Tag Archives: Musings about God/Faith/Religious Life

A Rabbi at 93 and a Poem Called “The Promised Land” by Carl Dennis

09 Wednesday Apr 2014

Posted by in American Jewish Life, American Politics and Life, Ethics, Health and Well-Being, Holidays, Israel and Palestine, Israel/Zionism, Jewish History, Jewish Identity, Jewish-Christian Relations, Musings about God/Faith/Religious life, Poetry, Social Justice, Tributes

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Rabbi Leonard Beerman has been in my life since I was 12 years old. He inspired so many in my generation and me to engage as young teens in the civil rights movement, to protest American military involvement in Vietnam, to apply for Conscientious Objector status during that war, to fight nuclear weapons proliferation, to engage in interfaith dialogue and create coalitions of decency on behalf of just causes, and to support the legitimate rights of the Palestinian people for a state of their own alongside a secure Israel despite (as Leonard put it many years ago) Palestinian “cruelty and stupidity.”

Leonard was a rabbinic student in 1948 learning Hebrew in Jerusalem when the War of Independence broke out, and he aided in the effort to help establish the Jewish state.

For the last 65 years Leonard has been a uniquely courageous and consistent voice in the American Rabbinate advocating for human rights here, in Israel and around the world despite personal ostracism and political blow-back at the hands of many fellow Jews. Leonard spoke as he did because he believes that the principles of justice, compassion and peace as articulated by the Biblical Prophets are primary Jewish ethical concerns.

Leonard is as eloquent and provocative a speaker as there is in American Judaism today. I grew up hearing the gentle resonance of his voice and the prophetic power of his words. His message at once inspires me, comforts me and forces me to think critically even if I do not agree with him. Even so, Leonard is always worth hearing because like the Biblical Prophet he understands that speaking truth is more important than feeding his community what he knows they want to hear.

Today, April 9, is Leonard’s 93rd birthday, and I send him birthday wishes with hopes that he will enjoy many more years of productive activism and good health with his dear wife Joan, his adoring children and grandchildren, and his many cherished colleagues, friends and admirers.

Leonard and I meet for lunch every few months to talk, share stories and thoughts about issues great and small, personal, Jewish and worldly. Last week when we met he brought me a poem that evokes the Jerusalem I love of Jewish messianic dreams and the real Jerusalem that I also love that inspires so much passion by so many and is one of the core issues in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.

The poem, called “My Promised Land” by Carl Dennis, is at once wistful, melancholic and hopeful. It is worth reading at our Passover Seders because it reminds us of our messianic dreams and of the work that is yet to be done for the sake of peace:

“The land of Israel my mother loves / Gets by without the luxury of existence / And still wins followers, / Though it can’t be found on the map / West of Jordan or south of Lebanon, / Though what can be found / bears the same name, / Making for confusion.

Not the land I fought her about for years / But the one untarnished by the smoke of history, / Where no one informs the people of Hebron or Jericho / They’re squatting on property that isn’t theirs, / Where every settler can remember wandering.

The dinners I spoiled with shouting / Could have been saved, / Both of us lingering quietly in our chairs, / If I’d guessed the truth that now is obvious, / That she wasn’t lavishing all her love / On the country that doesn’t deserve so rich a gift / But on the one that does, the one not there, / That she hoped good news would reach its borders.

And cross into the land of the righteous and merciful / That the Prophets spoke of in their hopeful moods, / That was loved by the red-eyed rabbis of Galicia / Who studied every word of the book and prayed / To get one thread of the meaning right; / The promised Land where the great and small / Hurry to school and the wise are waiting.”

 

 

 

The Pesach Seder – 4th in a Series of 5 Blogs

07 Monday Apr 2014

Posted by in American Jewish Life, Ethics, Holidays, Jewish History, Jewish Identity, Jewish-Christian Relations, Musings about God/Faith/Religious life, Social Justice

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Significance of the Number 4 – In Jewish tradition, the number 4 (or multiples) appears constantly; the rains in the days of Noah fell for 40 days and nights; Moses communed with God on Mount Sinai for 40 days and received the entire Torah; the Israelites wandered in the desert for 40 years before entering the land of Israel; the holiest Name of God is 4 letters (YHVH); the gematria (i.e. number equivalence) for the Hebrew root “K-d-sh” (holy) is 404; and in the Seder there are 4 questions, 4 children and 4 cups of wine.

In western culture there are the 4 elements (fire, wind, earth, and water), 4 directions, and 4 winds, etc.

What therefore is the meaning of 4? The American mythologist, Joseph Campbell, has written that this number signifies completeness and wholeness (Hebrew – sh’leimut) the attainment of which is the primary goal of Pesach. During this season Judaism calls upon parents to turn their hearts towards their children and children to turn their hearts towards their parents, to restore family relationships and make peace in the home (shalom bayit). The Jewish people is called upon to turn away from baseless hatred (sinat chinam) one for another and unite as a people, to welcome the stranger and come close to God. The goal of Pesach is Oneness (Achdut) in every aspect of life. Once attained, Jews will gather from the 4 corners of the earth in the holy city of Jerusalem (the city of shalem – wholeness and messianic peace).

