotes!) to show that a kohen or levi have their status not because of their roles in Temple sacrificial worship, but because of their lineage. He also presents sources that demonstrate that daughters of priests and Levites shared in some of their perquisites.

He concludes, “On the basis of the evidence adduced it seems reasonable and proper for the Law committee to decide that daughters of priests and Levites be accorded the same aliyot that are normally accorded to priests and Levites’. This should be the case whether they are single or married. Their status regarding being called to the torah should not be determined by the lineage of their husbands but by their own paternal lineage.”

Based on this, in my role as Mara D’atra (legal authority) for Congregation Beth David, I have decided that woman shall be called up as kohen and levi for the first two aliyot on those occasions when we are assigning those aliyot to a kohen or levi.

Links:

You can read Rabbi Roth’s paper on line: The Status of Daughters of Kohanim and Leviyim for Aliyot

What It Means To Be a Jew? How Do You Answer the Question?

Dear friends,

Perhaps some of you have seen this video currently going viral throughout the Jewish world. It is a poem written and recited by Andrew Lustig, who is currently studying at the Pardes Institute in Jerusalem. Take a listen. The poem starts one minute in:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GJe0uqVGZJA&feature=youtu.be

I like this poem a great deal, not so much for its content, per se, but rather as a model of expressing identity. What does it mean to be Jewish? Sure, there is a halakhic definition by which we decide who can have an aliyah to the Torah, lead our congregation in prayer, or have a bar/t mitzvah,  but this sense of “being Jewish” is only the beginning—an opening into a specific worldview and life practice. To say that being Jewish is to be the son or daughter of a Jewish mother or a Jew by choice who has gone through the requisite process of conversion is barely the tip of the iceberg. Being Jewish requires us to move far beyond a basic definition of identity. We find real meaning about our own Jewish identity by contemplating the triggers that bring us pride, excitement, and shame as Jews and the existential reality permeating our own sense of Jewishness.

Lustig’s poem is an invitation to each of us: what would we write in our own poem about our own personal Jewish identity? I do not pose this as a rhetorical question. I think there is real value in accepting the invitation. So, I invite each of you to write something, whether prose or poetry, that expresses your own notion of what it means to be Jewish. If you feel comfortable, please send me your poem, either with attribution or with instructions to leave it anonymous so that we can share our collective work with one another.

And just to give you some hizzuk, some motivation, I promise to share my version of “What it Means to be Jewish” with all of you on this blog in two weeks when I post again.

L’shalom,

Rabbi Philip Ohriner

True Religion

I’d like to share with you my recent comments on Parashat Vayigash. As Joseph is seeing off his brothers as they return to Canaan to tell Jacob that Joseph is still alive, he says, “Do not be quarrelsome on the way.” (Gen 45:24)

One comment on this verse is perplexing: “R. Elazar said: ‘He said to them: “Do not engage in a halakhic [Jewish law] discussion, lest you go astray.”’” (Babylonian Talmud Tractate Ta·anit 10B)

This seems far from the context, which probably meant something like, “Don’t indulge in mutual recriminations about the past.” Pinchas Peli, a 20^th century Israeli rabbi and teacher, has a great insight.

 Why such a warning at this particular moment? Perhaps Joseph feared that by using halakhic methods of argumentation, his brothers, in order to justify themselves, might arrive at the conclusion that what they had done to Joseph was actually right “according to Halakha”. He wanted them to face head-on their wickedness in selling him, and draw the proper moral conclusions. Causing suffering and humiliation cannot always be condoned with the argument of “but, this is the Halakha!”

