Category Archives: Inuyim – Prayer reflections and ruminations

This is the midnight hour

17 Sunday Sep 2017

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

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At the midnight hour after Shabbat that precedes Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish community gathers as the Gates of Heaven begin to open to receive the petitions of forgiveness of the community.

Each year we change our Torah mantles to white symbolically revealing the deepest purpose of these High Holidays, to do Teshuvah, to turn away from an alienated life and to return to our loved ones, community, Torah, one’s own soul, and to God.

The moment is pregnant with possibility, as these verses suggest:

This is the midnight hour. / The Psalmist said: “At midnight I rose to acclaim you” (116:62). / We, who are his descendants, would follow this tradition. / For midnight belongs neither to today nor to tomorrow.

It is a moment alone in time. / It is an interval with a magic all its own. / As we grow weary with the weight of the late hour, / We become introspective, / Concerned with the nature of life; / Especially our own.

Time is fleeting. / Midnight becomes tomorrow. / A day is behind us / And the New Year beckons. / How shall we use our days? / What is the meaning of our lives, our goodness, our power? / Shall we use them only for ourselves / Or for the good of others? / This midnight service summons us / to the true purpose of life.  

Summer is passing. / The days grow shorter. / The sounds and colors of nature, / The stirring of the wind, / Speak to us of changes in the world, in life, / And in a human being’s course on earth.

Now is the time for turning. / The leaves are beginning to turn / From green to red and orange. 

The birds are beginning to turn / And are heading once more towards the south. / The animals are beginning to turn / To storing their food for the winter.

For leaves, birds, and animals / Turning comes instinctively. / But for us turning does not come so easily. 

It takes an act of will for us to make a turn. / It means breaking with old habits. / It means admitting that we have been wrong; / And this is never easy.

It means losing face; / It means starting all over again; / And this is always painful.

It means saying: I am sorry. / It means recognizing that we have the ability to change. / These things are terribly difficult to do.

But unless we turn, / We will be trapped forever in yesterday’s ways.

Author of above poem unknown.

 

 

 

Photographs by Rabbi Michelle Missaghieh

Overcoming Despair and Beginning Again

11 Monday Sep 2017

Posted by in Ethics, Health and Well-Being, Holidays, Inuyim - Prayer reflections and ruminations, Jewish Identity, Musings about God/Faith/Religious life

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The central theme of the High Holidays is teshuvah, a restorative process that brings us back to ourselves, to our families and friends, to our community, to humanity, to the natural world, to Torah, and to God. Teshuvah demonstrates the power of hope, that who we are today need not be who we become tomorrow.

Teshuvah is a step-by-step process of turning and re-engaging with our inclinations, the yetzer hara-the evil urge that’s propelled by desire, lust, and self-centered needs and our yetzer tov-the good inclination that is inspired by humility, gratitude, generosity, and kindness.

The beginning in the teshuvah process is, however, despair, hopelessness, and sadness, the feeling that we’re stuck and can’t change the nature, character, and direction our lives have taken us.

Judaism rejects pessimism, cynicism, and everything that impedes personal transformation and a hopeful future.

In the story of Jonah, to be read as final scriptural portion on the afternoon of Yom Kippur, we read the tale of the prophet’s descent into despair and what’s required for him to change direction and restore a hopeful self.

Jonah is an unrealized prophet who runs away from himself, from civilization, and from God. Every verb used in his journey is the language of descent (yod-resh-daled). He flees down to the sea. He boards a ship and goes down into its dark interior. He lies down and falls into a deep sleep. He is thrown overboard down into the waters. A great fish swallows him and he finds himself down in its belly where he remains in utter darkness for three days and nights until his despair forces him, at last, to choose to live and not to die. Then he cries out to God to save him.

God responds and the great fish vomits Jonah out onto dry land. Jonah agrees this time to do God’s bidding and preach to the Ninevites to repent from their evil ways. The town’s people put on sack cloth and ashes and promise to change.

