The Future of Judaism

In the spring of 1998, when I interviewed for admission to the rabbinical program of the Hebrew Union College, one of the questions that the panel asked me had to do with what would be the greatest threat to Jewish continuity and the Jewish future.

Fourteen years later, I think my answer would be the same: the divisiveness of different Jewish movements threatens to destroy us from within.

At the time of my interview, I was not entirely sure where on the spectrum of Judaism my personal beliefs and practices fell.  Though I had been raised in a Reform household, I had exposed myself to the practices of different denominations of Judaism.  I wasn't sure that some of the innovations of Reform Judaism weren't being made merely for the sake of innovation.  This, I feared, would only grow the chasm between the various movements.

Nowadays, I would point my finger elsewhere as well: Orthodox Jews who conflate minhag (custom) with halachah (law) to assert that certain actions are forbidden, or that certain individuals will never be fully accepted into our community.  Jews who feel that the only way to show compassion for Palestinians is to excoriate and denigrate Israel.  Jews who find that the services and activities of their synagogue don't appeal to or inspire them, and rather than working within to foment change, simply stop attending or affiliating.  I could keep on going...

But while I have my trepidation about the future of Judaism, I also have great hope.  We are seeing wonderful innovative approaches to worship and programming, both within the mainstream movements, and from so-called "post-denominational" corners.  We are seeing the hegemony of Orthodoxy in Israel, which formerly came at the expense of more liberal forms of expression, beginning to erode.  We are seeing more avenues for inclusion of women, gays and lesbians, and non-traditional families.

At our sedarim, we will invite Elijah into our midst, in the hopes that he will herald a messianic age.  But we need not wait for his arrival.  We have the power to transform the world now, to begin building a more promising future.

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Note: This is the conclusion of the #BlogExodus project.  I do plan to continue my blogging, but I'll be taking a brief hiatus for Passover.  I wish everyone a "Zissen Pesach," a Happy Passover.

Is This Night Different From All Others?

The Passover seder is a time for questions.  Beyond the traditional four of the Mah Nishtanah, we encourage participants to be inquisitive about the circumstances surrounding this holiday.  Four times in the Torah, the text tells us that children for generations to come will ask about the meaning of this day (giving rise to the legend of the four children), so ask we must!

This year, I find myself asking a different sort of question, inspired by--yet transcending--the traditional Passover texts.  I am wondering what it will take, how many commemorations of our Festival of Freedom we will need to observe, before all individuals on this planet will enjoy the same freedoms, the same opportunities, the same hope and optimism for the future.

Yesterday was the yahrtzeit of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.  If you are a student of history, you may recall that Dr. King happened to be in Memphis, where his life tragically ended, in support of African-American sanitation workers who were on strike for better working conditions.  Presciently, Dr. King delivered what has come to be known as his "Mountaintop Speech," highlighting the achievements that had already been won, while also looking forward to the future that he recognized he might not be around to see.

Dr. King said, in part:

we have been forced to a point where we are going to have to grapple with the problems that men have been trying to grapple with through history, but the demands didn't force them to do it...if something isn't done, and done in a hurry, to bring the colored peoples of the world out of their long years of poverty, their long years of hurt and neglect, the whole world is doomed...We aren't engaged in any negative protest and in any negative arguments with anybody. We are saying that we are determined to be men. We are determined to be people. We are saying -- We are saying that we are God's children. And that we are God's children, we don't have to live like we are forced to live.

The problems that Dr. King preached about in the Civil Rights movement are problems that defined the relationship between Egyptians and Israelites in the days leading up to the Exodus; they define the conflict between those who support George Zimmerman and those who support Trayvon Martin; they define the upcoming presidential election in this country and they define politics on the global stage.

And the question remains, what will you do, what will each of us do, to shift the discussion, to change the problem.  How can this night indeed be different from all other nights?

Count on This...

