Some Reflections on "Chad Gadya"

In 1947, in the wake of the United Kingdom’s decision to relinquish their Mandate for Palestine, the United Nations formed the Special Committee on Palestine. The purpose of the commission was to investigate the conflict in Palestine and to make a recommendation on future governance of the area. David Ben Gurion, the future Prime Minister of Israel, testified before the committee. In part of that testimony, Ben Gurion compared the Exodus from Egypt with another historic exodus. Speaking before the committee he said:

“300 years ago, there came to the New World a boat, and its name was the Mayflower. The Mayflower’s landing on Plymouth Rock was one of the great historical events in the history of England and in the history of America. But I would like to ask any Englishman sitting here on the commission, what day did the Mayflower leave port? What date was it? I’d like to ask the Americans: do they know what date the Mayflower left port in England? How many people were on the boat? Who were their leaders? What kind of food did they eat on the boat? “More than 3300 years ago, long before the Mayflower, our people left Egypt, and every Jew in the world, wherever he is, knows what day they left. And he knows what food they ate. And we still eat that food every anniversary. And we know who our leader was. And we sit down and tell the story to our children and grandchildren in order to guarantee that it will never be forgotten. And we say our two slogans: ‘Now we may be enslaved, but next year, we’ll be a free people.’”

In this statement Ben Gurion seems to be suggesting that it is our capacity to remember that accounts for the longevity of the Jewish people. Perhaps as well it is a subtle warning to the great powers of the time that held Israel’s fate in their hands that they would do well to heed that lesson. Many civilizations have come and gone, yet, the Jewish people, with our prodigious memory, remain. This is the essential meaning of the final song of our Haggadah, Chad Gadya that Jewish families around the world will be singing as we conclude our Passover seders in ten days. There have been many interpretations of what appears to be a typical children’s song.  I’d like to share one of those interpretations with you this evening. 

The song begins with the verse “Chad Gadya” - One kid, which Father bought for two zuzim,” or coins. The kid, or goat, represents the Jewish people. The “Father” who gives two coins, or zuzim, for the kid represents G-d, who gave the Jewish people the two tablets of the law, the Ten Commandments. There follows a series of verses introducing animals, objects and people who in turn slaughter, devour, burn, hit or bite one another. These represent the powerful nations of the world who achieve ascendancy in their time, only to eventually lose their power. The final verse of the song, where the Ruler of the Universe makes His appearance, represents the final judgement and the redemption of the Jewish people.

There has been much speculation about how this beloved song entered the Haggadah. Its first appearance in a printed Haggadah was in 1590 in Prague. Some say that it was based on a familiar German nursery rhyme of the era. Others say that German nursery rhyme is based on Chad Gadya! 

Natan Alterman, one of the most prominent Modern Hebrew poets of the 20^th century, has his own theory about how this song entered our Haggadah. He wrote a charming poem about it, which I would like to share with you this evening.

He stood there in the market, among the she-goats and Billy goats /swinging its tail/as small as a pinkie/a kid from a poor home/a kid for two zuzim/without adornment/without bell or ribbon.

No one paid him attention, so no one knew/not the goldsmiths not the wool combers/that this kid/will enter the Haggadah/and become the hero of a song.

The poem begins with a scene in a marketplace. A plain baby goat, unadorned, unnoticed and unremarkable is for sale. The kid, however, is destined to be famous.

But father approached, his face glowing/and bought the kid/and caressed its forehead/this was the start of one of the songs/that will be sung forever.

The kid licked Father’s hand with its tongue/and touched it with his wet nose/this, my brother, was the first rhyme/of the verse “dezabin aba”.

The father of the narrator approaches the kid. There is an immediate bonding. The father strokes the kid. The kid licks the father and nuzzles up to him. The song has begun.

It was a spring day and the wind was dancing/Girls were laughing with winking eyes/And Father and the kid entered the Haggadah/ And both just stood there.