This is the sin of self-righteousness and self-justification—which is a particular temptation for those who consider themselves religious and pious. The rabbis of the Talmud were very aware of this pitfall:

R. Huna said: Once a man has committed a sin once and twice, it is permitted to him. ‘Permitted’? How could that occur to you? — Rather, it appears to him as if it were permitted. (Tractate Yoma 86B)

Rabbi Yisrael Salanter added that if he sins a third time, he thinks it’s a mitzvah! Religion can be a wonderful thing, but in the hands of self-serving human beings, it can be twisted in harmful ways. That is why Judaism has meta-principles, like “Love your neighbor as yourself,” and “You shall be holy,” to preserve the spirit and purposes of the Torah.

Recent events in Israel come to mind. Elements of the Haredi (ultra-Orthodox) community in Bet Shemesh have been harassing a moderate Orthodox school for girls, but the last straw was their behavior toward Naama Margolese, an eight-year-old Orthodox student. Haredi men cursed her, called her a whore, and spit at her. This for a little girl dressed in a long skirt, long sleeves and a high neckline. She was quoted: “When I walk to school in the morning I used to get a tummy ache because I was so scared … that they were going to stand and start yelling and spitting. They were scary. They don’t want us to go to the school.”

When this story broke on Israeli news, it stirred national outrage and demonstrations. I’m proud that the Masorti movement in Israel was front and center. There were also strong protests from the Orthodox community as well.

How can self-styled pious Jews act so cruelly? Authentic Judaism goes deeper than how someone dresses or what he professes. Human beings, not angels, practice religion, and sometimes, in short-sighted fervor, they go astray. As Rabbi Salanter once taught, “One who rushes headlong to perform a mitzvah can destroy the whole world in his path.”

Orthodox Rabbi Marc Angel wrote a wonderful article titled, “Righteousness and Self-Righteousness: Reflections on the Nature of Genuine Religiosity.” There he lists some questions we should ask ourselves: “Is our behavior genuinely religious, or are we simply acting as though we are religious? Is our motive in fulfilling Torah the pure desire to serve God, or is our motive tainted by egotistic considerations? For some people, religion is a framework for spiritual growth; for others, religion is a place to hide. It is not uncommon for people with bad character traits to try to pass themselves off as servants of the Lord. They delude themselves. What they find in religion is not humble devotion to God, but a framework for self-aggrandizement, influence over others, an outlet for aggression. They use religion to build themselves up.”

We should be honest and admit that anyone, including us, can yield to the temptations of self-righteousness. We should also be careful not to tar all Orthodox Jews with the failings of one element. And we certainly should not let bad behavior in the name of Judaism tarnish the image and value of Judaism itself.

Love, respect, and compassion. Righteousness without self-righteousness. That’s the Judaism I love. That’s the Judaism we share with Jews of every religious stream. Living up to that ideal is a full-time job. It’s our full-time job. If we work on that, we won’t have time or energy to indulge our egos.

The Haftarah for Vayigash, from the Book of Ezekiel, contains God’s promise to reunify the Jewish people: Never again shall they be two nations, and never again shall they be divided into two kingdoms. May the highest values of Judaism prevail over the narrow sectarianism that threatens Jewish unity, and may God’s promise be fulfilled in our days.

Some links:

A statement from the Masorti Movement in Israel:

http://www.rabbinicalassembly.org/story/statement-negative-atmosphere-israel?tp=25

A powerful editorial from Aish Hatorah:

http://www.aish.com/jw/s/An_Open_Letter_to_the_Beit_Shemesh_Spitter.html

Rabbi Angel’s article:

http://goo.gl/KzAvF

A delightful short film by our Masorti Movement on religious pluralism:

http://masorti.org/media/black_white_video.php

My New Year’s Resolution (and hopefully yours, as well)

Dear friends,

Shoshana, Ari, Eli, and I spent the last week of 2011 in Knoxville visiting with my parents and celebrating my mother’s retirement from a 27-year career in teaching elementary school. At her retirement party, I gave a toast in her honor about the impact she made as a teacher of our country’s youth. I also spoke about the supreme importance of education for “our people”.  Reflecting on that wonderful event and my own remarks, I began to think about my role as a teacher, and more importantly, my role as a student.

