Parasha VaYigash: "Jewish American -- Or American Jew?"

Are you an American Jew – or a Jewish American?

In a recent op-ed piece in the New York Times, the writer Mark Oppenheimer notes that Presidents from Reagan to Trump have assiduously avoided the use of the noun “Jew” and instead have used the adjective, “Jewish” when referring to members of our community. In his last Passover message, for example, President Obama referred to “Jewish families” twice, but never once used the word “Jew”. In closing his joint message for Passover and Easter this year, President Trump said he prayed for the day when “good people of all faiths, Christians and Muslims and Jewish and Hindu, can follow their hearts and worship according to their conscience.” A worthy  sentiment.  But notice that “Christians”, “Muslims” and “Hindus” are all nouns used to describe people – “Jewish” is the only adjective. To be grammatically correct, he should have referred to “Christians, Muslims, Jews and Hindus”.  But, like his predecessors in the Oval Office, he chose to use the word “Jewish” and avoided the word “Jew”.

When I was growing up, we referred to ourselves as “American Jews”. I have noticed that this has changed in the passing years. We more often now refer to ourselves as “Jewish Americans”. I think the change reflects the fact that being a Jew has become less central to our identity. Referring to ourselves as “American Jews” sets us apart from other Americans.  Understanding  ourselves as “Jewish Americans” feels more inclusive, less starkly different.  An “American Jew” is a Jewish person who happens to be American. A “Jewish American” is an American who happens to be Jewish too.  In preferring the term “Jewish American” we assert that we are just as American as our Catholic or Protestant neighbor.  We are just a different flavor of “American”, so to speak.  In the op-ed I cited above, Mark Oppenheimer advocates for the return of the word “Jew” to our vocabulary. He notes that there is something prouder, more confident and more assertive in describing oneself as “a Jew” than there is in describing oneself as “Jewish”.    Think “I am a Jew” versus “I am Jewish”.

It may come as a surprise to many of us that the Hebrew word for “Jew” – “Yehudi” -- is not found in the Torah. We are called Hebrews, we are called “Bnai Israel”, we are called “Yeshurun”, we are called “Yaakov”, and we are called “Ephraim” when the Bible refers to the Jewish people. The first use of the word “Yehudi” in Hebrew Scriptures comes rather late in our history. In the Scroll of Esther, Mordechai is referred to as an “ish yehudi” – which means either “a Jewish man” or “a man from Yehud”—“Yehud” being the Persian word for the Jewish homeland.  That means it took over a thousand years between Abraham and Mordechai for the term “Yehudi” to appear in writing. Still, we do not know whether this refers to a place or to a religion. It wasn’t until 1275 CE that the word “Jew” makes its appearance in English. It is spelled “G-Y-U”. It isn’t until 1775 that we find its first English spelling as “J-E-W”. Perhaps this explains why the letter written by the “Hebrew Congregation of Newport Rhode Island” (pointedly, not the “Jewish Congregation of RI”) to George Washington, only 15 years later in 1790, refers to the members of that community as “the stock of Abraham”.  President George Washington uses the same phrase in his letter in response.

Think:  “I am of the stock of Abraham” versus “I am Jewish”.

The word “Jew” has its origins in the Tribe of Judah, the largest of the tribes of ancient Israel. This tribe is named after Judah, the fourth son of Jacob by his wife Leah. The Torah itself says that this means “to give thanks”. Thus, a Jew is one who gives thanks to G-d. The Talmud derives the name Yehudah from the word “Hoda’ah” which means “to acknowledge”. Thus a Jew is someone who affirms that G-d is One and who submits to G-d’s authority through the practice of mitzvoth.

Judah, the person, figures prominently in our Torah portion this week, and indeed, throughout the story of Joseph. So much so that Rabbi Meir Soloveitchik has proposed that the story of Joseph might better be called the story of Judah. For although we may admire Joseph, writes Rabbi Soloveitchik, he is too flawless to serve as a model for us. He succeeds in everything he does. He never falters. He resists the temptations of Potiphar’s wife and forgives his brothers who have wronged him. Joseph survives every situation he encounters and comes out smelling like roses.

Judah, on the other hand, betrays Joseph by selling him into slavery, then redeems himself through his offer to go into slavery in place of his brother Benjamin. Judah gets angry at his daughter-in-law, but has the courage to admit that he has wronged her. Judah gives in to temptation, then acknowledges that he did wrong. Judah sins, and Judah shows remorse and Judah asks forgiveness.

Judaism, writes Rabbi Soloveitchik, is really “Judah-ism”. In our faith we are asked to put ourselves in Judah’s place. Joseph is a static figure, perfect and pure from the beginning of the story to the end. Judah is flawed, like we all are, but Judah grows, like we are asked to do. Judah struggles to do the right thing, as our religion, Judaism, teaches us to do. In the end, Judah overcomes his limitations. Judah is an imperfect namesake who can serve as an inspiration to us all.

That is what it means to be a Jew.

Shabbat Shalom

Parasha Miketz: The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow

I began this sermon by playing the song below:

The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow from the play "Annie"

According to the Talmud, whether the sun would come out tomorrow was a real concern of the very first human being.  "When Adam, on the day of his creation, saw the setting of the sun he said, 'Alas, it is because I have sinned that the world around me is becoming dark; the universe will now become again void and without form - this then is the death to which I have been sentenced from Heaven for eating of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil'. So Adam sat up all night fasting and weeping and Eve was weeping opposite him.  When however dawn broke, he said, `I understand, “This is the usual course of the world.'"  (Avodah Zarah 8a)  

It is no coincidence that Chanukah is celebrated at the darkest time of the year.  It also is always celebrated around the time we read Parasah Miketz in our synagogues. In Parasha  Miketz we find Joseph in prison in Egypt for 12 long years. He was sold by his brothers into slavery when he was 17 years old – he is now a young man of 30. He dwells in the darkness of a prison cell. But Joseph never gives up hope. Placing his trust in G-d, he is suddenly freed and is thrust from darkness to light.

Perhaps the words left on another prison wall, of sorts, on a cellar wall in Cologne, Germany by Jews in hiding during the Holocaust, best expresses the thought.  "I believe in the sun even when it is not shining, I believe in love even when I am alone, I believe in God even when He is hiding."  When everything is dark, we can rely on our faith in G-d that the sun will shine again.  

The person who penned those words on the cellar wall would perhaps not be surprised to read that a few days ago  Berlin Mayor Michael Müller, German Justice Minister Heiko Maas and Israeli Ambassador to Germany Jeremy Issacharoff stood together to light the first candle of Europe's largest Hanukkah menorah at The Brandenburg Gate in Berlin. The Brandenburg Gate, which had once been used as a symbol by the Nazi party. The Brandenburg Gate, where West Germans had once gathered to protest the Soviet building of the Berlin Wall, the symbol of the iron curtain behind which millions were deprived of their freedom. The Brandenburg Gate, where President Reagan addressed these words in 1987 to the General Secretary of the Soviet Union, Mikhael Gorbachev, “If you seek peace, if you seek prosperity for the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe, if you seek liberalization: Come here to this gate! Mr. Gorbachev, open this gate! Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!” Is there a more fitting place for the Menorah, the symbol of freedom, to be lit than at the Brandenburg Gate in Germany?

Each night of Chanukah we light one more candle on our Menorahs. Each night, the light grows and the darkness diminishes.  Chanukah is a holiday of hope – lighting the Menorah an expression of our faith that even in the darkest of times, the sun will come out tomorrow.

Parasha VaYeshev: O' Jerusalem!

Our parasha for this week continues the story of Jacob. Of all of our Biblical ancestors, with the exception of David, Jacob leads the most tumultuous life. He struggles with his brother in the womb, deceives his father, steals the blessing reserved for the first born and must flee his home to escape the anger of his brother who has threatened to kill him. He is in turn deceived by his father-in-law, Laban, into working three times longer for his wife Rachel as he had agreed. He marries two sisters who are rivals with one another for his affection, takes their maidservants as wives as well, and sires 12 sons and a daughter. His daughter is kidnapped and raped and his sons’ violent response to that event make him fear for his own life and the lives of his loved ones.

Our Torah reading opens with the words, “Jacob settled in the land”. From the use of the word, “settled” the rabbis deduce that Jacob finally believed that, after all his troubles, he had finally found peace and tranquility in his life. The midrash has G-d criticizing Jacob for asking for too much.  “Isn’t it enough to know that the righteous will have tranquility in Messianic times? You expect peace and tranquility in this world as well?”   In fact, no sooner does Jacob “settle down” than his favorite son Joseph is sold into slavery and his much sought after tranquility is shattered.

