Parasha VaYechi

Nick and Jake and the Pains of Parenthood

Some of you may have heard about Nick Crews, a retired submarine commander of the British Royal Navy, who, last month, created an international sensation with an email that he sent to his three children. The email was released to the press by his daughter, with his permission.  I am going to read some parts of the email. Please bear with me, as some of you may find it difficult to listen to.

"It is obvious that none of you has the faintest notion of the bitter disappointment each of you has in your own way dished out to us," he wrote to his three adult children. "We are constantly regaled with chapter and verse of the happy, successful lives of the families of our friends and relatives and being asked of news of our own children and grandchildren. I wonder if you realize how we feel — we have nothing to say which reflects any credit on you or us."

With that introduction, he hits them where it hurts. "Each of you is well able to earn a comfortable living and provide for your children, yet each of you has contrived to avoid even moderate achievement. Far from your children being able to rely on your provision, they are faced with needing to survive their introduction to life with you as parents," he complains.

"I can now tell you that I for one, and I sense Mum feels the same, have had enough of being forced to live through the never-ending bad dream of our children's underachievement and domestic ineptitudes. I want to hear no more from any of you until, if you feel inclined, you have a success or an achievement or a REALISTIC plan for the support and happiness of your children to tell me about." He signs the email, "I am bitterly, bitterly, disappointed, Dad."

Nick Crews' email was immediately dubbed "The Crews Missile" and unleashed a storm of commentary both for and against his words and tactics.  David Brooks of the New York Times labeled it "a lousy leadership model" that tried to "bludgeon bad behavior."  Others thought it was about time that this father broke his silence and gave his children a piece of his mind. It made me think of this week's parasha.

It is the final chapter of the Book of Genesis. Jacob, reunited with his family in Egypt, is about to die. Before he does, he gathers his children around his deathbed for his final words to them.  Like Nick Crews, Jacob has some things to get off his chest.  Reuven, Jacob's first born approaches.  Jacob remembers how young he was when Reuben was born, how excited he was to be a father for the first time, the hopes and dreams he had for Reuben in his youth. "But," continues Jacob, "You turned out to be an impetuous person, you disrespected me, you desecrated our home with your reckless and immoral behavior. Because of how you have acted, you have forfeited your right to leadership in our family. " With these final words from his father, Reuben is dismissed.

Next, Simeon and Levi approach their father.  "Ah," says Jacob, "two sons who are so unlike me.  I am a builder, but the two of you are destroyers.  Cursed be your rage, for in your anger you murdered the entire community of Shechem, when their Prince kidnapped your sister Dina." With that, they take leave of their father.

Nick Crews and Jacob – two fathers who are bitterly disappointed in how their children – in Jacob's case some of his children – turned out.  Both fathers held their tongues for a long, long, time, but eventually felt compelled to speak. 

What does Judaism say about this?  What are the obligations of a child to his or her parents?  Must children give Nachas to their parents?  "Nachas" being a sense of pride and pleasure at the accomplishments of our children --the very thing that Nick Crews complains that he DOES NOT get from his offspring. 

Rabbi Jonah Gerondi, a 13^th century Spanish Sage wrote, "Now the essence of the honor of parents is to give them pleasure, whether in words or in deeds. And he who pains them by his speech (or actions) bears an insupportable sin…."

Noam Zion of the Hartman Institute in Jerusalem labels this maximalist position, "The Yoke of Nachas." It leaves no room for the child to live their own life, make their own decisions, and to suffer from own mistakes. 

My own feeling is that one does the best with one's children when your are raising them and try to instill in them the values and skills they will need to make their way in the world.  Then they need to go out and live their own lives, and make choices, perhaps, that we would not have made for them, choices that we can see may not be the best ones for them. But we, as parents, need to accept their choices, support them where we can, try to understand them, and, above all, continue to love them.  Of course, it is not that simple. Rabbi Judith Edelstein writes beautifully of the conflicting tensions within all parents when we have something we want to say and wonder whether we should say it:

"What guidelines should we follow when we choose what to say and how to speak our "truth" to our adult children, not only at significant moments but also during every day communications? Is honesty the best policy, or is it wiser to restrain ourselves, despite our insights and desire to advise? 

I have been pondering this dilemma for the last few years as my children have become adults, and I struggle with my own urge to continue to teach them. Are my words for their benefit or are they really about my own need to retain control? I think about this because I am concerned about my final legacy and realize that all the conversations between now and my final words will have a cumulative impact."

 The Midrash explains why Jacob waited until he was on his deathbed to rebuke his children.  "I did not rebuke you all these years," Jacob tells his children, "so that you would not leave me and stay with my brother Esau."  Jacob knows that criticizing ones children can drive them away and make matters far worse than they otherwise would be. The Stone Chumash comments on this. "This implies a general rule for those who wish to admonish others in a constructive way. They must weigh their words carefully, lest their sincere comments do more harm than good." 

Shabbat Shalom

 

 

 

 

Parasha VaYigash

Further Thoughts About Newtown Connecticut

The Shulchan Arukh is the standard legal code for all of Jewry. It was published in 1575, and ever since that time it has been studied and mastered by rabbis who needed to guide their communities in all manner of daily life.  It is divided into four volumes that cover all of the laws, big and small, that govern Jewish living. The first volume is called Orech Hayyim, or "The Way of Life" which deals with prayers and holiday observance. The second volume is Yoreh Deah, which covers diverse subjects such as tsedaka, torah study, and dietary laws. The third volume, Even Ha-Ezer, deals with family law. The fourth volume, Khoshen Mishpat, deals with civil law.

One day, a story goes, a young rabbinic student appeared before a prominent rabbi to be tested on his knowledge of the Shulkhan Arukh – the entire legal code for all of Jewry --as he prepared for his ordination. The rabbis first question to the student was, "Name the five volumes of the Shukhan Arukh."

The student, thinking the rabbi made a slip of the tongue, named the four volumes of the Shulkhan Arukh.

"Please name the fifth volume," said the rabbi.

"There is no fifth volume," answered the student.

"There is indeed," replied the rabbi. "The fifth volume is common sense, and if you do not have it, all of your rulings will be of no use, even if you know all four volumes by heart."

I tell this story on the one week anniversary of the deadly attack on 20 schoolchildren and six school staff members in Newtown, Connecticut.  This week we have all been through the wrenching disbelief that such an event could happen in our country.  We have experienced the outrage and the tremendous sadness that the entire nation feels at the slaughter of innocent schoolchildren and their teachers.  Our focus now turns toward, "What can we do to prevent another Newtown."  The answer, both for us as individuals, as families, as a congregation and for our nation as a whole, is "let's use common sense."

This week in our Torah portion we continue the story of Joseph. When Joseph's brothers saw him coming toward then at a distance, they said to each other, "Here comes that master of dreams. Let us kill him and throw him into one of these pits and say, 'A wild animal devoured him.' Then we will see what comes of his dreams." But we all know that they did not kill him. They allowed themselves to be talked out of it by Reuven. Joseph's life was saved, and he was sold to a passing caravan instead.

I read a fascinating article that helps explain why the brothers did not kill Joseph, as they had planned. It also helps explain the violence that has seized our society.  It is by David Grossman, a military psychologist with the US Army.  Grossman travels the world training medical, law enforcement, and U.S. military personnel about the realities of warfare.  He points out that the murder rate has doubled in our country since 1957, but the aggravated assault rate – attempted murder – has increased by a factor of eight.  Were it not for our increased use of prisons – a quadrupling of the prison population since the 1970's – and medical technology that saves lives, our murder rate would be ten times what it was in 1957.  It is not only in the United States – in England, Scotland, Wales, France, Belgium , Australia, New Zealand – the murder and assault rates have risen dramatically in all of these countries.