Virtually nothing is of higher value for us as Jews than learning. Numerous passages from the mishnah and midrash speak of the importance of learning Torah in order that it will influence and shape us.  The Talmud tells us “study is great for it leads to action”. The learning of Torah can help shape our behavior, even our essential nature, if we are open to allowing it into our souls. When I began learning Torah in earnest 10 years ago I was a very different person than I am today. Of course there are other factors, but learning Torah has most assuredly played a prominent role in my growth as a human being. Like anything else in the world, the more we expose ourselves to particular concepts or ideas, the more they influence us. This is why our tradition encourages us to learn at least a little bit of Torah each day.

Being a daily student of Torah is not nearly as difficult as it might seem, but it is not so easy either. One needs direction and dedication. When ordained as a rabbi at JTS, you choose a previously ordained rabbi, generally a mentor, to give you a blessing. My mentor, Rabbi Martin Cohen gave me two blessings. His first blessing was that I dedicate time to learn Torah every day. Of course, the fact that he chose this blessing for me is telling. Even as a rabbi, engaging in serious Torah-learning every day takes planning. I know that personally, the transition from being a full-time student of Torah to a rabbi was hard on my daily learning. Frequently, I hear Martin’s voice encouraging me to make more time for Torah.

So, in honor of my mother’s retirement from formal teaching and in consonance with my desire to make Torah learning and observance an ever-increasing part of my life, my New Year’s resolution for 2012 is to increase the amount of Torah-learning I do each day. And (you guessed it!) I cordially invite you to join me!  One of the most beautiful aspects of Judaism is that we all share in the obligation of learning Torah and can experience the joy of learning, both on our own or together with friends and fellow congregants. Learning is not just the province of rabbis and scholars. Torah calls to each of our souls, beckoning us to make space in our lives for its wisdom and guidance. Take this opportunity as we begin 2012 to pick up a Jewish book. Sign up for one of the myriad of online sites that will send you some Torah to learn each day. Come to one of our Conversations in Jewish Learning lectures on select Tuesday evenings (see the CBD calendar or events blast). Stay for our weekly learning opportunities on Shabbat afternoon following lunch. Join us in March for our scholar-in-residence weekend with master storyteller Dr. Peninnah Schram.

Most importantly, email or call me if you need suggestions for some individual learning or reading. Nothing would make me happier than to help every single member of Beth David decide on a Jewish book, topic, or theme to explore this year! In just five or ten minutes each day you will be amazed at how much you can learn and the impact that learning can have on your life if you allow it.

May this New Year of 2012 bring blessings of increased Torah-learning, deeper knowledge, and fuller souls to us all.

L’shalom,

Rabbi Philip Ohriner

Some opportunities for Jewish learning

Limmud Bay Area: Feb. 19 and 20 at Asilomar Conference Grounds in Pacific Grove

Register here: http://networkedblogs.com/qTIHQ

A Still-Relevant Hanukkah Thought

Today is the last day of Hanukkah. I’d like to share with you my D’var Torah from the congregation’s annual meeting, since I think its message is relevant year-round.

The broad story of Hanukkah is familiar, but a lesser-known incident early in the First Book of Maccabees echoes down the ages:

Word reaches the king’s forces in Jerusalem of Mattathias’ rebellion. The king’s men set out to the desert hiding place of one group of rebels we know as the Hasidians, or pietists. They refuse to fight on Shabbat, with dire consequences.

With a large force [the king’s army] pursued them and, on coming upon them, they encamped and formed in battle line against them on the Sabbath day, saying to them, “Come out to us and obey the word of the king, and we shall let you live.” They, however, replied, “We shall neither come out nor obey the word of the king to profane the Sabbath day!” Accordingly, they advanced quickly upon them in battle line. But the Jews neither replied to them nor hurled a stone at them nor blocked the entrances to their hiding places, saying, “Let us all die in our innocence. Heaven and earth bear witness over us, that you condemn us unjustly.” They attacked them in battle line on the Sabbath. They were killed with their wives, their children, and their cattle, to the number of one thousand human beings.