Peace and tranquility is what the Jewish people have pursued for the longest of times. Israel was founded in 1948 with the hope that having a Jewish state for the Jewish people would normalize our condition and allow us to take our place among the family of nations.   We would abandon our status as “guests” in other people’s homelands and “settle down” in a home of our own – Israel. But like Jacob, our hoped for peace and tranquility has not materialized. In many parts of the world anti-Semitism – the irrational hatred of Jews – has simply been transformed into anti-Zionism – the irrational hatred of Israel.

That is not to say that there has not been progress made toward peace. In 1978 Israel signed a peace agreement with Anwar Sadat of Egypt. That peace turned out colder than had been hoped, but it constituted peace nonetheless, and it has held. In 1993 the Oslo accords were signed. Although the hoped for peace failed to fully materialize, the Oslo accords did lead to mutual recognition between Israel and the PLO. This constituted another historically important step.  A year later Jordan and Israel signed a peace treaty and each country opened its borders to the other. There were other serious efforts toward peace in 2000 and 2006, but the parties failed to reach an agreement.

One of the most contentious issues that is left “unsettled” is the status of Jerusalem. The UN partition plan of 1947 envisioned Jerusalem being a “corpus separatum”, Latin for “separated body”. This meant that Jerusalem would be placed under UN sovereignty as an international city. Ben Gurion and the provisional Jewish government accepted the plan – the Arabs, who rejected the idea of partitioning the land between a Jewish and an Arab state altogether – rejected the idea. After the War for Independence in 1948, Jordan ended up holding the Old City of Jerusalem. Israel ended up with the Western part of the city, which they declared their capital, with a “no-man’s land” dividing the Jordanian held side from the Israeli held side. Under Jordanian rule the Jewish population of the Old City, which at the time constituted a majority was expelled, synagogues in the Old City were blown up, Jewish sites desecrated, and Jews forbidden from entering.

Although the State of Israel declared the Western part of the city as their capital, the world never accepted it, holding to the UN Resolution that this area should be under international jurisdiction. That sentiment did not change when Israel captured the Old City in the 1967 war and declared the city as a united Jerusalem.

Still, in 1980 there were 13 countries with embassies in Jerusalem. They all fled Jerusalem for Tel Aviv when the Knesset, Israel’s Parliament, passed what is called a Basic Law which is equivalent in our country to a Constitutional Amendment.  The Basic Law stated that the city of Jerusalem would be the “complete and united capital of Israel”.  Today there are no foreign embassies in Jerusalem. The international consensus now is that the future status of Jerusalem needs to be decided upon by Israel and the Palestinians.

This is precisely why President Trump’s recognition of Jerusalem as Israel’s capital is so controversial. The United States has broken with precedent by seeming to decide on the status of Jerusalem outside of the framework of negotiations between Israel and the Palestinians. And while it may be emotionally satisfying for some to see the United States ratify Israel’s position on the status of Jerusalem, it is unclear how this in and of itself contributes to peace in the region. At best it has no effect in that it offers no blueprint as to how we may proceed along the long road towards peace.  At worst it inflames the passions of Muslims around the world and makes that road all the more difficult. It makes it more difficult for the United States to appear like an honest broker for peace.  It is also hard to understand how it promotes our country’s interests in the region or around the world.

A few hours after the President’s announcement American rabbis, including myself, received an Anti-Defamation League Security Warning saying that the announcement “is engendering strong reaction in the Middle East and there is potential for extreme reaction on the ground in the United States as well.” How does this enhance our security here in the United States?  In many ways it seems that the announcement has a very small “upside” and a very big “downside”.

Many early Zionists, most of whom were secular Jews, were ambivalent about having the capital of a modern Israel in Jerusalem. Herzl envisioned building a capital in the area of Haifa. A young David Ben Gurion was uneasy about Jerusalem and the city’s fraught religious history. Many of us today are discomfited by the lack of separation of “Church and State” in Israel. This intertwining of religion and politics is mirrored in Jerusalem, which is both the political capital of Israel and the religious capital of Jews around the world. That makes things very, very complicated. Like Jacob of yore, we hope that someday things will “settle down” and Israel can live in peace, tranquility and security with her neighbors –not only in Messianic times, but in this world of ours as well.

Shabbat Shalom

Parasha Vayishlakh: When Men Behave Badly

I knew what I would speak about this evening when I emerged from my office at noon on Wednesday and was greeted by Dorothy with the following words, “The rest of my day has been ruined.” At first I wondered If my presence had elicited that response, but she quickly followed her remark  that Garrison Keeler  of Prairie Home Companion had been accused of sexually harassing a co-worker and had been fired from his position at American Public Radio.  I am sure that those feelings were shared by many in our country. If Garrison Keeler, who has portrayed himself as the most wholesome man in America , now is  facing serious accusations of sexual harassment,  no wonder our faith in people  we look up to is been severely shaken.   By now a very long list of journalists, actors and politicians, of both parties, have been accused of sexual misconduct.                

I know this is a difficult subject for all of us to talk about.  The multiplicity of issues raised are ones many of us would not even want to hear, let alone talk about. But silence is not an option, silence is not conducive to healing, and silence is precisely one of the ways in which we collude in keeping these insidious actions occurring and reoccurring in all spheres of our lives, public and private. These accusations bring up difficult moral questions for us. When we read about the behavior of these men we feel, disgusted, we feel revolted, we feel repelled. Their behavior is rightly condemned.  But   I have no doubt that many of us are confused, many of us have contradictory feelings.  What if I our political positions are close to Al Franken’s?  What if we feel torn because we vehemently condemn his inappropriate behaviors but value his experience and record as a Senator?   Or, let’s place ourselves in the position of an Alabama voter who now needs to make an important decision about voting for a man against whom serious accusations have been leveled by multiple people. Do they vote for Roy Moore, about whom they may now have serious reservations, or do they vote for a Democrat and thereby make it almost impossible to pass the Conservative agenda in the Senate?

   

Do we I now watch “House of Cards” with a clear conscience with the  now disgraced Kevin Spacey in the lead role? How do we  now feel about watching television or movies starring the disgraced comedian Louis C.K.? Does Leon Wieseltier’s appalling behavior with women detract from his insightful writing or brilliant analysis? And what, in heavens name, do we do with the accusation of the woman who claims that Elie Wiesel, of blessed memory, groped her when she was 19 years old? To add to the complexities, we know that even among those who engage in what is broadly defined as inappropriate behavior with women, there are different grades of inappropriateness. Do we treat everyone the same?  

Before the internet it was well known in certain circles that the great Rabbi and song writer, Shlomo Carlebach, sexually abused women over the 40 years of his rabbinate. In the Spring of 1998 Lillith, a Jewish, feminist magazine, published an article entitled “Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach’s Shadow Side” which revealed to the public what only a few knew had been happening in private. We can condemn him—but should we still sing his melodies that he set to our prayers at our services?

This type of moral confusion, this ethical disorientation is also found in our parasha for this week. Dinah, the daughter of Jacob and Leah, is kidnapped and raped by a local Canaanite prince. He claims he loves her, and sends word to Jacob, her father, that he wants to marry her. The family agrees, on the condition that all the men of the town the prince rules circumcise themselves. The men agree and circumcise themselves. After they do so Dinah’s brothers Simeon and Levi steal into town, kill all of the men who are now too weakened to fight back, kill the prince and rescue Dinah. The other brothers descend on the town, plunder it, and take all the women and children as war booty.

What is Jacob’s reaction to this episode of cunning and brutality? Does he reprimand his sons for breaking their word to the Prince, for violating an agreement that was entered into in good faith? Does he scold them for their excessive violence? Jacob says none of this. Jacob only worries about the effect of his sons’ actions on his own reputation. He worries that when the other Canaanites in the land hear about what happened, they will unite and destroy him. To which his sons respond, “Should our sister be treated like a harlot?” And Jacob is silent. Notice how silence here points to an alarming component of the abusive dynamic since Biblical times.

Only years later, when Jacob is lying on his deathbed, does he unambiguously condemn the violence of his sons Levi and Simeon. This, perhaps, speaks to the years that it may take to sort out the sordid revelations about some of our beloved cultural and important political figures. The world is by and large not black and white, but many shades of grey. These revelations about sexual abuse in the workplace raise moral and ethical issues that we will struggle with for many years to come as a nation, as communities, as individuals. A major part of the struggle is to voice it, to name it, is to discuss it.  Above all, we must not be silent.