4 Questions– The 4 questions derive from a Greco-Roman tradition of having a feast followed by a philosophical discussion.

4 Children – The wise, evil, simple, and the one who does not know enough to ask. The wise wants to understand the rituals and messianic purpose of the Seder including the meaning of the Afikoman (see 1st blog). The evil one deliberately separates from community, is unaccountable, indifferent, and passive to the fate of the Jewish people. The simple one wants to know what to do to be a part of community. The one who doesn’t know enough to ask is the Jew who has no Jewish knowledge at all. All 4 kinds of people need to be present at our Seder tables and each responded according to who they are.

4 Cups of Wine – Recalls the 4 terms used to describe redemption (Exodus 6:6-8): “I shall take you out…”; “I shall rescue you…”; “I shall redeem you…”; “I shall bring you…”.

10 Plagues – (Blood, frogs, lice, wild beasts, blight, boils, hail, locusts, darkness, death of the first-born). These represent an attack on the ancient Egyptian gods to teach Israel and the Egyptians that YHVH is the only legitimate deity. We take the index finger and drop a bit of wine on our plates as we recite each plague symbolizing the reduction of our joy when our enemies suffer.

Dayeinu and Hallel – Sung just before the meal, Dayeinu expresses gratitude that God redeemed us and will one day facilitate the greatest redemption of all. The Hallel (passages from Psalms) is the most ancient section of the Hagadah.

Elijah – The prophet destined to announce the coming of the Messiah – Elijah’s Cup entered the Seder in the 15th or 16th century during an era of great distress, anxiety and fear in the Jewish community due to widespread anti-Jewish hatred inspired by the crusades, disputations, blood libel, and black plague.

The Open Door – Jewish folklore suggests that at the moment we open the door Elijah enters to bring the promise of hope. Originally, Jews opened the door to show Christian passers-by that nothing cultic or sinister was occurring at Jewish Seders. This tradition began during medieval times when the blood libel, desecration of the host, and fear of Jews inspired anti-Jewish riots during the Easter season. The most dangerous day of the year for the Jewish community was when Passover and Good Friday coincided.

Jews in Every Age – The Hagadah has elements that were introduced in every period in Jewish history including the Bible, Greek, Roman, Arab, Christian Europe, 19th Century Enlightenment, Zionism, the State of Israel, and the Holocaust. We are instructed that “every Jew must regard him/herself as if each of us personally went free from Egypt.” As we sit together at the Seder table, if we are sensitive to the subtleties and nuances of the Seder rites, rituals, Biblical and rabbinic texts, it is as if we join Jews living in every age at their Seder tables and link our lives with theirs.

The Messiah and Next Year in Jerusalem – The hope of the Jewish people is for a world to one day be redeemed of its brokenness, injustice, hardheartedness, indifference, suffering, and pain. The coming of the Messiah symbolizes our people’s hope and dream for the time of the messianic dominion of God.

To be continued…

 

The Pesach Seder – 3rd in a Series of 5 Blogs

06 Sunday Apr 2014

Posted by in American Jewish Life, Ethics, Holidays, Inuyim - Prayer reflections and ruminations, Israel/Zionism, Jewish History, Jewish Identity, Jewish-Christian Relations, Musings about God/Faith/Religious life, Social Justice, Women's Rights

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The Very First Seder in Jewish History – The first Seder was held in Egypt before the Exodus itself. Consequently, the Seder is not a celebration of redemption because the redeeming event had not yet taken place. Rather, the Seder is an expression of faith that there will be redemption in the future, that the world is not yet just and compassionate and that there is to be a more peaceful order of human affairs in a time to come.

The Seder as a Night-time Ritual – The Seder is the only full ritual that occurs at night and in the home. It is also the only time that the Hallel is said at night. Rabbi Levi Meier (z’l) suggested that whereas in daylight all things are public, at night our higher selves are revealed. When Jacob wrestled with a Divine/human being at the river Jabok we learn that following that struggle “Ya-akov shalem – Jacob became whole.” This night-time ritual moves us towards wholeness and integration (per Jungian theory – Rabbi Meier was a certified Jungian therapist) – i.e. the unification of body, mind, heart, and soul with God.