That very same Haggadah was already full/With wonders and great miracles/Therefore they stood on the last page/hugging and pressed to the wall

They enter the Haggadah, but there is already so much going on. Like a shy couple entering a room brimming with activity, the song does not know what to do. The simple song is intimidated by the majesty of the Haggadah. So the song waits quietly, taking comfort in itself, biding its time on the back page.

That very same Haggadah then silently said/Good, stand there kid and Father/In my pages walk smoke and blood/I am talking of greatness and secret things.

Yet I know that the sea will not part in vain/That there is a reason for splitting through walls and deserts/If at the end of the story/Stand a Father and kid/Waiting for their turn to shine.

The Haggadah, full of its own importance, takes notice of this simple song waiting at the back of the book. It then does something surprising. It acknowledges that it tells its story for the sake of this little song. The song may seem like an insignificant child’s ditty, but it is for its sake that the Haggadah tells the story of the Exodus.

I am sure each of us will have their own interpretation of this poem. To me, it means that as grand and epic the Passover story told in the Haggadah is, if it doesn’t move us, if we cannot relate to it, then it is merely a great story. All of the majestic symbols and concepts of the Passover seder are for naught if they do not reach down to the human level and touch our hearts.

Shabbat Shalom

Shabbat Ha-Chodesh: Acts of Defiance

Last night Middy and I went to Chicago’s Symphony Hall to hear a program called “Defiant Requiem: Verdi at Terezin”.  This was a benefit concert for the Jewish United Fund /Jewish Federation of Chicago Holocaust Community Services program. This program helps Holocaust survivors in Chicagoland to live out their sunset years with hope and dignity. In fact, there were three hundred survivors at the concert. The Symphony Hall concert was a mult-media performance that told the story of Maestro Raphael Schacter and his choir of 150 fellow prisoners at the Terezin concentration camp outside of Prague. Terezin was a “show camp” for the Nazi’s, designed to convince the world that Jews who had been herded into concentration camps for extermination were in fact being treated humanely. They therefore allowed some measure of artistic and literary expression by the inmates. Maestro Schacter, a Jewish pianist and conductor from Prague, brought the score from Verdi’s “Requiem” with him to the camp when he, himself, was interred there. Using that one score, he taught his 150 singers the music by rote, and performed the Requiem 16 times in the camp. The final performance was held before visiting members of the International Red Cross and the Nazi SS.

What was “defiant” about performing the Requiem? In learning the score and performing the music with only a piano accompaniment, the Maestro and the members of the choir asserted their humanity in the face of Nazi Germany’s attempt to strip that from them. The words to the Requiem, sung directly to the SS attending that final performance, were words that the camp inmates could sing, but could not say. The words of the Requiem take on a particular poignancy when one considers the setting for the performance:

What can a wretch like me say?
Whom shall I ask to intercede for me,
when even the just ones are unsafe?

A written book will be brought forth,
which contains everything
for which the world will be judged.

Therefore when the Judge takes His seat,
whatever is hidden will be revealed:
nothing shall remain unavenged.

Can you imagine what it must have felt like for the Jewish inmates of that camp to be able to sing those words to their SS tormentors sitting before them in the audience?

This evening is the anniversary of another day of defiance. This Shabbat marks a special Sabbath, called “Shabbat Ha-Chodesh”, or “The Sabbath of THE Month”. The very first commandment that G-d gave to the Jewish people as a whole took place over 3000 years ago this day. The Jewish people are still enslaved in Egypt. They have witnessed nine plagues, and still they have not been liberated. Moses tells them, “This day shall be the first day of the first month of the year for you.” This too is an act defiance, for it establishes a calendar for the Jewish people. Although they are still enslaved, they will no longer mark time by the rhythms of their oppressors.  A calendar is a symbol of independence, of freedom. Slaves must adhere to the calendar of their masters. A free people takes on the responsibility of organizing its own time.