Shabbat Shalom

"On Visiting the Sick"

This past Sunday I visited our third grade class.  One of the students asked me a question – How many letters are there in a Torah? In rabbinic school we learn that although we “Rabbis to be” will not be able to answer every question put to us, we will be able to know where to go and look for the answer to any question we cannot answer immediately. I immediately knew exactly where to go to answer this question. As the students looked on, I whipped out my cell phone and googled it!  There were, I told the students, 304,805 letters in the Torah. In addition, there were 79,847 words in a Torah scroll.  In fact, the Talmud tells us that the early Sages were called “soferim”, or “counters” because, so dear was the Torah to them, that they counted every letter and word. To this day, a person who writes a Torah is called a “sofer” – a counter – and not a “kotev” or writer.

Paying close attention to each word in our Torah can lead to some surprising insights. Last week our Torah reading concluded with Abraham circumcising himself, his son Ishmael, and all the males of his household as a sign of the covenant that G-d had made with him. Our Torah reading opens this week with the words, “And G-d appeared to Abraham at the Groves of Mamre, while he was sitting at the opening of his tent in the heat of the day. He raised up his eyes and he saw three men approaching. He ran to them from the opening of his tent and bowed to them.” These three men would turn out to be angels who announce to Sarah and Abraham that, even at their advanced age, they will have a son.

Given that these words are written right after we read about Abraham’s circumcision, our sages deduce that this episode takes place as Abraham is healing from this procedure. The fact that he runs toward his guests and bows low to the ground to greet them while enduring the post- circumcision pain shows, according to the sages, the extraordinary effort that Abraham makes in order to welcome guests. It becomes the example, par excellence, of the mitzvah of “hachnasat orchim”, or hospitality.

I want to draw your attention to the words at the beginning of the verse, “G-d appeared to Abraham.” In every other place where it says, “G-d appeared to Abraham”, G-d says something to him.  Take two previous examples. In Genesis 12:7 it says, “G-d appeared to Abraham and said, “I will give this land to your descendants…..”  In chapter 15 G-d appears to Abraham and says, “Do not be afraid, I will protect you and your reward will be great.” In 17:1 G-d appears to Abraham and says, “I am The Almighty …… I will make a covenant between you and me…..”  In our verse, it simply says, “G-d appeared to Abraham.” We would expect, on the basis of G-d’s previous appearances to Abraham, that this time G-d  would follow his words with a message But, this time there is no  such message to Abraham. There are no words to Abraham from G-d. We are left to ask – if G-d didn’t say anything to Abraham, what is the purpose of G-d’s appearance at this time?

Rabbi Joseph Solovetchik, of blessed memory, was perhaps the most important Orthodox Rabbi of the 20^th century. He teaches that G-d did not say anything to Abraham because there was no need to say anything to Abraham. Following the circumcision, with Abraham in severe pain, G-d simply drops in to visit Abraham.  G-d has no message for him, no commandment to impart, no law to decree, no promise to make. G-d visits as a close friend might visit, just to be present, just to be there. When people are friends, writes Rabbi Soleveitchik, when there is a shared sense of intimacy and companionship, there is often no need for words. The relationship between Abraham and G-d has changed as a result of G-d’s promise to Abraham and Abraham’s circumcision. There is now a sense of friendship between G-d and Abraham. This is why the prophet Isaiah refers to Abraham, in the haftarah we read last week, as “ohavi” – my beloved. The bond between G-d and Abraham has become more like the bond between and husband and wife, between parent and child, between siblings or between good friends. G-d shows up, G-d is present, and that is enough.

The Talmud quotes a verse from Deuteronomy, “Thou shalt walk in G-d’s ways”, and then asks the question, “How is it possible to ‘walk in G-d’s ways’”. The response is that one should try to imitate G-d’s  in the ways G-d relates to people.  We have before us the instance of G-d visiting Abraham when he is sick, and so we should visit the sick as well. Oftentimes we are uncomfortable visiting others who are in hospitals, or in nursing homes or are confined to their homes. One reason for our unease is that we don’t know what to say. Our Torah portion gives us a model to follow. We do not have to say much. What is really important is our presence. What is really important is our simply showing up. As one of my colleagues quipped, “Just don’t do something, stand there!”

Just as each letter and word of the Torah is precious, so each person in our congregation needs to know that they are counted, and when they are missing that the rest of us notice. It ought not to be only the clergy’s responsibility to visit the sick. Each and every one of us has the obligation to do this mitzvah. In order to help all of us feel more comfortable with this, we will be providing some teaching sessions in the near future through the Jewish Healing Network on Bikur Cholim, the Hebrew term for visiting the sick. Please watch for the notice in our weekly bulletin and consider attending.

Shabbat Shalom

Lekh Lecha -- "A Sermon on Inclusion"

Senator Tammy Duckworth tells the story of Lisa Carl, who, on May 28, 1988, went to her local theater to see a movie. The theater manager refused to sell her a ticket. It was not because of her race, or because of how she was dressed, or because she had been barred from the theater due to previous behavior. Lisa Carl was denied entrance to the theater because she had cerebral palsy and was in a wheelchair. When an advocate called the theater on her behalf, the manager said, coldly, “I don’t want her in here, and I don’t have to let her in.”

The manager was right – he was not legally obligated to let Lisa Carl into the theater to watch a movie. The law was on the manager’s side – he was free to discriminate based on Lisa’s disability. Lisa later testified before Congress, “I was not crying on the outside, but I was crying on the inside. I just wanted to watch the movie like everyone else.” Two years later, Congress passed the Americans for Disability Act, which ended decades of legally sanctioned discrimination against people with disabilities.

This week in our Torah portion, we are introduced to the first Jews, Abraham and Sarah. The midrash tells us that their tent was open on all sides, symbolizing the hospitality that Abraham and Sarah extended to all. The tent open on all sides also represents the inclusiveness that was a part of Abraham and Sarah’s daily lives. The rabbis tell us that Abraham and Sarah reached out to others quite unlike themselves, and brought them under the wings of the Shekhinah, into the Presence of G-d. All who wanted to enter and to be included were welcome by Abraham and Sarah. This message of inclusivity is reinforced at Sinai, when all of the Jewish people – the Torah says “the men, the women, the children, the stranger, the wood-chopper to the water drawer – meaning even those of the most humble of status—all stood at Sinai, together, and accepted the covenant. As it says in the Book of Isaiah, “[G-d’s] house shall be a House of Prayer for ALL people.” Thus, from the very beginning of our tradition, inclusivity was part of the vision that Judaism aspired to.

Therefore, it is incumbent upon us to ask the question – are there those in our Congregation Beth Shalom community who do NOT feel included? What can we do as individuals and as a community to make people with disabilities feel welcome? My colleague Rabbi Michael Schwab of Northfield addressed this issue in his Yom Kippur sermon this year. He suggests, first, that we be careful when we are tempted to label someone. He tells the story of one woman’s experience with the labelling of her son:

“When my son, Jake, was born, I was . . . clueless about motherhood. I was even more clueless about Down syndrome. For two weeks all I could see was the diagnosis. I cried a lot and thought about all the things Jake would never be. Waiting at pediatrician’s office for his 2 week appointment, I felt ashamed and guilty, like his diagnosis was my fault, and I covered Jake with a blanket so no one could see him. A woman in front of me turned around and nosily peeked under the blanket. She said to me, "Is that a Down's? My friend has one of those," - as if my child were some breed of dog! I was horrified. But I felt powerless and I didn't know what to say . . . Finally, when the doctor came into the exam room, the first thing he said to me was, "You have to remember, he is not a Down syndrome child, he is a CHILD, who has Down syndrome, amongst many other characteristics." For the first time in his tiny life I saw my SON. His beautiful almond eyes, chubby little cheeks, and curly hair captured me like never before. And the tears of anger and helplessness became tears of pride and joy. Suddenly what mattered wasn’t that he had Down syndrome, what mattered was that he was Jake”.

The lesson is that we should avoid defining a person by their disability. A person is not a “dyslexic child” as if their diagnosis describes their total character. A child who struggles to control his or her impulses is much more that a “behavior disordered child” as if that is the sum of their personality. We should make a conscious effort to look beyond a person’s diagnosis, whether it be mental illness or addiction, and see the whole person, and not just the illness they struggle with.