Jonah, however, still believes that change is impossible and the Ninevites are destined to failure. God chastises Jonah for his pessimism and lack of faith, for his self-centered concern for himself and not the well-being of others.

Teshuvah is difficult and challenging. It’s a dramatic break from the past, our refusal to remain stuck. It’s for the strong of mind, heart and soul, for those willing to work hard and transcend their suffering and fear of failure, to get up every time, to own without defense and excuse what we do and what we’ve become, to acknowledge all of it, to apologize to ourselves and to others without conditions that we are responsible and at fault, and to recommit to our struggle step-by-step, patiently, one day at a time, one hour at a time, one moment at a time to turn our lives around.

When successful, teshuvah is restorative and utopian, for it enables us to return to our best selves, to the place of soul, to the garden of oneness.

Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik wrote that in teshuvah we’re able even to transcend time: “The future has overcome the past.”

Originally published – September 13, 2015

 

Why Forgive?

30 Wednesday Aug 2017

Posted by in American Jewish Life, Ethics, Health and Well-Being, Holidays, Inuyim - Prayer reflections and ruminations

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forgiveness-001

During the thirty days before Rosh Hashanah we Jews begin the process of returning (Teshuvah) to the people from whom we’ve become alienated, to the Jewish community, to Torah, to one’s own soul, to a balanced relationship with nature, and to God. Part of that journey requires the act forgiveness in all its dimensions. Forgiving those who have hurt us is not easy.

I’ve come to the conclusion that our forgiving others and forgiving ourselves for past wrongs means letting go of hurt, anger, resentment, jealousy, envy, and hate, and thereby becoming free. If we are successful, the ensuing relationship we develop with the “other” will necessarily be different than it was. In many cases, the change that takes place in us requires letting go not only of the toxic relationship that caused us so much pain and hardship but any future relationship with the “other.”

On Saturday night, September 16, the Jewish world enters into a midnight service called “Selichot” (“forgiveness”) when tradition teaches that the gates of heaven begin to open to receive our prayers and supplications. Selichot is the opening service of the High Holiday season and it occurs on Saturday night just before Rosh Hashanah. It is a powerful service if we take the need for forgiveness seriously.

I have compiled a list of quotations from world literature that offer wisdom and insight into the purpose and benefits of forgiveness. I present it to you as a gift.

“Forgiveness sets you free!” – Mother Teresa

“The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong.” – Mohandas “Mahatma” Gandhi

“I can forgive, but I cannot forget” is only another way of saying, ‘I will not forgive.’ Forgiveness ought to be like a canceled note — torn in two, and burned up, so that it never can be shown against one.” – Henry Ward Beecher

“A wise person will make haste to forgive, because s/he knows the true value of time, and will not suffer it to pass away in unnecessary pain.” – Samuel Johnson

“Those who cannot forgive others break the bridge over which they themselves must pass.” – Confucius

“To forgive someone does not mean you excuse their behavior or that they were bad. To forgive means getting rid of your resentment, so that it does not complicate your own life.” – Rabbi Abraham J Twerski

“The primary aspect of forgiveness is not as an act of kindness toward the offender, but as a gift to oneself, to free one of the burdens of harboring resentment, which can have negative effects, both physically and emotionally.” – Rabbi Abraham J Twerski

“Forgiveness isn’t about pardoning the one who has hurt us. We simply decide to move on.” – Rabbi Edwin Goldberg

“If we could read the secret history of our enemies, we should find in each person’s life sorrow and suffering enough to disarm all hostility.” – Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

“The day the child realizes that all adults are imperfect, s/he becomes an adolescent; the day s/he forgives them, s/he becomes an adult; the day s/he forgives her/himself, s/he becomes wise.” – Alden Nowlan

“Ribono shel olam! I hereby forgive everyone who has angered or provoked me or sinned against me, whether against me physically, financially, or against my dignity, or against anything belonging to me, whether it was done under duress, or intentionally, or inadvertently or willfully, whether it was verbal, or by deed, or by thought, whether it was in this existence or in a previous existence, everyone, and may no person ever be punished because of me.” – Jewish bedtime prayer

L’shanah tovah!