People love to make lists.  Even before David Letterman turned Top Ten Lists into an art form, people were counting and categorizing information, organizing it into hierarchies.  There's something intrinsically satisfying about processing data in this manner.

But sometimes all that counting and listing can backfire.  The Tanach seems to say that counting is fraught with danger (at various junctures, a plague occurs following a census),  and suggests that other means--for instance, a tax collection--be used for determining the numbers of the Israelites, rather than a direct head count.  A superstition persists that rather than counting individuals in a minyan, you should say, "Not one, not two, not three..." or count according to a ten-word verse from scripture, in order to avoid the evil eye.

So, it is with a mixture of curiosity, skepticism, and concern that I read the list of "America's Top Rabbis for 2012" published by The Daily Beast and Newsweek.  The list, which has existed for a few years now, is compiled by Gary Ginsberg, executive vice president of Time Warner; Michael Lynton, CEO of Sony Corporation of America; Abigail Pogrebin, a former producer for 60 Minutes; and Raphael Magarik, an editor at the Daily Beast.  The group offers the disclaimer that they never intended the list to be taken quite as seriously as it is, and that it's entirely subjective.  They base their selection on innovation, the size of the rabbis' constituencies, impact, fame, and other criteria.

There are 50 slots for rabbis on this list (some rabbis are grouped together, making for more than 50 individuals listed).  Sixteen of the slots are occupied by Reform rabbis, most of whom I know in some capacity.  I am fairly certain that no one actively lobbied to be included on this list, so I do not mean my critique of the list to in any way impugn the individuals who are profiled therein.  Nor do I want to appear that I am saying this out of any sense of "sour grapes."

There are many things that go into being a wonderful rabbi.  Some are very public and visible.  Other things necessarily occur "behind the scenes."  The wonderful pastoral presence you encounter from your rabbi when he or she visits you at a moment of illness or a time of grief cannot be fully quantified, nor can anyone who was not present in that moment fully understand what it meant.  The handholding that a rabbi does with a nervous Bar or Bat Mitzvah student may not be visible in the actual (hopefully well-polished) leadership of the worship service.  There are numerous other unquantifiable yet meaningful moments that a rabbi may have with an individual--to say nothing of the rabbis who are doing incredibly meaningful work outside of traditional synagogues or institutions.

As Cantor Evan Kent so eloquently put it:

The top rabbi is the one who comforts your mother as she's dying in the hospital room; the top rabbi is the one who demands that you seek justice and you do; the top rabbi is a a rabbi who leads you toward a life of mitzvot and talmud torah; the top rabbi is the rabbi who blesses your daughter in front of the ark on the day of her Bat Mitzvah and leaves such an impression that your daughter seeks to learn more about her heritage and religion; the top rabbi is one who stops to answer the preschoolers question about "Where does God live...?"; the top rabbi is one who-along with the cantor- transforms worship into that which touches the heart, embraces the soul and leaves you forever transformed; the top rabbi is in short all the hardworking professionals who toil each and every day to create communities where Judaism is alive, where learning is real, where the prophetic vision lives daily, and where all all welcomed, diversity is celebrated, and ego is cast aside.

The same goes, I would add, for cantors and other Jewish professionals.  Some things just weren't meant to be categorized and counted.

What's Plaguing You?

Ever since people got the idea of moving beyond the classic Maxwell House Haggadah to jazz up their sedarim in some manner, the question has been posed: "What are the plagues of modern society?"

Many have pondered this, and have come up with answers far more creative and eloquent than I might devise.  So I'm certainly not claiming to be breaking any new ground with this post.  In my opinion, though, one of the greatest plagues of the modern era is our inability to engage in civil discourse.  Whatever your political, religious, or social stripe, I think it is not hard to recognize that there are those in every camp who are so convinced that their manner of thinking represents the only conceivable truth that they are unwilling to permit any dialogue that might run counter to these beliefs.  Certainly it can be admirable to cling to one's convictions in the face of adversity, but our society was made great by the willingness of many in generations to accept a diversity of viewpoints, and to strive toward compromise.

