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Rabbi Barbara Goldman-Wartell on the Anniversary of the Hyde Amendment

We read Nitzvaim the Shabbat before Rosh Hashanah and again on Yom Kippur Morning.   In this portion, we are told we have choices, to do good or bad, for our lives to be ones of blessings or curses.  The case is made for choosing blessings.  Again, we are empowered to make these choices with Moses working hard in this text and other places as God’s advocate, to steer us to make our choices for living up to our covenant with God and Torah and doing the mitzvot, those things which we are obligated to do for ourselves, for others and for God. September 30th this year was not only Rosh Hashanah and the first day of Tishrei.   September 30th also marks the 43rd anniversary of the passage of the Hyde Amendment, the policy that bars federal funding for abortion in the United States.

On the federal level, one of the most notable and longstanding restrictions is the Hyde Amendment, which was first passed in 1976 and has been renewed every year since. 

The Hyde Amendment bans the use of federal money for abortion except in cases of rape, incest, or when the pregnant person’s life is in danger in all federally administered health care plans such as Medicaid, TRICARE, and Indian Health Service. Many people that are have insurance through these plans, particularly Medicaid, are of low income. Thus, the Hyde Amendment largely and disproportionately impacts low-income people and other individuals with marginalized identities. It is reprehensible that someone would be denied their right to serve as their own moral agent for their reproductive health simply because they are insured by a federal health care plan. 

We as Reform Jews support women having choices, bodily integrity, the right to weigh their situation and beliefs and make knowledgeable thought out decisions for themselves and their families.  

Our tradition teaches that all life is sacred, and Judaism views the life and well-being of the person who is pregnant as paramount, placing a higher value on existing life than on potential life.

We learn from Mishnah Ohalot 7:6 that a woman is forbidden from sacrificing her own life for that of the fetus, and if her life is threatened, the text permits her no other option but abortion. In addition, if the mental health, sanity, or self-esteem of the woman (i.e. in the case of rape or incest) is at risk due to the pregnancy itself, the Mishnah permits the woman to terminate the pregnancy. It is due to the fundamental Jewish belief in the sanctity of life that abortion is viewed as both a moral and correct decision under some circumstances.  

The 1975 URJ Resolution on Abortion states, “While recognizing the right of religious groups whose beliefs differ from ours to follow the dictates of their faith in this matter, we vigorously oppose the attempts to legislate the particular beliefs of those groups into the law that governs us all. This is a clear violation of the First Amendment.”

 In an environment in which abortion access is becoming ever more restricted, the Hyde Amendment creates additional barriers to abortion access for women, particularly those from communities of color or with low incomes. With the High Holy Days providing an occasion for all of us to think about how we can advance justice and equity in our communities, advocating for reproductive justice – including the repeal of this harmful policy – is part of that equation.

The Equal Access to Abortion in Health Insurance or EACH Woman Act  (H.R. 1692/S. 758) was introduced into the 116th session of Congress on March 12, 2019. The EACH Woman Act seeks to repeal the Hyde Amendment, and would guarantee that every person who receives care or insurance through a federal plan or program has coverage for abortion.

If you feel compelled to take action on this matter of women’s health and free agency to make decisions about their own body,  please consider urging your member of Congress to support the EACH Woman Act. The EACH Woman Act would end bans on abortion coverage, restoring respect for each woman’s moral agency, ensuring fair treatment no matter her income, and protecting her health and safety.

Parashat Netzavim gives us the choice to act or not to act, to follow our convictions, our Jewish values and our communal interests.  Please consider your choice in acting on this matter and advocating for women to have choices in their control as well.

Rabbi Barbara Goldman-Wartell
Temple Concord, Binghamton, NY

Related resources from the RAC and from Planned Parenthood: 

https://cqrcengage.com/reformjudaism/app/write-a-letter…

https://www.plannedparenthoodaction.org/…/ab…/hyde-amendment

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News

The Case of the Allegedly Antisemitic Judge

On Thursday, the CCAR joined the Union for Reform Judaism, the Men of Reform Judaism, the American Jewish Committee, and over 100 Jewish lawyers in Texas in filing a brief amicus curiae with the Texas Court of Criminal Appeals supporting the appeal of a death row inmate named Randy Halprin.  Halprin is Jewish, a fact that was well-known at his trial.  He was one of a group of convicts who had escaped the Texas prison system.  He was convicted of capital murder, that is being part of a criminal group where someone committed murder, in this case the killing of a police officer. 

