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Convention Israel News

WUPJ Connections 2017 – Different Languages, One Heart

Recently, I had the privilege of participating in the World Union for Progressive Judaism’s Connections 2017 conference in Jerusalem.  Joined by rabbis, cantors, lay leaders, rabbinical school students, and representatives from NETZER and TAMAR, the worldwide organizations for Jewish youth and young adults, respectively, this international convention gathers together Jews “me’arbah kanfot ha’aretz,” from the four corners of the globe, for four days of learning, prayer, and engagement.  It is the only meeting of its kind, bringing together over 450 progressive Jews from 30 countries.  Here we were, in Jerusalem, having journeyed from Australia and Austria, Brazil and Belarus, Canada and the Czech Republic, the United States and the United Kingdom, just to name a few.  And though they did not have to travel quite as far, there was also a strong, enthusiastic contingent from the progressive synagogues in Israel, as well as from the IMPJ and IRAC.

Attending this conference and hearing about the great strides we have made as an international movement, one could not help but swell with pride. From the opening of a new seminary in Moscow, the continued success of WUPJ camps, to thriving Jewish communities in places where the practice of Judaism was previously prohibited or discouraged; we have come so far!  Undoubtedly, liberal Judaism has positively impacted the lives of so many across the globe.  We are truly a global community of faith.

During this exciting and informative conference, we had the opportunity to hear from three different Members of Knesset, who each gave their perspective on the happenings in Israel.  We heard from innovators like Yosef Abramowitz, president of the Arava Power Company, Israel’s leading solar energy company, as he works to tackle the issue of climate change. Another highlight was a presentation from David Birnbaum, the CEO of Sodastream, who gave a thoughtful message on what it takes to succeed as a leader, while also speaking about his company’s achievements in creating a work environment that employs Jews, Arabs, Bedouins, and Palestinians.

And yes, you may have heard we made a little history together. Early on Thursday morning, we gathered together at Robinson’s Arch and held a beautiful worship service, the highlight of which was celebrating the b’not mitzvah of 13 women from South America.  And, if that was not enough, we then marched together, Torah scrolls in our arms, to the outer plaza of the Western Wall. Detained briefly by security, they let us pass, and we, an egalitarian, progressive community, were able to read Torah together and conclude our service, thankfully without incident.  What a moment!  And, speaking of important progressive milestones, we also experienced another “first,” as we celebrated Kabbalat Shabbat at Jerusalem’s “Tachanah Rishonah,” the First Railway Station, which is now a thriving cultural and culinary hub.  What made this evening so powerful is that it was the first time that eight progressive synagogues from the greater Jerusalem area came together for a Shabbat service.  As we prayed, sang, and danced together, 1,000 strong, we couldn’t help noticing how many people stopped to join us in joyously welcoming Shabbat.

For me, this conference is the ultimate expression of Jewish peoplehood. Though hailing from different countries and, in some cases, divided by language, we are nonetheless united by our shared faith and our progressive values. We share the same ideals, the same dreams, the same vision for the future.  And, as anyone who participated in Connections 2017 could tell you, that future is bright!

I invite all rabbis, cantors, Jewish professionals, and lay leaders to learn more about the WUPJ and consider getting involved.  Let’s all work together to support Reform Judaism across the globe, building progressive Jewish communities and nurturing future Jewish leaders, so we may continue moving from strength to strength!

—

Rabbi Joshua Lobel serves Congregation Beth El in Missouri City, TX and is a member of the WUPJ’s International Assembly.

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CCAR 2017 Convention: “We Need Some Midwives Right Now!”

There’s a saying attributed to Rabbi Elliot Kleinman that the weather at convention is always “72 and fluorescent” (I’d say it’s closer to 65—bring a sweater) because there is so little time to explore the city in which the conference is held.  But from the moment we got started this morning, I knew that this year was going to be different.

We are in a city with such a rich, varied, and complicated history.  So it made sense that we began our journey with an exploration of Atlanta’s historical landmarks, in an Etgar 36 tour called “The Long Arc of Civil Rights Through the Eyes of Jewish Atlanta.”

We began at the Pencil Factory, the site of a murder that was wrongly pinned on Jewish businessman Leo Frank, who was convicted and then lynched in 1915.  We visited the Naming Project, makers of the AIDS quilt. At both sites, we spoke about how easy it was for the “other” to be victimized, whether by acts of violence, in the case of the former, or by “shame, stigma, and silence” in the case of the latter.