Historian Doris Kearns Goodwin titled her biography of Abraham Lincoln Team of Rivals, based on the courageous decision of our 16th president to appoint those whom he had bested in the 1860 Republican primary to positions of prominence in his administration.  Edward Bates became Attorney General; William Seward became Secretary of State; and Salmon P. Chase became Secretary of the Treasury.  By seeking the counsel of his former opponents, Lincoln strove to overcome divisiveness and welcome the views of those who differed from him.  While an imperfect system, it certainly seems preferable to the gridlock driven by animosity that seems to be the rule of today.

It makes me think of the satirist Tom Lehrer, who sang of National Brotherhood Week, noting that "to hate all of the right folks is an old established rule."

One can go to Egypt today and not encounter blood, frogs, and the like.  Eventually, sanity was restored to that nation.  Similarly, one can hope that we can overcome this modern plague and restore harmony in our lives.

Greenery

A congregant recently shared a joke with me: "In Seattle, what do you call the day that follows two days of cold and rain?"  The answer?  "Monday."

The Seattle stereotype is that we are the "Rain City."  In fact, we rank far below Baltimore, Boston, Detroit, and New York in average annual precipitation, measured in inches.  But, the perception sticks.  And while we complain from time-to-time, most of us are willing to "stick it out" (you rarely see a true Seattle resident using an umbrella) because we know what the benefit is: the rains of winter and spring give rise to lush greenery during the summer-- bright trees and flowers, ripe berries, and other produce of the Pacific Northwest couldn't exist without that rain.

Joe Raposo's "Bein' Green," originally composed for Kermit the Frog to sing on Sesame Street, and re-recorded by numerous artists over the years, begins with a lament about being green, before the bridge leads us to a message of hope:

But green is the color of spring
And green can be cool and friendly-like
And green can be big like a mountain
Or important like a river
Or tall like a tree.

And the song concludes:

When green is all there is to be
It could tend to make you wonder why
But why wonder, why wonder?
I am green, and it'll do fine
It's beautiful, and I think it's what I want to be

So, why wonder?  Enjoy the rebirth of spring, and enjoy being green.

Please note: I do not own the video below and make no claim to it...copyrights belong to all applicable owners.

Courage...

When we think of the Exodus from Egypt, we often recount the midrashic tale of Nachshon ben Amminadav.  According to the rabbis, when the Israelites reached the shore of the Sea of Reeds, Moses raised his staff, as God had instructed, in order to make the waters part.  But nothing happened.  With the sea roiling before them, and Pharaoh's charioteers quickly approaching the rear of the camp, the people began to panic.  But Nachshon, the rabbis say, found the bravery to tread into the water, though the sea had not yet split.  He waded in up to his knees, then his waist, then his nose.  And slowly, people found themselves inclined to follow, and their collective show of faith in God finally made the waters part.


Certainly, it took courage for Nachshon to take those first steps.  But what of the second Israelite who followed him?  What of the final Israelite who stepped onto the dry seabed, seeing the Egyptians in hot pursuit?


Not all of us will be the trailblazers.  But whether we undertake a task for the first time or the fiftieth, we can have pride in our accomplishments.  For even the smallest action may represent an act of courage and faith.  Having the courage to be different, to face a challenge, and to innovate, changes us.  We transform from being mere spectators watching the world go by to being significant contributors, working in partnership with God to make this world a better place.

Here's to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The trouble-makers. The round pegs in the square holes.  The ones who see things differently. They're not fond of rules, and they have no respect for the status-quo. You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify, or vilify them. About the only thing you can't do is ignore them. Because they change things. They push the human race forward. And while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world - are the ones who do.

What makes the Hottentot so hot? What puts the "ape" in apricot? What have they got that I ain't got? 

Won't You Help Me Sing These Songs of Freedom?