Yet, points out Grossman, killing one another does not come naturally to people.  Human beings, like all other species, have a natural inhibition to killing one of its own kind. He points to research carried out on the battlefield of the American Civil War. This research demonstrated that civil war soldiers were willing to go into battle and bravely stand shoulder to shoulder with their comrades, but they were reluctant to fire at enemy soldiers. Many died with their firearms not discharged. They either would not fire or fired over the heads of the enemy. In WWII a study was done where they asked soldiers what they actually did in battle. They discovered that only 15-20 percent of rifleman could actually bring themselves to fire at an exposed enemy soldier.  Now that represents a problem on the battlefield. And it could explain why Joseph's brothers would never have been able to kill him, threaten as they might.  They could not overcome their natural inhibition to kill.

If you are the United States Armed Forces, that study uncovered a huge problem. The US army overcame that problem. By the Korean War, 55 percent of soldiers would shoot at an enemy to kill, and by Vietnam the number rose to 90%.  The army accomplished this through a program of systematic de-sensitization during military training.

Grossman argues that the very kind of de-sensitization to killing that the army uses to train its soldiers is going on in our homes today through the exposure to violence on television and the use of video games for children.  Grossman argues that video games teach weapons handling skills and simulate the wanton destruction of human beings, making it far easier for people to kill one another. "Every time a child plays an interactive video game, he is learning the exact same conditioned reflex skills as a soldier or police officer in training," writes Grossman.  As part of the conditioning that goes on, video producers make the simulated killing fun and rewarding. Points get added up for hitting the target, usually a human being.  Kids get social approval when playing in groups.  "Our children are learning to kill and learning to like it;" writes Grossman, "and then we have the audacity to say, 'Oh my goodness, what's wrong?'"

Now of course we would want to turn to the wisdom of the Jewish tradition to seek guidance as to what we should do. But there are precious few texts that deal with the problem of violence in a society. One that comes to mind is the saying of Rabbi Chanina in Pirke Avot –"Pray for the welfare of the government, for were it not for it, people would swallow each other alive." The government does have a role in keeping us safe from one another.  We need to use common sense when it comes to what our children watch on television, what kinds of video games they watch, what kind of weapons we keep in our homes and how we store them.  And as a country we need to develop common sense laws to protect ourselves from our fellow citizens who do not use common sense. 

Shabbat Shalom

Tragedy at Newtown, Connecticut

This week our nation has been profoundly shaken by the tragedy at the Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut. Twenty six people died senselessly among them twenty first graders ages six and seven. Our hearts go out to all of the families who are in mourning as well as to the members of that community affected by this unimaginable disaster.  

 

On Sunday I visited Mrs.Kramer's fourth grade classroom for "Ask the Rabbi". Without mentioning the events in Newtown, one little girl asked, "Rabbi, why does G-d allow people to do bad things?" I answered that G-d created people with free will, with the ability to make choices. Some people make terrible choices, and, sometimes, these choices cause themselves and others to suffer. We are not marionettes or puppets on a string that do whatever G-d wants us to do, I told the class. Sometimes, even, we may be faced with a difficult choice in our lives. We may not know what is the right thing to do. At times like that we should remember that we can turn to our parents, our teachers, our Rabbi, to talk and help us decide. 

One of the most poignant expressions of faith to come to light in the aftermath of the heartrending attack on the children and staff at Sandy Hook Elementary is a quote by Fred Rogers, of blessed memory. Mister Rogers said, "When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, 'Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.' To this day, especially in times of disaster, I remember my mother's words, and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers, many, many caring people in this world."

Though our faith may be shaken by the evil we confront in the world, that faith  is reinforced when we see the bravery, compassion, kindness, selflessness and love demonstrated by the actions of ordinary people, coming together to help bind our collective wounds. This sustains us as well at a time of outrage and deep loss of the many innocent victims.

Please know that I am available if you would like to talk about this, or if you have questions about how to talk to your children about this.

Rabbi Rudolph

 

 

Shabbat Chanukah

Let There Be Light

December 6, 2012 marks an important date in the history of American and world Jewry.  Even so, most of you probably do not know what this date represents. December 6 , 2012 marks the 25^th anniversary of the March on Washington to protest the treatment of Jews in the Soviet Union.  On that Sunday in 1987, over 250,000 people from all over the United States assembled on the Washington mall to demonstrate American Jewry's solidarity with the Jews of the Soviet Union.  Pearl Bailey sang "Let My People Go."  The shofar was sounded.  Elie Wiesel invoked the memory of the Holocaust when he said that millions could have been saved during World War Two had people protested like they did that day on behalf of Soviet Jewry.  "During the Holocaust," said Wiesel, "too many were silent. We are not silent today."

Many of you here today were not even born in 1987. Many of you are too young to remember the plight of Jews in the Soviet Union.  Yet some of you here today were born and raised in the Soviet Union, and you or your families experienced directly the State anti-Semitism that was a government policy of some seventy years.  Like the Greeks who we recall during this Chanukah season, the Soviet authorities forbid Jewish people from practicing their religion, from teaching it to their children, from studying it themselves, from gathering together for prayer. Soviet Jews had none of the freedoms that we take for granted here in the United States.  Possessing a Jewish book was a crime and one could go to jail if one was found in your home. Teaching children Torah was illegal – the teacher would be imprisoned. Celebrating Jewish holidays was outlawed.  Heaven help you if you had the audacity to apply for a passport so you could travel to Israel. For that crime, you were sent to Siberia, the frozen wasteland far from your home, where you would be thrown in a prison work camp where conditions were cruel and harsh and where you might very well die.  

Yet, despite the risks, brave Jewish people in the Soviet Union did have Jewish books in their homes, books often smuggled in by visitors from the United States. Teachers did teach adults and children about Judaism, even though they might lose their jobs as doctors or scientists or engineers in the state run institutions that employed them.  People did celebrate Simchat Torah publically in Moscow, even though they knew the KGB was watching and they might get a visit from the secret police to their home the next morning.  People did apply to go to Israel, even though they knew they could be sent to Siberia and disappear forever. These people were called "refusniks" because they refused to allow the government to force them to give up their Judaism.

The most famous refusenik was Natan Sharansky.  He applied to visit Israel and was thrown in a Siberian prison camp for nine years, from 1978-1986. He was the only Jewish person in his prison camp when Chanukah came around. Nevertheless, he told the story of Chanukah to his fellow inmates – the story of freedom, the story of returning to one's own culture when powerful governments sought to crush you. The prisoners liked the story, even though they were not Jewish. The themes of Chanukah spoke directly to them. They helped Natan make a small Menorah, decorated it, and found some candles. Every evening they lit the menorah, said the blessings, and sang some songs in their small barracks. But on the sixth night of Chanukah, the jailer came by and took the menorah away.

"This menorah is illegal," said the jailer. "It is made from state property. And the candles are dangerous – they can start a fire. This is not allowed!"

"In two days the holiday will be over," said Natan. "I'll return the "state property" to you after that. Please…"

"This is a prison, not a synagogue. You cannot pray here," answered the jailer.

Natan Sharansky was not going to accept that without a protest. So, he wrote a letter to the President of the Soviet Union and began a hunger strike. He wrote that the prison was interfering with his rights.

When the prison warden heard about that, he called Natan Sharansky to his office.  He did not want Natan going on a hunger strike and telling his bosses he was abusing his human rights.

"Natan, can't you be reasonable," he said.  "If you take back your letter and eat, I promise you that you will be able to pray as much as you want."

"Great," said Natan. "Then give me back my menorah. It is the eighth night of Chanukah, and I have to light the candles."

"I've already given the order to take the menorah. I can't give it back to you," said the warden.

Natan knew that the warden could not be seen by the whole camp as giving in to a prisoner.

"I'll tell you what," said Natan. "You must have the Menorah here in your office.  Why don't I light it here with you?  Then I'll end the hunger strike and take back my letter."

The warden agreed and went to get the Menorah.  If it would end all of this nonsense, he thought to himself, he could do that. Natan arranged the candles and went to the coat-rack to get his hat.  "During prayers you have to have your head covered and stand up," explained Natan to the warden. "And when I finish my prayer, you have to say "Amen".