It is unusual for the CCAR, or indeed the other Jewish organizations and individual Jewish lawyers, to file a brief about a particular death penalty case at a mid-level state appellate court in Texas.  It is, after all, the state with by far the highest number of executions in the country, and we just don’t have the resources to file these briefs as a matter of course.  But this is an unusual case. 

The judge who presided over much of Mr. Halprin’s trial, including the death penalty phase, is named Vickers Cunningham.  Credible allegations of a lifetime of vile antisemitic and racist comments and actions by Judge Cunningham have surfaced since Mr. Halprin’s trial and conviction a decade and a half ago.  In 2018, the Dallas Morning News ran a story that laid these out.

A long-time acquaintance of Judge Cunningham told the Texas courts in a sworn statement that the judge regularly attacked Jews and people of color using foul epithets, including referring to Mr. Halprin as the “goddamn kike” and the “f…..n’ Jew.”  A campaign aide in Judge Cunningham’s 2006 race for Dallas District Attorney provided the courts a sworn statement that she heard him call Jews “dirty” (and slur people of color as well), and that he regularly referred to Mr. Halprin just as “the Jew.”  Mr. Halprin suggests that these attitudes influenced several rulings against him by Judge Cunningham.

The CCAR and others who filed this brief are not taking a position on whether Mr. Halprin committed crimes.  As the brief says, “[A]t this moment, those issues are irrelevant, because issues of guilt or innocence follow a fair trial; they do not precede it.  And if Judge Cunningham is the bigot described in [Mr. Halprin’s] application, a fair trial has not yet happened.”  The brief asks for a stay in Mr. Halprin’s execution and a full evidentiary hearing on whether Judge Cunningham was indeed biased against Jews.  If he was, a new trial should be warranted.

In the Torah reading for the week when the brief was filed, the Israelite people are instructed to appoint judges.  As part of that, they are told lo takir panim, “you shall show no partiality.”  Every court system deserving of its name has required the same of its judicial officers.  In this case, the Conference asserts that principle remains paramount today.

—
Rabbi Thomas M. Alpert serves Temple Etz Chaim in Franklin, MA.

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News

In the Fight for Justice, We Have Cosmic Companionship

CCAR members and clergy from other faiths were in El Paso, Texas July 28-29th for two days in support of Moral Mondays at the Borderlands. We have invited them to share their experiences in a short series on RavBlog.

We squinted as we stepped down from the buses that brought us to the detention facility and ICE processing center. The sun was blazing and the temperature was near 100. We had landed in what looked like an extremely large, brown, barren field, but barbed wire and walls bordered it. We saw these signs:

RAC staffers had brought posters for us, and there were so many extra that we started offering them to our fellow marchers, some of whom wore crosses around their necks and scarves over their hair. There were smiles all around as the message from texts we all honor was given and received. As we began to march to the main gate of the detention facility, several of us fell into step directly behind the Reverend Barber, resplendent in his red robes, our own Rabbi Rick Jacobs, Imam Omar Suleiman and the other clergy leaders. (We so completely filled the spaces right behind their heads with our RAC signs – Do Justice, Love Mercy, March Proudly, Reform Jews Welcome Immigrants  – that, seeing photographs later, Rick said it looked like a URJ rally. That made us smile.)

Finally, we arrived at the main gate which had been closed and locked against our arrival. Some detainees inside had begun a hunger strike that day. Reverend Barber motioned all the clergy forward and, speaking into the intercom, trying to touch hearts within the walls, called on those inside with the power to do so to allow us in to minister to those who were suffering. There was no response. Rabbi Jacobs tried, then Imam Omar Suleiman, then Reverend Teresa Hord Owens and Reverend Dr. Robin Tanner.

Silence. For that day, at least, there was no touching of hearts, no opportunity for connection, at least not with the souls held captive inside. As a large contingent of police cars began to converge on the area, we stepped back and silently moved away. We did not come to fight with anyone. We did not seek “glory” in arrest. We came only to witness and, if given the chance, to offer solace. As Reverend Barber had taught us earlier that day: “We don’t come to be arrested, we come to arrest the attention of the nation.” — Reverend William Barber, July 2019

—
Rabbi Kim S. Geringer is an Adjunct instructor in Professional Development, Rabbinic Supervision at Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion.