One week from tonight, we'll be sitting down to our sedarim, reliving the moment of redemption as though we ourselves were experiencing it.

And in many ways, it's not a stretch of the imagination.  Though we likely have not known (fortunately) the physical constraints of being in bondage, we certainly have known what it is like to be redeemed.  As Dan Nichols sings, "We all need to know redemption from a hand stronger than our own."

It is human nature to make mistakes.  And it is in the nature of God to accept us back in love when we seek to atone for those mistakes.  Time and again, we are found meritorious of God's blessing--if not through our own actions, then through zchut avoteinu v'imoteinu, the merits of our ancestors.  God offers us redemption from our foibles and errors so that we may learn from our missteps and try to grow from them.  Thus, "By the hand of the Almighty/ We forward in this generation/ Triumphantly."

So, won't you help me sing these songs of freedom?

Freedom

And an orator said, Speak to us of Freedom.
And he answered:
At the city gate and by your fireside I have seen you prostrate yourself and worship your own freedom,
Even as slaves humble themselves before a tyrant and praise him though he slays them.
Ay, in the grove of the temple and in the shadow of the citadel I have seen the freest among you wear their freedom as a yoke and a handcuff.
And my heart bled within me; for you can only be free when even the desire of seeking freedom becomes a harness to you, and when you cease to speak of freedom as a goal and a fulfillment.
You shall be free indeed when your days are not without a care nor your nights without a want and a grief,
But rather when these things girdle your life and yet you rise above them naked and unbound.
And how shall you rise beyond your days and nights unless you break the chains which you at the dawn of your understanding have fastened around your noon hour?
In truth that which you call freedom is the strongest of these chains, though its links glitter in the sun and dazzle your eyes.
And what is it but fragments of your own self you would discard that you may become free?
If it is an unjust law you would abolish, that law was written with your own hand upon your own forehead.
You cannot erase it by burning your law books nor by washing the foreheads of your judges, though you pour the sea upon them.
...
And if it is a care you would cast off, that care has been chosen by you rather than imposed upon you.
And if it is a fear you would dispel, the seat of that fear is in your heart and not in the hand of the feared.
...

-Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet, 1923

Food for thought during Zman Cheiruteinu, the season of our freedom.

Slavery

Driving to work today, I saw a sight that upset me, but sadly did not surprise me: a well-dressed man, driving a fairly new-looking luxury sedan, rolled down his window and threw a wadded-up fast food bag onto the median as he turned off the highway exit ramp onto a major street.

I was stopped at a traffic light opposite the scene, so I wasn't sure what I had really witnessed.  Giving the man the benefit of the doubt, I thought that perhaps he was attempting to give his leftover breakfast to the homeless man standing there.  As my light changed and I drew closer, however, I discovered the truth: the man was merely a lazy litterbug.

Much has been written about trying to understand slavery in a modern context.  Some argue that we are slaves to social media and/or electronic devices, others that we are slaves to popular culture and the mass media.  I think, however, that the above example illustrates that in addition to all these things, we are becoming slaves to the cult of the self.

The environmental impact of the trash he discarded had no effect on the litterbug; he was just thinking about getting to his destination and having an uncluttered car.  In a similar vein much of our societal interactions nowadays are transactional-- you want me to support this cause, buy this product, vote for this candidate, join this committee?  Well, what's in it for me?

When we fall victim to this form of slavery, we run the risk of becoming like the rasha, the "wicked" son of the Passover seder.  He asks, "What does all this mean to you?"  In his self-absorption, he separates himself from the community, making himself unworthy of redemption in the eyes of the rabbis.

Kol Yisrael arevim zeh ba-zeh, we are taught: all Jews are responsible for one another; our fates are intertwined.  Only by putting the needs of the community before our own personal needs and desires can we remain strong, standing up to oppressors, and avoiding any future slavery--spiritual or literal--that others might seek to impose upon us.