One in five Jewish families has a member with a disability. Most synagogue rabbis and leaders feel that they do a pretty good job when it comes to addressing members with disabilities. But, according to Joanne Newmark, a leader in a JUF sponsored educational program to address inclusion issues in Chicagoland synagogues, many people who have disabilities themselves or who have children with disabilities do not feel welcome in their synagogues. Wouldn’t it be great if our congregation had a sub-committee to explore and address this issue in a systematic way? For example, Congregation Shaare Tefilah in Boston has a standing Inclusion Committee that sent out a letter to each family in their congregation along with High Holiday tickets. It said, in part:

“Reducing stigma, educating ourselves and creating an accepting and supportive environment for those with disabilities and their families is a mission we ask you to embrace with us. We each probably have no more than 3 degrees of separation from someone with an impairing disability. This is a part of the vista to which we at Shaarei Tefillah raise our eyes as we begin this New Year.”

I want to challenge our congregation this evening to develop our own Inclusion Committee. If you are here and are interested in being a part of this committee, please let me know. I you are reading this sermon on-line, and want to be part of this effort, call or email me. Let this be the year when we move closer to the vision of the Psalms – Kol Haneshama Tehalel Yah – May every soul praise G-d.

Shabbat Shalom

Yom Kippur Day 5778 "The Two Steps to Forgiveness"

I want you to think to yourselves, but not say out loud, what is the first thing that pops into your mind when you hear the word, “scapegoat”. Hold on to that thought, and we will come back to it later.

The story is told of a leader of an Eastern European nation discussing his country’s problems with President Woodrow Wilson following World War I. “If our demands are not met at the conference table,” said the Prime Minister, “I can foresee serious trouble in my country. Why, my people will be so irritated that many of them will go out and massacre the Jews.”

“And what will happen if your demands are granted?” asked President Wilson?

“Why, my people will be so happy that they will get drunk and go out and massacre the Jews!”

There is much black humor that plays on the fact that the reasons offered by anti-Semites for violence against Jews are seldom the real reasons for that violence. In 1968, for example, when anti-government riots erupted in Poland, the then-communist government blamed the Jews of the country, who at that time represented less than one tenth of one percent of the population. Thirty four years later, in 2006, at the height of the avian flu scare, the official Syrian newspaper accused Israel of intentionally developing the virus in order to harm its Arab neighbors.  Three years after that, in 2009 a survey conducted in several European countries found that 31% of respondents believed that Jews were responsible for the financial crisis of 2008. These are just three examples of the scapegoating of Jews that has been part of the fabric of the history of Western civilization for the past 2500 years.

The word “scapegoat” is first found in our Torah reading that we just heard this morning.  It is the strangest and most mysterious element of the ancient Yom Kippur ritual. According to Rashi, "Aaron placed his right hand on one goat, and his left hand on the other. He then removed both hands from the heads of the goats, and put them in an urn where there were two lots. Written on one of the lots were the words “For the Lord”. Written on the other lot were the words, “For Azazel”.  Aaron took one lot in his right hand and one lot in his left hand, and placed them upon the corresponding goat. The goat so designated as “For the Lord” was to be slaughtered as a sacrifice in atonement for the sins of the Israelites. Aaron confessed the sins of the people on the other goat, the goat for Azazel. This goat was then sent, off to live, in the wilderness, never to return. 

One of the mysteries of this Yom Kippur ritual is the very name “Azazel”?  Who or what is “Azazel”? It is a “hapax legomenan” – an ancient Greek term meaning “something said only once”. The word Azazel is only found in this morning’s Torah reading.  There are no other places it is used in the Bible, and therefore no other contexts in which to understand what it means. The translation of the Bible from Hebrew into Greek in the second century BCE, known as the Septuagint, understood the word to be a compound of “az” or “goat” and “azel” or departing – in other words, “the departing, or vanishing, goat”. Six hundred years later, when the Bible was translated into Latin, the goat was termed “capro emissario” or “the emissary goat”. The first English translation, by William Tyndale in 1530, coined the word, “escape goat” from where our own “scapegoat” is derived.  This goat is thus both the “scapegoat” – the goat upon whose head all of the sins of the people are placed – and the “escape goat” – the goat that escapes to the wilderness and lives.

The two goats brought before Aaron had to be identical in height, in weight, in color and in monetary value. Yet they would have two different fates. One would live, and one would die. Their fates would be determined by the random movement of Aaron’s fingers as he placed his hands into the urn to draw the lots. This reminds us that there are some aspects of life that are determined by pure chance. It reminds us that there are some things in life over which we have no control. The Talmud puts it this way, “Our health, our children and our wealth are not determined by what we deserve but on our good or bad fortune.” We read about the drawing of lots on Yom Kippur to remind us that there are some facets of our lives that are totally in the hands of G-d.

I started this sermon by asking you for your associations to the word “scapegoat”. There are many famous scapegoats in history:

Adam blamed Eve for enticing him to eat the fruit from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.

Marie Antointette was blamed for many of the problems that led to the French Revolution.

Can a cow be scapegoated? Mrs. O’Leary’s cow was scapegoated for the great Chicago fire of 1871. In fact it was a careless pipe smoker – a neighbor of Mrs. O’Leary’s, who discarded a match that started the fire.

Yoko Ono was blamed for the breakup of the Beatles.

Bill Buckner was blamed for the 1986 Red Sox World Series loss when a ball hit down the first base line went through his legs. Who did you think of?

Of all the scapegoats in history, how many of you thought of a Cubs fan who became the most famous scapegoat in Chicago sports history, Steve Bartman? He was in the news again just the a few months ago.

Steve Bartman was one of tens of thousands of Chicago Cubs fans at Wrigley Field on October 14, 2003 watching the National League Championship playoff game between the Cubs and the Florida Marlins. The Cubs were leading the seven game series 3-2 and were leading the game 3-0 with one out in the top of the eighth inning. Five more outs and the Cubs would be in the World Series for the first time since 1945. Florida Marlins second baseman Luis Castillo hit a ball down the left field line. It began to fall in foul territory heading toward the seats. Moises Alou, the Cub’s left fielder raced into the foul area to catch it for the second out of the inning. As the ball lofted toward the stands, Bartman also reached out from his seat near the left field line and deflected the ball away from the waiting glove of Alou. Instead of the second out of the inning Castillo’s pop up fell as a mere foul ball. Castillo then walked, Cubs shortstop Alex Gonzalez muffed a double play ball, and by the end of the inning the Marlins had taken an 8-3 lead.

As the Cubs lost their lead in the top of the eighth inning enraged fans turned on Bartman, holding him responsible for the ignominious defeat. He had to be escorted from the ballpark by security as he was cursed at and pelted with debris and even a beer.  He even needed to be placed under police protection for a time after his identity became known. Steve Bartman became a “scapegoat”. It was the Cubs that lost the game, but Bartman got the blame! Just as the goat designated “for Azazel” left the Israelite camp for the wilderness and was never seen again, so Steve Bartman was exiled from Wrigley Field and has yet to return. That’s right. In the 14 years that have elapsed since that fateful day, Steve Bartman, despite invitations from the Cubs management, has not yet set foot in that ball park.

This past July, the Cubs presented Steve Bartman with a 2016 World Series ring. National Public Radio host and Chicago native Scott Simon summed up the meaning of this gesture in saying, “Cubs fans have been waiting for a moment like this. Just to put their arms around the guy one way or another and say: ‘It could have been any of us; it just happened to be you. And we’re sorry for what happened to you.’”

I see this act as representing the completion of a lengthy process of atonement by the baseball community for the scapegoating of Steve Bartman. Forgiveness is not only about saying we are sorry. For although we are sorry for what happened, and our apology has been accepted, there is still the damage to the reputation, the shame and the diminished standing in the community which remains. How does one address the permanent harm done to a person that one has wronged? The World Series ring is the baseball public’s attempt to erase this stain.

This example might give us insight into why the Yom Kippur ritual in the Torah involved two goats. On all other days of the year, if an Israelite wanted to be forgiven by G-d for a sin, he or she would confess the sin on one goat, and that goat would be sacrificed to G-d. What, then, is the need for the other goat on this one day of the year, on Yom Kippur? And why was the goat upon whose head the sins were confessed not sacrificed, but let go? The Torah tells us in a verse we read this morning, “For on this day, the High Priest shall provide atonement for you for cleansing you – you shall be cleansed of all your sins before G-d.” The verse hints that there are two elements of forgiveness occurring on Yom Kippur – atonement and cleansing. Perhaps the two goats represent these two elements.  What is the difference between them?