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News

One Giant Leap: Reflections on the 50th Anniversary of the Moon Landing

On July 20, 1969 at 10:56 PM as a boy one week shy of his 11th birthday, and filled with wonder, I watched Neil Armstrong take “one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.”

In 1999, as the century was ending, the eminent historian Arthur Schlesinger, Jr. was asked to name the most significant human achievement of the 20th century. In ranking the events, Schlesinger said, “I put DNA and penicillin and the computer and the microchip in the first ten because they’ve transformed civilization. But in 500 years, if the United States still exists, most of its history will have faded to invisibility… The one thing that for which this century will be remembered 500 years from now was: This was the century when we began the exploration of space.”

How, then, should we appreciate and celebrate this epic milestone in the history of our species?

This summer the Smithsonian published a piece by Charles Fishman called, Inside America’s Greatest Adventure – A New Behind-the Scenes View of Apollo 11’s Unlikely Triumph 50 Years Ago, an excerpt from his new book One Giant Leap: The Impossible Mission That Flew Us to the Moon. Fishman acknowledges that many Americans questioned why we were going to the moon when we couldn’t handle our problems on Earth. He admits how much of the space race was caught up in Cold War politics.  But Fishman goes on to say: “When President John F. Kennedy declared in 1961 that the United States would go to the Moon, he was committing the nation to do something we simply couldn’t do. We didn’t have the tools or the equipment- the rockets or the launch pads; the spacesuits or the computers….We didn’t even know how to fly to the Moon….Ten thousand problems had to be solved to get us to the Moon. Every one of those challenges was tackled and mastered between May 1961 and July 1969.”

For many, Apollo restored our faith that America could think big. It restored our faith that we could tackle great problems. It restored our faith that we could work together.

When Armstrong stepped on the moon, billions watched and cheered across the world- the largest TV audience in history. For a fleeting moment Apollo united a country divided over Vietnam, and civil rights, and nuclear disarmament. For a fleeting moment Apollo united the world.

But there is something else that Apollo bequeathed to us. On Apollo 8 astronaut Bill Anders took what is one of the most famous pictures of all time, the photo of the Earth floating in space above the moon. It was the first full-color photo of the Earth from space, later entitled Earthrise. This single, sensational image is credited with helping inspire the modern environmental movement.

What strikes you right away is color. There is our planet, a brilliant sphere of blue and white, in a sea of utter black. Nearly a half century ago pioneering astronomer Fred Hoyle uttered these prophetic words: “Once a photograph of the earth, taken from the outside is available… a new idea as powerful as any in history will be let loose.”

Astronaut Loren Action said, “Looking outward to the blackness of space, I saw majesty but no welcome. Below us was a welcoming planet. There, contained in the thin, moving, incredibly fragile shell of the biosphere is everything that is dear to [us]….”

Astronaut Sultan bin Salman may have put it best when he said, “The first day or so we all pointed to our countries “The third or fourth day we were pointing to our continents. By the fifth day we were aware of only one earth.”

What these modern day explorers are telling us is a truth at once ancient, but radically new. Something we have always known, but never really understood. We are one earth. We are one planet. We are one world. We are incredibly diverse but utterly inter-dependent.

I consider this not just the environmental, but the ultimate spiritual legacy of Apollo. We took one giant leap in our understanding of our own home- we need to work together in so many ways to cherish it and protect it.

Someday we will populate the solar system and beyond…that is also Apollo’s legacy. Yet even as we reach for the stars we are still tethered to our earth home like a new born babe to its mother.

On this 50th anniversary of our greatest adventure- thank you to Neil Armstrong  and Buzz Aldrin and Michael Collins; to those who walked on the moon, and to those who walked behind them to make it possible, and after them to build on their accomplishment. Thank you for showing us a new world. Thank you for our greater appreciation of our own world. Thank you for showing us what is possible when we dream. Thank you for showing us the dawn of our collective future.

—
Rabbi Barry L. Schwartz serves Congregation Adas Emuno in Leonia, New Jersey.

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News

Finding a Finkelstein: The Art of Learning to Pray

Isadore Finkelstein z”l taught me how to pray. I was a youth. He was ancient and timeless. My very best Shabbat mornings in synagogue as a teen as occurred when I sat near him. 

