Category Archives: Divrei Torah

DON’T EAT THE STORK!

01 Friday Apr 2016

Posted by in American Jewish Life, American Politics and Life, Divrei Torah, Ethics, Health and Well-Being, Jewish Identity, Musings about God/Faith/Religious life, Social Justice, Women's Rights

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Is it true that ‘we are what we eat?’

Judaism says “yes!” That’s why, many commentators say, our consumption of animals of prey is prohibited (see citations below).

This week’s Torah portion Sh’mini (Leviticus 9:1-11:47) lists many of these non-kosher animals as well as other dos and don’ts of kosher eating. Though tradition acquiesces to what a number of sages acknowledge is a fundamental human weakness (i.e. the craving for meat), many of our kosher laws seek to counteract and contain our unchecked tendency towards avarice, cruelty and violence, and instead encourage us to cultivate greater sensitivity, empathy and compassion for animals.

The category of rabbinic law that concerns the suffering of animals is called Tza-ar ba’alei chayim. Many halachot (rabbinic laws) oversee our treatment of and care for animals. The kosher ideal is not for us to be omnivores. Rather, vegetarianism is the greater goal based on the standard of the first humans in paradise (the Garden of Eden) who ate only what was grown there.

Of all the kosher prohibitions listed in the book of Leviticus, one bird, however, is forbidden to eat, and it’s a curiosity given its name and the notion that we are what we eat. We read:

“The following you shall abominate among the birds – they shall not be eaten….the eagle, vulture, black vulture; kit, falcons, raven, ostrich, nighthawk, sea gull; hawks of all kinds; little owl, cormorant, great owl; white owl, pelican, bustard; stork, herons of all kinds, hoopoe, and bat.” (Leviticus 11:13-19)

These are birds of prey and are forbidden for human consumption lest, our sages teach, we absorb the animal’s predatory nature. If so, what is it about this particular bird, called chasidah (the stork or “graceful swan”) that’s so heinous? Why is it included in this list along with eagles, vultures and other carnivorous flying creatures?

Rashi, citing Rabbi Judah, also asked: “…why is it called chasidah?” He answered: “Because it acts with kindness (chasidut) towards its friends, sharing its food with them.” (Bavli, Hullin 63a)

Since the swan/stork is compassionate by nature, why shouldn’t it be kasher (lit. “fit to be eaten by Jews”)? Perhaps, because though the white stork is good and generous to its friends, it isn’t generous to strangers.

The stork is a bird apart – beautiful, inspiring flights of imagination in ballet, poetry, and Disney animated features (remember the storks in Dumbo delivering babies to families?!), but such qualities can also be accompanied by arrogance and disregard for others. Though empathetic to its own, the stork lacks greater empathy and understanding for those different from itself.

Torah tradition seeks to nurture within the human heart empathy for those who are like us and not like us, friend and foe. It’s easy for most of us to relate with patience and kindness to our families, friends and communities. A far more difficult challenge is for us to be understanding and empathetic towards the stranger, those different from us, who don’t share our language, values, goals, and aspirations; those down on their luck, the poor, the single welfare mother and her children, the disabled, the unemployed and under-employed, the immigrant, people of color, LGBTQ, the uneducated, the fearful and angry, the Palestinian, the Syrian and Muslim refugee, and on and on and on.

The non-kosher classification of the swan/stork reminds us who we are not supposed to be, and that it’s our moral obligation to push ourselves beyond our comfort zones and transcend our worlds for the sake of the “other” who is very different from us.

Shabbat shalom.