Thus, still in Egypt and still slaves, their liberation begins with a conscious act of resistance. In declaring their freedom to choose their own calendar, they have taken the first step toward liberation. This teaches us that freedom cannot be merely bestowed from the outside. Freedom requires that people actively participate in their own emancipation. Moses gives further instructions to the people. On the tenth day of the new month, each family, or groups of families, are to take a lamb and set it aside. They are to watch over it, and four days later, at twilight, they are to slaughter the lamb and place some of the blood on the doorposts of their homes. Then they should eat the lamb, along with matzah and bitter herbs as part of a sacred meal.

Having declared their own calendar, a monumental act of rebellion, the Jewish people will now act not on Pharaoh’s instructions, but on Moses’ instructions from G-d. This marks the first time that the Israelites will act on their own initiative. The action that they will take – the sacrifice of a lamb – is also a tremendous act of bravery, for the lamb is a sacred animal in Egypt. Thus, sacrificing a lamb as part of this Jewish ritual is a mark of repudiation of the majority culture and an assertion of a different set of values from that of their Egyptian masters!

But Rosh CHodesh – the new month – not only symbolizes defiance, it symbolizes renewal as well. Just as the moon renews itself every month, so the Jewish people, at times on the edge of extinction, rises up to renew itself in every age. This too is the message of the Holocaust. When a wicked empire sought out destruction, our people met them with defiance in whatever way possible. We preserved our humanity and our sense of worth, and renewed ourselves in the State of Israel and in communities throughout the world.

Shabbat Shalom

Jewish-Muslim Dialogue

A few weeks ago I delivered a sermon on four common misunderstandings about Judaism. It was rather well received, and many of you commented that you learned something new about our own religion! This week I attended a talk sponsored by the Chicago Board of Rabbis that addressed specifically Muslim misunderstandings about Jews.  The talk was led by Imam Abdullah Antepli, a chaplain and faculty member at Duke University and Yossi Klein Ha-Levi of the Shalom Hartman Institute in Jerusalem. Together they developed a program, held at the Hartman Institute, which they call the Muslim Leadership Initiative.

Imam Antepli initiated the program. His goal, he said, is to heal the Muslim-Jewish divide in the United States. What divide, you may ask? Has not he Jewish community stood by our Muslim neighbors during this time of heightened anti-Muslim feeling and rhetoric in our country? Has not the Muslim community expressed empathy and provided financial support when our Jewish institutions have been threatened and our cemeteries desecrated?  That is all true, said our two speakers that morning, but our relationship comes at the cost of ignoring the elephant in the room. That elephant in the room is our differences over Israel.

One of the ways to heal that divide is for Muslims and Jews to begin to be honest with one another, and the Imam was very honest. He introduced himself by telling us, a group of rabbis, that he is a “recovering anti-Semite”. As a teen-ager growing up in Turkey he got most of his information about Jews from readings laden with anti-Semitic poison: Henry Ford’s International Jew, Hitler’s Mein Kampf and that classic Soviet anti-Semitic work, The Protocols of the Elders of Zion. He was inspired by the religious revival that swept the Middle East in the wake of the Iranian revolution to become an Imam. He was revolted by Israel treatment of Palestinians. Yet, as he continued to study the Koran in depth he found it difficult to reconcile the hatred that he felt toward Jews with the teachings of Mohammed.  It was then that he began to study the long and fruitful relationship between Jews and Muslims prior to the 20^th century. He also began to meet and develop relationships with Jews with whom he shared values and beliefs.  He was intrigued about how we Jews had managed to both maintain our religion and community in the United States and at the same time become so well integrated into the American mainstream. “I wanted to journey to the heart of Judaism,” he said.

At the same time he became concerned about the rising tide of anti-Semitism in the Muslim world as a result of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. He became alarmed when he found Muslims unable to distinguish between their condemnation of Israeli policies and actions toward their Palestinian brethren and anti-Semitism. He now worries that this rising tide of anger and hatred toward Jews will deeply damage Muslims worldwide and will become an obstacle for American Muslims as they seek greater integration into American life.  