Learning and Teaching

Two of my teachers from my time at the Hebrew Union College (HUC, the Reform rabbinic seminary) passed away recently.  They could not have been more different men, but both of them shaped my life and the lives of countless other students who passed through the Cincinnati campus of HUC.

Dr. David Weisberg was a professor of Bible and Semitic languages for over 45 years at the college.  I studied with him in a pair of elective courses that looked at the megillot (scroll books) of the Hebrew Bible.  Though earlier in his career, he had acquired a reputation as a tough--occasionally cruel--teacher, by the time I studied with him the years had mellowed him.  His patient and kind demeanor even with students who were ill-prepared was a distinguishing characteristic, and he treated everyone warmly, often greeting people with "my dear friend," or later, "my esteemed colleague," without any hint of irony or condescension.

Dr. Herbert Paper was already an emeritus professor by the time I arrived in Cincinnati.  He was a scholar of Yiddish, and had been one of the first in the U.S. to teach the language at the university level.  He was at the college for 22 years, but had begun his career at the University of Michigan.

I later learned that during his tenure in Ann Arbor, Dr. Paper studied Yiddish informally with a native speaker: my great-grandfather.  It's nice to know that my family contributed to Dr. Paper's scholarship in this manner.

I never actually took a class from Dr. Paper, but I still learned a great deal from him.  He had become quite a raconteur, roaming the library and sharing his stories with students.  His most oft-told tales regarded his military service in Calcutta, India (which he compared to an unprintable body part), and his story of being one of the only modern Jews to actually celebrate the holiday of Purim in Persia.  Many HUC alumni can likely recite these stories from rote.

At a dinner reunion of classmates at the recent conference of the CCAR (Central Conference of American Rabbis), my friends and I toasted the memory of our two teachers.  From them we learned practical rabbinic matters, yes.  We learned the value of a good story.  But most of all, we learned how to be a mensch.

Y'hi zichram baruch.  May the memory of these teachers be a blessing.

Identifying the Chametz in Our Lives

The second of my #BlogExodus entries is a little late...but it's still before midnight on the west coast.

Many Jews go to great lengths to rid their homes of chametz (leavened foods) during Passover.  And that's a significant endeavor, as it follows the letter of the law laid out in the Torah: "Chametz shall not be seen within your territory [during Passover]" (Exodus 13:7)

But what of the spirit of the law?  Other forms of chametz can enter our lives and distract us from the things upon which we should be focused.  Think of this sort of chametz as extraneous things-- like leaven in our baked goods, these things are nice, but not essential to survival.

Admittedly, I'm in somewhat of a glass house here.  I like my gadgets and toys as much as the next person.  But on Pesach, I try to also be mindful of those who are not as fortunate as I am.  The rabbis of the Talmud teach us that our commemoration of Passover should not merely be a history lesson, as though the events we recount are rooted firmly in the past.  Rather, each individual is to live as though he or she were personally present at the moment of the Exodus; as though he or she was personally redeemed from slavery.  Embracing this mindset allows us, perhaps, to be more sensitive to the needs of others, and more reflective upon the chametz impacting our own lives.

The gentleman below is Don Edwards from New Orleans, Louisiana.  He lives in the Holy Cross Neighborhood of New Orleans, a predominantly African-American neighborhood that is in one of the lower basins in that city.  An artist and photographer, Don had purchased a house to use as his residence and studio.  When the levees broke following Hurricane Katrina, the house was heavily damaged by the water and was almost a total loss.

Since 2009, I've taken a group of congregants to New Orleans each spring to help with the ongoing rebuilding effort.  We've been working with Don, who gutted the house down to the studs and is determined to restore it.  This man, who has lost nearly everything, welcomes volunteers with coffee, cookies, bottles of water, and other accoutrements of hospitality.  His story and his resilience are mirrored by so many others whom I've met in the Holy Cross Neighborhood.

I'll be thinking of Don this Passover as I give thanks for what I have and consider what in my life might be nothing more than chametz.