See also: Genesis 9:3-4 and Leviticus 17:10-12 (prohibition against the consumption of blood), Exodus, 12:14-15 (leaven during Pesach), 23:19 (boiling the kid in the milk of its mother) , Deuteronomy 12:20-25 (permission to eat meat and prohibition against the consumption of blood), 14:3-20  and Deuteronomy 14:21 (land animals and water creatures), Leviticus 22:28 and Deuteronomy 22:6-7 (compassion towards the mother animal), Bavli Gittin 62a, Berachot 40a, Maimonides’ Guide for the Perplexed Part III, Chapter 48 and Sefer HaChinuch Law 148 (rationale for keeping kosher),

 

Gratitude – A Poem for Parashat Yitro

29 Friday Jan 2016

Posted by in Divrei Torah, Musings about God/Faith/Religious life, Poetry

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How you lifted me
Upon eagles’ wings
When I despaired
I’d not recover
Nor swoon over grandchildren.

You swooped down
And plucked me from the pit
As a father snatches a child
From a dangerous sea
And a bird hovers over her nest
Turning tenderness into ferocity
When her fledgling is threatened.

In an instant I
Forlorn
Was restored to life.

So swiftly you came
Streaking across skies
To set me gently
Upon pinions
And shield me
From malignancy
And hunter’s arrows
From inert Sheol
And loneliness
Relentlessly beckoning
Like gravity on lead.

Higher than mountains
You lifted me
Insignificant and small
You robed in grandeur
Aided by healers
You attending from Your perch
Drawing me close
To them and You.

How can I repay them for my restored life?
How can I praise You?

Poem by Rabbi John L. Rosove – inspired by Exodus 19:4

Before and After Sinai – A poem for B’shallach

22 Friday Jan 2016

Posted by in Divrei Torah, Musings about God/Faith/Religious life, Poetry

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Eternal One
Was not Moses your intimate friend
With whom you spoke ‘Face to face’
Who You sent To Pharaoh
To diminish his name
That Yours might prevail over all the earth?

Was he not Your trusted Shepherd
Who stood before despots on Your behalf
And in humility before You?

Why did You betray him?
Moses suffered because he measured himself
Against Your image.

He was Your voice
Your extended hand
Your fingers touching
Water, air, fire, and earth.

You worked against him
Constantly,
Callously,
Using him,
Stiffening Pharaoh’s heart,
Showing You as the only One,
Reversing creation,
Devastating worlds,
Polluting waters,
Destroying crops,
Killing beasts,
Darkening the future.

You made him redeemer to lead the people
And drag them through salt water walls,
In mud and muck birthing them
As You drowned all of Egypt.

The people needed Your fist
But they didn’t change.
They complained at Meribah
Where You ordered Moses to hit the rock
And he did as you commanded.

Your strong hand and arm
Held close to Your breast
You fed them manna
And sated them from Miriam’s wells.

You brought them into the wild
Led them to Sinai
Gave them words
To be a holy nation
Your treasured possession
A nation of souls.

Years rolled by
Miriam died
The waters dried
The people complained
Again.

Moses was old
Tired and worn
Long past his prime.
You told him to speak to the rock
Out of covenantal faith
Permitting the waters to flow freely.

You knew his mind and his weariness.
You knew he would beat the rock
With his stick and water would flow
Surprised – You were enraged
And You denied Moses his dream
To enter the land.

Poor Moses
He did all you commanded.
He was your friend
But You consigned him away to a lonely death
On a lowly mountain.

We, his descendants
Await the day
When the Word will be stronger
Than the fist.

It will be a very long time
Far longer than 40 years.

Poem by Rabbi John L. Rosove

When Religion Turns People into Murderers

12 Tuesday Jan 2016

Posted by in American Jewish Life, American Politics and Life, Book Recommendations, Divrei Torah, Israel and Palestine, Israel/Zionism, Jewish History, Jewish Identity, Jewish-Christian Relations, Jewish-Islamic Relations, Musings about God/Faith/Religious life, Social Justice

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“When religion turns [people] into murderers, God weeps.”

So begins Rabbi Jonathan Sacks in his important new book (publ. 2015) “Not in God’s Name – Confronting Religious Violence.”

This rich volume is a response to those who believe that religion is the major source of violence in the world, that when humankind abolishes religion the world will become a more peaceful place.