Birth Imagery in the Exodus Narrative – Birth imagery and the role of women in the Exodus narrative is prominently reflected in the Seder and therefore, alongside male images of God as a warrior and liberator, women are ancient Israel’s savers and sustainers of life. Feminine imagery is evoked especially at the Passover season because of the concurrence of the spring equinox when the lambing of the flocks took place. Most importantly, Passover celebrates the birth of the Jewish nation out of slavery. Israelite new-born boys were saved by two Hebrew mid-wives, Shifra and Puah. Yocheved (Moses’ mother) and Miriam (Moses’ older sister) saved the future liberator from certain death by placing him in a basket in the river, watching over him as he floated down the river, watching as he was drawn out of the river and saved by the Egyptian Princess, and by Miriam arranging with the Princess to have Moses’ own mother, Yocheved, act as his wet-nurse in the palace. Moses grew to manhood, never forgetting who he really was because of his engaged mother and sister, Yocheved and Miriam, and he eventually led the people through the opening of the Sea of Reeds, a metaphor of the opening of his womb. The Hebrew name for Egypt (Mitzrayim) means “coming from a narrow or constricted place,” such as a new-born moving through the birth canal. The salt water of the sea might suggest the amniotic fluid heralding both the birth of the Jewish nation into freedom and the beginning of spring.

Moses is Never Mentioned in the Hagadah – This obvious oversight was a deliberate attempt by the rabbis who developed the Hagadah in the first centuries of the Common Era (CE) to remind the people that it was God and God alone that redeemed the people from slavery. Much of the Hagadah developed in the centuries after Christianity made inroads into the Jewish community. The rabbis were concerned that Jews not deify any human leader as the Christians had done with Jesus.

Nachshon Ben Aminadav – The Midrash (rabbinic commentary) describes what happened when the Israelites arrived at the Sea of Reeds with the Egyptian army behind them in hot pursuit. Moses began to pray that God would save the people yet again while a little known figure, Nachshon Ben Aminadav, jumped into the sea and took history into his own hands. This is the first time a former slave acted on his own and on his people’s behalf. At that moment, in response to Moses’ prayer and Nachshon’s courageous deed, God split the sea and allowed the people to pass into freedom on dry land. Judaism affirms that God is a liberating force for justice and good, especially for the most vulnerable in society, and that we Jews are obligated by the Covenant to be drawn at Sinai to emulate God Who acted compassionately, defied injustice and strove to create a Jewish people (the early Zionist movement and the founding of the state of Israel is reflective of this earliest impulse in Jewish history).

Wine and Matzah in Christian Tradition – Jesus reportedly said at the Last Supper (thought to be a Passover Seder) while pointing at the matzah and wine, “This is my body and this is my blood!” (Matthew 26:26) Christian theologians developed the doctrine of transubstantiation (i.e. the Eucharist) and claimed it as legitimate continuation of first century Judaism. The deification of Jesus into a wholly Divine being, however, constitutes a significant theological leap and departure from traditional Judaism that affirms God as unknowable, infinite and eternal. For Jews, the bread represents the lamb of the Pascal offering. For Christians, Jesus replaced the lamb, and the wine symbolized his blood which led Jesus’ followers at that Seder to not be shocked by his alleged identification with the pascal offering. The anti-Semitic defamation in the “blood libel” is a convoluted distortion of the Eucharist turned on itself and against the Jewish people who had refused to accept the divinity of Jesus as the Christ Messiah.

To be continued…

 

 

 

 

 

Pesach is Coming – It’s Time to Ask Ourselves the Big Questions

27 Thursday Mar 2014

Posted by in American Jewish Life, Ethics, Health and Well-Being, Holidays, Inuyim - Prayer reflections and ruminations, Israel and Palestine, Israel/Zionism, Jewish History, Jewish Identity, Musings about God/Faith/Religious life, Social Justice, Women's Rights

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To be curious is the first quality of the wise. Truly wise people know that they do not know.

The Passover Seder will soon be upon us, and there is much about the Seder itself that is a mystery. Nothing is as it seems. Everything stands for something else. Deeper truths are there for the seeker. Everything in the Seder suggests a question or many questions.

I have compiled a list of questions that might be sent in advance to your Seder participants or asked around the table during the Seder itself. These questions are not exhaustive. You may have questions of your own that you would wish to add.

As no marathon runner would show up at the starting line without preparation and training, neither should we show up at our Seder tables without thinking seriously in advance about the deeper themes and truths of this season. Now is the time to begin the questioning and probing.

Afikoman – When we break the Matzah

Questions: What part of us is broken? What work do we need to do to effect tikun hanefesh – i.e. restoration of our lives? What t’shuvah – i.e. return, realignment of our lives, re-establishment of important relationships – do we need to perform to bring about wholeness? What is broken in the world – i.e. what remains unfair, unjust, unresolved, in need of our loving care and attention – and what am I/are we going to do about it?

Mah Nishtanah – How is this night different from all other nights?

Questions: How am I different this year from previous years? What has changed in my life this year, for better and/or for worse? What ‘silver lining’ can I find even in my disappointments, frustrations, loss, illness, pain, and suffering? What conditions in our communities, nation and world have worsened since last we sat down for the Pesach meal?