Yossi Klein Ha-Levi, Imam Antepli’s Jewish partner in the Muslim Leadership Initiative, is an American born Israel journalist and author. He grew up in New York City and was a follower of the extremist right wing rabbi Meyer Kahane.  Kahane was the founder of the Jewish Defense League, whose mottos were “For Every Jew a .22” and “Never Again”. Kahane later moved to Israel and founded the Kach party that advocated the annexation of the West Bank and the expulsion of all Palestinians from that territory. His party was eventually banned from Israeli politics for inciting racism. Yossi Klein Ha-Levi eventually broke with Kahane and moved to Israel, where, he writes, he gradually repudiated his “Jewish rage” and sought out a different path. He is truly the Imam’s Jewish counterpart.

Yossi Klein Halevi told us that Muslims say they have no problem with Jews. They only have problems with Zionists. From a Jewish perspective this is a fundamental problem. This is a problem because when they say that Zionism is the issue, Muslims are saying that they don’t accept Jews as a “people”, only as a religion. In fact, along with Christians, Muslims have difficulty in understanding that we see ourselves more than just a religion. We see ourselves as a people with a shared past and a common destiny, who believe in the G-d who brought us out of Egypt and who led us to our sacred homeland, Israel, to which we have returned. According to our theology, G-d made a covenant with “The Jewish People” and therefore the collective has a theological importance that is found neither in Christianity nor in  Islam. The Land of Israel is central to our self-definition as Jews. To deny that historical and religious connection is to deny an essential part of who we are. 

The goal of the Muslim Leadership Initiative at the Hartman Institute is not to make Zionists out of Muslims or to recruit new allies to the Israeli cause. Rather, the goal of the program is to help Muslims understand the historical and religious reasons for the deep attachment that Jews have to the Land of Israel after thousands of years of being a persecuted minority in the diaspora.

The subject of Israel is almost totally avoided in interfaith work. There are good reasons for that. The subject of Israel elicits complex emotions and many, including clergy, tend to avoid it altogether. Even those of us invested in enhancing and cultivating interfaith relationships do not talk about Israel with members of the other faith. After all, the topic of Israel is even avoided in many synagogues for the very same reason. If we cannot talk about Israel among ourselves without fearing that it will lead to a disruption of relationships, how can we talk about it with Muslims whose sympathies for the most part lie elsewhere? It also may be that many Jews themselves are not clear about the role Israel plays in the theological and historical self-understanding of the Jewish people. How can we be in dialogue with others when many of us do not fully understand the centrality of the Land of Israel in Judaism?

The Muslim Leadership Initiative cannot in itself bring peace to the Israeli –Palestinian conflict. But it can have a profound effect on those individuals who choose to participate in it. One graduate of the program writes that she learned that Zionism has a very different meaning to Jews than it does to her. And she learned that Jewish fears about the survival of Israel are not merely excuses for maintaining the occupation or “a deep collective pathology divorced from reality”, as she had previously thought. 

Perhaps programs like this can open up dialogue and make for more honest and authentic relationships between Muslims and Jews.

Shabbat Shalom

The Challenge of Purim

We begin our celebration of Purim tomorrow evening with our Megillah reading. On Sunday morning with our Purim carnival. Purim is a story for the ages. Haman, the villain of the story, is the archetypical anti-Semite, the kind of government official that we have seen often in Jewish history. He is a wicked man whose lies about the Jews threaten the very existence of the Jewish people. “There is a certain people,” Haman tells the King,  “scattered and dispersed among the other peoples in all the provinces of your realm, whose laws are different from those of any other people and who do not obey the king's laws; and it is not in Your Majesty's interest to tolerate them.” Haman wants to rid the Kingdom of the Jewish People.

 The Megillah was likely written between 400 and 300 BCE. The historical setting is accurate, yet the events described in the Megillah likely never occurred as they are described. The story is read best as a farce.  After all, what Jewish father, let alone a holy man like Mordechai, enters his daughter in a beauty contest to compete for the chance to marry a King?  Yet the story told in the Megillah falls into that category of stories that may not be literally true, but that capture the truth of experience.