The warden nodded. He put on his major's hat and stood up.

Then Natan lit the candles and said the blessings in Hebrew.  He added in Hebrew, "May I soon be allowed to light the Chanukah candles in Your Holy City of Jerusalem." Seeing the warden standing meekly at attention, Natan was emboldened. He added, in Hebrew, "And may the day come when all our enemies who today are planning our destruction, will stand before us and hear our prayers and say "Amen."

"Amen," said the warden.

"That's it," said the warden. "Now you can go back to your cell and have something to eat."

"I can't go back until the candles burn out," said Natan.  So he and the warden sat silently in the office, looking at the burning candles until they went out. The warden had a dreamy look on his face, as if he were actually enjoying the sight of the candlelight.

When the candles burned out, the warden snapped out of it, and ordered Natan back to his cell. Natan told his fellow prisoners about how the warden and he lit the Chanukah candles.  They all had a good laugh at the warden's "conversion".

Tomorrow morning, the Sabbath of Chanukah, we will read the words of the prophet Zachariah – "Not by might, nor by power, but by My spirit alone, says the Lord."  Natan Sharansky stood up against the might and power of the great Soviet Empire, and with G-d's spirit coursing through his veins, he prevailed against them.  The Soviet Union tried to frighten him, to crush him, to destroy him, but he resisted them at every turn.  In 1986 they released him, and he moved to Israel, where his wife, his friends, and his supporters were joyously awaiting.  In 1987, he spoke in person to those 250,000 people at that March on Washington.

It is worth recalling Natan Sharansky's final statement in Soviet Court before his sentencing in 1978. At the time he said this in court, he did not know whether he would be executed or imprisoned for fifteen years for the crime of wanting to live in Israel. His words exemplify the spirit of Chanukah –that even when the odds are against you, we should never give up hope. He said in court:

For more than 2000 years the Jewish people, my people, have been dispersed. But wherever they are, wherever Jews are found, every year they have repeated, "Next Year in Jerusalem." Now, when I am further than ever from my people, from my wife, Avital, facing many years of arduous imprisonment, I say, turning to my people, to my Avital, "Next Year in Jerusalem."

Shabbat Shalom and Ah Freilichen Chanukah

 

 

 

 

 

Parasha Toldot

Who Started It?

Did Israel start it when it assassinated the chief of the military wing of Hamas, Ahmad Jabari?

Did Hamas start it when it fired on an Israeli jeep patrolling the border?

Did Israel start it when 13 year old Hamid Younis Abu Daqqa was killed during a clash with militants in Gaza?

Did Hamas start it when it began to take credit for the increasing rocket fire from Gaza into Israel these past few weeks?

Did Israel start it when it allegedly attacked a weapons factory in Sudan on October 23, a factory suspected of manufacturing long range Fajr-5 rockets?

Or did Hamas start it when it began to smuggle in Fajr-5 rockets to Gaza for eventual use against major Israeli population centers?

You get the idea. As any parent knows, as any teacher knows, "Who started it" is impossible to determine usually.  The parties, who are fighting, whether they are small children or great nations, want others to feel that they are justified in their retaliation and justified in their violence. 

I don't know who started it.  And, as I have said as a parent, and as a teacher, and as every couple knows who has ever had a disagreement: It doesn't matter who started it.

These things, however, I do know:

I know that in 2012 alone, over 700 rockets have been fired from Gaza, aimed at civilian population centers in Israel.  Although few people have been killed, thankfully, the rocket fire serves to terrorize people and prevent them from living a normal life.  Without deterrence, it would be worse.

 I know Israel has a right to defend herself to protect her population.

I know that while Hamas' very goal is to inflict death and injury on Israeli civilians, Israel will make every effort to minimize civilian casualties of Palestinians. I know that despite this, there are those in the world who will excuse Hamas' targeting of civilians and accuse Israel of war crimes.  Nothing anyone says could change their minds. I know their minds were made up long, long ago.

I know that Israel pulled its troops and all civilian population from Gaza in 2005.  The hope was that without Israel as an occupying force, Gaza could serve as a model of self government of Palestinians.  Israelis would see that there was no danger in giving Palestinians the right to govern themselves.  I know that instead of a responsible government in Gaza, we got Hamas and Islamic Jihad and terror --Not exactly a confidence boosting measure.

I know that Hamas and all of the Islamic parties are ideologically opposed to the recognition of Jewish sovereignty over even one inch of land in the Middle East.  That is a non-negotiable religious tenet for them.  They refuse to talk to Israel, lest it imply recognition of Israel's existence.

In this week's Torah portion we are told that there is a famine in the land of Canaan. Isaac takes refuge with Abimelekh, the King of the Philistines, in Gerar.  There Isaac prospers – but the native people become envious and stop up the wells that his father Abraham had dug when he lived in this area.  The King feels he cannot prevent the people from attacking Isaac, and therefore expels Isaac from Gerar. Isaac settles in the outskirts of the town.  He digs a well and finds water, but the herdsmen of Gerar claim it as their own.  He digs another well, but the local herdsmen claim that one also.  He leaves the outskirts of Gerar and settles some distance away. There he digs a well, and is able to keep it as his own.

In commenting on this story, the Hofetz Khayim notes that Isaac never gave up or despaired. He continued to dig for water until he dug a well that was not in dispute.  At times like this, we need to have a great deal of Isaac in us.  In times of war we must not despair or give up on peace. Our foes are implacable.  They envy us, argue with us, war against us, and would surely expel us if they could.  We may resign ourselves to the way things are, the way things have been, and think that there is nothing we can do to change the cycle of violence.

When we are ready to give up hope, we must remember – a Jew is forbidden to give up hope.  It is our religious obligation to hope.  We have two religious obligations connected to this. The first religious obligation is to remain strong, so we cannot be defeated.  The second religious obligation is to work toward peace, even when it appears that peace is unattainable.  This past Monday my wife, son and I were invited by one of our congregants, David Edelman, to join him and his family at an awards luncheon for Americans for Peace Now.  This is an the sister organization of Shalom Achshav, Israeli's for Peace Now, established in 1978, when 348 Israeli senior reserve army officers and combat soldiers came together to urge their government to sign a peace treaty with Egypt.  Peace Now and Shalom Achshav advocate for an end to Israeli settlement activity and the establishment of a Palestinian State that can live side by side in peace with Israel. Believe me when I say they are not naïve idealists. Rather, they are hard headed realists who understand that the continued occupation of the West Bank in untenable and harmful to Israel's security, its democracy and its standing in the world. Even though peace may not come soon, we can still build bridges to peace that others may walk over in the future. 

I also urge you to support the Israel Terror Relief Fund. www.juf.org/help_israel/donate This Fund will help support the more than one million residents of Israel's South; provide aid to those who are victims of terror and the most vulnerable Israelis during this time of conflict. Such services include trauma counseling, financial assistance, portable bomb shelters, bringing children in the strike zones out of harm's way, assisting the elderly and disabled, and more such needed relief services.  JUF is also working with local media, churches, civic groups, our elected officials and, of course, campuses, to ensure that Israel's desire for peace and security is heard and understood.

Be strong. Support Israel and do not waver. Pursue peace along whatever avenues that are open.  I close with the words of Rabbi Tarfon in Pirke Avot :  "It is not your obligation to complete the task, but you are not free to abstain from it, either."

Shabbat Shalom

 

 

 

 

 

 

Parasha Chayei Sarah

Love Makes the World Go Round

What song comes to your mind when you hear the words, "Love Makes the World Go Round?"

Perhaps it is this contemplation of the power of physical love by Rhythm and Blues singer Deon Jackson, recorded in 1965

You know Love Makes The World Go Round

Love makes the see - saw go up and down;

Love Makes trees grow tall

Makes a boy and girl say they feel so fine now.