Ha-Chacham – The Wise Child

Questions: Who inspired you this past year to learn? Who has been your greatest teacher and why? What are the lessons you have gleaned from others that have affected you most in the year gone by?

Ha-Rasha – The Evil Child

Questions: Since Judaism teaches that the first step leading to evil is taken when we separate ourselves from the Jewish community and refuse to participate in acts that help to redeem the world, have we individually stepped away from activism? Have we become overcome by cynicism and despair? Do we believe that people and society succumb inevitably to the worst qualities in the human condition, or do we retain hope that there can be a more just and compassionate world? Are we optimistic or pessimistic? Do we believe that people and society can change for the better? Are we doing something to further good works, or have we turned away into ourselves alone and given up?

Cheirut – Thoughts About Freedom

Questions: If fear is an impediment to freedom, what frightens me? What frightens the people I love? What frightens the Jewish people? Are our fears justified, or are they remnants of experiences in our individual and/or people’s past? Do they still apply? Are we tied to the horrors of our individual and communal traumas, or have we broken free from them? What are legitimate fears and how must we confront them?

Tzafun – The Hidden Matzah

Questions: What have we kept hidden in our lives from others? Are our deepest secrets left well-enough alone, or should we share them with the people closest to us? To what degree are we willing to be vulnerable? Have we discovered the hidden presence of God? Have we allowed ourselves to be surprised and open to wonder and awe? If so, how have we changed as a result?

Sh’fach et chamat’cha – Pour Out Your Wrath

Questions: Is there a place for hatred, anger and resentment in our Seder this year? How have these negative emotions affected our relationships to each other, to the Jewish community, the Jewish people, the Palestinians, the State of Israel, to any “other”? Have we become our own worst enemy because we harbor hatred, anger and resentment? Do the Seder themes and symbolism address our deeply seated anger, hatred and resentment?

Ba-shanah Ha-ba-ah Bi-y’ru-shalayim – Next Year in Jerusalem

Questions: What are your hopes and dreams for yourself, our community, country, the Jewish people, the State of Israel, and the world? What are you prepared to do in the next year to make real your hopes and dreams? Have you ever visited Israel?

 

Creating Tabernacles of the Heart and Community – D’var Torah T’rumah

31 Friday Jan 2014

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Three of our greatest Jewish philosophers and scholars of early 20th century German life were Martin Buber, Franz Rozenzweig and Benno Jacob, and all noticed the parallel between the story of the Creation in the Book of Genesis and the building of the Tabernacle in the Book of Exodus, the latter of which is the focus of this week’s Torah portion, Trumah. Here are some of those parallels:

“Thus the heaven and earth were finished and all the host of them.” (Genesis) – “Thus was finished all the work of the Tabernacle at the tent of meeting.” (Exodus)

“And God finished on the seventh day all the work of divine creation.” (Genesis) – “And Moses finished the work.” (Exodus)

“And God made the firmament.” (Genesis) – “And let them make Me a sanctuary.” (Exodus)

“And God rested on the seventh day.” (Genesis) – “And the seventh day God called unto Moses out of the midst of the cloud and Moses entered into the midst of the cloud.” (Exodus)

“And God saw everything that God had made.” (Genesis) – “And Moses saw all the work.” (Exodus)

“And God blessed the seventh day.” (Genesis) – “And Moses blessed them.” (Exodus)

Comparing verses from the narratives shines a light on the co-relation between Creation and the structure that would house the tablets of the law during the period of wandering, the Tabernacle. We soon learn the purpose of this sacred structure: “V’asu li mikdash v’shachanti b’tocham – Make for me a Sanctuary and I will dwell amongst them – lit. in them.”(Exodus 25:8)

The Kabbalah sees hints of deeper truths about the Mishkan (the in-dwelling Place of God amongst the people) using number symbolism. For example, the verb “asah – makes” appears ten times in the Genesis creation narrative, and twenty-two times in the story of the building of the Sanctuary (Exodus 25).

The number ten is commonly associated with the Ten Commandments, but also it points to the Ten Emanations (S’firot) of God in the Kabbalistic picture of the universe.

The number twenty-two are the number of letters of the Hebrew aleph bet that rabbinic tradition teaches are the basic building blocks of language and of the created world.

Adding ten and twenty-two brings us to thirty-two, (Lamed-bet – or “Lev”), meaning “heart”. In Jewish mystical literature, the “heart” is the place of intuitive wisdom, and Kaballah teaches that there are 32 pathways to wisdom, that is, to God’s own heart.

Heady stuff all! So, what does it mean for us in real-world terms?

The purpose of the Mishkan isn’t just to house God’s Name. The greater purpose is tikun (the healing of a human life – tikun hanefesh – and the restoration of the world – tikun haolam).