Mr. Finkelstein didn’t teach me the words of the prayers. He didn’t teach me the halachot – the legal structure – of prayer. He didn’t teach me the stories of the siddur, our prayer book. In fact, he never once instructed me in t’fillah. I learned how to pray by watching him, by listening to him, by feeling his prayer.

Born in 1894 in Bogoria, Poland, Mr. Finkelstein brought to his prayers an old-world yearning for God and a deep passion for the Jewish people. From Mr. Finkelstein I learned how prayer sounds, both in the ear and in the heart. From him I learned how to move in prayer, both the physical motions and the spiritual choreography. From him I learned how prayer connects heaven to earth, how prayer connects God to humanity.

Here’s the secret to learning how to pray: sit next to someone whose heart is filled with the love of God. Then listen. Your prayers will never be the same. Listen to how that voice shines, listen to the sparkling moments of love, the harmonies of hope, the undertones of grief, the hints of shofar resonant in that voice ready to pierce the highest heavens, and the yearning for a better world. You are climbing the mountain to Sinai. You are are carrying the Ark of the Covenant. You are witnessing miracles.

All you need to do is to find an Isadore Finkelstein. Sit nearby and listen with your inner, most vulnerable, open, heart-centered being. Then, go to a classroom, to a book or to a beit midrash to learn the details. There, the deep indescribable experience of prayer will meet the fountain of wisdom that is our siddur.

This is a paradox. The inner life of prayer – the indescribable, ineffable essence of prayer – is strengthened by our knowledge of the words themselves, their history, the intention behind them, the classic understandings, the new interpretations, the seasonal rhythms, and the thinking that called these prayers into being. That knowledge, however, gets prayer exactly nowhere without a heart, without a soul, without the deepest desire to do God’s will. Not one bit of prayer ‘book learning’ has, by itself, ascended to the gates of mercy.

The problem for Jewish educators is that no classroom learning – no matter how it is presented or disguised – will substitute for the experience of hearing and praying next to an Isadore Finkelstein. If the experience in the synagogue is flat and uninspiring, no amount of study will make up for it. The Beit Kenesset must pulse with love and the worship of God.

Traditional worship is often long on technique and short of God. The prayers exquisitely follow the Siddur and the rules, but there isn’t enough ‘Finkelstein.’ Liberal worship is often long on spirit and short of God. The prayers are beautifully sung and enjoyed, but there isn’t enough ‘Finkelstein.’ A technically perfect service is not necessarily prayer. Neither is a joyously sung nor a wondrously inspired service.

The ongoing conversation about how to teach and inspire prayer will simply vanish when enough people aspire to become Finkelsteins, masters of t’fillah, fountains of devotion in articulating prayer.

We don’t have enough masters of prayer to station one strategically at every synagogue, temple, shul, Hebrew school, day school and beit midrash. We don’t have enough Finkelsteins to go around. My hunch is that the Jewish centers that are thriving in robust prayer are attracting – or were created by – modern-day Finkelsteins, davening masters, lovers of the art and the act of yearning for heaven through prayer.

Jewish prayer masters pray from the most secret, sacred place within themselves. They pray a uniquely personal combination of prayers of the heart and traditional liturgy, in community with others, with the desire to be in conversation with God. They bring a deep understanding of the Siddur, and the desire to deepen that understanding. They are unconventional traditionalists, speaking the inner voice of prayer. This is not as daunting a task as it sounds. All it takes is a willingness to learn and a commitment to pray.

—
Alden Solovy is a liturgist, author, journalist and teacher. His work has appeared in Mishkan R’Fuah: Where Healing Resides (CCAR Press, 2012),L’chol Z’man v’Eit: For Sacred Moments(CCAR Press, 2015), Mishkan HaNefesh: Machzor for the Days of Awe (CCAR Press, 2015), and Gates of Shabbat, Revised Edition (CCAR Press, 2016). He is the author of This Grateful Heart: Psalms and Prayers for a New Day, published by CCAR Press in 2017, and This Joyous Soul: A New Voice for Ancient Yearnings, now available!

Categories
News

Why Requesting the “Male” Rabbi Just Isn’t Acceptable Anymore (if it ever was)

The email arrived Thursday morning – a couple set to be married on Sunday was in desperate need of an officiant. Their rabbi had a medical emergency and could no longer perform the ceremony.  A friend had forwarded the query – could anybody help?