Without Love Flowers wouldn't bloom in spring

Without spring the birdies just couldn't sing

Everybody needs love. . .

 

….Or this bitter reflection on love by singer Ashley Simpson in 2004 --

I just wanna talk to you

And my broken heart just has no use

And I, I guess promises are better

Left unsaid,

Every time you try to tell me

You say the words that I'm the only

But I'm the one who's crawling on the ground

When you say love makes the world go 'round

 

Then there's the longing paean to love from the 1961 Broadway musical "Carnival"

Love makes the world go 'round

Love makes the world go 'round

 

Somebody soon will love you

If no-one loves you now

 

High in some silent sky

Love sings a silver song

Making the earth whirl softly

Love makes the world go 'round

 

There is this take on love from Madonna in a 1986 album –

There's hunger everywhere

We've got to take a stand

Reach out for someone's hand

Love makes the world go round

It's easy to forget

If you don't hear the sound

Of pain and prejudice

Love makes the world go round.

 

The idea that "love makes the world go round" is found in our Parasha this week. We are told that Abraham is "zaken, bah baYamim" – that Abraham is old, advanced in years.  Rabbi Sholom Noach Berezovsky,  z'l', also known as the Slonimer Rebbe, asks the following question – why does the Torah add these words – "bah –bayamim" – "advanced in age"—to the statement "Abraham was old". Words in the Torah are never superfluous. They are there to teach us something.  Now, the words "bah-bayamim" literally mean, "his days came".  The Slonimer Rebbe teaches that Abraham's days came to number so many because he never let a day pass without performing an act of "chesed". 

Chesed is an important word in Jewish life.  It means love, but a particular kind of love –generosity of spirit, kindness, compassion and open heartedness".  Every day that Abraham lived, he did acts of Chesed. The Slonimer Rebbe takes this further. He says that it is up to each one of us to follow in Abraham's footsteps and do acts of chesed every day.  Chesed is the most important mitzvah we can do.  How do we know this? Because, it says in the Psalms, "The world is built through 'Chesed'".  In other words, King David, who wrote the Psalms, was the first one to come up with the thought that Love Makes the World Go Round.

How does Love Make the World Go Round?  Every day we human beings benefit from the kindness, the generosity, the compassion, the Chesed, of G-d.  Through the falling of the rain and the growing of the grasses, in our breathing of the air, we human beings are able to eat and drink and are sustained in this world.  Just as we benefit from G-d's chesed, we must pass that chesed on to our fellow human beings.  We have to pay it forward. Thus, the entire world is sustained on a daily basis by G-d's goodness flowing through us.  In fact, the Slonimer Rebbe teaches that if we fail to perform an act of chesed on a particular day, it is not even considered "a day" in our lives. 

At the conclusion of our Parasha this week, the Torah tells us that Abraham dies with these words: "These are the days if the years of the life of Abraham, which he lived – a hundred and seventy five."  Again, there are some extra words which beg interpretation. Why does the Torah add "which he lived"?  Because Abraham had lived his life fully – not one day was wasted.  Each day he performed acts of kindness, of generosity, of love, of caring, and each day was accounted a "day" in his life.  It is not how long one lives, it is how one lives, that determines the "days" of your life.

Shabbat Shalom

 

 

 

 

Parasha VaYerah

To See and Do

The Torah is a remarkably terse document that uses surprisingly few words.  For example, if you want to know what Abraham looked like, the Bible does not tell us.  The Bible describes King Saul as "tall and good looking" and describes King David as "handsome", but that that about does it for descriptions of men.  When it wants to describe women it uses the word "yafah" or "yefat-toar", meaning beautiful, but we never know what color hair a woman has or what color are her eyes.  The Torah, much like poetry, utilizes few words and contains multiple layers of meaning. 

The root of the word "ra-ah" -- to see – appears prominently throughout the story of Abraham.  This week's parasha, Va-Ye-rah, means "to appear" , and the parasha begins, "G-d appeared/va-ye-rah to Abraham".  Abraham "sees" – va-yar – three men approaching his tent.  When two angels approach Lot, sitting at the gates of Sodom, the Torah tells us that Lot "sees" them – again, the word "va-yar".  G-d opens Hagar's eyes and she "sees" a well, and the Torah tells us "va-taireh be-air mayim" – she saw the well.  Abraham "sees"—va-yaar – the place where he is to sacrifice Isaac from afar, and later "sees" a ram caught in the thicket and sacrifices it in place of Isaac. He calls the place where this happened "Adonai Yireh" – another form of "ra-ah", to see, which the Torah connects to a saying, "On the mountain G-d will appear".  Thus this parasha begins and ends with reference to the sense of sight.

So it becomes interesting when the Torah COULD use a form of the word, "va-yaar" but chooses not to. This occurs in the story of Sodom and Gomorrah.  As you know, G-d destroys the city because of its sinfulness.  Not even ten righteous people live there.  The Torah tells us that Abraham rises early in the morning of the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, "va-yash-kef" – and he sees.  Forms of the verb "ra-ah" to see, are used exactly 1,299 times in the Bible. Forms of the word "va-yash-kef" are used only 22 times in the Bible.  The question is, why is it used in this instance when the more common word could have been used?[1]

The way to answer that question is to look up the other 21 places where a form of the word "va-yash-kef" is used and look at its meaning in context.  When we do that, we find something interesting. It is almost always near the word for "window".  For example, in the story of Deborah, Sisera, a Canaanite general, goes to war against the Israelites. He is eventually killed.  His mother looks out a window, expecting his arrival home.  Jezebel, the evil queen of Northern Israel, looks out a window before she is thrown out of it by the vengeful Jehu.  The Book of Proverbs describes a wise man ruefully  looking out a window at a youth who is about to be ensnared by a harlot.  In all of these instances, the word for "to see" is not "ra-ah" but the far lesser used "va-yash-kef". 

We can now understand that when the Bible uses the root "ra-ah" for seeing, it is usually followed by some action by the one who sees.  A person sees, and does. When the Bible uses "va-yash-kef",  the one who sees is usually passive.  They are looking on, perhaps waiting, but are not taking any action.  The Torah is telling us that Abraham, usually an active protagonist in his stories, watches the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah from afar.  He will not be riding to the rescue, as he did when his nephew Lot was captured in war. Abraham is an onlooker, a bystander, a most uncharacteristic role for this most active of men.

Perhaps we can understand Abraham's passivity. After all, he has been informed by G-d that the cities are being destroyed because of the evil within them.  He has already tried to intervene to spare them.  Abraham does not descend to the valley to help the survivors. The story that follows has a desperate Lot and his daughters taking refuge in the mountains. They are the sole survivors of the city of Sodom. There is nobody to help them.  They feel alone in the world.  How sad.

We cannot afford to be so passive when we see devastation and destruction.  We cannot allow people to feel alone when disaster strikes. When Hurricane Katrina destroyed New Orleans several years ago, there were some  rabbis and ministers, fundamentalists all,  who understood this as the "hand of G-d" punishing the people of New Orleans for their sinful ways, much like G-d punished Sodom and Gomorrah in this week's parasha.  We emphatically reject that theology.  Now there may be some human responsibility for some of the destruction.  Our failure to take global warming seriously may be contributing to the severity of the storms we have experienced in the last decade.  When we build in low lying and vulnerable areas we may be opening ourselves up to loss of life and property. When we do not evacuate areas we are warned to leave we should not be surprised when there is loss of life.  This is not really the time to debate this.  This isn't the time to cast blame and assign responsibility.  This isn't the time to be a passive onlooker.  This is the time to offer support in whatever way we can. This is a time to reach into our pockets and help out.