When Mattathias and his followers hear of this, after grieving over the losses, they realize that they must make an important decision. Maccabees continues:

They said to one another, “If we all do as our brothers have done and do not fight against the gentiles for our lives and our laws, they will now quickly wipe us off the face of the earth.” On that day they came to a decision: “If any man comes against us in battle on the Sabbath day, we shall fight against him and not all die as our brothers died in their hiding places.”

This is the earliest example we have of the halakhic principle of piku·ah nefesh doheh Shabbat — “Saving of life supersedes Shabbat.” But there is also a deep theological conviction at work here.

As Rabbi Adam Raskin puts it, “A further corollary to the Maccabean theology was the refusal to passively rely on God as the exclusive provider of succor and rescue. In the fundamentalist model, every element of both persecution and salvation was predetermined by God. Human encroachment on that plan was not only useless but heretical. Hanukkah’s audacious theology suggests that humans have ultimate responsibility for their destiny. God is the Source that invigorates their perseverance. God is the Power that inspires their commitments. Rather than humans waiting for God’s intervention, it is God who awaits human action.”

In a particularly fine phrasing, Raskin affirms, “God’s outstretched arm was now the esprit de corps that animated righteous, brave, indeed miraculous human endeavors.”

This idea of partnership with God, that we must be God’s outstretched arm, is an important component of Conservative Judaism. For example, we may not say to a hungry person, “God will provide”—we must stretch out our hands with food and compassion. Likewise, synagogues may not rely on miracles. Synagogue members are called upon to be God’s partners in maintaining and sustaining them. That term we like to use, kehillah kedoshah, sacred community, reflects our partnership with God. Beth David is a kehillah — a community of Jews. We are diverse in our observance, beliefs, and practices, but united by our commitments to Beth David, to Judaism, and the Jewish people. We are also kedoshah—holy, seeking to align with God’s purposes in the world through prayer, life-long Jewish learning, and deeds of lovingkindness.

In both aspects of the synagogue enterprise, God supports our work but God will not provide. We are responsible for supplying the human and financial resources for Beth David to fulfill its mission. That is why we are here today, to learn about the past year, to appreciate what we as a congregation have accomplished, and to elect board members who will continue this holy work. But year-round, we hope that all of our members will feel personally responsible for our kehillah kedoshah, and that this will be reflected in their investments of (as the saying goes) “time, talent, and treasure.”

During Hanukkah, we add one light each night to the hanukkiah, following the practice of Hillel. The Talmud explains: we must increase holiness, never decrease. My prayer for this annual meeting and four our congregation is that it will inspire all of us to increase our involvement in our Kehillah Kedoshah and that the light and spirit we thus create will add holiness and blessing to our lives.

Appreciating the Difference Between Israeli Culture and the Jewish Religion

Dear Friends,

As I noted in my last blog post, there has been a firestorm of debate and commentary on a series of advertisements released by the Ministry of Absorption of the Israeli government aimed at bringing home Israelis living abroad. In sharing my thoughts on these ads, I should begin by saying that I find nothing wrong with these ads in theory. After all, what country does not want their successful, educated expatriates to return home! Personally, I wholeheartedly agree with one part of Jeffery Goldberg’s critique of the ads where he gives his own thoughts on what might have constituted a more fitting approach. As Goldberg writes: “How about, “Hey, come back to Israel because our unemployment rate is half that of the U.S.’s”? Or, “It’s always sunny in Israel”? Or, “Hey, Shmulik, your mother misses you”?”.  These concepts would have provided a similar message without inciting the ire of so many Diaspora Jews.

Content-wise, I found little troubling in the ad about yom hazikaron (Israeli memorial day) and the ad about the Hebrew language. However, the third ad about Hannukah provides tremendous insight into some of the problems within Israel and the way in which Diaspora Judaism is thought about in Israel.