It seemed clear from the wording that any rabbi – Reform, Conservative, Orthodox would work.   Never one to not do my best and knowing a couple of rabbis in the town where the ceremony was to be held, I reached out to see if they were available.  It was only upon speaking to one of them that I learned a key element of the request had been missing. The request was for a male rabbi.  As it turned out, the couple or their family had made inquiries and it had been made clear – they were in search of a male rabbi who could perform the ceremony.

I was a little more than ticked off.  I was mad. Pretty mad. A female rabbi was insufficient, even when a family was in a pinch because their original choice had a medical emergency,

There wasn’t much I could do with my anger.  I informed my friend and the other rabbis who received the original request as to what had happened.  I think I wanted company in my anger.

That led to a fascinating exchange with a close friend who is, like me, a female rabbi. The conversation made me realize that although this example may seem like a little deal to some, it actually has lasting implications for the equity of female clergy in our movement and in our country. 

When a couple, or in some cases, their parents, ask for a male rabbi to perform a wedding ceremony, the result is that clergy as women become invisible, and are viewed as less than.  Even though the intention may not be present, the impact is no different.  This is so much more than hurting an individual woman’s feeling.  This is about an injury to women as a class of people, women as rabbis, or women as cantors.  In the business world, we call this sexual discrimination.  In the congregational world, some call it “individual religious freedom.”

I would add that I also have no tolerance for the family who asks for the female rabbi to do the bat mitzvah, or the funeral.  There is no special magic either gender, or non-binary individuals, receive  during that moment of ordination at the Ark.  We are who we are, equally capable in our abilities to preside at liminal, sacred moments of our people no matter the biology or gender identification we carry.

Allow me for a moment to inject some discomfort here – particularly for the reader who may still not be convinced.  I would like you to replace the binary of male/female and replace it with white/black or straight/gay.  Imagine someone calling up and asking that the white rabbi do the ceremony, and not the Jew of Color rabbi.  Imaging someone calling up and saying, ‘I don’t want the gay rabbi to do our son’s wedding.’  The answer seems obvious, doesn’t it? 

Sometimes our jobs as clergy is to listen to our people, and sometimes our job as clergy is to be truth-tellers, even when it might be hard for them to hear.   The next time you, or your colleague, or your congregation receives a request for the male rabbi, please consider saying some version of the following:  “I would really love to help you, but fulfilling that request would require me to go against my values of gender equity and seeing people in their wholeness as a human being, and not simply by their biology. I hope we can help you in the future.”

And the beautiful nechemta (comforting ending ) to the story with which I began – the couple were successfully married on Sunday, by an able and accomplished female rabbi, fairly pregnant with her first child.  I don’t know what the reaction was to that visual. My hope and prayer is that in that moment, a taste of redemption could be felt by all those in the room. 

—

Rabbi Esther L. Lederman is the Director of Congregational Innovation at the URJ and sits on the CCAR Task Force on the Experience of Women in the Rabbinate.

Categories
News

How Should We Translate Pirkei Avot? Why Does It Matter?

A decade ago, Rabbi Dr. Andrea Weiss, now the Provost of HUC-JIR, taught me a new term: “gender-accurate translation.”

No, I was not new to ridding our liturgy and sacred texts of gender-based language. However, I had always thought of that process as changing the language of sacred texts, which would be more intrusive than correcting an error of the past.

Rabbi Weiss explained that our new Torah translations – in that case, in the Women’s Torah Commentary – would replace gendered language when the original text doesn’t specifically refer to a person or persons of one particular gender. God, for example, is explicitly without gender in our Jewish tradition; and yet, the inherently gendered Hebrew language refers to God exclusively as “He.”

Gender accuracy, done right, needn’t be noticeable, let alone jarring. None of our current CCAR prayer books refers to God with gendered language, and the English flows seamlessly.

At this season of sfirat ha-omer, counting the fifty days from Passover to Shavuot, from liberation to at Sinai, we read Pirkei Avot.

Many of us are familiar with Pirkei Avot, or at least some of its most famous aphorisms. For example: “Who is wise? Those who learn from everyone. Who is strong? Those who conquer their impulses. Who is rich? Those who are happy with their lot.”[i] Did you notice that this translation is gender-accurate? Other translations render: “Who is the wise one? He who learns from all men,”[ii] and so forth. Clearly, though, the lesson is valuable for everyone, regardless of gender, there’s no reason to believe that even the ancient rabbis intended their teaching to refer only to men.