The first stage, atonement, is called “Kappara” in the Hebrew. The word “kappara” is related to the name of this day, Yom Kippur. Atonement is achieved through the process called Teshuvah – repentance.  We are forgiven our sins when we recognize our error, understand that we were wrong, and resolve to try not to make the same mistake in the future. We acknowledge that we cheated in business and on Yom Kippur we asked G-d for forgiveness and resolve not to cheat again. We acknowledge that lost our temper and promise to try to be more patient in the future. We admit that we scapegoated a young man and made his life miserable. Kappara/Atonement means that G-d forgives us. G-d will not exact punishment for our misdeeds. On Yom Kippur, G-d pardons us. Whatever punishment we may deserve for our transgressions in the past year from G-d are mercifully rescinded. We may be guilty, but G-d will not hold us liable.

Kappara/Atonement is represented by the first goat, the one designated “For the Lord”.

But on Yom Kippur there is an additional step in the repentance process, represented by the second goat. A sinful act may be forgiven, through Teshuvah, but it leaves a stain on the soul that needs to be washed away. That step is symbolized by Tahara, or purification.

Atonement is concerned with guilt – the internal anxiety or unhappiness related to knowing our behavior was wrong, and we have harmed somebody.  Guilt takes place in the psychological realm – in our head.  Purification/Tahara may be more related to shame, which takes place in the social realm – between people.  Therefore, a person who cheats in business can admit his guilt, apologize, make restitution, and spend time in prison. But there is also shame involved, as a result of a stain on the reputation, which does not get erased because the apology has been accepted. A person who loses their temper may apologize, and that apology can be accepted. But there is also a stigma associated with losing one’s temper, which doesn’t go away because an apology has been accepted.  The businessman who has served time in prison may find it difficult for others to trust him, even after he has admitted his guilt and served his time. The one who loses their temper may forever be seen as a hot-headed and intemperate person, even after they have apologized for their outburst.

Moreover, once we engage in a wrongful behavior, our resistance to repeating that behavior weakens, becomes more fragile.  Tahara/Purification, therefore, symbolizes the need to make a break from the environments which contribute to these self- destructive behaviors. Purification implies identifying the factors which contribute to these self-defeating behaviors and avoiding them. It means that not only have we recognized our sin and resolved to improve, but that we have stayed off the paths that lead to sin. Only then, only when we have achieved both kappara and tahara, atonement from sin and purification, can we be said to have completed teshuvah. 

Judaism is a religion of hope. Yom Kippur holds out the possibility that not only can we be forgiven for our wrongful acts, but that we can erase the stain on our character that these acts leave behind. We are not condemned to live with our past mistakes. Yom Kippur teaches that with insight, effort and through the grace of G-d, we can truly turn around our lives and become better people.

To that let us say  --- Amen!

Kol Nidre 5778 "Things that Go Bump in the Night"

“Daddy, there’s an alligator under my bed.”

“Mommy, there’s a giant spider on my ceiling.”

“Help, there’s a monster in my closet.”

Those words are familiar to anyone who has ever had children, been around children, baby-sat for children or who have been children themselves. There -- that should cover everybody! What do we do when we hear these calls?  We go into the child’s room and we comfort them. In order to reassure them we may look under the bed, examine the closet and check the ceiling.  We explain in a soothing voice that there are no alligators, spiders, or monsters in the room, that our child has nothing to fear, that we are there to protect them.

Have you ever wondered – Whose description of the world is closer to the way things really are? A child who is afraid that there are alligators under their bed, or an adult who reassures the child that everything is safe and that there is nothing to fear? …………..

No matter how much we may need to comfort our children, we know that the world is indeed full of dangers, both natural and created by man. On this day of judgement, Yom Kippur, we confront the scary realities which govern our lives, and the scary monsters that actually do lurk around the corners – the hurricanes, the earthquakes, and the weapons of mass destruction, to name a few, which have been so much in the news these days. On these high holidays we ask -- Who shall live, and who shall die? Who by fire and who by water? Who in the fullness of years and who before? Who by famine and who by thirst? Who shall be afflicted, and who shall be at ease? It has even been said that Yom Kippur is a rehearsal for death. As most of you know, in our tradition the dead wear white shrouds, called kittels, with no pockets. This symbolizes that when we die we must leave everything material behind. We cannot take anything beyond the grave with us, so what is the use of pockets? On Yom Kippur we do not eat, we do not drink for in death there is no eating or drinking. On Yom Kippur we remind ourselves that we are here today and gone tomorrow.

In a few moments we will recite the prayer, “Shma Kolenu , where we implore G-d to hear our voice. It is in this prayer that we say these words:

“Do not cast us away from your presence; do not take your Holy Spirit from us; Do not cast us off in old age, when our strength fails, do no forsake us; Do not forsake us, Eternal G-d, do not distance yourself from  us.” 

These plaintive lines of prayer are taken from the Book of Psalms.  The Talmud explains that they were written by Kind David when his son, Absalom, led a rebellion against him in order to usurp the crown. According to the sages, King David said to G-d, “When I was young and strong, I led the Children of Israel into battle and defeated her enemies. Now that I am old, do not cast me off. Now that my strength is diminished, do not forsake me.” To which G-d responds, “Even to your old age and grey hairs, I will sustain you; I will carry you and rescue you.”

“G-d, please don’t abandon us!” we plea. We pray, “G-d, be with us in our old age,” just as King David did. But the comforting response that G-d gives to King David – don’t worry, I will sustain you, I will carry you, I will rescue you -- is not there in our Machzor. We are left hanging. G-d doesn’t respond! We hear the dread, the fear, the anxiety, but not the reassurance!  Old age is a monster waiting for us, G-d! It’s like an alligator waiting to swallow us! – but G-d, doesn’t come through with the comforting remarks.

Our prayer starkly highlights a real fear in old age – abandonment.  I will always remember the wisdom of a long ago former congregant struggling with cancer. She was getting on in years, confronting a serious illness, yet her adult children were distant, aloof, uninvolved. She expressed her feelings of abandonment in these words. “It is amazing,” she said to me one day, “how one mother can take care of five children but five children cannot take care of one mother.”

Maybe you have heard that in an effort to help people to cope with loneliness in old age, scientists are in the process of developing “social robots”. These robots are programmed to give the appearance of caring about the elderly. When no one is there to listen, care givers of the not too distant future will send in a robot that at least seems to be listening! Shirley Turkle, who is Professor of Social Studies of Science and Technology at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, calls this quote: “designing technology that gives the illusion of companionship without friendship. But the robot can’t empathize, does not understand life, and can only fake feelings.”

I recently read about a woman named Agnes who was very lonely in her nursing home. She wrote to an elementary school which hosted a luncheon for Senior citizens. During her visit she won the door prize of a new radio. She wrote a thank you letter to the school:

Dear Class,                                                                                                                                                 “G-d bless you for the beautiful radio I won at your recent senior citizens luncheon. I am 84 years old and live at the Springer Home for the Aged. My roommate is 95 and has always had her own radio but she would never let me listen to hers. The other day her radio fell off the night stand and broke into smithereens. . It was awful and she was in tears. Her distress over the broken radio touched me and I knew this was G-d’s way of answering my prayers. She asked if she could listen to mine, and I told her – ‘Go Fish!’ Thank you for the opportunity to get my revenge!  Sincerely, Agnes.”

Why do we raise this possibility on Kol Nidre night that G-d might cast us away in old age?  I think that perhaps it is there to motivate us to work harder to seek G-d -- not only during the course of this service but also and during the course of our lives so that we can be confident that we will feel G-d’s presence at the end of our lives. I think it is a call to examine, to reflect upon and to repair our relationships. For how does G-d manifest His presence other than through our relationships? When our time comes we will sense the presence of G-d in the friends and family and caregivers who will be there with us as our strength fades and we approach the end of our lives -- Because we surely will not sense the presence of G-d with a robot in attendance.

I recently read a description of the human condition by Alan Watts. Watts was a British philosopher, writer and lecturer who was best known in the 1960’s as an interpreter of Eastern thought to Western audiences. Watts asks us to "Imagine the idea that the moment you were born you were kicked off the edge of a precipice, and you are falling. As you fell, a great lump of rock came with you, and it’s traveling alongside you. And you’re clinging to it for dear life! And thinking, ‘Gee, I’ve gotta hold onto this.’” But that is futile, because grabbing on to something that’s falling with you doesn’t stop you from falling! “So, you grab on to other things. But the thing is, everything you grab on to is falling as well.”