I know many of you have already, and many of you will.  Did you know that according to a study published in 2010 by a Purdue University economist in The Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion, American Jews are, on average, significantly more generous in giving to others for basic needs than are American Protestants or Catholics?  When you do give, I hope you will consider giving through the Jewish United Fund. In this week's announcements we have sent a link to their website which will make it easy for you to contribute.  Of course, your contribution through any organization is valuable and praiseworthy.  But when you give through the Jewish United Fund, you will be contributing both as an American and as a Jew.  Frankly, it is good PR for our people, and it says something to the world about Jewish values.  Moreover, one-hundred percent of your contribution will go to those in need.

Let us not be mere onlookers. Let us not stand from afar and observe. Whether it be in response to a natural catastrophe or to the daily struggles of our fellows, let us see and do, not merely gaze on, and observe.

Shabbat Shalom

 

 

 

 

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[1] My thanks to Dr. Ora Horn Prouser, President of the Academy for Jewish Religion, for pointing this out in a recent communication. 

Parasha Lech Lecha

Like Terach or Abraham?

This evening I am going to do something quite audacious.  This evening I am going to do something very bold, something that I have never done before on a pulpit. This evening I am going to do something that requires a lot of hutzpah – or "choots-spa", as Michelle Bachman would say. This evening I am going to disagree with one of the greatest sages who ever lived!   I am going to take issue with one of the greatest Jewish minds of the 20^th century.  Who is this great Jewish sage who our fearless rabbi is about to take on, you are asking yourselves?  Why, none other than The Chofetz Chayim!

For those of you who have not heard of him, The Chofetz Chaim was born in Europe in 1838. Despite his recognition as a scholar and an extraordinarily righteous man, he refused to accept a pulpit and lived in a small town where his wife supported them running a grocery shop.  The Chofetz Chayim was able to devote himself to studying and writing and teaching Torah.  He is best known for his book on Lashaon Harah – gossip – and for his Mishnah Berurah, a 6 volume commentary on the Shulchan Aruch, the authoritative work of Jewish law. The Chofetz Chaim died in 1933.

Each week this year I have been studying a selection from the Chofetz Chaim's Torah commentaries.  This week he cites the verse in this week's Torah portion, "Abraham took his family and his possessions and went forth to go to the Land of Caanan – and he came to the land of Caanan." He compares this to a verse about Terach, Abraham's father that we read last week.  There the Torah says, "Terach went forth from Ur Kasdim to go to the Land of Caanan, and he came to the city of Haran, and he settled there."  Comparing these two verses teaches us a valuable lesson, says the C.C.  We should be like Abraham and not like Terach. When we set out to do something, we must not deviate from our goal nor change our plans, like Terah did – we should continue until we accomplish our task, as Abraham shows us.  We must persevere until we reach our goal.

Therein lays my disagreement with the Chofetz Chaim.  Here is where I take issue!  I am going to argue, and I am going to show you here this evening, that sometimes you need to be like Terach, and change your mind, and not be like Abraham, and persevere in your journey.  I am going to prove this to you by telling you the true story of and Israeli man named Nadav ben Yehudah.

Last May Nadav ben Yehuda, set off to become the youngest Israeli ever to climb to the top of Mt. Everest.  Nadav was only 24 years old.  With a summit of 29,000 feet, or almost 6 miles above sea level, Mount Everest is the tallest mountain in the world and a very dangerous one to scale.  The first known person to reach the summit was Sir Edmund Hilary, in 1953. Two hundred and sixteen people have lost their lives trying to climb Mt. Everest.  Their bodies usually remain on the mountain – it is too dangerous to bring them down to give them a proper burial. They are well preserved because of the cold.  Climbers pass them on their way to the summit, a grisly reminder of their own fate should they falter on the way.

On an average day in May, when Nadav tried to reach the Mt. Everest summit, the temperature reaches a high of minus 17 Fahrenheit, and the winds howl at 50 mph.  The air is so thin that it only contains 1/3 of the oxygen of sea level air. 

Yet Nadav ben Yehudah is a profession mountaineer.  He had always dreamed of climbing to the top of Mt. Everest.  He dreamed of the glory that would accompany his achievement, the riches that would be sure to follow, and the name he would make for himself in the annals of Jewish history. On the night before his assault on the summit, he slept at a camp about a half mile below the peak.  He didn't get a good night's sleep. Perhaps he was thinking about the six people who had already died this year trying to make the summit.  Perhaps it was the rickety tent or the bed of rocks he slept on that night at camp. He woke before sunrise and set off for the top of the world. He was about 900 feet below his goal, and it appeared he would reach the top of Everest before sunrise.  He was so close, he could taste the triumph!

It was then that he recognized a figure sprawled out beside an icy ridge before him, unconscious.  It was Aydin Irmak, a Turkish climber who Nadav had met at the base camp.  A number of climbers had already passed the unconscious climber on their way to the summit.  Nadav ben Yehudah had a choice to make. He could pass by the helpless climber, as others had, and leave him to die from exposure.  Or, he could abandon his quest for the top of Mt. Everett and try to rescue the half frozen Irmak.  Even if he tried to get him down the mountain, there was no guarantee that he would get him down alive.  Perhaps both of them would perish in the rescue attempt.

What would you do in that situation?  Attempt a dangerous rescue that had only a modest chance of succeeding?  Or climb to the top of Everest, only 900 feet away, and become the youngest Israeli ever to do so.  Fame and fortune were within his reach. Nadav knew that he had to make a choice. He could not do both.

I will let Nadav Ben Yehudah tell you his choice in his own words.  ""People passed him by and didn't do a thing. I didn't think for a second about politics – the fact that he was Turkish and I was Israeli. I also didn't think about the glory. All I thought about is that I can save this person – and that's what I did."

So Nadav abandoned his quest for the summit and turned back. Nadav had to carry the injured Turk down the mountain alone, attached to a harness.  It took ten hours to get him to the base camp.  Both were flown by helicopter to Katmandu and hospitalized. Ayden Irmak survived and regained his health. Nadav suffered severe frostbite if his fingers because during the rescue he had to remove his gloves.  "I hope the doctors don't have to amputate them," he said, "because I want to keep climbing".

In our study group on Thursday we were discussing a passage from Isaiah about the uncertainty of life.  In this context Rabbi Rami Shapiro wrote, "G-d is asking you to live without certainty; knowing only the way – justice, kindness, and compassion – and giving no thought to the destination."  Nadav ben Yehudah certainly had a destination – the top of Mt. Everest.  But when uncertainty crossed his path, his "way" became not the shortest path to the summit. His way was his justice, his kindness, and his compassion.  It was no detour. He was on that path all along.

Our world, for the most part, looks at things the other way around.  It values the destination more than the way we achieve it.  Witness the athletes, for whom winning is more important than the way they wins. Witness the bankers for whom making a profit is more important than the way they make a profit. And yes, witness the politicians for whom getting elected is far more important than the way they get elected.  Witness all the climbers who made their way around an injured fellow in their single minded attempt to reach the top of the world.

Nadav ben Yehudah never reached the heights of Mt. Everest.  I think you will agree with me that he reached heights far greater than that.  I think the Chofetz Chaim would have been proud of Nadav ben Yehudah.  May he serve as an example and as a reminder to us all.  Yes, we should persevere in our goals, like Abraham.  But we ought not to be so single minded that we shunt aside our values on the way to reaching our destination.  Sometimes, it is better to be like Terach.   Shabbat Shalom

 

 

Parasha Noah

Servant or Partner?

We are smack in the middle of the college football season and talk has begun about who is a candidate for the Heisman Trophy, the award for the best player in college football. Geno Smith, the quarterback for West Virginia, is a leading candidate for the award.  However, his team suffered a humiliating 49-14 loss to Texas Tech, and Smith had a below par game, passing for only 275 yards and one touchdown. Smith has completed over 75% of his passes this season over 6 games, but in the Texas Tech game he completed only 52% of his passes.  This led ESPN sports curmudgeon Skip Bayless to say about Smith, "He is a great quarterback on a mediocre team.  Just think how much greater he could be if he were on a good team."