The highlight of our visit was stopping by the grave of Dr. King and then attending worship services at the Ebenezer Baptist Church, where King and his father had served as preachers. This morning, the preacher was Reverend Dr. Traci deVon Blackmon, who gave a passionate “drash” connecting the story of the Hebrew midwives in Egypt, which she called “Sheroes of the Exodus,” to our modern-day struggle for justice. (Full disclosure: I wrote my thesis on this story, so I geeked out pretty hard at this).

The Pharaoh’s command to the midwives to kill the Hebrew baby boys, she said, was one of the first recorded incidents of “racial profiling.” The Pharaoh, not realizing the contributions that the Hebrews had made to his nation in the past, demonized the Hebrews and tried to break them. “Only fearful leaders create oppressive policies,” Reverend Blackmon said, “but often the thing that was meant to break you is what makes you stronger.”

The midwives would not be broken, and they would not do the acts of violence that Pharaoh asked of them, because they feared God, and “when you fear God, there are some things you just won’t do.” Reverend Blackmon also gave an interesting interpretation that the reason the midwives told Pharaoh that they missed the births of the Hebrew women was not because they were lying, but because they would spend that time praying, so that they could determine what God wanted them to do.

“It’s decision time,” Reverend Blackmon said. Like the midwives, she said, we have to decide whom we are going to serve, because, “It doesn’t matter who is in office, as long as God is on the throne!”

Reverend Blackmon then went through a long list of people she considered “midwives for justice”: Dr. King, Rosa Parks, Congressman John Lewis, and members of the church itself. She urged the congregation to join their ranks, saying, “We need some midwives right now!”

The theme of this year’s conference is, “Being a Rabbi in Turbulent Times,” and will feature conversations about social justice and professional ethics. Reverend Blackmon’s words helped us to ground our own pursuit of justice in the story of the Exodus, and asked us to consider who it is we serve, what it is we will (or won’t) do, and how we will be partners in bringing life into the world.

—

Rabbi Leah Berkowitz serves Vassar Temple in Poughkeepsie, NY .

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News

Breathe In, Breathe Out: A Meditation With the Trees

Tell me, have you walked among the trees recently? I will never forget the quality of the silence in the redwood forest we used to visit when we lived in Northern California. It was similar to the silence of a sanctuary or cathedral. Bone deep, sacred. Just even thinking of walking on the pathway in that forest, I notice that I take a deep breath.

Which is interesting, in and of itself,  because the truth is that we literally DO breathe in the energy that trees release in the form of oxygen that we need to live.

And just as amazing is that the trees themselves breathe. They inhale the carbon dioxide that we exhale.

The psalmist somehow knew this, and this awesome sentiment is given a place in our morning prayers: Every living thing breathes and praises God: Kol Haneshema t’halal Yah.

In the Hebrew month of Shevat (usually corresponding to February) the rabbis of the Mishnah noticed that the trees begin to bud and the sap begins to flow. They created a holiday called Tu B’Shevat which we celebrate on the 15th day of Shevat. Originally it was a reminder of setting aside tithes for the poor from the corners of the fields. They called this holiday, “The New Year of Trees.”

In the soulful explosion of Jewish mysticism in Safed in the middle ages, Tu B’Shevat took on a more spiritual tone. Tu B’Shevat seders were created, honoring not only trees and fields, but all the gifts of nature that begin to wake up from their winter sleep in early spring.

To those of us who live outside the land of Israel in which this holiday originated, Tu B’Shevat has become an occasion to celebrate our connection with trees and seeds and herbs and all things that grow. On this day, we raise our consciousness about the environmental dangers we face right now.

As Jews, it’s central to our mission that we need to protect the planet. In the Garden of Eden, “God took Adam around to see the trees of the Garden of Eden, which included the Tree of Life and the Tree of Knowledge, and God said to Adam, ‘Behold My work. All this I create for you. Take care you do not destroy it, for if you do, there is no one left to repair it.’”[1]

Some of the most ardent environmentalists I know are people who have deep personal relationships with trees and nature. People who hike or walk or ski or run amongst the trees fall in love. When we love something, we fight hard to protect it.