It is a sobering image. From the moment we are born we are moving toward old age and death. In order to cope with the terror we experience, we grab on to things – money, status, success, prestige, sex, power…. – material things that we hope will give us a sense of security, a sense that we are in control of our lives. But everything we grab on to, everything we grasp at, is falling along with us. We may not recognize it, we may think we have found safety in things, but we do not.

A lot of us, for example, believe that we have purchased security when we buy a home in which we can raise our families. We are told that it is a solid investment that will also increase in value over the years. And when we finally achieve the American dream, and what happens? Some bankers, in their greed, begin gambling with bank funds, and, through no fault of our own, our homes are now worth less than we paid for them. And we may be one of the millions who are thrown out of work, again, through no fault of our own, because of the financial mismanagement and greed in New York, London or Zurich.

Yom Kippur reminds us that it is an illusion to believe that grabbing on to things – the same things that are falling along with us -- can stay our anxiety and bring us the security that we all desire. Yom Kippur reminds us that each year things could happen that are beyond our control and beyond our imagination. Yom Kippur is there to force us to think about what we want to avoid thinking about the other days of the year – that we are mortal beings and that we are all destined to die.

Elisabeth Kubler-Ross, puts it this way: “It is the denial of death that is partially responsible for people living empty purposeless lives; for when you live as if you’ll live forever, it becomes easy to postpone the things you must do…. In contrast, when you fully understand that each day you awaken could be the last you have; you take the time to grow, you take the steps that will help you to fulfill your potential, you make the effort to reach out to other human beings.” 

The liturgy of Yom Kippur, the fasting, the special clothing -- the scary prayers – and yes, the Rabbi’s somber sermons -- are all meant to put us in that frame of mind. They are meant to shake us out of our complacency, to get us to confront our denial of death and to spur us to examine our priorities in life.

Rabbi Baruch Leff writes about an extraordinary Shabbat dinner with his father, Marvin, shortly after his father had been diagnosed with a rare cancer. With his children and grandchildren gathered around the table, the elder Mr. Leff shared his thoughts:

“I was lying in the hospital this week coming to terms with what the doctors were saying. What does one think about while lying in a hospital bed under these circumstances?

“One thinks about his life, the past, things that I could have done better, mistakes that I made. I have begun ………….. to accept the reality that I am totally dependent on others for all of my needs……….. Now, I cannot help myself ……….. and the words “Master of the World” have great new meaning to me. Hashem, God, is the Master of my life.

“Of course, He always was, but when you are healthy and independent, you more or less feel as if you control your life. We give lip service to God …………. Now I see as clearly as I possibly can that it is only He who controls everything, now, as He did throughout my life.

“So, I am trying to work on my faith. I am trying to accept the fact that if God sees fit to end my life soon, then this is for the best, even if I don’t understand it. One day we will perhaps understand why the pain and suffering in our lives had to occur ………. we don’t know G-d’s ways in this world. But I am working on accepting His will……..”

We need not wait until we are lying in a hospital bed facing the end of life to reflect on these matters. We can contemplate them now on this, Yom Kippur.  For this moment we are in a dress rehearsal for death. G-d willing, tomorrow we can begin life anew. And when we do, may we all be sealed in the Book of Life for the coming year.

Rosh Hashana Day 5778 "Israel -- All Good Things Take Time"

Shana Tova.  I am truly honored to be here with you this morning, as we celebrate our tenth Rosh Hashanah together. Where has the time gone? Of course, ten years is nothing compared to our cantor who is celebrating her 24^th High Holiday with the congregation!  She has served an entire generation, and then some. As Congregation Beth Shalom celebrates its 45^th anniversary this year, it is wise to reflect that Cantor Perman has been our Cantor for over half of our existence!  And one thing that I admire about her, among many things, is that her enthusiasm, and her gifts for leading us in prayer have not diminished over all these years. Some people, when they have served many years, may become tired—but not our cantor. She is just amazing. But, I have noticed one thing -- that I am catching up with our cantor in one respect. When I was here one year, and she was here 13 years, she was here 13 times longer than I. Now, when I am here ten years and she is here twenty four years, she is only here 2 and one half times longer than I. In other words, I am catching up to her!

Two old Jewish men were sitting on a park bench, friends for many years. One looks at the other and says, “Oy”. The other looks back and says, “Oy”. The other replies, “Oy”, to which the response is “Oy”. They repeat this exchange a few more times, and then Max says to Irving, “I thought we weren’t going to talk about Israel”.

This morning we are going to talk about Israel. A number of troubling and disappointing news stories have come out of Israel within the last few months. The first news story was about the planned building of an egalitarian plaza near Robinson’s Arch, at the southern end of the Western Wall, where non-Orthodox Jews could pray.  This would have been an area where men and women could worship together, an area where women could put on a tallis and tefillin without fear of being harassed by Orthodox Jews who oppose women wearing tallis and tefillin for prayer. This construction of this plaza had been initiated by Prime Minister Netanyahu who was seeking to resolve an issue over the Western Wall that has plagued Israel for decades. This agreement to build this plaza was torpedoed by the Orthodox Rabbinate who had initially agreed to support it.  The next story was about the release of a list of 160 rabbis whose documentation attesting to the Jewishness of potential immigrants in order to marry in Israel were rejected by the Chief Rabbinate in Israel.  The list was interpreted by some as an attempt by the Israeli Orthodox establishment to delegitimize rabbis from the diaspora who were not themselves Orthodox rabbis. The third news story was about a bill introduced in the Knesset that would put all conversions performed in Israel under the state-run Orthodox Rabbinate. This would mean that conversions performed in Israel by Conservative or Reform rabbis would not be recognized. This bill would not affect the status of conversions performed by Reform and Conservative Rabbis outside of Israel. However, many Jewish leaders in the United States see this as a step toward an ultimate goal of invalidating Reform and Conservative conversions throughout the world. This would also mean that conversions world-wide would be placed under the aegis of the Ultra-Orthodox rabbis in Israel. American Jewish leaders took these threats seriously enough that some have declared that Knesset members who vote for this bill will not be welcome in their communities. Others prominent  Jewish leaders  suggested that American Jews make our displeasure known by flexing our economic muscles through withholding donations from Israeli medical institutions or by boycotting  El Al airlines when we travel.

If that is not enough bad press, we know that Israel is often maligned in newspapers, on television and on the internet in her dealings with the Palestinians.  Often the press coverage is biased against Israel and biased coverage gives Israel a bad name. Young people read this reporting, young people who know Israel only as a powerful military state and who did not live through the frightening and vulnerable Israel of 1967. They were not born when President Abdel Raaman Alef of Iraq sent the chilling message on the eve of the Six Day War that, "The existence of Israel is an error which must be rectified. This is our opportunity to wipe out the ignominy which has been with us since 1948. Our goal is clear – to wipe Israel off the map. We shall, God willing, meet in Tel Aviv and Haifa." They did not hear Ahmed Shukeiri, then President of the PLO say, on the eve of that war "This is a fight for the homeland – it is either us or the Israelis. There is no middle road. The Jews of Palestine will have to leave. We will facilitate their departure to their former homes. Any of the old Palestine Jewish population who survive may stay, but it is my impression that none of them will survive." Today’s younger generations do not know the Israel of the Yom Kippur War in 1973, where Israel came very close to losing it all. They read of Israel condemned as the occupier, as the oppressor, as the intransigent one, as the country standing in the way of peace in the Middle East. They read of Israel being condemned as a belligerent, racist state -- even as an apartheid state. They do not know their history – and at times we, the older generation, are guilty of forgetting it as well.

The  2013 Pew Center Study of American Jews found that whereas 40% of American Jews over the age of 65 said they were “very attached” to Israel, that number fell to 25% for those who were ages 18-29. Increasingly Israel is viewed by American Jews with indifference, disaffection, animosity and even embarrassment. As we all know, some of this is due to the intractable nature of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.    According to Israeli diplomat Alon Pinkus, some of the reasons lie in Israel’s [and I quote,] “dismissive, inconsiderate and at times arrogant” attitude toward forms of Judaism that do not conform to Orthodox practice, liturgy and ideology.

Curiously, we Jews are often more critical of Israel than others. A recent survey found that 66% of Arab Israelis describe Israel’s “overall situation” as “good” or “very good” compared to only 44% of Jewish Israelis. A solid majority of both groups, 61% of Arabs Israelis and 73% of Jews, said they were optimistic about Israel’s future. 