Perhaps more than in any other sport, the people who surround you on the football field are crucial to a player's effectiveness and ultimate success on the field.  Because of the team that Geno Smith plays on, he may not get the award as the best college football player in the land.  He may never reach his full potential as a college football player.  Something similar to that reasoning is operating as the rabbis evaluate Noah.  In the beginning of our Parasha, the Torah describes Noah as "a righteous man – he was complete in his age – Noah walked with G-d."  Some rabbis interpreted this to mean that Noah was righteous compared to others of his generation. Had he lived in any other generation, he would not have been considered righteous at all.  In other words, he was head and shoulders above everyone else, but everyone else was hopelessly flawed.  Other rabbis, however, interpret this to mean that Noah was righteous despite the corrupting influences of the generation in which he lived.  This is especially praiseworthy. Had he had better people surrounding him, he could have achieved even greater heights.

Whether in team sports or in life, the people who we surround ourselves with really matter.  They can either support us to reach our full potential, or they can hold us back so we can never truly become our best selves.  The rabbis advised, in the collection "Pirke Avot" that one should "uproot oneself to a place of Torah, and do not say that it will come after you.  Only with a community can your study be fortified." 

One cannot be a Jew alone, in isolation.  In using the term "uproot oneself" the rabbis are acknowledging that at times one has to overcome inertia to be a part of a Jewish community.  We have to uproot ourselves from in front of the television, uproot ourselves from our couch, uproot ourselves from our daily routine to make Jewish participation and study a regular part of our lives.  As the midrash says, "If a person does not come after words of Torah, it is unlikely that words of Torah will come after him."  If we fail to pursue a Jewish life, a Jewish life will not pursue us, and we will not be complete.

The Torah describes Noah as walking WITH G-d and "being complete".  In contrast, G-d says to Abraham in next week's parasha, "Walk BEFORE me and become complete".  This difference in wording gives us a clue to Noah's character.  With Noah, there doesn't appear to be any room for growth.  Noah is already complete.  Noah is a finished product.  What we see is a man totally submissive to G-d.  G-d tells Noah that G-d is going to destroy the world and he should build an ark. Noah doesn't argue with G-d about the justice or wisdom of this plan. Noah does not try to get his community to repent and thereby avoid destruction. Noah just builds an ark. G-d tells Noah to load his family into the ark, along with two of every kind of animal.  Noah carries out that order too. He doesn't protest that the animals will be smelly and noisy!  Nowhere do we see Noah engaging in any kind of dialogue with G-d.  Noah does what he is told.

Even in the construction of the ark we glimpse Noah's submissiveness.  The ark is not really a boat. Rabbi Baruch Melman points out that if we look at the instructions in the Torah, the ark is built in a rectangular shape, with square edges and a flat bottom.  The ark is more like a "tub" than it is a boat – in fact, the word "tub" may have its origins in the Hebrew word for ark – teba".  The ark has no steering mechanisms.  It will float, but it cannot be guided by Noah.  This is in keeping with Noah's character – he is perfectly comfortable with his journey being completely guided by G-d.

Here is a difference between Noah and Abraham.  Noah walks "with G-d" – Abraham walks "before G-d".  This conjures up an image of the child who doesn't want to hold his parents hand.  He wants independence.  Abraham does listen to G-d – after all, he does leave his homeland to travel to Canaan at G-d's command. But when he gets there, he finds a famine in the land. He decides, on his own, to descend to Egypt. While there, he realizes that he and his wife are physically vulnerable, and he devises a plan to protect themselves --without any input from G-d.  When he returns to the land of Canaan there are problems between him and his nephew Lot.  Abraham comes up with a solution without G-d advising him. When Lot is taken captive in war, Abraham doesn't wait around for G-d to tell him what to do. Abraham saddles up 318 men and rides to the rescue.  When G-d tells Abraham that he will have a child with Sarah his wife, Abraham laughs at the preposterous thought of such elderly people having a child.  He responds with an alternative suggestion – "Let my son Ishamael live by your favor!" 

By the time G-d contemplates the destruction of Sodom and Gommorah, G-d cannot imagine carrying out the plan without first sharing it with Abraham.  Abraham has become a true partner with G-d.  Abraham even convinces G-d not to destroy the cities if there can be found ten righteous people living in them. I cannot imagine Abraham getting into a boat that he could not steer.

We Jews are the Children of Abraham.  It is Abraham, not Noah, who serves as our model for a relationship with G-d.  It is partnership with, not submission to, G-d that is our guiding principal in our relationship to the divine.  When Abraham heard that his nephew Lot had been kidnapped, he did not throw up his hands and say, "Well, that must be part of G-d's plan."  When G-d shared with Abraham that He was going to destroy Sodom and Gomorrah, Abraham did not respond "Thy will be done".  That was Noah's way, not Abraham's way.  We Jews are not so much servants of G-d, like Noah, as we are partners with G-d, like Abraham.  We are partners with G-d in bringing G-d's holiness into our world.  In working to do so, we, like Abraham, can grow to become more complete human beings.

 

Shabbat Shalom                                                                                                               Friday, October 19, 2012

 

Shabbat Chol HaMoed Sukkot

The Sukkah of Peace

The prayer, Hashkivenu, which we say on Friday night, contains the phrase "sukat Shelomecha" three times.  It concludes with the blessing, "Ufros alenu Sukat shlomecha" – spread over us the Sukkah of Your peace.  The question I would like to explore this Shabbat Chol HaMoed Succot – this Intermediate Sabbath of Succoth – is "what does a Sukkah have to do with peace?  Why does our prayer compare peace to a Sukkah?"

One suggestion is that like a Sukkah, peace is fragile and temporary.[1]  Indeed!  In 2011 alone there were 26 active armed conflicts in the world, an increase in two from 2010. ^[2]  One worldwide organization puts together what it calls the Global Peace index, a ranking of the amount of peace enjoyed by each country in the world. New Zealand is rated the most peaceful country in the world, followed by Iceland and Japan. Fifteen of the top twenty countries are Western or Central European states. The Scandanavian countries all rank in the top ten. The United States was ranked 85^th most peaceful country.  Two wars, a high prison population and high rates of violent crime and homicide contribute to our relatively low ranking on the peaceful country scale. [3]  Forget about peace being fragile and temporary. This makes it sound completely unattainable, far from our reach.  I hate to be a pessimist, but the most we can hope for, it would seem, is some respite from war and conflict in this troubled world of ours.  The Sukkah, easily blown down by the wind, open to the elements, here for a short duration and then gone, reminds us of how difficult it is to bring lasting peace into the world.

Here is another thought about the association of a Sukkah with peace.  A Sukkah is a place of hospitality. Hospitality is synonymous with care and protection and peace.  In former times, it was customary for a family that was eating in the Sukkah to invite at least one poor person to the dinner table.  Then there is the kabbalistic custom of Ushpizin.  On each night of the holiday, traditional Jews invite one of the seven exalted men of Israel to take up residence in the Sukkah – Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, Moses, Aaron and David.  Each of these exalted people also reminds us of our obligation to protect the vulnerable and the uprooted – Abraham left his birthplace, Isaac traveled to Gerar, Jacob fled his brother Esau, Joseph was sold to Egypt, Moses and Aaron wandered in the desert, and David fled from King Saul. 

Hospitality is still a sacred obligation in parts of our world. Marcus Luttrell, a Navy seal, was the sole survivor of a battle in Afghanistan. He and three other Seal commandos were on a mission to hunt down an al-Qaeda terrorist leader hiding in a Taliban stronghold.  Injured and bleeding, he eluded six al Qaeda assassins who were trying to finish him off.  He made his way to a Pashtun village. The tribe took him in and risked everything to protect him.  He came under the law of hospitality, he wrote, considered "strictly non-negotiable".  "They were committed to defend me against the Taliban until there was not one left alive."