I love the story of Purim because it turns history on its head. Instead of the Jewish community helplessly suffering at the hands of an evil ruler, as has been the case throughout our history, Mordechai and Esther manage to turn the tables on their enemies and emerge victorious. Instead of Haman getting rid of the Jews, the Jews get rid of Haman and his allies. But the story also celebrates violence, and this troubles me. If you do not know what I mean, pick up a Bible and read the Book of Esther to the end.

The Torah does not command us to celebrate Purim, like it commands us to celebrate Passover, Succoth, Shavuot, Rosh Hashanah, or Yom Kippur. The Megillah itself that tells us that Mordechai and Esther decreed this Jewish holiday. The rabbis of the Talmud debated whether Purim should be included in the calendar of Jewish holidays. Should they ratify Mordechai and Esther’s edict to celebrate this holiday throughout the ages? Many Rabbis opposed the holiday. They argued, “Have we not had enough oppressions? Do we want to increase them by recalling the oppression of Haman?” The Talmud tells us that “Eighty elders, including more than thirty prophets, have been unwilling to grant recognition to the feast of Purim.”  Perhaps they understood that our enemies would use the more lurid parts of the story of Purim against us, thereby leading to greater antisemitism. For example, David Duke, the White Supremacist, describes Purim on his website as a festival of hatred that shows the world how Jews view Gentiles.

Of course, Haman and his ilk represent absolute evil, the kind of radical evil that we associate with a Pharaoh or a Hitler. These are men with whom no compromise was possible. One of the challenges in our own day is to distinguish between the evil of Haman, which needs to be confronted and eradicated, and the actions of enemies with whom we may be able to reach out and make peace. In this respect we might learn from the actions of the Hasidic Master Zvi Elimelekh of Dinov. During the Purim celebrations, the Rabbi announced to his disciples, “Saddle up the horses, we are going to blot out the name of Haman.” Not knowing what their meant, they followed him to a local inn, where the Polish peasants were involved in a wild party. “These men are our enemies,” said the disciples, to one another. “What does our Rebbe mean to do?”

The Rebbe and his disciples entered to inn. The peasants saw them and stopped their carousing. The music stopped. Tension filled the air. You could hear a pin drop. Then the Rebbe looked at one of the peasants and stretched out his hand. The peasants looked at one another. Slowly, one of them stepped forward and took the Rebbe’s hand in his own. They started dancing. The musicians began playing. In a few moments, the disciples of the Rebbe and the local peasants were dancing with one another.

This ought to be the message of Purim. Our ultimate goal should be that we work to rid the world of hatred, not of those who hate. On Purim may we re-dedicate ourselves to achieving the vision of Isaiah, that “nations shall not lift up sword against nations, neither shall they learn war anymore.”

Shabbat Shalom

Parasha Mishpatim -- Confronting Hatred

Early this February, four Muslim women rang the door to our synagogue. Alzeena Saleem, Sabrina Zubair, Saima Mussani and Seema Zafar were extremely alarmed and upset about the recent spate of bomb threats called in to Jewish Community Centers throughout the United States. Over the course of three days in January, forty eight JCCs in twenty seven states received nearly 60 bomb threats. One news agency reported that the caller said a plastic explosive bomb had been planted in the facility and that “a large number of Jews are going to be hurt.” The threats caused evacuations from Jewish Community Centers, many of which housed programs for preschoolers.  Several Centers saw students withdrawn from their early childhood education programs. Alzena, Saleem, Saima and Seema apparently could not sit by. They wanted to check in on us, their Jewish neighbors, and offer their support. That morning they came to our synagogue bearing flowers, goodies, and a note to our congregation.

“Thank you for making our community and our country richer,” they wrote. America is great and will continue to prosper because of our diversity. We support all of you. We will overcome hate. Love, Naperville Aurora Community American Muslim Moms”.