“Why Judaism Matters” Pre-Order My Book to be published September 26

01 Thursday Jun 2017

Posted by in American Jewish Life, American Politics and Life, Book Recommendations, Divrei Torah, Ethics, Health and Well-Being, Inuyim - Prayer reflections and ruminations, Israel and Palestine, Israel/Zionism, Jewish History, Jewish Identity, Musings about God/Faith/Religious life, Social Justice

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My book “Why Judaism Matters – Letters of a Liberal Rabbi to His Children and the Millennial Generation” is a common sense guide and road map for a generation of young men and women who find Jewish orthodoxy, tradition, issues, and beliefs impenetrable in 21st Century society. By illustrating how the tenets of Judaism still apply in our modern world, I offer direction not only to my own sons but to the sons and daughters of Reform Jews everywhere. My sons, Daniel and David, have written the Afterword. The book will be published on September 26 by Jewish Lights Publishing (a division of Turner Publishing).

Why Judaism Matters -Letters of a Liberal Rabbi to his Children and the Millennial Generation

Rabbi John Rosove

6 x 9, 240 pp, Paperback, 978-1-68336-705-5

http://www.jewishlights.com/page/product/978-1-68336-705-5

Why Judaism Matters: Letters of a Liberal Rabbi to his Children and the Millennial Generation – Kindle edition by Rabbi John Rosove.

What keeps your embers burning?

12 Wednesday Apr 2017

Posted by in American Jewish Life, Divrei Torah, Ethics, Health and Well-Being, Inuyim - Prayer reflections and ruminations, Jewish Identity

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This past week I was invited to speak to fifteen soon-to-be-ordained rabbinic students at the Hebrew Union College – Jewish Institute of Religion in Los Angeles. I was joined by two long-time friends and colleagues on a panel and we were asked to share what has kept us excited, inspired, passionate, and creative in our work as congregational rabbis (I am now in my thirty-eighth year of service).

This question, however, isn’t only a question for rabbis. It’s also for everyone who works hard, takes pride in their work, seeks excellence, wants to make a contribution, and hopes to maintain a healthy balance in their lives.

It so happened that the Torah portion this past week was Parashat Tzav (Leviticus 6:1-8:36). At the beginning of the portion there appears a relevant verse to the question we were asked to address:

“The burnt offering itself shall remain where it is burned upon the altar all night until morning, while the fire on the altar is kept burning on it.” (6:2)

The English translation that appears in most editions of the Bible, however, is incorrect. Here is the relevant Hebrew of the final phrase of the verse: “V’esh ha-mis’bei-ach tukad bo  – The fire of the altar burns in it [It does not read “tukad alav – burns on it”].”

Since the destruction of the Second Jerusalem Temple by Rome in 70 C.E. when all sacrifices ceased, many Jewish commentators have interpreted the sacrifices (korbanot) as metaphors. The altar can refer to the human heart, and the fire that burns in the altar can refer to the fires of excitement and inspiration that burns also in the heart.

We were asked – What keeps our inner fires burning in service to the Jewish people?

I was moved by the question and took it to my congregants who study Torah with me on Friday mornings, and to my family and friends at our Seder. I asked the question more broadly: “What sustains you in your life and in your work?”