This same law of hospitality prompted Abraham to offer food and shelter to three strangers who happened by his home. It is the same law of hospitality that prompted Lot to protect the angels who visited him in Sodom from the angry crowd who wanted to harm them.  We shudder at the price he was willing to pay – to hand over his daughters as a substitute – but the point is the same. The Law of Hospitality says that we protect those who come under our roofs even at the expense of our loved ones.

I offer one final though about the association of a Sukkah with peace.  Succoth is the only holiday on our calendar that we publically celebrate outdoors. In fact, although we may be tempted to build a Sukkah in our family room, and thereby avoid the cold or inclement weather of our area in October, it is not valid to build a Sukkah indoors. It has to be outdoors, for all to see. It makes perfect sense, then, that the Sukkah is such a humble dwelling.  Since they are such humble dwellings, and others will see it, they are unlikely to stir up envy -- and envy is a threat to peace.

When Jacob sent his sons to Egypt to seek provisions for the famine, he cautioned them not to make themselves conspicuous. Rashi explains that Jacob was warning them not to show that they still had provisions to eat and they were not yet going hungry. Jacob was concerned this would stir up envy among the pagan tribes living in the area. In a commentary to this, the Stone Chumash notes that this has been the theme of many leaders who exhorted their fellow Jews not to flaunt their wealth to their neighbors, as that can stir up envy.  "Whatever food Jacob's family had was honestly acquired," writes the Stone Chumash, "but even honest resources should be displayed judiciously."   

"Spread over us the Sukkah of Your Peace" asks our prayer.  We are reminded in using this language that peace is fragile like a Sukkah, and impermanent.  "Spread over us the Sukkah of Your Peace" asks G-d to be with us and protect us, at least as well  as human beings protect and care for the guests that dwells within their homes.  "Spread over us the shelter of Your Peace" teaches us that we should be modest and judicious in displaying our wealth, for we do not wish to incur envy, which is a threat to peace.

Shabbat Shalom

 

 

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[1] This was suggested by Rabbi Marc Saperstein of the Leo Baeck College of London in a d'var torah to students

[2] http://www.ploughshares.ca/content/2012-armed-conflicts-report

[3] http://www.visionofhumanity.org/news/global-index-finds-world-has-become-less-peaceful/

October Newsletter Article

Between Israel and the Nations

When I practiced as a psychotherapist I learned a valuable lesson – what people tell you is not nearly as important, at times, as what people leave out. So it peaks my interest when our newsletter editor quotes from the Havdalah blessing that is in our prayer book, Kol Haneshama.  "Blessed are You……..who separates between holy and ordinary, between light and dark, between the seventh day and the six days of work."  What phrase did our prayer book leave out of the traditional blessing? It is the phrase "Bein yisrael le-amim" -- "Between Israel and the nations."  The traditional prayer blesses G-d for separating Israel from the rest of the nations of the world.  Our Reconstructionist prayer book omits these words, without offering an explanation.

Our prayer book does have a note, on page 444, which is relevant to the editorial decision to delete this phrase from our Havdalah prayer. "The traditional Aleynu ….. has troubled Reconstructionist Jews because it implies inferiority of other faiths and other peoples," explain the editors.  They are concerned about Jewish chauvinism.  They are concerned that Jewish people will understand the prayer as saying not that Jews are "different" from others, but that Jews are "better" than others.  That is a legitimate worry, as Heaven knows we have our Jewish chauvinists.  Throughout the prayer book, the editors address this issue by changing the traditional language of the few prayers that can be misinterpreted in this way.

Or, perhaps, it is the idea that Jews are "different" that makes us uncomfortable.  As Chicago writer Joseph Epstein beautifully puts it, "At the center of Judaism, if not always at the center of Jewish life, is separateness. Part of the burden of being, as the Bible specified, G-d's "chosen people" was that Jews were to declare and maintain their separateness, which they did in myriad ways: through circumcision, through dietary laws, through hundreds of small rituals that qualified a Jew to call himself 'observant'."

Jews have been struggling with the issue of separateness ever since the French National Assembly invited Jews to become French citizens with the same rights and obligations as other Frenchmen in 1791. If "separateness" is indeed, as Epstein says, at the center of Jewish life, how does one maintain it while fully participating in the national life of the country in which one is a citizen? If we give up most of the ways that set us apart – dietary laws, reading Hebrew, synagogue attendance, most home rituals, Sabbath observance, Jewish study – as many have, how do we maintain our difference as a distinct people?  How do the Jewish people keep from being swallowed up by the majority culture if we fail to practice our distinctive way of life? We are caught between a rock and a hard place. Epstein quotes writer Frederic Raphael in a lecture on Anti-Semitism: "If assimilated, the Jew becomes indistinguishable; if he insists on being indigestible he sticks in the throat of the world." [1]

Such dilemmas cannot be addressed by deleting some words from our prayer book.  Let the words remain, and make us uncomfortable, so we are forced to struggle with the issue of separateness and assimilation.

 

 

 

 

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[1] Epstein, Joseph  Envy  Oxford University Press 2003

Yom Kippur Day 5773

  Olympic Mettle

This past summer we were witness to the Olympic Games in London.  Although there had been many concerns about terrorism, transportation, and weather, the games came off magnificently.  A few weeks later London hosted the Paralympics, a multi-sport event for the disabled, in the same stadium venues.  These games, recently concluded, were a resounding success as well.

If the Olympic Games are associated with the Greeks, then surely the Paralympics ought to be associated with the Jews.  It was a Jewish physician who began the Paralympic games in 1948.  Dr. Ludwig Guttman was a Jewish neurologist who fled Nazi Germany before the beginning of WWII. He settled in Oxford, England, with his wife and two children.  In 1943, the British government asked Dr. Guttman to become the head of Stoke Mandeville, a hospital that treated spinal cord injuries.  At the time Dr. Guttman took over the hospital, people who had sustained spinal cord injuries were considered hopeless cases. Eighty percent of them died within two weeks of sustaining their injury.  Dr. Guttman revolutionized the treatment of spinal cord injury patients and began to incorporate activities such as watch repair and sports into their rehabilitation. In July, 1948 – the opening day of the Olympics in London that year – he organized a little known competition of archery and javelin throw for sixteen disabled men and women on the grounds of the hospital.  The first Parallel Olympics were held in Rome, in 1960, a week after the close of the Olympic Games in Rome that year. The games were not televised and received little publicity. This year, 4,200 athletes from 165 countries competed in the Paralympics held after the Olympics.  The games were televised around the world, although unfortunately precious little television coverage was given in the United States.

I wish the Paralympics had been held before, instead of after the Olympics.  I think some of the Olympians would have gotten a better perspective on life, a better idea of what courage is, and a deeper sense of what really matters if they had watched these brave disabled athletes of the Paralympics perform.  As we know, the Olympians performed magnificently, and with grace and courage. The individual and the team competitions were exciting to watch.  It was what some of the athletes said after the events that I suspect many of us found disappointing.  Michael Phelps accomplished something amazing, something nobody else had ever done before – winning 22 medals over his career.  He is without a doubt a great athlete.  As reporters gathered around him after his final victory, he boasted, "I am now the best swimmer of all time.  I am the Michael Jordan of my generation - and more. I did everything that I set out to do, and I did it perfectly." 

Perhaps he would have exhibited some humility about his own achievements had the Paralympics been held before the Olympics. Then he might have heard of Zipora Rubin Rosenbaum, an Israeli woman who participated in the Paralympics from 1964 to 1988.  Over her career, Zipora Rubin Rosenbaum won 21 Paralympic medals, one shy of Michael Phelps' impressive record.  Only she did it in a wheelchair -- and her medals came in shot put, javelin, pentathalon, discus, table tennis and swimming – six different sports!  