In his new book on Pirkei Avot: A Social Justice Commentary, Rabbi Dr. Shmuly Yanklowitz writes that the title of the book “[l]iterally … means The Chapters of the Fathers[iii] The word avot may indeed mean “fathers.” However, the way a gendered language works, avot can also mean “ancestors.”

Rabbi Yanklowitz writes that we might understand the word even more broadly: “The Hebrew word avah (of which avot is plural) is found in Proverbs 1:30, meaning, ‘to lead through advice.’ Therefore, another way to understand the title of this work is The Chapters of Advice.”[iv] That latter title is descriptive of the book, chock full of Jewish wisdom but without halachah, which characterizes the larger work in which it’s found, the Mishnah.

I have often taught, surely not originally, that every translation is an interpretation. Since other options are available, those who translate the title “Ethics of the Fathers” are choosing to emphasize the gender of its authors. I typically refer to Pirkei Avot as “Ethics of the Sages.”

Why does it matter?

  1.  Honesty. All of Pirkei Avot is articulated in the names of rabbis – that is, men of a certain class and education. However, Pirkei Avot is likely replete with mansplaining, that is, women’s ideas repeated by and credited to men. No generation is without its wise women and men, but women of the Mishnaic period would not have been credited with their own ideas. Moreover, all the rabbis quoted in Pirkei Avot had mothers, and almost all had wives, who had doubtless imparted significant insight to them. We must shed any doubt that women’s words and ideas are included in Pirkei Avot. Therefore, the suggestion that the book includes only “Ethics of the Fathers” is simply false.
  2. Respect. In a patriarchal society, such as one that gives voice only to men, women are undervalued. While our own culture is blessedly less patriarchal as that of Second Century Palestine, we would be wrong to insist that patriarchal influence has disappeared. When we unnecessarily and inaccurately credit only men’s wisdom in the past, we imply that men are the exclusive source of insight, even today. When we translate, we should open up the possibility that a sage could be a person of any gender. Doing so, we indicate that every person’s wisdom is equally valuable.
  3. Inspiration. Women who are rabbis of my generation often speak of the first time they saw or even just heard about a female rabbi. Previously, they had never internalized the fact that they could become rabbis or religious authorities of any kind, even if they knew that regular ordination of women as rabbis had begun in 1972. While we cannot name women who were sages during the Mishnaic period, by translating Pirkei Avot as “Ethics of the Fathers,” we close the possibility that a woman could be a sage. Using an accurate English name of the book that isn’t gender-bound, young women and girls may see themselves as they should, fully included in the chain of Jewish tradition that stretches from Abraham and Sarah to Moses and Miriam to this very day.

When I was ordained, half of my classmates were women. However, at that time, only twenty-eight years ago this month, the HUC-JIR faculty did not include even one tenured professor who wasn’t male. This month, new rabbis are being ordained by a long-tenured rabbinic scholar who is the College’s Provost, and she’s a woman. For the next generation of rabbis – and, more broadly, of the Jewish people, increasingly even in some corners of the Orthodox world – the term “sage” may finally include women.

As we count the days from Egypt to Sinai, reading Pirkei Avot this year, let us assure that our language is honest, accurately reflecting the past rather than the way that the past presented itself. Let our words convey respect for every person, regardless of gender, as we continue to dismantle the patriarchy. And let us inspire every Jew, of every gender and of every coming generation, to lead us into a future filled with wisdom.

—

Rabbi Barry Block serves Congregation B’nai Israel in Little Rock, Arkansas. 

[i] Avot 4.1.
[ii] Ibid., Sefaria translation.
[iii] Rabbi Dr. Shmuly Yanklowitz, Pirkei Avot: A Social Justice Commentary, New York: CCAR Press, 2018, p. xi.
[iv] Ibid.

Categories
Convention News

Prayer and Pancakes at CCAR Convention

A day that begins at a historic synagogue and concludes with lemon ricotta pancakes is an excellent one, if you ask me. In between these marvelous experiences came wonderful conversations with colleagues – on topics ranging from the CCAR Journal to rabbinic self-care to the Code of Ethics to the Shulchan Aruch to the malleability of halacha – and enriching learning sessions and a moving plenary honoring Steve Fox; but I’d really like to focus on the synagogue, and the pancakes.