Here are some of their responses:

  • Many of the men who learn Torah with me each week say that engaging with the ancient, medieval and modern texts ground them in who they are as Jews, as human and spiritual beings, and as inheritors of 3600 years of Jewish engagement with God, ethics, practice, culture, and history;
  • My Seder family and friends said that whenever they read fine literature and poetry and then write themselves, or when they listen to and play musical instruments, visit museums or galleries and create art, work in their gardens and cook creatively, the embers in their hearts are stoked;
  • Two people mentioned that the mastery they have attained in their work inspires them to learn more, teach others, publish, and carry on the work;
  • A recovering alcoholic said that daily prayer and meditation brings her back to her best and most natural self;
  • Many said that helping others and engaging in social justice work connect them to community and to higher ideals that inspire and sustain them;
  • Several said that sitting quietly in a favorite place renews them;
  • Many spoke of the love they feel for their spouses, children, grandchildren, parents, brothers, sisters, extended family, and friends as the embers that feed their inner flames.

This is a season to ask ourselves this fundamentally important question – What feeds your inner flames?

I wish for you all more inner light that burns from your deepest embers.

Moadim l’simcha.

 

 

Maror-Bitterness

10 Monday Apr 2017

Posted by in American Jewish Life, American Politics and Life, Holidays, Inuyim - Prayer reflections and ruminations, Jewish History, Jewish Identity, Poetry, Social Justice

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The Haggadah is an exilic document. For Jews, as long as the world is filled with injustice, cruelty, violence, and war, our work is not done.

Judaism teaches that the messianic era will come only when justice, compassion, and peace characterize relationships between individuals, peoples, and nations, when the hearts of parents turn to their children and the hearts of children turn to their parents (Malachi 3:23-24).

Through intention, determination, righteous deeds, and moral activism, our Jewish mission and the essential message of the Passover Seder is, through remembrance that we were once slaves, to address every injustice, every act of cruelty and every insensitivity to bring nearer the day when the prophetic admonishments will no longer be necessary.

My poem “Maror-Bitterness” that follows, is one in a series of d’rashot (commentaries) published this week in the Los Angeles Jewish Journal by a number of Los Angeles rabbis who reflected on the symbols of the Seder (“Rabbis Dish on the Seder Plate – April 7-13, 2017. Pages 36-38 – jewishjournal.com/culture/religion/passover/217641/rabbis-dish-seder-plate/). I recommend them all.

Maror-Bitterness

The Almighty called to the children of Jacob:

“I have taken notice of you / And seen your suffering / And sent to you my prophet / To relieve you of your maror-bitterness.

I carried you on eagles’ wings / And shielded you from the pursuers’ arrows / So that whenever you taste the maror / You will remember / Who I am / And who you are / And why you are free.

As I took notice of your ancestors / I call upon you today / The descendants of slaves / Who know the heart of strangers / And their fear and desperation / And do for them as I have done for you / And liberate them / The oppressed and the tempest-tossed / The poor and the discarded / The old and the lonely / The abused and the addict / The victim of violence and injustice / And everyone who tastes daily the maror-bitterness / That you know so very well.

As you sit around your Seder tables / I call upon you to act / With open, pure and loving hearts / On My behalf / And be My witnesses / And bring healing and peace into the world.”

Poem by John L. Rosove, Temple Israel of Hollywood, Los Angeles

An Antidote For These Disturbing Times

24 Friday Mar 2017

Posted by in American Jewish Life, American Politics and Life, Art, Divrei Torah, Ethics, Inuyim - Prayer reflections and ruminations, Jewish Identity

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I offer this d’var Torah at the end of a week that for me has been exceptionally disturbing in the wake of the President’s dishonesty, self-centered heartlessness and bullying tactics along with the Republican congressional leadership’s efforts to make good on its promise to repeal the Affordable Care Act, rather than correct its problems, and thus take health insurance from twenty-four million poor and older Americans over the course of the next decade.

I have found myself these past eighteen months since the presidential campaign began and especially since 11/8 and 1/20 to be in constant need of a mental, emotional, and spiritual corrective to the corrosive spirit that has taken over so much of this country.