Here is a link to the Hanukkah ad if you have not seen it yet:

http://goo.gl/Kb0wi

If the point of all three ads is to lure Israelis back to Israel, the reasoning implicit in this one is most offensive. This ad implies that a Jewish child raised in the United States is less likely to be a part of the continuity of the Jewish faith than a Jewish child raised in Israel. It implies that if this child’s parents raised her in Israel she would not only know it was Hanukkah but would also be better connected to her religious identity as a Jew. I believe this premise is deeply flawed and speaks volumes about the misconception of the Israeli government regarding Diaspora Judaism and the accepted truth in many Israeli communities. The premise essentially asserts that the survival of Judaism and sole solution to Jewish assimilation is the mass aliyah (immigration to Israel) of Diaspora Jewry and the return of Israelis living abroad. However, living in Israel is certainly no guarantee of religious connection or observance. Even if a non-orthodox Israeli living in Israel is inclined to investigate Jewish spirituality and Jewish living, it is often terribly difficult. As my colleague Rabbi Julie Schonfeld writes in response to the ads, “The Jewish “selves” of Israelis are the constant victims of coercion and harassment from a state-run religious monopoly that impinges on their most precious and private human affairs. Their marriages, their divorces, the burials of their fallen soldiers must be the rabbinate’s way or no way…”

With no positive associations for Jewish religion, what will lead non-orthodox Israeli Jews, known collectively and inaccurately as hilonim (secularists), to seek out Jewish life in Israel, America, or anywhere else in the world? The concern portrayed by this ad is not a product of Israelis living in the Diaspora. Rather, it is an outgrowth of a larger societal problem in Israel, itself.

As the authors of this ad demonstrate, many in Israel cannot separate Israeli culture from Jewish living. I hear it over and over again from Israelis in our own community at Beth David. Many tell me they had no idea how hard it would be to raise their children as Jews in the US. They did not realize the difference between being Israeli and living a life imbued with a sense of meaningful Jewish identity until they were forced to confront this challenge by living outside of Israel.  In Israel it is easy to accept Judaism into the periphery of one’s life while still holding it at a distance. In the Diaspora, Judaism must be grasped with our hands, mind, body, and soul all together. Here, in the Diaspora, Judaism takes hard work and dedication. It is this struggle that makes our connection to our faith strong.

Sure, our children are forcefully confronted by Christmas here in the United States, and yes, this requires us to work hard in helping them develop a healthy Jewish identity.  However, to insinuate that this struggle leaves Jews living in the Diaspora with a deficiency that can only be resolved by moving to Israel displays a tremendous lack of understanding regarding the status of Judaism in both Israel and the Diaspora. As Rabbi Schonfeld notes at the end of her article, the fact that Israelis living in the United States might struggle in finding a way to imbue their children with a strong sense of Jewish (as opposed to cultural) identity says little about living in the Diaspora and much about the state of Judaism in Israel where these expatriates were raised.

It is true, as this ad implies, we cannot be passively Jewish in America. If we do not work diligently and invest in Jewish experience actively, our children will be more interested in the secular culture of Christmas than celebrating their own faith as the ad implies. However, our engagement with Judaism here in the United States, whether as Israeli expatriates, Americans, or immigrants from around the world, actively infusing our lives with Jewish values, Torah learning, and mitzvot is not only necessary for Jewish continuity but also makes us rich in faith.

Living in an American cultural context, the effort we expend every day in bringing Judaism into our children’s lives and our own is something about which we should be proud. The Israeli government would do well to learn what our struggle truly entails, how it makes us stronger Jews, and how our approach to Judaism might help the religious Jewish identity of many living in Israel.