I imagine that Alzena, Saleem, Saima and Seema came to the synagogue that morning not only to express their love for their neighbors and their dismay at the hatred directed against Jewish communities across the United States. I suspect that they came because they realize that these series of threats represented more than a   hate crime against the Jewish religion. They realize that an assault on any one group is an assault on us all. An injury inflicted on any one group in our country tears at the fabric of this nation as a whole.  In our nation, children and adults alike are aware that expressions of hate, of intolerance, of exclusion, constitute a blow to the fundamental ideal, articulated in the Pledge of Allegiance: “one nation, under G-d, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all”. The bigots, the racists and haters among us want to pit some of us against others of us and thereby divide us; the bigots, the racists and haters want to use their freedom to deprive us of our freedom. They want us to forget that G-d has implanted the spark of holiness into each of us --- “You shall be holy, because I am holy,” says G-d. We are called upon to act upon the holiness that is in our hearts, to “love thy neighbor as thyself” and to treat our fellow human beings with utmost respect, sensitivity, and compassion.

 In this week’s Torah reading we have the mitzvah, “You shall not oppress a stranger, for you know the very life of the stranger, having yourselves been strangers in the land of Egypt.” The importance of this mitzvah, which is at the heart of our tradition, is of such magnitude that the Torah repeats it, in one way or another, 35 more times. G-d wants us to treat those who are different from us – whether a different race, nationality, religion, gender or sexual orientation, whether they are young or aged, rich or poor, able bodied or disabled –with the same compassion and respect as we would want to be treated ourselves.

We live in troubling times. We see antisemitism alive and well on college campuses, and we are deeply disturbed.  We see African American churches attacked and burned in the United States and we are horrified. We see anti - Muslim hate crimes rise 67% last year in our nation, and we are outraged. Although Jews constitute less than 2% of the population in our country, we are the targets of over 50% of the hate crimes directed against religious groups. Abroad we have witnessed 100,000 Christians in the Middle East, Africa, and Asia murdered because of their religion. In Syria, in Yemen, and in many African countries we see hundreds of thousands of innocent Muslims killed or raped or kidnapped in seemingly endless wars.

So what can we do? We need to meet hatred with love, wherever and whenever hatred rears its ugly head. The first thing that we can do is show up, as those four women showed up at the door of our synagogue a few weeks ago, as 25 Congregation Beth Shalom members showed up at the Islamic Center of Naperville this afternoon in a show of support for the Muslim community.  Secondly, we need to step up, as Temple B’nai Israel of Victoria, Texas did recently when a fire of unknown origin destroyed the Victoria Islamic Center. The members of Temple B’nai Israel promptly gave the mosque the keys to their synagogue so they would have a place to worship; step up, as residents of Whitefish, Montana did recently when hundreds gathered in sub-zero temperature to protest the harassment of Jewish citizens by neo-Nazis and White Supremacists. Third, we all need to speak up. We need to raise our voices, as individuals and as communities, in our houses of worship, in our schools and in our neighborhoods. We need to raise our voices in the name of love, inclusivity, solidarity, hope, unity, equality and peace.

Shabbat Shalom

Four Common Misunderstandings about Judaism

On Tuesday afternoon I was invited to speak on a luncheon panel entitled “Dialogue among the Abrahamic Religions” sponsored by the Muslim Student Association at North Central College. The other panelists were Eric Doolittle, chaplain at North Central College, who represented Christianity, and Aadil Farid, immediate past president of the Islamic Center of Naperville.  We were invited by Youseff Mekowy, an Egyption student in his senior year and President of the Muslim Student Association at NCC. He indicated that  the purpose of the panel was “to educate our audience to help clear the stereotypes and the ignorance that might lead to any sort of misunderstandings”.  The audience of about 50 consisted of about faculty and students from different countries  and different religious backgrounds.

I decided to talk about four common misconceptions or misunderstandings about Judaism.