Then there is Ussain Bolt, the world's fastest human.  One cannot help but admire his athletic prowess, the way he blew away the competition at the Olympics. But when he walked into the press conference room following his final victory he called for a 'drum roll' and then he said: 'I'm now a legend. I am the greatest athlete to live. To all the people who doubted me, who thought I would lose here, you can stop talking now. I am a living legend.'  Then Bolt addressed his audience. 'I have one more thing to say. I am now a living legend. Bask in my glory. If I don't see that in the paper and on TV in all your countries I will never give an interview again. Tell everyone to follow me on Twitter.'

If the Paralympics were held first, perhaps Bolt would have gained some perspective on his accomplishments.  Had he seen wheelchair tennis or wheelchair basketball, perhaps he would have kept in mind that running fastest is not necessarily the greatest accomplishment in the world.  And where was the "thank you" to his coaches?  Most likely, he did not become the world's fastest human all by himself.

Compare this behavior to the remarkable tribute of the French swimmer, Fabian Gilot.  After completing the final leg of the men's 4X100 relay, in which the French won the gold medal, he raised his arm in a wave to the crowd.  Tattooed on his left arm, large enough for all to see, were Hebrew letters which read, "ANI KLOOM BILADEYHEM" -- I am nothing without them."  This was a salute to the husband of Gilot's grandmother, his "step-grandfather" Max Goldschmidt. Max Goldschmidt was a Holocaust survivor who became one of the most important influences on Fabian Gilot's life.  Gilot's father explained that "Max was a Jew who survived the Holocaust and Auschwitz." He added: "He was born in Berlin and moved to France after the war, in Fabien's eyes he was a hero. Fabian admired his grandfather and was very attached to him." By the way, Fabian Gilot is not Jewish, which made the tribute, in Hebrew etched into his arm, all the more moving.  

Now, I think that is an example of how a winner should express himself.  A great athlete should always acknowledge the people who helped them get to where they are.  Isn't Gilot saying, "I may have won a gold medal, but I didn't do it alone.  I'm not the greatest -- the greatest people are those who helped and supported me along the way."  We admire athletes ultimately for their strength of will and spirit, their ability to overcome limitations, their capacity to rise to the challenge, their willingness to risk failure on a world stage.  Athletes detract from their very real accomplishments, and our admiration of them, when they demonstrate overweening pride and arrogance.

Why am I speaking about this on Yom Kippur? It is because arrogance and pride are among the greatest sins that we struggle with in our lives.  In our prayer, the "Al Chet" we say, "For the sin which we have committed before you by "Azut Metzach" which means arrogance, pride, insolence, boasting, egoism.   It certainly is an occupational hazard of the public figure.  The famous newsman, Walter Cronkite, told the following story:  He was sailing down the Mystic River in Connecticut and following the channel's tricky turns through an expanse of shallow water.  A boatload of young people sped past him, its occupants shouting and waving their arms. Cronkite waved back a cheery greeting and his wife said, "Do you know what they were shouting?" "Why, it was 'Hello, Walter,'" he replied. "No," she said. "They were shouting, "Low water, Low water.'" Such are the pitfalls, he concluded, of fame's egotism. 

The earliest rabbis were very concerned about the sin of arrogance, and they wrote a great deal about the importance of humility. Perhaps it was because they lived under the rule of Rome, and experienced firsthand the arrogance of their Roman overlords.  But they themselves were the elite of their society, the most learned men of their generation.  Treated with great respect and deference, they themselves had to guard against getting carried away by their own sense of importance. "Be very humble of spirit, for in the end you will be eaten by worms," was their blunt reminder of the ultimate fate of even the most celebrated persons in this world.  They warned against the corrosive effect of pride in family life as well.  "An arrogant person is not accepted even in his own household," warns the Talmud, "At first members of his family jump at his every word; after a while they find him repulsive."    

The prophet Jeremiah speaks directly to this point.  He says, "Let not the wise man glory in his wisdom; Let not the strong man glory in his strength, And let not the rich man glory in his wealth-But let he who wishes to boast, boast only in this: that he is wise enough to understand this: That G-d cares about kindness, justice and righteousness; That only in these does G-d delight.

So how do we guard against arrogance?  How can we practice humility?  It's not easy. There is the story of the synagogue that realized the importance of humility, so it formed a committee to find the most humble person in the temple. Many names were submitted and numerous candidates evaluated. Finally, the committee came to a unanimous decision. They selected a quiet man who always worked in the background and had never taken credit for anything he had done. They awarded him the "Most Humble" button for his faithful service. However, the next day they had to take it away from him -- because he pinned it on.

The first way we guard against arrogance is to strike a balance between it and humility.  There is nothing wrong with feeling proud.  There is nothing wrong with having CHUTZpah.  I sure have to have Chutzpah today to stand in front of 800 people and think that my words to you would hopefully have some meaning.  I have to have some pride in the words that I have prepared, or I would be embarrassed to share them with you today.  I can't be so humble and feel so unworthy of addressing you that I don't do it at all! The rabbis say that a timid person cannot learn. They would be too humble even to ask a question of their teacher, too modest to want to excel, to stand out.  That is the other extreme we should avoid. So, we have to understand that there is a continuum between humility and arrogance, and we have to find a comfortable place on that continuum.  Maimonides called this the" golden mean". He taught that we should not be extreme in any of our conduct.  We should seek out a middle ground. We should not be boastful, but neither should we be overly humble.  It is perfectly acceptable to feel we have accomplished something significant, to take pride in our achievements – but let others praise us for it!  Ussain Bolt and Michael Phelps are certainly special, and perhaps both are indeed legends. Let the newspapers or the broadcasters say it!   They should restrain themselves and follow the advice of Proverbs – Ye-hallel-kha  Zar  ve-lo  Pi-cha – "Let others speak your praise, but not your own mouth."

We should not boast, but we should be able to accept a compliment. I've noticed some people don't know how to accept a compliment.  If someone praises us, there's no need to contradict them. There's no need to ignore the praise.  We can simply reply, "Thank you" to a compliment.

So if you want to compliment me today after this sermon, please, feel free to do so. I promise I will not let it go to my head!

A second way we can guard against arrogance is to remember that there is no such thing as a self- made man or woman.  One reason Michael Phelps and Ussain Bolt flubbed it was because in the moment they achieved their glory they forgot the people who helped them.  Fabian Gilot's gesture was so moving because by inscribing the words, "I am nothing without them," in Hebrew no less, on his arm, he made sure he would always remember, and we would know, how he got there.  When Aly Raisman was awarded her medal in gymnastics, she placed it over the head of her coach, Mihai Brestyan, in a tribute to the man most responsible for her triumph.

 Consider the giant Sequoia tree.  Some of them are over 2500 years old and 300 feet tall.  You would think that to hold a tree up that is that tall, for so long, their roots would sink a hundred feet into the earth.  But that is not how the giant Sequoias do stand up. Their roots are very shallow. But they stand in groves, and their roots intertwine, they lock together, so that when a wind comes or lightning strikes, they hold one another up.  All the trees support and protect one another.  They may be among the most majestic living things on earth, but they depend on one another.  So it is with us. We stand tall because we work together.  Our synagogue is successful because of the hundreds and hundreds of hours that many, many, members, along with clergy and professional staff, put in to make it a successful and sustaining community.  We hold each other up.  If we remember that, we can guard against arrogance.

A third way to guard against arrogance is to keep in mind the message of Yom Kippur. We need to carry these words with us throughout the year.   We are only here on earth for a relatively short time.  As the poet writes in our Machzor:  "We come from dust and return to dust, we are fragile as pottery, easily shattered, like the grass that withers, like the flower that fades, like the fleeting shadow, like the vanishing cloud, like the wind that rushes by, like the scattered dust, like the dream that flies away." Who will remember in a hundred years that we ever lived?  Who will remember the names of the greatest Olympians in a hundred years?  If some people do remember those names as great athletes of the early 21rst century, what will those Olympians care?  It won't matter anymore to them. Beyond the grave we have no cares. Fame is fleeting. Our accomplishments are impermanent – but the effects of our kindness, our justice and our righteousness endure long after we have shed these mortal coils.