Joel Goldman, from Chicago, was 14 years old when he made Aliyah –moved to Israel -- with his parents. On a field trip with his High School classmates to the Tel Aviv Library, he got to meet the great man himself, David Ben Gurion, who took a break from some research he was doing to greet the class. Ben Gurion asked the class, “How many of you were born in Israel?” All but three students raised their hands. “Where are you from?” Ben Gurion asked Joel. He replied that he was from Chicago. “Why aren’t more of your Jewish friends from Chicago coming to live in the State of the Jewish people?” Joel was flummoxed. He didn’t know how to answer that question, and as an oleh chadash, a new immigrant, his Hebrew was not all that good. “Nu,” said Ben Gurion as he waited for an answer.  Finally Joel replied “I suppose all good things take time. Ben Gurion smiled and replied, “Pretty good answer for an American Jew.”

It is true – all good things take time, ESPECIALLY when one is building a nation. In the Book of Deuteronomy, G-d denies Moses entry into the Promised Land. Moses then implores G-d to “Let me cross over and see the good land on the other side of the Jordan.” A Chassidic commentary notes that Moses is asking to see “the good in the land”, unlike the spies who Moses sent in 38 years earlier to reconnoiter the land. At that time they came back with reports of all of the troubles in the Land, thereby demoralizing the Jewish people.  Sometimes, I think, American Jewry is a little like the Israelites of that generation. We hear reports of difficulties in Israel and come to see only the bad in the country. Then we feel ashamed and angry and betrayed by Israel, which seems not to have lived up to her promise.  Maybe some of us then distance ourselves in an attempt to shield ourselves from the pain, the disillusionment, and the disappointment we feel when Israel does not live up to our expectations of her as “a light to the nations”.  

I want to share with you three stories from Israel that capture “the good in the land”.  We rarely hear or read about these kinds stories. They are not stories about war, or religious conflict, or political calculation. They are stories about ordinary people that show a different side of Israel.

David Haber and his wife were on their way from Miami Beach to spend the High Holidays with their son, Jonathan, in Israel. Their son was what we call a “lone soldier”. A lone soldier is a young man or woman, born in the United States, or Canada, or France or Argentina, or any place without family in Israel, who chooses to enlist in the Israeli army to help defend the state. About 40% of lone soldiers enlist in combat units. On the El Al plane, a flight attendant asked why the Habers were going to Israel. The people in the seats around them overheard their answer. Immediately ten people, including the flight attendant, gave David and his wife their addresses and telephone numbers in Israel. They asked that Jonathan call and come over whenever he wants. When the family later went on a tour of Israel, their tour guide gave Jonathan a key to his newly renovated house and invited him to “come and stay anytime. My place is yours.”

That’s the “good” in Israel. These people didn’t care if Jonathan was an Orthodox, or Conservative, or Reform Jew. They didn’t care if he was an atheist. It didn’t matter to them whether or not he supported an egalitarian section of the Western Wall, or whether he supported settlements in the occupied territories. They reached out to him because he was a lone soldier, a young Jewish man with no family in Israel who was willing to put his life on the line to protect her. They reached out to him to tell him that he was always welcome to dip apples in honey at their home for Rosh Hashanah. They reached out to him because when we recite on Passover, “All who are hungry come and eat, all who are in need come and participate” we mean “those in need” it to include the lone soldier without a family to go to.  They reached out to him because they were putting into practice the ancient dictum from the Talmud, “Kol Yisrael Arevim Zeh La Zeh” – every Jew is responsible for his fellow Jew. Every Jew has the obligation to come to his fellow Jew in a time of need. We see this ancient ethic put into practice when that lone soldier goes to fight on behalf of Israel, and when the Israeli invites that lone soldier into their home.

The second story comes courtesy of Rabbi Dov Peretz Elkins, who is best known for the co-authoring “Chicken Soup for the Jewish Soul”. After a half century as a pulpit rabbi, Rabbi Elkins moved to Jerusalem where he now lives.

He tells about being in a crowded elevator in his apartment building. The doors of the elevator were about to close when a woman carrying a package rushed up. “Is there room for one more?” asked the woman. Another woman in the elevator replied, in Hebrew, with a saying from the Talmud, “No man ever had to say to his fellow – there is no room for me in Jerusalem.” She was quoting a passage about the pilgrimage holidays in ancient times – Passover, Shavuot and Succoth -- when thousands would go to Jerusalem to worship and celebrate. Despite the crush of travelers to Jerusalem, there was always room for one more. So, too, in an elevator in Jerusalem in our time.

What struck Rabbi Elkins was that it was not a religious Jew who was quoting the Talmud, it was a secular Jew. What struck Rabbi Elkins was that it was not a man who was quoting the Talmud, it was a woman. What struck Rabbi Elkins was that it was not a scholar who was quoting the Talmud, but an ordinary person on the street. It made Rabbi Elkins feel good, on the eve of Rosh Hashanah, that he had chosen a place to live where the average person could quote freely from sacred Jewish writings.

Israel is probably the only country in the world where thieves kiss the mezuzah on the doorpost of the homes they are robbing as they exit with their loot. Indeed that scene has been captured many times on security cameras. And I love it that when the police raided a home during a drug bust in Tel Aviv, they waited to make the arrest until after the mohel had completed the bris of the of the suspect’s son. Said the commanding officer, “I am happy that both the raid, and the bris, went well.”

The Israeli writer Amos Oz perhaps sums up our sometimes schizophrenic feelings about Israel when he writes, “I love Israel even when I cannot stand it. Should I be fated to collapse in the street one day, I want to collapse on a street in Israel. Not in London, nor Paris, nor Berlin, nor New York. In Israel, strangers will come and pick me up (and when I’m back on my feet, there would certainly be quite a few who would be pleased to see me fall) ….. I am afraid of the government’s policy, and I am ashamed too… but I am glad to be an Israeli. I’m glad to be a citizen of a country that has 8.5 million prime ministers, 8.5 million prophets, 8.5 million messiahs …. It isn’t boring here…… What I have seen here in my life is far less and far more than what my parents and their parents dreamed of.”

Yes, Israel is far less, and far more, than we could have ever dreamed of or wanted in a Jewish state. But, as 14 year old Joel Goldman said to Ben Gurion, “all good things take time.”  I share these stories with you today to remind us all that despite the troubling news that sometimes comes out of Israel, there is so much good there that we don’t hear about. I tell them to you as well to temper some of the disappointment in Israel we feel when non-Orthodox rabbis and movements are not shown the kind of respect we deserve from the Israeli government, when plans for an egalitarian section of the Western Wall fall through. I tell them to you because I want to bring some of the spirit of Rosh Hashanah from Jerusalem into our synagogue today. And I want to encourage you all to visit Jerusalem, to travel to Israel, and to see and experience for yourselves the spirit of Judaism that permeates the country. Finally I want us to resist the urge to punish Israel when Israel doesn’t live up to our hopes and dreams. We should oppose withholding money from hospitals or refusing to invite Israeli politicians who disagree with us to our communities. We should engage in dialogue with those with whom we disagree and financially support institutions in Israel that promote religious pluralism.

There is a story – I don’t know if it is true or not – that a reporter once asked Prime Minister David ben Gurion what the most important issue in Israel was in his day. “Shalom”, answered ben Gurion. “So shalom, peace, is the most important issue,” said the reporter. “Not exactly,” replied ben Gurion. “Shalom means both hello and goodbye. Sometimes I don’t know if this country is coming or going!”

May we begin this New Year with “shalom” – with peace, with harmony, with integrity – in our lives, in our homes, in our communities, in our world, in Israel and between Israel and her neighbors.

Rosh Hashanah Eve, 5778/2017 – My Heart Says, “Seek G-d”

The story is told of an old Jew who prayed every day at the Western Wall in Jerusalem. One day he was interviewed by a reporter for the Jerusalem Post. “How many years have you been praying here?” asked the reporter? “Sixty-seven years,” replied the man. “What do you pray for?” asked the reporter. “I pray for peace between Jews, Muslims and Christians. I also pray for the love of human beings for one another. And, I pray for politicians to be honest and fair.” The reporter asked, “So what has this long experience of prayer been like for you after all these years?”  “It’s like talking to a wall,” replied the man.

Prayer can be a frustrating experience. We pray, but we sometimes feel as if we are talking to a wall. We pray, but we seem to get no response to our prayers. Nothing changes – neither us nor our world.  Perhaps after sixty seven years the man in this story needs to change something about how he prays. Shake things up a little. Try something different. Perhaps this year we too can try something different.