During the period of wandering the Mishkan became a traveling Mt. Sinai. Eventually the structure was carried to the City of David and eventually rested above in the new Temple of Solomon. Following the destruction of both Temples, the Mishkan, holding the sacred scroll of the law, was carried into exile so that whenever Jews read Torah publicly they would be spiritually transported to Sinai again, as at the beginning when God first appeared on the mountain.

The Mishkan, therefore is the Place of God and the community’s place, of transcendence and engagement, of vision and ethical responsibility, of love, compassion, justice, truth, and peace.

Synagogues today are our Mishkenot. Each human life is a Mishkan. Our purpose, is to become a holy vessel, as Rebbe Nachman of Bratzlav explains:

“The Divine presence is always flowing into the world, but we need an inner vessel to receive it. That’s created through the act of giving (t’rumah), because when the heart opens to give freely….a vessel is made.”

The act of giving not only sustains a community, it creates a community of like-minded people bonded together who care about the greater purposes for which we as Jews live. Building sanctuaries for the Jewish people, sustaining our fellows (Jews and everyone else as well) in all the ways that they need, supporting causes that advocate for peace, promote knowledge, education, medical care, and and basic human decency, all are included in this greatest of all commandments – “V’asu li mikdash v’shachanti b’tocham – Make for me a Sanctuary and I will dwell amongst them – lit. in them.”(Exodus 25:8)

Shabbat shalom!

The Connecting Vav of Mount Sinai and Our Lives – D’var Torah Mishpatim

24 Friday Jan 2014

Posted by in Book Recommendations, Divrei Torah, Health and Well-Being, Inuyim - Prayer reflections and ruminations, Musings about God/Faith/Religious life

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Last week’s Torah portion, Yitro, presented the Biblical equivalent of “shock and awe” like nothing that had happened to the Israelites before or since. Among the narrative’s highlights are descriptions of fire and clouds over the mountain, the descent of the physical manifestation of God upon Sinai, and the giving of Ten commandments.

This week, in Parashat Mishpatim, we shift from divine revelation to foundations in law. Fifty-three mitzvot are enumerated as part of “The Covenant Code” of Exodus, one of three law codes in the Hebrew Bible.

The parashah opens with the letter Vav – “And these are the judgments/laws/rules that you shall place before them…” thus connecting what came before with what will come.

As noted, the infinite God met the people personally at Mount Sinai – “N’vuah sh’mag’shima et otz’mah – What was spoken to Moses became manifest.” Rabbi Meir Leibush ben Yehiel Michel Wisser (the Malbim – 1809-1879) described that moment; “The people saw what could be heard and heard what could be seen, because of the inner awareness granted them at that time.”

That great event at Sinai opened the people’s consciousness to the non-rational realm of soul, spirit, metaphysics, and higher universes. Mystics of later generations experienced it, and in modern times we have many testimonies by those who have had “Near Death Experiences.” Among the most recent and remarkable is told by Dr. Eben Alexander in his book Proof of Heaven – A Neurosurgeon’s Journey into the Afterlife.

Dr. Alexander suddenly and unexpectedly was attacked by e. coli meningitis. For seven days he was into a coma during which time his brain’s pre-frontal cortex, the seat of consciousness, awareness and knowledge, shut down. His doctors and family expected him to die, but he survived and wrote this book telling of his experience.

He had been an atheist before, but this experience turned him into a God-believer. He was a trained scientist who valued reason above all else, but now he told of the existence of universes far greater than the mind. He wrote:

“Seeing and hearing were not separate in this place…. I could hear the visual beauty of the silvery bodies of … scintillating beings above, and I could see the surging, joyful perfection of what they sang. … you could not look at or listen to anything in this world without becoming a part of it … you couldn’t look at anything in that world at all, for the word at itself implies a separation that did not exist there.”

“I saw the abundance of life throughout … countless universes, including some whose intelligence was advanced far beyond that of humanity. I saw … countless higher dimensions, but … the only way to know these dimensions is to enter and experience them directly. They cannot be known, or understood, from lower dimensional space.”

[What I learned is that] “You are loved and cherished…[with] nothing to fear. …Love is the basis of everything. … the kind of love we feel when we look at our spouse and our children, or even our animals. In its purest and most powerful form, this love is not jealous or selfish, but unconditional. This is the reality of realities, the incomprehensibly inglorious truth of truths that lives and breathes at the core of everything that exists or that ever will exist, and no remotely accurate understanding of who and what we are can be achieved by anyone who does not know it, and embody it in all of their actions.”

Dr. Alexander articulated what can only be described as divine revelation, available always, but hindered to most of us by the constraints of our physicality and the strengths of our reason.

This week’s Torah portion turns us towards the material world we inhabit and establishes just and compassionate rules to perfect our public and private behavior and to refine our sense of moral responsibility and accountability.