Not everyone, of course, interprets religion this way. Yes, there are violent streams to be found in each of the fundamental texts in Judaism (Tanakh), Christianity (New Testament) and Islam (Qoran), but he writes: “Religion itself teaches us to love and forgive, not to hate and fight.”

He challenges all faith traditions to rethink their respective truths: “As Jews, Christians and Muslims, we have to be prepared to ask the most uncomfortable questions. Does the God of Abraham want his disciples to kill for his sake? Does he demand human sacrifice? Does he rejoice in holy war? Does he want us to hate our enemies and terrorize unbelievers? Have we read our sacred texts correctly? What is God saying to us, here, now?”

At its core, Rabbi Sacks affirms that religion links people together, emotionally, behaviorally, intellectually, morally, and spiritually so as to develop a sense of greater belonging, group solidarity and identity. Most conflicts have nothing to do with religion when understood this way. Rather, conflicts are about power, territory, honor, and glory.

Rabbi Sacks describes dualism as the primary corrupting idea within the three monotheistic traditions. It’s easier, he says, for people to attribute suffering to an outside evil force and not as something inherent within God and basic to the human condition. Seeing the world as “Us” vs “Them” and Good vs Evil may resolve inner angst and complexity, but it’s a false resolution of conflict. Taken to its extreme, fear of the “other” leads to hatred and violence, and when justified by faith results in “altruistic evil.”

“Pathological dualism does three things. It makes you dehumanize and demonize your enemies. It leads you to see yourself as victim. And it allows you to commit altruistic evil, killing in the name of the God of life, hating in the name of the God of love and practicing cruelty in the name of the God of compassion. It is a virus that attacks the moral sense. Dehumanization destroys empathy and sympathy. It shuts down the emotions that prevent us from doing harm…. Victimhood deflects moral responsibility. It leads people to say: It wasn’t our fault, it was theirs. Altruistic evil recruits good people to a bad cause. It turns ordinary human beings into murderers in the name of high ideas.”

Rabbi Sacks reflects on the history of the Jew as scapegoat and the role that antisemitism has played as a reflection of the breakdown of culture: “The scapegoat is the mechanism by which a society deflects violence away from itself by focusing it on an external victim. Hence, wherever you find obsessive, irrational, murderous antisemitism, there you will find a culture so internally split and fractured that if its members stopped killing Jews they would start killing one another. Dualism becomes lethal when a group of people, a nation or a faith, feel endangered by internal conflict.”

Rabbi Sacks sites the bizarre story of Csanad Szegedi, a young leader in the ultra-nationalist Hungarian political party, Jobbik, which has been described as fascist, neo-Nazi, racist, and antisemitic. One day, however, in 2012, Szegedi discovered he was a Jew and that half his family were murdered in the Holocaust. His grandparents were survivors of Auschwitz and were once Orthodox Jews, but decided to hide their identity.

Upon learning of his Jewish past, Szegedi resigned from the party, found a local Chabad rabbi with whom to study, became Shabbat observant, learned Hebrew, took on the name Dovid, and underwent circumcision.

Szegedi’s understanding of the world changed completely. Rabbi Sacks explains that “To be cured of potential violence towards the Other, I must be able to imagine myself as the Other.” Before Szegedi’s conversion, he could not empathize with the “other,” the stranger. Now he had become the stranger, the despised Jew.

Rabbi Sacks looks carefully at all the stories of sibling rivalries in the book of Genesis, and explains that God appreciates each child differently and for each has a blessing. The world as conceived in the Hebrew Bible is not a zero-sum game. The struggle for power, position and ultimate Truth is false. Whereas love characterizes relationships within a tribal unit, justice is the demand for humanity as a whole – and both can and must co-mingle thus allowing for individual/group identity and the greater human family.