Contemporary American writer Ann Lamott advises us not to get trapped in the mundane routines of life. Don’t be afraid of finding G-d!  She writes, “Emerson said that the happiest person on earth is the one who learns from nature the lessons of worship. So go outside a lot, and look up. My pastor says you can trap bees on the floor of a Mason jar without a lid, because they don't look up. If they did, they could fly to freedom. Instead, they walk around bitterly, bumping into glass walls.”

This summer, Middy and I learned some lessons about worship by visiting Yellowstone National Park and the Grand Tetons in Wyoming. We looked up!  The natural beauty of these treasured parks is overwhelming. The Grand Tetons soar above pristine lakes, wild rivers plunge through deep walled canyons, rolling meadows dotted with yellow, and pink and violet wildflowers spread out at our feet. Time and again we stood spellbound as we took in the beauty around us.  Everything is laid out perfectly, as on a canvas by Monet.  . “WHO PUT This Here?” I cried out. Indeed, there is no need for a signature on this work of art, as the psalmist writes:

“The Heavens declare the glory of G-d/The skies declares His handiwork

"Day after day the word goes forth/night after night the story is told

"Without speaking, without a voice being heard/ the story is echoed throughout the world."

I felt I understood, on a deeper level, those words of Psalm 19, which we recite in our prayers each Shabbat morning. All one needs to do is listen to the silent testimony of Nature herself to know that this is the work of our Creator.  

Rosh Hashanah is our annual celebration of G-d’s creation. It is, as we know, the Birthday of the World. I don’t know if you have noticed that in our prayers we praise G-d as “The One Who Creates the World” – present tense – rather than, “The One who Created the World” – past tense. This reminds us that creation is a, dynamic, ongoing and unfinished process. At Yellowstone National Park, which sits on the crater of an active volcano, one witnesses firsthand evidence of this.  One sees it in the breathtakingly hot, sulfurous gasses escape from holes in the earth called fumaroles. Out of other vents in the ground boiling water, heated by the magma below, is spewed into the air in a jet streams we call a geyser.   Numerous other hot springs bubble up from the ground, providing breeding grounds for organisms, called thermophiles, which color their waters in yellows, in oranges, in blues, in purples, in greens. In other places bubbling mud oozes up from beneath the surface of the earth forming ominous looking pools called mud pots.

Upon seeing all of this, the words of the Psalms came to mind:  Mah Rabu Maasecha, Adonai, Me’od amku mach-she-vo-techa  -- How great are your works, Adonai, your designs are profound.

Being so immersed in the beauty and grandeur of nature elicits feelings of awe and of closeness to G-d. The medieval poet Moshe Ibn Ezra tells us that we err when we seek G-d in miracles or in supernatural signs. All one has to do to find G-d is to “look up”. He writes:

I see You in the starry field, I see You in the harvest's yield,

 In every breath, in every sound, an echo of Your name is found.

The blade of grass, the simple flower, Bear witness to Your matchless power.

In wonder-workings, or some bush aflame,

Men look for God and fancy Him concealed;

But in earth's common things He stands revealed

While grass and flowers and stars spell out His name.

But Jewish thought is far from unanimous in extolling the virtues of finding G-d in nature. In a passage of Pirke Avot, a collection of rabbinic teachings, Rabbi Yaakov says: One who walks along a road and studies, and interrupts his studying to say, "How beautiful is this tree!", "How beautiful is this ploughed field!"---the Torah considers it as if he had forfeited his life!” Make no mistake about it, Rabbi Yaakov is saying that interrupting ones religious studies to appreciate the glories of creation makes the student of Torah deserving of death!  This is hard to comprehend.   How could it possibly be wrong to take a moment to appreciate nature? True, the Jewish ideal has always been to find G-d in holy texts. But should there not be an acknowledgement that there are multiple ways of seeking and feeling close to G-d?

Fortunately, that passage in Pirke Avot does not represent the final word on the subject. Rabbi Nachman of Bratzlov, the great grandson of the Baal Shem Tov, would spend an hour every day alone praying in a natural setting in addition to his daily prayers with a minyan. His disciple, Reb Noson, would recite this prayer before setting out into the fields:

“Master of the Universe, let me seclude myself in meditation and prayer every day, going out to the fields to meditate among the trees and the grass, pouring out my heart in prayer. For all the leaves and grass, all the trees and plants, will stir themselves to greet me; they will rise to imbue my words and prayers with their energy and life force. All the trees and plants of the field will merge with my words and prayers; they will combine all their spiritual power and bring my words up to their celestial source. Thus my prayers and supplications will attain perfection.”

Ralph Waldo Emerson, the 19^th century American poet and philosopher, would agree. We are not the same when we are in nature. He wrote, “In the woods we return to nature and faith. Standing on bare ground all mean egotism vanishes. I become a transparent eyeball; I am nothing; I see all; the currents of the Universal Being circulate through me; I am part or particle of G-d.”

Jewish mysticism refers to this state of being as “bitul ha-yesh” or “nullification of all traces of self – centeredness.  It is when we are engaged so deeply in prayer that we forget about ourselves altogether, and lose ourselves in the moment.

This evening we are gathered once again in our house of worship on Rosh Hashanah. We are all here in search of something -- whether it is a sense of community, a feeling of peace or comfort or consolation, an inspiration to propel us forward, an answer to a question, a renewal of hope, a way out of a quandary, or perhaps a way to draw closer to the Almighty. Some of us might feel “up against a wall” and some of us might feel like a bee trapped in the bottom of a mason jar. I hope during the holiday season we will all have a chance to get out into nature, to look up, and when we do, to discover for ourselves some of the lessons nature can teach us about worship. There are many stories about individuals, some of them famous rabbis, who struggle to find their way to meaningful prayer. Tonight I want to leave you with the story of an entire Jewish community, the community of Kiev, Ukraine, who gathered one Rosh Hashanah and discovered a uniquely meaningful way to worship and to connect to G-d.

For 70 years the government of the Soviet Union prohibited Jews from learning Hebrew. It had been a crime to teach Hebrew or to gather in prayer, whether in synagogue or even at home.   Countless Jews had been sent to Siberia by Soviet authorities for attempting to learn about prayer or to pray.  Yet following the dissolution of the Soviet Union, Jews in Kiev, Ukraine gathered in the synagogue for the first time in generations on the first day of Rosh Hashanah in 1991. The Lubbavitcher Rebbe had sent an emissary with Russian-Hebrew prayer books to lead High Holiday services that year. The synagogue was packed with Jewish men and women, children and teens, who were attending services for the first time in their lives.  Just imagine that experience!   They had prayer books in Russian and Hebrew, but, of course, could not read the Hebrew – the language of the service they were attending. There was a great deal of excitement and anticipation in the air. But after a short while, the Rabbi realized that the congregation was no longer engaged in the service. They were becoming bored. Many of the people began to wonder, “Could these be the prayers that they had yearned for so many years to recite?

The rabbi interrupted the service and turned to address the congregation. He told them the following story:

The Baal Shem Tov, the great Chasidic teacher, was leading a prayer service. Within the congregation there was a simple shepherd boy, who could barely read. He didn't know any of the prayers. But as the Baal Shem Tov led the congregation, the boy was so moved that he wanted to pray. Instead of the words of the prayers, he began to recite the letters of the alef-bet. He said, "Oh God, I don't know the words of the prayers, I only know all these letters. Please, God, take these letters and arrange them into the right order to make the right words." The Baal Shem Tov heard the boy's words and stopped all the prayers. "Because of the simple words of this boy," he said, "all of our prayers will be heard in the highest reaches of Heaven."

When the Rabbi of Kiev finished this story, there was complete silence in the congregation. Then, the silence was shattered when a man sitting in the congregation yelled out “Alef”. Thousands echoed back “alef”. Then another voice called out “bet”. Thousands responded – “bet”. And so on through the Hebrew alphabet.  When they had concluded the alphabet, the congregation filed out, confident that their prayers had reached the highest realms of heaven and had been accepted by G-d.

Jewish tradition teaches that there are 70 paths to the Torah. There are many ways to engage in meaningful prayer, not only during this High Holiday season, but throughout the year. It is up to each of us to find our own way. No one can do it for us. As Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel teaches, “The words of our prayer must not fall off our lips like dead leaves in autumn. They must rise like birds – out of the heart – into the vast expanse of eternity.”

Shana Tovah