One of the reasons I became a rabbi is my love of prayer. But since ordination, I have a hard time with communal prayer. Although I find great meaning and even inspiration praying with my congregation, I also feel on display, watched, and judged – and not (just) by the Holy One. Well-intentioned remarks like, “You have such a beautiful voice,” “Your hair looks so pretty pulled back,” and “I love seeing you pray – you seem so into it,” make me feel self-conscious, and unable to throw myself into worship as wholeheartedly as I once could.

But it’s different at CCAR – and not only because of the majesty of Plum Street Temple, where I was ordained almost 21 years ago, or the incredible talents of our shlichei tzibor. It’s different because I’m among colleagues, friends, rabbis who get it. I can sing “Ma Tovu” as passionately as I’d like (with apologies to those sitting nearby, as my voice is not actually all that beautiful), remain standing during the Amidah as long as I want, get teary-eyed during the Mi Sheberach, bounce along to “Lo Yisa Goy” as the Torah is taken from the Ark – and no one comments. No one notices. No one is evaluating me – not my stance in prayer, not my engagement with the liturgy, not even my hair (which was not pulled back but still looked quite pretty, in my opinion). It’s just me, and God, and hundreds of colleagues, friends, rabbis who get it. And it’s amazing.

And about those pancakes. I don’t love pancakes as much as I love prayer, but it’s embarrassingly close. And while I do have close friends in my hometown with whom I can eat pancakes, I’m also wary of being watched and evaluated when I’m at a restaurant with new acquaintances. People comment on what I order, how much I eat or don’t eat, ask me why I avoid or indulge in specific dishes – and while I know I shouldn’t care, of course I do. And while I know logically that people’s opinions about my eating habits have exactly no correlation to my ability to serve as their rabbi, I still don’t order pancakes with people unless I know them really, really well.

But it’s different at CCAR. I went out to a meal with some new acquaintances – and I wanted lemon ricotta pancakes, so I ordered them. I didn’t worry about what my fellow diners might think, or if they would look askance at my meal, or if they would check out my figure and decide silently if I should be eating pancakes or not. Instead I enjoyed swapping stories from our Years-in-Israel, playing Jewish Geography, and seeing photos of some truly fabulous hand-sewn Purim costumes. It was just me, and pancakes, and a tableful of colleagues, friends, rabbis who get it. And it was amazing.

Of course the CCAR Convention is for rabbis – but in a way, it’s a break from being a rabbi. And that break makes me a better rabbi – more focused, more honest, more joyful, more dedicated, more in touch with my learning and my prayer and my self-care and my calling and my God.

I am really grateful for this day. I am really grateful for Convention. I am really grateful for CCAR.

—

Rabbi Elaine Rose Glickman is the editor-in-chief of the CCAR Journal: The Reform Jewish Quarterly.

Categories
News

What Does “Brit” Mean to Liberal Jews in the 21st Century?

In 2015, my husband and I welcomed our 8-day-old daughter into a covenant with God.  We had a brit ceremony, using the Hebrew word for covenant. It was, for us, the way to bring her into sacred relationship with God and community. We created a special ritual to acknowledge her place in the Jewish people across time and space. But when I referred to this ritual as a “bris” for our daughter, even the most Hebrew-literate Jews reacted with shock. Of course, we had no intention of performing a milah (the Hebrew for circumcision) on our newborn girl, but I was not willing to surrender the concept of “bris” to an exclusively male realm.  Instead, this was an opportunity to expand meaning, something to which I am especially committed, as I am the Director of the Brit Milah Program of Reform Judaism.

I’m equally unwilling to surrender the bris – the covenant with God – to an exclusively traditional understanding of what a relationship with God looks like.  The exclusivity and specific style of religious observance that many liberal Jews believe is implied in the word “covenant” creates its own feeling of discomfort.  Many of our friends’ babies (and some of our own) have been welcomed into a covenant with God by a mohel that looked and sounded foreign to their own experience with and expression of religion.  Some experience the bris of their baby as alienating because the ceremony lacks the careful explanations and thoughtful inclusion of our values as liberal Jews.  Why would we want our babies to be brought into a sacred relationship with God and the Jewish people using language and ideology strange (and sometimes offensive) to our sensibilities?