Rabbi Sacks addresses his book to all the faith traditions, but most especially, he says, to the moderate Islamic world that shares with us our Jewish religious values, and he calls upon them to stand up against ISIS, Hamas, Hezbollah, Iran, and other purveyors of fear, intolerance, hatred, and violence.

It would have been worthwhile for Rabbi Sacks to ask moderate Israelis and the liberal Jewish community abroad to imagine what it is like for Palestinians to live under the Israeli military administration in the West Bank on the one hand, and to ask Palestinian moderates to imagine living with the constant threat of extremist Islam to destroy the state of Israel and the Zionist enterprise on the other. Perhaps, if more would do that, to step into the shoes of the “other,” a two-state solution to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict might come about more quickly.

Flames Kindled – A Poem for the Shabbat in Hanukah

11 Friday Dec 2015

Posted by in American Jewish Life, Divrei Torah, Holidays, Inuyim - Prayer reflections and ruminations, Jewish Identity, Musings about God/Faith/Religious life, Poetry

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Flames kindled
This Shabbat-Hanukah night

Hanukah wicks flickering
Casting street-light

Shabbat flames dancing
Illuminating soul-sight

Hanukah – God descends
Shabbat – Jews ascend
Claiming every n’shamah
Sparks seeking light

Shabbat-Hanukah flames kindled
Lifting Israel
Burning bright
Glorious night!

Composed by Rabbi John L. Rosove

FORGIVENESS – Joseph and His Brothers

04 Friday Dec 2015

Posted by in Divrei Torah, Poetry, Stories

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I can’t stop dreams coming in the night
Even while awake I gaze towards light
My mother died my father sighed
And wondered about my dreams

Trusting a man along the way
I found my brothers lying in wait
To banish me from family and home
And send me far away

They could not utter even my name
They cast me down and spat me away
They broke my father’s heart
As they claimed I passed away

My name was written already in stars
But I became a slave and scarred
As flesh in a woman’s lustful heart
Who also cast me away

Her master incensed sent me to Sheol
But still a seer I glimpsed a glow
And blessings bubbled into my dreams
As I wondered about my way

Alas I was given a royal reprieve
And brought to a place beside the King
I served him long and faithfully
But continued to dream my dreams

My heart shut down over twenty odd years
My love poured into cold desert tears
I amassed great power and instilled such fear
While serving at the pleasure of the King

My brothers came their faces forlorn
Begging for bread before the throne
Thinking me Viceroy with scepter in hand
Not Joseph of their family clan

As my father re-dug his father’s wells
Seeing my brothers the waters swelled
Into my steeped-up and hardened heart
I opened to love again

I forgave them all and brought them near
Saved them from their desert fears
Settled them safely amongst their peers
As God intended all those years

  • Composed by Rabbi John Rosove

Jacob’s Dream and His Emergence into a Man of Faith

19 Thursday Nov 2015

Posted by in Divrei Torah, Ethics, Inuyim - Prayer reflections and ruminations, Musings about God/Faith/Religious life, Stories

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Jacob’s destiny was set from birth and would come at a price. As his mother Rebekah’s troubled twin pregnancy came to an end and the babies were born, Jacob holding Esau’s heel suggesting a strong pre-natal desire to be born first and become the future leader of the tribe. In a clever commentary, Rashi (11th century, France) says that the scene reflects a primogeniture truth, that Jacob was actually conceived first, though he came out second, much as a pebble dropped into a tube first will come out second when the tube is inverted.

Despite being second-born, tradition asserts that Jacob’s spiritual potential merited his assuming first-born rights, and it also suggests that Rebecca knew that Esau, a hunter, lacked the requisite sensitivity, gentility, vision, and prophetic capacity to lead the tribe, whereas Jacob possessed all those virtues.

Jacob’s dream event that opens this week’s portion Vayetze (Genesis 28:10-22) signals the beginning of a new stage in Jacob’s life. He had just fled in fear from an enraged Esau, was alone in the mountains, unsure of himself and exhausted. He fell asleep and dreamed of ladders and angels.