The world the mystic sees of divine unity and the one in which we live of disjointedness and brokenness are, in truth, of the same continuum. The God of revelation is the God of commandment. Mitzvot grow out of a metaphysical vision of oneness experienced at Sinai and by Dr. Alexander. That is why our tradition evolves into law, not as an end but as the means of repair (tikkun) and return to unity (achdut).

What is above is below. The mitzvot make God the center of our lives from the moment of birth to the moment of death and beyond. The Aleinu says it succinctly, “L’taken ha-olam b’malchut Shaddai – [that our purpose is] To restore the world in the image of the dominion of God.”

Shabbat Shalom.

Before and After Sinai – A Poem/Drash for B’shalach

10 Friday Jan 2014

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Almighty One: / Was not Moses Your most intimate friend / With whom you spoke face to face / Who You sent to confront Pharaoh / To diminish his name / That Yours might be established / As The Creator and Redeemer of heaven and earth?

Was not Moses Your most cherished shepherd / Who stood strong before the despot / Spoke with broken and heavy speech / Words You placed in his mouth?

Was not Moses Your voice, / And extended hand, / And fingers touching / Water, earth, wind, / And fire, / The all of the all / And beyond?

This friend, shepherd, and prophet / Tended Your people / Through salt-water walls, / Mud and muck / To birth them / And lead them / To You on the mountain / To be Your treasured and cherished people.

But You used Moses / And worked against him / By stiffening Pharaoh’s heart / To demonstrate Your power.

He was Your proxy / And it was You / Who polluted the waters, / And destroyed the crops, / And killed the cattle, / And the first-born.

Moses deserved better / For all he did / On Your behalf / For the sake of Your Name / Than to die alone / And forsaken / In a wilderness grave?

Yes – We can understand / That justice needed a strong fist / Against Pharaoh’s tyranny. / Small minds needed to cower / Before the shock and awe of Your power.

Yes – We can understand  / That You did what You had to do / And used Your prophet / As a means to a greater end.

Before Sinai You commanded Moses / To take his stick and hit a rock / When the people complained of thirst – / And he did as You told him to do.

Moses brought them to You at Sinai / To see Your clouds of fire, / And he taught that in place of the fist / Words are stronger / The spirit sharper than swords / And all must live peacefully / Under their vines and their fig trees / With none to terrorize them.

That was Your dream / Carried by Your prophets / And Moses was the most beloved of all.

Yet, after Sinai / Little changed in the human heart. / Your people are still small-minded / And constricted by need and jealousy / Anger and hate. / They were not ready to live by Your Word alone; / And as the days passed, / And the years rolled by,

Miriam died, / And her waters dried too / And the people complained again / Having forgotten Your dream / And the shock and awe of You.

Now Moses became old / And he lost patience / For the bickering and complaining.

He had restrained You once / At the Golden Calf – / Or have You forgotten? / You sought the destruction of the world / But Moses stayed Your Hand / Quelled Your rage / Because he cared more / About the innocent among his people / Than honoring You.

After Sinai You commanded Moses / To speak – this time – to the rock / That water would flow / And quench their thirst; / But he took the stick / And beat the rock / As he had done before.

This time You punished him / And took from him his cherished dream / To glimpse the Promised Land.

He did everything you asked of him, / Except this once. / In spite You made him die alone / Amid bare thorns and weeds / Without the angels knowing / The Place from which his soul left him.

Moses disappointed You / As we have disappointed You / As You have disappointed us!

 

 

 

 

Year End Reflections of a More Personal and Rabbinic Kind

29 Sunday Dec 2013

Posted by in American Jewish Life, Ethics, Health and Well-Being, Jewish History, Jewish Identity, Life Cycle, Musings about God/Faith/Religious life, Social Justice

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On June 10, 1979, I ascended the steps to the bimah at Temple Emanuel in New York City and stood before the open ark with Rabbi Alfred Gottschalk (z’l), President of the Hebrew Union College – Jewish Institute of Religion (the Reform rabbinic seminary). He placed his hands upon my shoulders in the traditional gesture of S’michah (lit. “Laying on of hands”), looked intensely into my eyes and asked, “Are you prepared to serve as a Rav b’Yisrael (a Rabbi in Israel)?”

“Yes!” I said, and he ordained me “Rabbi.”

Truth be told, I wasn’t at all prepared. Yes, I had learned a great deal and thought deeply about many things, but I had no clue about what would be demanded of me in serving a synagogue community, the Jewish people and God.

Among the most difficult and persistent challenges I have had as a congregational rabbi is to constantly shift my mood and thinking at the drop of a hat (often multiple times daily) according to the demands of the occasion (e.g. birth, b’nai mitzvah, conversion, marriage, divorce and other life traumas, illness, death, and mourning).