My colleague, Rabbi Karen Thomashow (the Rabbinic chair of the Brit Milah Board of Reform Judaism and NOAM, the National Organization of American Mohalim) and I will be at this year’s CCAR conference in Cincinnati replete with stories from the mohalim we train.  From them we have learned that there is an alternative.  More than 50% of the families our mohalim encounter are as of yet unaffiliated.  And because interfaith couples today have little trouble finding a rabbi to perform their wedding, the choices made following the birth of a baby boy are now the first religious choices that many couples face.  It is more important than ever that we, as Reform Rabbis, seek to partner with Reform mohalim to be sure that families can embrace the bris– the covenant with God – in language and with ritual that feels both sacred and in line with their most deeply held values.

Egalitarianism, inclusivity, and diversity should all play a role in the first ritual encountered by a new Jewish family.  Just as we reclaimed b’nei mitzvah for our children as a ritual and imbued it with renewed meaning, we now need to reclaim the bris as a way to sanctify and celebrate the arrival of a new soul to the Jewish people.

At my daughter’s bris, much like that of her older brother two years prior, we invoked the language of covenant in its fullness – not just the covenant of circumcision – but rather many of the references to covenant in the Hebrew Bible and Rabbinic literature. We offered blessings in Hebrew and English; explained the ritual to be certain that all of our guests understood and felt part of the sacred space; and, like the generations before us, we lit candles.  We found ways to include grandmothers as well as grandfathers, siblings, care-givers, and our child’s pediatrician as partners who would, with God’s help, support us as we raised our children in a Jewish context. We found ways to both innovate and hold tightly to our tradition.  

This is the legacy we want to leave for the next generation of Jews: to know that our Jewish community embraces them, in the fullness of their being.  Ours is a God that creates a covenantal relationship with Jews of all races, nationalities, sexualities, gender identities, and family constellations. The mohalim we engage as partners must share these values and help us to impart the sacred nature of the brit to those we serve.

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Rabbi Julie Pelc Adler is the Director of the Brit Milah Program of Reform Judaism and NOAM, the National Organization of American Mohalim.  She also serves as the rabbi at Congregation Beth Shalom in DeKalb, IL, which is located near the campus of Northern Illinois University.  

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Walking the Plank

Our twin themes of the 2019 CCAR Convention in Cincinnati are the celebrations of both the 130th birthday of the Central Conference of American Rabbis and the 200th birthday of Isaac Mayor Wise. Although four more years would pass before Wise established the CCAR in 1889, our auspicious co-anniversaries prompted me to revisit our 1885 Pittsburgh Platform. While some of the Platform’s planks no longer support us – our movement’s embrace of ritual observance has certainly swung far away from the Pittsburgh Platform and our fidelity to Israel shapes Reform Jewish identity – many of Pittsburgh’s planks are as sturdy today as they were then. My particular favorite is the 8th and final plank:

In full accordance with the spirit of the Mosaic legislation, which strives to regulate the relations between rich and poor, we deem it our duty to participate in the great task of modern times, to solve, on the basis of justice and righteousness, the problems presented by the contrasts and evils of the present organization of society.

Join me at the Convention on Wednesday, April 3, from 11 AM – 1 PM for a “Tour of Two Cities,” a special off-site program that will bring the “contrasts and evils of the present” into sharp relief as we explore two sides of economic development: urban renewal and gentrification. Together, we will walk the plank through Cincinnati’s historic, working class Over-the-Rhine (OTR) neighborhood, exploring the complex changes and challenges brought on by OTR’s rapid boom and transformation.

We will enter OTR via the Cincinnati Bell Connector, itself a source of controversy regarding both its route and who the streetcar serves, before arriving at Washington Park for consecutive walking tours of the neighborhood. We will travel over to and up Vine Street before returning to Washington Park, as together we will witness OTR’s incredible commercial and residential development, asking ourselves critical questions and seeking answers that may also apply in our own communities. We will be led on our tours by Eric Avner, Senior Program Manager of Community Development for the Haile/U.S. Bank Foundation, and Dr. Mark Mussman, Director of Education for the Greater Cincinnati Homeless Coalition and tentatively hope that our colleague Rabbi Lucy Dinner will help offer a Jewish frame to our conversation. Our excursion will conclude with an optional pizza lunch at Venice-on-Vine, a pre-employment training and job placement program for individuals with barriers to employment.

Register For Convention Now

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Rabbi David Spinrad serves Beth El Hebrew Congregation in Alexandria, VA.