The first is that one can understand Judaism by reading the Old Testament. It is true that in the Old Testament one can read the seminal Jewish stories about Abraham and Sarah, about Moses and the Exodus from Egypt, about the commandments to abstain from certain foods and about our history in the Land of Israel. But Biblical Judaism, with its Tabernacle and Temple, its Priestly service, its focus on animal sacrifice, its emphasis on ritual purity, its severe punishments – think “eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth” – and its very cross G-d – is not the Judaism that we practice today. Judaism is not a fossilized religion, but a living, breathing and developing tradition that has evolved and adapted to meet the challenges of new circumstances and changing times. There is always, of course, much tension around how much Judaism should change, or could change, before it ceases to be true to its origins. This has led to a variety of expressions of the Jewish faith throughout the world, from Reform and Reconstructionist Judaism to the more traditional interpretations from the Orthodox or Haredi movements.

A second common misunderstanding about Judaism is that going to a Seder replicates Jesus’ Last Supper. Although the Gospels situate the Last Supper around the time of Pesah and therefore Seder, there is no conclusive evidence that the Last Supper was the Jewish ritual known as a Seder. Scholarly consensus holds that is more likely to have been an ordinary Jewish meal. There is no mention in the Gospels of important symbols associated with a Seder -- Matzah, or bitter herbs, or four cups of wine, or the eating of the Paschal lamb. Furthermore, the Seder as we know it, began to be practiced sometime after the destruction of the Second Temple in 70CE, after Jesus’ time, and continued to develop throughout the Middle Ages up to our own present day.

A third common misconception is that all Jews support the State of Israel. In fact, prior to World War ll there was a great controversy about whether there should be a Jewish homeland in the Middle East . There was also controversy about and what kind of homeland it ought to be. Some sought to establish a Jewish cultural center within the Ottoman Empire. Others, such as Theodore Herzl the founder of Modern Zionism, saw the need for a Nation State of the Jewish people with real political power. Many Jews in America were concerned that the establishment of a Jewish state would lead to charges of “dual loyalty”. Justice Louis Brandeis addressed the issue in 1915 in a speech to Reform Rabbis:

“Let no American imagine that Zionism is inconsistent with Patriotism. Multiple loyalties are objectionable only if they are inconsistent. A man is a better citizen of the United States for being also a loyal citizen of his state, and of his city; or for being loyal to his college.... Every American Jew who aids in advancing the Jewish settlement in Palestine, though he feels that neither he nor his descendants will ever live there, will likewise be a better man and a better American for doing so. There is no inconsistency between loyalty to America and loyalty to Jewry.”

Today, 69 years after the establishment of the State of Israel, most Jews want to see a democratic Israel with secure boundaries who is at peace with her neighbors. At the same time, many Jews disagree with the policies of particular Israeli governments. Most American Jews support the official goals of the Israeli government, which is to work toward a two state solution where Israelis and Palestinians can live side by side in peace and dignity.

A fourth misconception is that all Jews believe in G-d and are religious. Last year Rabbi Yehiel Poupko, Rabbinic Scholar of the Jewish United Fund of Chicago, wrote an article for the magazine “Christianity Today” explaining to Christians Bernie Sanders’ Judaism. He writes that Sanders’ “Judaism, and membership in the Jewish people, fit no category of faith and religion familiar to most Christians.” How then can Sanders say, as he did, “I am very proud of being Jewish, and that is an essential part of who I am as a human being” and yet not practice the Jewish faith or affirm a belief in G-d? This is because, writes Rabbi Poupko, “We are not merely a faith or a religion. We are a family. Our family life entails belief in God, responding to God’s revelation at Sinai, and God’s commanding voice summoning us to a life of justice, holiness, purity, and righteousness. Irrespective of how an individual Jew responds to that, they remain a member of the family.”