This dream sequence is filled with powerful religious imagery, suggestion and mythic archetypes. The stones Jacob placed under his head are symbolic of what Carl Jung called the Ego, the limited “I” of Jacob, a man still unaware of the implicate order linking the material and metaphysical worlds. The top of the ladder represents what Jung called the integrated Self which unifies the conscious and unconscious into a non-dualistic cosmos.

When Jacob went to sleep using stones as a kind of pillow, we suspect that something unusual is about to happen, that he is on the cusp of new self-consciousness. Lo and behold, he sees angels ascending (representing his yearning for something greater than himself) and angels descending (representing God’s outreach towards him), Rabbi Heschel’s idea of God’s pathos and the Prophet’s empathy.

When Jacob awoke from the dream and opened his eyes, he was astonished: “Surely God is in this place, va’anochi lo yadati, and I did not know it! … How awesome is this place! This is none other than the abode of God, and this is the gateway to heaven.” (28:16-17)

The beginning of any religious experience requires us to understand that we know nothing at all. In Hebrew “I” is ani (anochi is a variant form), and when we rearrange the letters – aleph, nun, yod – we spell ain, (meaning “nothing”). The religious person must transform the “I” of the  ego into a great Self in which the individual becomes part of God’s Oneness. Jacob’s sudden awareness results in his newfound humility and is a prerequisite to the development of his faith.

Despite the spiritual potency of this experience, Jacob remains unaware (i.e. he lacks access to his full unconscious – that is, the integrated Jungian Self) and his faith is conditional. He says, “If God remains with me, if God protects me…, and gives me bread to eat and clothing to wear, and if I return safe … the Eternal shall be my God.” (28:20-21)

One of the consistent themes throughout the Genesis narratives is that in order for Biblical figures to grow in faith they had to suffer trials. As a protected child of his mother, Jacob had been pampered. However, in being forced to flee for his life from the brother he wronged, Jacob became aware of the shadow (Jung’s term denoting that part of the unconscious consisting of repressed weaknesses, shortcomings and instincts) in which he lived and which would envelop him for the next twenty years. Then he met a being divine and human at the river Jabbok and emerged with a new name, Yisrael – the one who perseveres with God.

From Jacob’s birth to next week’s encounter at the river we witness the patriarch’s evolution from the unconsciousness of his childhood to greater awareness, from a self-centered trickster to the bearer of the covenant. As he progressed he learned to view the world through the eyes of faith as he stood at heaven’s gate.

Shabbat Shalom!

Note: This is an edited version of my 2011 blog.

“We Don’t Want You Here!” – Bereaved Palestinian and Israeli Parents Speak to J Street

26 Thursday Mar 2015

Posted by in American Jewish Life, American Politics and Life, Divrei Torah, Ethics, Israel and Palestine, Israel/Zionism, Jewish History, Jewish Identity, Social Justice, Stories

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“Anachnu lo rotzim etchem po — Ma bidnaash an takuunu hone! — We don’t want you here!”

30 Israeli and Palestinian men, women, and children spoke these words alternately in Hebrew and Arabic in a short film shown to 3000 delegates of the J Street National Convention in Washington, D.C. this past week. Each person had lost a close family member to Palestinian or Israeli violence, and they wanted no more to join them in grief.

At the film’s conclusion, Robi Damelin and Bassam Aramin walked arm-in-arm onto the stage.

Robi is an Israeli mother whose 28 year-old son David, a student who was working on his masters in the Philosophy of Education at Tel Aviv University, was murdered by a Palestinian sniper a few years ago. The murderer had witnessed the killing of his uncle when he was a child, and when he was grown stepped onto a path of revenge and took David’s and 9 other Israeli lives.

Bassam is a Palestinian father whose 10 year-old daughter, Abir, was shot dead by an Israeli border policemen in 2007 as she walked down the street with her sister and two friends after buying sweets in a shop across the road from her school in the West Bank village of Anata at the end of a math exam.