Add to that challenge my need to grow spiritually, deepen my Jewish understanding and Hebrew knowledge, and help my congregants understand what it means to be American Jews, ohavei am Yisrael (lovers of the Peoplehood of Israel) and ohavei M’dinat Yisrael (lovers of the State of Israel).

Being a Reform rabbi these days means being a kol bo (i.e. all things to all people) and an emotional chameleon.

The American Reform rabbi’s multiple roles as master of the tradition, teacher, ethical and spiritual leader, friend and pastor, trouble-shooter and problem solver, communal and personal healer, progressive visionary and social activist, and representative of Judaism and the Jewish people are daunting, overwhelming and impossible for any one person to fulfill. I think back to the moment as an undergraduate at the University when I decided to enter the rabbinate, and I realize how very naïve I was.

Having said this, I know that many in other professions and life-roles confront equivalent demands and pressures. What we all share is the need to compartmentalize our lives to such an extent that we can jump effectively from one situation to the next without losing ourselves, damaging our integrity or becoming hard-hearted. We have to be able to hold multiple thoughts and conflicting feelings at the same time, to feel both the joys and sorrows of living without being overwhelmed by one or the other, to appreciate ourselves and others as reflections of Divinity despite our numerous flaws, and to set high moral and ethical standards even as we expect failure, without our resorting to unpleasant, cruel and unnecessary rancor and personal attack.

None of us can do this by ourselves. We need good people in this work – loving spouses/partners, trusted friends, kind and capable colleagues, smart and big-hearted lay leaders, and a community that shares common values, ethics and vision.

Despite the challenges I face continually as a congregational rabbi, this sacred work has been and continues to be rewarding beyond measure. I am grateful for that and for all the people alongside whom I work and love.

As 2014 commences, I wish for you and all those dear to you a year of good health, joy amidst sorrow, spiritual and emotional growth, and expanded meaning.

May Israel reach, at last, a secure and lasting peace with the Palestinian people in a two states for two peoples final resolution of their conflict.

And may all humankind live peacefully under their vines and fig trees with none to make them afraid.

Happy New Year!

When Our Parents Reach Extreme Old Age

22 Sunday Dec 2013

Posted by in American Jewish Life, Health and Well-Being, Life Cycle, Musings about God/Faith/Religious life, Stories, Uncategorized

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My mother was once a beautiful, vital, vivacious, smart, intellectually engaged, and generous woman. She was strong-willed, independent, high-powered, and passionate. Her family meant everything to her and she had many devoted friends.

Today, at 96 she is nearly blind, nearly deaf, and has dementia. She can no longer read, hear music, listen to books on tape/CD, or watch television. She falls frequently and has many aches and pains. Most of her friends have died and all her nine brothers and sisters are gone.

Two years ago it was clear to my brother, me and everyone who knew her that she needed to move from part-time to full-time care, but she could not afford to have someone live in her home 24-7. We decided to move her from independent to assisted living, but she resisted mightily. At last we refused to take “no” for an answer.

Over these two years her situation has worsened. At times my mother knows who I am, but she forgets seconds later and wonders what strange man is sitting with her, and why. I remind her that I am her son, but she is now more often than not bewildered, frustrated and angry because she is aware enough to know how much mental capacity she has lost and of the dramatically shrunken world in which she exists.

Only two things sustain her these days. She has some of her long-term memory remaining, and so she recalls vividly her parents and siblings thus bringing them alive; and her knowledge that my brother and I we are well and happy offers her a measure of comfort.

I share my mother’s situation with you because I know that my brother and I are not alone. Many others also experience the disabilities that afflict their parents, grandparents and loved ones as they reach extreme old age.

In a lucid moment yesterday, my mother asked me, “What could I have possibly done that God hates me so much to make me so miserable!”

I took her hand and said, “Mom – How could God possibly hate you? You have always been loving and generous. You were always the first to respond to those in trouble and who needed help – to family, friends and strangers. You contributed to every good cause. You served the Jewish community devotedly. I cannot believe that God is angry at you. Rather, I am sure that God loves you. I love you. Michael [my brother] loves you. You are just very very old, and this is what happens when people get old like you!”

She listened but didn’t respond. I don’t know if she understood me.

What else could I say? She is miserable, and for good reason.

She spoke about another woman, Anna, who is a resident on her floor and a devout Catholic, and said that Anna has more reason than most to end her life because she is “even more miserable than me!” She added, “There are ways to end your life, you know. But she won’t do it, because she’s religious.”

“What about you, Mom? Do you ever want to end your life?”

“Yes, I want to die,” she said, “but I would never take my life for the same reason that she doesn’t take hers!”

I marveled at how strong, still, is my mother’s faith. From the time she was a child in Winnipeg, Manitoba she was a deeply spiritual and religiously inclined person. On Friday nights she secretly went to synagogue alone without her parents and siblings knowing because they thought religion was nonsense. She told them she was attending school events.