Learning Torah has always been for me such a corrective endeavor. And so, I offer here an edited d’var Torah that I posted originally three years ago concerning Betzalel, the master architect and builder of the Tabernacle.

God instructed Moses to choose Betzalel to design and build the Tabernacle that would carry the tablets of the law (Exodus 38:22-39:31). On the face of it, these verses describe a matter-of-fact building of a physical edifice. But this isn’t merely an architectural plan for an ancient structure. It’s a description of the highest aesthetic vision of the ancient Israelites that would impress itself upon the hearts, minds, and souls of generations of Jews to come.

Not just any craftsman could design and build this sacred structure. Only someone with extraordinary qualities of heart, mind, spirit, and skill could do the job.

We learn that Betzalel was endowed with wisdom (chochmah), insight (binah), and understanding (da-at). Rashi suggests that chochmah refers to the wisdom we learn from others; binah is the understanding we acquire from life experience; da-at is mystical intuition.

Though Betzalel was apparently the right choice, God asked Moses if he himself believed that Betzalel was suited to perform this sacred task. Moses replied: “Master of the universe! If You consider him suitable, then surely I do!” Not yet satisfied, God instructed Moses: “Go and ask Israel if they approve of my choice of Betzalel.”

Moses did so and the people replied: “If Betzalel is judged good enough by God and by you, surely he is approved by us, too.”

The rabbis emphasized that Betzalel was not only God’s and Moses’ choice but the people’s choice.

This simple story of Betzalel’s selection teaches that Judaism regards a person’s devotion to God, Torah, and the people of Israel to be the key virtues of a Jewish artist.

Mark Chagall went further when he wrote: “The artist must penetrate into the world, feel the fate of human beings, of peoples, with real love. There is no art for art’s sake. One must be interested in the entire realm of life.”

The story of Betzalel and the commentary that was written over time are reminders that each one of us, the artist and non-artist, ought to train ourselves to continuously direct one of our eyes heavenward and direct the other eye upon human affairs thereby drawing us nearer to one another in love and support and to the cosmic core of the universe.

This is an orientation that can serve each of us well and, I suggest, can help direct the leadership of our country to fulfill the higher purposes towards which American democracy has sought to fulfill.

Shabbat shalom.

A New Prayer for America – Composed by Rabbi Victor Reinstein

30 Monday Jan 2017

Posted by in Ethics, Inuyim - Prayer reflections and ruminations, Musings about God/Faith/Religious life, Quote of the Day, Social Justice

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Compassionate One, fill our hearts with love and compassion for each other, that in truth we might be one nation indivisible. Bless our country, its government, its leaders, and its people. Bless the vision that is America and help us all to make it real. Help us to be for each other a mirror in which to see the best we are, and when we stray give to each one the courage to remind, speaking truth to power when need be.

Of qualities that built this land, help us to distinguish between their light and shadow sides, and to know the upright way, that good not be twisted into evil. Take the violence from us, so much part of what has been; and lead us on a new path to the Prophet’s vision fulfilled, of swords turned into plowshares that we shall, at last, learn war no more. Let not our confidence become arrogance, nor might the measure of right; mature enough in our independence, may we celebrate with all nations the interdependence from which a greater good will come.

Thirsting for peace, help us to sing an anthem now, not of bombs bursting, but of amber waves of grain and purple mountain majesties; the beauty of this land we love, your blessing manifest, not of destiny, but of goodness spreading out from sea to shining sea; and not upon us alone Your blessing bestow, but upon every nation and people in the world of Your creation.

Help us to see that we the people are America the beautiful, in all the grandeur of our colors, and in the symphony of faiths and tongues by which we sing to You and call each other’s names; in the pilgrims’ pride of roots diverse, each one of us from other lands have come, not only of a Mayflower on the sea but of steerage passage and in chains and through sweltering desert sands, wretched and poor yearning to breathe free; let us be the strength of heart and mind to sustain the hand of she who lifts her lamp beside the golden door.