When David was murdered, the first words his devastated mother spoke were: “Do not take revenge in the name of my son…get out of the occupied territories.”

Robi and Bassam are the Israeli and Palestinian Spokespersons for The Parents Circle, a group of bereaved Israeli and Palestinian parents who have lost children to violence (see http://www.theparentscircle.com/). They say, “There is no military solution to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict… More war creates more victims on both sides … The power of Israel and the resistance of the Palestinians doesn’t work. We need to sit down and negotiate.”

J Street is a pro-Israel pro-peace American organization based in Washington, D.C. that advocates before Congress and the President the necessity of a two-state solution to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. J Street has 180,000 members, a college division of thousands of students on 125 American campuses, 60 chapters in cities around the country, and a rabbinic cabinet, that I co-chair, of 850 rabbis from across the religious streams of American Jewish life.

J Street represents, however, the opinions of far more American Jews (and many thousands of Israelis) than its membership numbers reflect. J Street’s positions are held by roughly 70% of the American Jewish community who believe that a two-state solution to the Israel-Palestinian conflict is in Israel’s best long-term interests. J Street has endorsed more than 90 members of Congress (its endorsees are growing by roughly 15-20% in each Congressional cycle) who agree with J Street’s principles and who have welcomed J Street as a pro-Israel organization that does not necessarily agree with every policy position taken by any particular Israeli government or Prime Minister.

Like Robi and Bassam, J Street recognizes that there is no military solution to this conflict, that the only way Israel will remain secure, Jewish and democratic is in a negotiated two-state end-of-conflict agreement.

Specifically, J Street agrees with the broad consensus of the international community of what a two-state solution will look like. The border will be drawn roughly along the 1967 Green Line with land swaps that would include within Israel 75% of all Israelis living in the large settlements blocks in the West Bank and around Jerusalem. Jerusalem will be the shared capital of Israel and Palestine. Palestine will be demilitarized except for necessary police forces. There will be firm security arrangements in place for the benefit of both Israel and Palestine. Palestinian refugees will have the right of return to the new state of Palestine and not to Israel. Appropriate compensation for refugees will be given.

My purpose here is not to get into the weeds of this conflict which are long, deep and complicated, but rather to communicate the human costs of this conflict as embodied by the pain and suffering of only two families, that of Robi Damelin and Bassam Aramin, and to articulate what I believe is ultimately at stake for the Jewish people and state of Israel if a two-state resolution to this conflict is not reached soon.

Without a negotiated settlement, in a short amount of time Israel will cease either to be a democracy or a Jewish state. Settlement building by Israelis and population growth among Arabs in the West Bank, Gaza and within the Green Line of Israel, all taken together, ultimately will doom the Zionist enterprise, arguably the most important historical event in the life of the Jewish people in the last two thousand years.

Yes – there is still time for a two-state solution, but time is running out.

For the sake of the future of Israel and the Palestinians, the status quo is unsustainable. “Managing the conflict,” as many in Israel believe is their only option, is unsustainable. Only a two-state solution can, as J Street’s communication Vice President and journalist Alan Elsner recently wrote, “complete the Zionist dream” of Israel being Jewish, democratic and an “or lagoyim – a light to the nations.”

There are risks no matter what Israel chooses to do, but the risks are far greater in doing nothing.

Perhaps the insights of one of Israel’s greatest poets, Yehuda Amichai, will inspire clarity and hope:

“From the place where we are right
flowers will never grow
in the spring.

The place where we are right
is hard and trampled
like a yard.

But doubts and loves
dig up the world
like a mole, a plough.

And a whisper will be heard in the place
where the ruined
house once stood.”