Every Shabbat for months I have been offering a mi shebeirach healing blessing for my mother over an open Torah; but of late, I have begun to wonder whether I should stop based on a famous story from the Talmud.

When the great Rabbi Judah HaNasi was near death his disciples came to pray on his behalf in the courtyard below his window. His maidservant, hearing the desires of those “above” for Rabbi Judah’s soul and the desires of the students “below” decided to drop an earthen vessel to the courtyard stones hoping that the crash would at least momentarily distract Rabbi Judah’s students from their prayers. The noise indeed diverted their attention and they stopped praying. It was then that Rabbi Judah gave up his breath to God. (Talmud Bavli, Ketubot 104a). Rabbi Judah’s maidservant is regarded positively and with respect by tradition.

The Biblical Kohelet wrote that there is

“A season set for everything, / A time for every experience under heaven; / A time for being born and a time for dying…” (3:1-2)

When is my mother’s time for dying? Are my prayers on her behalf in any way sustaining her when she so deeply wishes and is ready to pass on?

Excruciating questions, and I have no answers.

O Purest of Souls – D’var Torah Sh’mot

19 Thursday Dec 2013

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

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The Book of Exodus is essentially a story about God’s saving love for the oppressed Israelites. It begins with the birth of Moses and follows him as a young prince and then as he turned into a rebel and outlaw, then a shepherd, and finally THE prophet of God.

Why Moses? What was so unique about him that God chose him to be his most intimate prophet?

Moses was a complex man; passionate, pure, just, humble, at home nowhere, carrying always his people’s burdens while hearing God’s words.

Moses was absolutely unique, the only prophet to speak panim el panim (“face to face”) with God, and that is what my drash-poem is about. Moses is the most important Jew in our history and our gold standard of a religious, moral and political leader.

In our own time the world has benefited from great leaders including Mahatma Gandhi, Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, Dr. Martin Luther King, Mother Teresa, the Dalai Lama, and President Nelson Mandela. Nevertheless, Moses stands alone.

So often we walk in a daze, / Eyes sunk into creviced faces / Fettered to worldly tasks / And blind to rainbows.

I imagine Moses, in Midian, like that, / Brooding in exile,  / Burdened by the people’s suffering, / Knowing each day / Their screaming in stopped-up hearts / And their shedding of silent tears.

A simple shepherd he was, / Staff in hand counting sheep / Until one day / Weaving through rocks /Among bramble bushes he heard / Thorns popping. / Turning his head / His eyes opened  / As if for the first time.

God had long before / taken note of him,  / From his birth,  / But waited until this moment  / To choose him as Prophet.

Dodi dofek pit’chi li  / A-choti ra-yati  / yo-nati ta-mati. / “Open to me, my dove, / my twin,  / my undefiled one.” (Song of Songs 5:2)

Moses heard God’s voice / and beheld angels,  / His soul flowing in sacred rivers / Of Shechinah light.

‘Why me?  / Why am I so privileged / To behold such wonder?  / Unworthy as I am!’

God said, / ‘Moses – I have chosen you  / Because your heart is burdened / and worried,  / Because you know the world’s cruelty,  / and you have not become cruel. / Nor do you stand by idly / when others bleed.

You are a tender of sheep,  / And you will lead my people  / With the shepherd’s staff  / And inspire them / To open their stopped-up hearts / without fear.’

Trembling, Moses looked again  / Into the bush-flames,  / Free from smoke and ash.

His eyes opened as in a dream  / And he heard a soft-murmuring-sound  / The same that breath makes / As it passes through lips.

MOSHE MOSHE!—HINEINI!

Two voices—One utterance!  / He hid his face  / For the more Moses heard  / The brighter was the light  / And he knew he must turn away / Or die.

The prophet’s thoughts were free  / Soaring beyond form / No longer of self. / To this very day there has not been a purer soul / Than his.

God said, / ‘Come no closer, Moses! / Remove your shoes,  / Stand barefoot;  /  I want your soul.

I am here with you  / And in you –  / I am every thing  / And no thing –  / And you are Me. / I see that which is  / And which is not  / And I hear it all.

Take heed shepherd-prince / For My people‘s blood / Calls to Me from the ground, / And the living suffer / A thousand deaths.

You must take them out!  / Every crying child – / Every lashed man – / Every woman screaming.

And Moses, know this / “With weeping they will come, / And with compassion will I guide them.” (Jeremiah 31:8)

The people’s exile began with tears  / And it will end with tears.

I have recorded their story in a Book – / Black fire on white fire – / Letters on parchment  / Telling of slaves  / Seeing light  / And turning to Me  / To become a nation.

The Book is My spirit,  / The letters are My heart, / They are near to you  / That you might do them  / And teach them  / And redeem My world  / And free every human being –  / My cherished children all –  / That the world might not be consumed / In flames.

That book I give to you / O purest of souls.