As we all know there are many other misconceptions about Judaism. Perhaps I will be invited back to NCC next year, so that we can continue to learn from one another.

 an dent of the Muslim Student Association, and he organizer of theety of religious backgrounds. orth Central College, who repr

Parasha Toldot -- Raising Children

I hope everyone had a good Thanksgiving with family and friends. Middy and I spent the holiday in Connecticut with our son Mario and his wife and two children. Our son Ariel joined us there. On Sunday all of us guys went on a hike in a game reservation. We hiked about a mile to the summit of a lookout, then walked down just before sunset. As we were walking down, my two grandchildren, boys ages 9 and 6, were having a grand time together. Ariel looked at me and his big brother, Mario and asked,  “Do you think that they will always get along like that?” Before anyone could say anything he asked, “Did you get along with your brother like that, Dad?” I told him that my brother and I were close in childhood, but our interests diverged as we approached adolescence and we went on to lead very different lives. I thought to myself that it is wonderful when siblings can be friends, as our two sons are, but it doesn’t always work out that way.

Is it all about parenting? Rabbi Sydney Greenberg, z”l tells the story of one student of child behavior who frequently delivered a lecture entitled, “Ten Commandments For Parents.”  He married and became a father.  He changed the title of his lecture to “Ten Hints For Parents.”  A second child was born and the lecture title became “Some Suggestions For Parents.”  When a third child arrived the lecturer simply stopped lecturing.

Despite having the same parents, growing up in the same household, and being exposed to the same influences, siblings often grow up to develop different talents, pursue different interests, and often see the world in different ways.  The late Gershom Scholem, of whom I spoke earlier, was one of four brothers.  One of them was attracted to no ideals or movements.  One became a right wing German nationalist.  A third, turned communist, was a member of the Reichstag and was killed by the Nazis in Buchenwald.  Of course, Gershom himself emigrated to pre-state Israel and devoted his life to studying and teaching our heritage.  But these differences pale in comparison with the siblings we meet in this week’s Torah portion.

Jacob and Esau are twin brothers born to Isaac and Rebecca after twenty years of infertility. You can imagine how happy this couple must have been to give birth to two sons after such a long period of childlessness. Right from birth they were totally different. Esau was a robust child who was born first. His head was covered with so much hair it gave him the appearance of an older child, not a newborn. Jacob was born second, grasping onto the heel of his older brother. Rashi cites a midrash that says that Jacob was conceived first, and should have legitimately been born first. His grasping of the heel was to try to prevent Esau from being first born.

Thus, the competition between these two brothers was present right from the get- go According to the rabbis, they were relatively similar to one another as children. But, as they reached adolescence their differences began to emerge.  Esau was an active man, an athlete and a hunter. Jacob was a quiet, studious sort, preferring the comforts of home to the challenges of the outdoor life. The Torah does not make a moral judgement on their character or their behaviors. Later rabbinic thought, however, idealizes Jacob and demonizes Esav.

Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch, living in Germany in the 19^th century, accepts the Rabbi’s assertion that Jacob was virtuous and Esau was wicked.  He attributes the differences between Jacob and Esau to the mistakes that their parents made in raising them.  Esau could have turned out more like Jacob, according to Hirsch, had their parents recognized each one’s natural proclivities and tailored their education to take advantage of each one’s unique talents. Instead, Hirsch maintains, they educated the boys in the same way and treated them similarly. This worked out great for Jacob, who “drew with ever growing zeal from the well of wisdom and truth”. But Esau could not wait until his schooling was over, when he could throw away his books and set out on life. According to Hirsch, had Isaac and Rebecca been more sensitive to what Esau needed, he could have grown up to become a more virtuous, well rounded individual.

I’m not so sure about that!  Children are subject to many influences which help mold their lives and that are beyond the control of parents. As parents, we all make mistakes. No one is perfect, or omniscient, and can know exactly what each particular child needs. To hold ourselves solely responsible when our children do not turn out the way we hoped is a tendency we ought to resist.  It is not that we should totally absolve ourselves of all responsibility when it comes to who our children turn out to be – but we ought to maintain a reasonable perspective.  Nor should we succumb to the illusion that when things turn out well it is all to our credit. Parenting is a humbling undertaking. Parents can only do their best – and hope that when our children themselves become parents that they will do even better.

Shabbat Shalom