 

 

Anger Management and Leadership – Ki Tisa

06 Friday Mar 2015

Posted by in Divrei Torah, Ethics, Quote of the Day

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Recently, I found myself sitting in a traffic jam in my supermarket’s parking lot. One driver decided (wrongly) that I was the one holding up movement, and so he rolled down his window and with a vulgar gesture cursed me crudely with such venom that I feared he was going to get out of his car and attack me. I rolled up my windows and didn’t look at him! He went away, thank God.

Of course, his outburst had nothing to do with me. I have no idea why he was so angry. However, I got to thinking about how much rage plagues common discourse today, in our relationships with family, friends and colleagues, with people we don’t know, within the Jewish community, and between peoples and nations.

This week’s Torah portion, Ki Tisa, shines a light on Moses’ rage at his people. He had brought the tablets of the law down from Mount Sinai and en route learned from Joshua that the people were celebrating around a golden calf. As he descended the mountain he heard for himself the revelry and became enraged.

After all God had done for the people and after all he had done to facilitate God’s will in their redemption, the people were short-sighted and ungrateful. With righteous indignation Moses smashed the tablets, burned the golden calf, ground it to powder, mixed it with water, and force-fed the substance to the guilty Israelites. (Exodus 32:15-20)

Moses’ indignation went unabated and we read in the next chapter: “Now Moses would take the tent and pitch it outside the camp, at some distance from the camp.” (Exodus 33:7)

Rabbi Menachem Sachs, quoting from the Jerusalem Talmud (B’chorim 3:3), explained why Moses pitched the Tent of Meeting so far away:

“…because he was tired of the people’s constant complaining and criticism. As Moses walked around the camp some would say ‘look at his thick neck, his fat legs – he must eat up all our money.’”

Insulted and exasperated, Moses moved the tent out of the people’s sight so that only those who really wanted to draw near to God would have to deliberately choose to do so and then make the effort to come to the meeting tent.

Watching disapprovingly, God appealed to Moses (Midrash Rabbah 45:2):

“I want you to change your mind, go back to the camp, and deal with the people face to face, as it says, ‘The Eternal would speak to Moses panim el panim – face to face, as one person speaks to another.’” (Exodus 33:11)

We can’t blame Moses for his weariness and impatience with the people. He had suffered their obstinacy since leaving Egypt. He was old and tired, and had had enough.

Tradition, however, reminds us that leading a community while angry is no way to lead. Once leaders lose their temper publicly and become impatient with the people whom they lead, they lose not just whatever argument is immediately before them, but the faith of the people in their leadership.

As a congregational rabbi and leader of a large religious institution, I’ve learned over a period of more than 35 years that the very worst thing a leader can ever do is to respond to individuals, to the community, to staff, and to strangers with impatience, condescension and anger. This is true in religious institutions and education most especially, but in business, non-profits, the arts, politics, diplomacy, and government as well.

Tradition says that Moses lost the right to enter the Promised Land when he hit the rock with his stick out of anger at the people, instead of speaking to it as God had commanded him (Numbers 20:11).

No less an equivalent consequence should be exacted from trusted leadership when they lose control, condescend, humiliate, and sow division amongst those they lead.

The Talmud says, “If a person loses his temper – If he is originally wise, he loses his wisdom, and if he is a prophet, he loses his prophecy.” (Bavli, Pesachim 66b).

Here are a few additional reflections about anger worth noting:

“Anger is an acid that can do more harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to anything on which it is poured.”
-Mark Twain

“When angry you will make the best speech you ever regret.”
-William Ury, American author, academic, anthropologist, and negotiation expert

“When the spirit of anger asserts itself over a person, the trait of mercy flees and cruelty takes over to shatter and destroy.”
-Orchot Tzaddikim, 15th century Germany

Shabbat shalom!

Purim Lessons for Jews in 2015

19 Thursday Feb 2015

Posted by in American Jewish Life, American Politics and Life, Divrei Torah, Ethics, Holidays, Israel and Palestine, Israel/Zionism, Jewish History, Jewish Identity, Social Justice

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It is Rosh Chodesh Adar and that means Purim is coming in a particularly difficult time for Jews and the state of Israel.