In our caring for the earth, the sky, and water, may we honor those who first dwelled upon this land, and in a small measure so atone for all the wrong done to them.

With liberty and justice for all, that freedom not ring hollow, help us to insure that health and knowledge, bread and roses, be the birthright of every child born, each one free to be and become, dreams deferred no more.

Bring near the day, soon to rise, when in rainbow chorus we shall sing, we have overcome.

Rabbi Victor Reinstein is the Founding Rabbi of Nehar Shalom Community Synagogue, Jamaica Plain, MA

In the black night – A poem for Vayishlach

15 Thursday Dec 2016

Posted by in Divrei Torah, Inuyim - Prayer reflections and ruminations, Poetry

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In the black night
the river runs cold
slowly passing me by
over formerly sharp-edged stones
worn smooth by centuries of churning
as if through earthy veins
and I Jacob, alone
shiver and wait
to meet my brother
and daylight.

Will there be war?
Will the angels carry my soul
up the ladder
leaving my blood
to soak the ground?

A presence!?
And I struggle
as if in my mother’s womb
and my dreams.

We played together as children
my brother Esau and me
as innocents
and I confess tonight
how I wronged him
and wrenched from him his birthright
as this Being has done to me
between my thighs.

I was so young
driven by ego and need
blinded by ambition
my mother’s dreams
and my father’s silence.

I so craved to be first born
adored by my father
to assume his place when he died
that my name be remembered
and define a people.

How Esau suffered and wailed
and I didn’t care;
Whatever his dreams
they were nothing to me
my heart was hard
his life be damned!

I’ve learned that Esau and I
each alone
is a palga gufa/half a soul
without the other
torn away
as two souls separated at creation
seeking reunification
in a great spiritual sea
the yin missing the yang
the dark and light never touching
the mind divorced from body
the soul in exile
without a beating bleating heart
and no access to the thirty-two paths
to carry us up the ladder
and through the spheres.

It’s come to this
To struggle again
To live or die.

Tonight
I’m ready for death
or submission.

Compassionate One
protect Esau and your servant
my brother and me
as one
and return us to each other.

El na r’fa na lanu!
Grant us peace and rest
I’m very tired.

Poem by Rabbi John Rosove originally was published in the CCAR Journal: Reform Jewish Quarterly, Spring, 2010, pages 113-115

 

Isaac and Rebekah – a poem

25 Friday Nov 2016

Posted by in Divrei Torah, Inuyim - Prayer reflections and ruminations, Poetry

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I wrote this poem a few years ago based on the story of Isaac as it appears in this week’s parasha. I read it again today and found it somehow comforting and hopeful in these days, and so I offer it again.

My father Abraham set out alone,
Leaving everything he knew,
seeking a better place
where he’d never been
because God promised him
a blessing and a future.

But my heart is broken.
I yearn for solace.
My mother is dead
because my father stole me away
before dawn
while she slept.

Her servants reported to her
that he placed me
upon the pyre
as a burnt offering
to his God.

But an angel saved me.

How she loved me,
filling me up
like a goblet
with laughter
and tears.

And now I am alone
amidst the wheat and rocks,
beneath the sun and stirred-up clouds
swirling above
like disturbed angels.

Can You hear me –
Merciless God?
Comfort me now
and bend Your word
that she may return
as we were.

Looking up
I see a camel caravan
and people walking
like small sticks in the sand.

There is my father’s servant Eliezer
and a young girl.

Lasuach basadeh –
I pray and weep
beneath the afternoon sun
and swirling clouds,
and angels singing.

Rebekah to Eliezer –
‘Who is that man
crying alone
in the field?’

‘He is my master Isaac,
your intended one,
whose seed you will carry
as God promised his father.’

Vatipol min hagamal –
“And she alighted from her camel”
and veiled herself
for a wedding.

I entered her
in my mother’s tent,
and she comforted me.

Thank You, God!