L’shalom,

Rabbi Philip Ohriner

P.S. Here are some funny, if not stereotype-enforcing spoofs making light of the whole situation:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uec_Rrf0B9s&NR=1&feature=endscreen

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jKBSiBVLtX4&feature=related

Jeffrey Goldberg’s article in The Atlantic that broke the story:

http://www.theatlantic.com/international/archive/2011/11/netanyahu-government-suggests-israelis-avoid-marrying-american-jews/249166/#.TtefRK-YooU.facebook

yom hazikaron ad:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FP3gJN_YScM&feature=player_embedded

Hebrew language ad:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KfuUa_yNz9s&feature=related

Christmas ad:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JAkXBULjUCk&feature=endscreen&NR=1

Rabbi Schonfeld’s thoughts in Haaretz:

http://www.haaretz.com/opinion/israelis-lost-sight-of-a-meaningful-jewish-identity-in-the-diaspora-1.399883

My Colleague, Rabbi Gerald Skolnik’s response:

http://www.thejewishweek.com/features/rabbis_world/thoughts_israeli_ad_campaign

Report from the United Synagogue Kallah

On the weekend of December 2^nd-4^th, I attended the United Synagogue Kallah (conference), along with Joanne Cornbleet, Margie Pomerantz, and a special guest appearance by Howard Gannes. This was not a convention, with plenary sessions, elections, or resolutions. Rather, it was a chance for United Synagogue leaders to gather to study and worship together, to reflect on Conservative Judaism and where it is going, and to honor programs and leaders leaders. For now, a few brief impressions.

First, the caliber of the people I met was quite impressive. They were dedicated, knowledgeable, and enthusiastic about Conservative Judaism. Worship with these lay people from across North America was spirited and inspiring. That was, in fact, one of the themes of the event: Jewish worship and how to enrich it. There were various options for each service: traditional, meditation, musical. I went to the musical one, which was led by two remarkable Hazzanim (cantors) and heard some wonderful new melodies. There were two Torah services on Shabbat, one with the full Torah reading and the other with the Triennial reading. I was given the honor of teaching Torah at the Triennial service.

Second, the level of the learning was high. There were many Torah study sessions, and every one that I attended was excellent.

Third, the awarding of the Solomon Schechter awards was very well done. It is always impressive to learn about the creativity in our movement’s synagogues. This was emphasized this year by the decision of the awards committee to single out ten congregation programs for a presentation with slides and narrative. Our Sugihara dedication was one of them. Special thanks to Abe Bromberg who championed this idea.

Our other award was for our wonderful Hazak group, the second time they have received gold level recognition. Howard Gannes made a special effort to travel to San Diego to be there. Many thanks to him and the Hazak steering committee for all they provide for our 55+ members and for the congregation as a whole.

Saturday night USCJ honored Jackie Saltz, who I knew as a wonderful USY youth director fifty years ago (!). She has continued to be dedicated to our youth, and is a vivid, dynamic personality to this day. I enjoyed seeing some of the people who came down from LA to honor her, some of whom I hadn’t seen in decades.

Lastly, on Sunday there was an amazing program: a performance of “Freedom Song,” an original musical from Beit T’Shuvah, a unique is both a residential treatment center for those suffering addiction and a full-service congregation. “Freedom Song” started as a Passover program, and has become a powerful musical play that speaks to anyone struggling to find freedom from addiction. It was a moving close to the weekend.

I stayed for the national board meeting, where new by-laws were adopted, part of the remarkable makeover and renewal that the USCJ is undergoing. I will have more to say about that in my upcoming D’var article. For now, let me conclude by stating how proud I am of Beth David for its two Solomon Schechter awards, and for its many exemplary qualities (something I am reminded of when I speak to people from other places). Yashar Koach (well done!) to us all!

Take a look at the USCJ web site, newly refreshed and full of information: uscj.org

Look in particular for the details of the new strategic plan: http://uscj.org/Aboutus/StrategicPlanning/default.aspx

Read about “Freedom Song” and Beit T’shuvah: http://www.beittshuvah.org/Freedom-Song