Given the rise in anti-Semitic attacks in Europe, the brutality and threat of Islamic extremists, the Iran nuclear negotiations, the moribund Israeli-Palestinian peace process, the threat of another Palestinian Intifida, the contested Israeli election, the battle for the soul of the state of Israel and the American Jewish community, one can argue that Purim offers us necessary relief on the one hand and intensified angst on the other.

Truth to tell, Purim should make every Jew feel very uncomfortable, despite the joy and care-free spirit of the celebration, the masquerade and sweet hamantaschen. The story of Esther, though celebrating the victory of the Jews of ancient Persia over Haman’s genocidal intentions, has an intensely dark side for us Jews that we ignore at our peril.

The book of Esther is a challenge to liberal Jewish moral values, and it shows that the human being is capable of just about anything:

“…on the thirteenth day of…Adar…the very day on which the enemies of the Jews had expected to get them in their power, the opposite happened and the Jews got their enemies in their power…Throughout the provinces of King Ahashuerus, the Jews mustered in their cities to attack those who sought their hurt…So the Jews struck at their enemies with the sword, slaying and destroying;…. In the fortress Shushan the Jews killed a total of 500 men… [and] they disposed of their enemies, killing seventy-five thousand of their foes….” (Esther 9:6-10, 16)

How do we modern liberal Jews justify Mordecai’s and the Jews of Persia’s blood-revenge? Though the Esther story’s historicity is suspect, this terrifying tale describes what can and has happened to Jews in exile, and it warns what can happen in any society, even Jewish society, when power falls into the hands of one group.

History has shown that our having our own state has not shielded us from committing moral crimes. Pastor Reinhold Niebuhr, one of the great figures of the 20th century, reminds us about the dangers of power:

“All power is a peril to justice…and the pride and self-righteousness of powerful nations are a greater hazard to their success than the machinations of their foes.”

Israel is a great democracy, but Israel’s military administration of the West Bank is not democratic. There are two systems are at work in the West Bank; one for Jewish settlers and another for Palestinian Arabs.

Though the Jewish response to their Persian enemies in the Esther story is not the story of Israel’s military justice in the West Bank, justice there is compromised by the two sets of standards for Jews and Arabs, and we Jews cannot turn a blind eye by justifying the status quo policy of occupation on the basis of divine right, ideology or security. Peter Beinart put it well this week in Haaretz (February 18, 2015):

“Israel is a decent country composed of decent young men and women who, in the West Bank, are obliged to police people who lack basic rights. And in such circumstances, decent people do indecent things. ‘We are making the lives of millions unbearable,’ declares one former Shin Bet head, Carmi Gillon, in the film ‘The Gatekeepers.’ In the West Bank, Israel has become ‘a brutal occupation force,’ notes another, Avraham Shalom. A third, Yuval Diskin, calls the occupation a ‘colonial regime.’ These men don’t hate Israel; they have dedicated their lives to protecting it…they are discussing the real Israel, not the one [others] have constructed in their minds.”

On Purim Jews are called upon to drink so heavily that we can no longer distinguish between the evil Haman and the virtuous Mordecai.

Do we really need alcohol to remind us that we so easily can assume the identity of Haman in the midst of our stupor? We need only to open our eyes and regard the reality of our situation. Yes, actions in our self-defense as a nation are morally justifiable even though mistakes and excess have resulted in suffering, but our gratuitously perpetrating evil as a matter of policy, which the occupation has become, is not justifiable.

Rather than Purim numbing us with hard drink and masquerade to the truth of our situation and human nature, this holiday arrives each year to remind us of the darkness lurking in every human heart and soul, and that our moral and ethical mandate as Jews, who have been graced with power for the first time in two thousand years, is to be exquisitely sensitive to the suffering of the “other,” to avoid becoming hard-hearted as a people, and to cease the infliction of gratuitous suffering.