The best way to create a relationship is to slow down, notice, and allow the wonder of what is before you to impact you.

 

A Mindful Way to Celebrate Tu B’Shevat:

Simply take a walk where you live – either by yourself or with a friend or best of all – a child. Quiet your speech so your other senses can awaken. If you can’t get to a forest preserve, walk around your block, or even your own yard. It’s not a walk to get anywhere – it’s a walk with the intention to pay attention. Especially notice the trees. They might be snow covered or devoid of leaves – accept them as they are.

Find one tree that attracts you.

Stand close up and observe the branches. Can you see any buds forming? Are there leaves hanging on from last year’s season, fluttering in the wind? Look closely at the bark on the tree – its color and texture. Look as if it’s the first time you’ve seen it. Notice the shape of the tree’s canopy. Are there any nests?  Check out the roots – are they visible? Breaking up a sidewalk? Covering the ground by stretching out wide?

And then – take some deep breaths, conscious of the fact that you and the tree you face are exchanging life. Experience what that feels like.

Now that you have a relationship with this tree, make sure you come back in a few weeks and visit your new friend. Again, notice the branches, the canopy, the bark, the buds or the leaves.

Martin Buber speaks of the shift in our relationship to a tree from an “it” to a “thou.” Surely this is what is needed in order to save the planet. When we love, we enter into an “I-Thou” relationship – we see the connections between us and how we are in fact, one breathing entity.

I can contemplate a tree. I can accept it as a picture . . . I can feel it as a movement . . . I can assign it to a species and observe it as an instance . . . I can overcome its uniqueness and form so rigorously that I can recognize it only as an expression of law . . . I can dissolve it into a number, into a pure relation between numbers, and externalize it. Throughout all of this the tree, the tree remains my object and has its time span, its kind and condition. But it can also happen, if will and grace are joined, that as I contemplate the tree, I am drawn into the relation and the tree ceases to be an It.[2]

This Tu B’Shevat, say Happy Birthday to a tree.  

—

Rabbi Jill Zimmerman is a rabbi in Los Angeles, focusing her rabbinate on mindfulness through the lens of Judaism and can be reached at RabbiJillZ@gmail.com

[1]As quoted by Rabbi Harold M. Schulweis, Rabbi, Valley Beth Shalom, http://www.jewishworldwatch.org/aboutjww2/sermon.html

[2] Martin Buber, I and Thou, Martino Publishing; 2010, pp. 57-58

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News

Funny, You Don’t Look Like A Rabbi

How many times have I been told, “Funny, you don’t look like a rabbi!” Thirty-six years ago, when I was working as a hospital chaplain, that comment was often followed by, “You don’t even have a beard.” I would reply, “No, and I’m not circumcised, either.”

“Funny, You Don’t Look Like A Rabbi”, was the title of the program for the Annual Luncheon of the Jewish Women’s Foundation of Chicago on January 18, 2017. Actually, the full title was “Funny, You Don’t Look Like A Rabbi: Tales from The Sacred Calling: Four Decades of Women in the Rabbinate.” The special guest speakers were the book’s editors, Rabbi Alysa Mendelson Graf and Rabbi Rebecca Einstein Schorr, who carried on a conversation, talk-show style, sharing their personal stories and some of the stories from The Sacred Calling. I was invited to offer HaMotzi at the luncheon, as one of the contributors to the book, as the first female rabbi in Chicago, and as one of the small group who, twenty years ago, brain-stormed about the creation of the Jewish Women’s Foundation. As I listened to my brilliant and funny colleagues entertain and inform this group of well-heeled and well-dressed women at the Jewish Federation building downtown, I was so engaged in their stories that I forgot to take notes for this blog post. Their stories carried me back into some of my own.

Rabbi Ellen Dreyfus Shares Her Sacred Calling from CCAR on Vimeo.

Every woman in the rabbinate has her own stories – of stupid comments, of inappropriate questions, of being ridiculed, and of being ignored. We have all been at that meeting where we made a point or suggested an idea, and several minutes later a man said the same thing and was praised for his brilliance. We have all been in the receiving line where some jerk we don’t know thinks it’s okay to kiss us and say, “Gee, I’ve never kissed a rabbi before!” We have all been publicly addressed by only our first names while the male rabbis in the room have been called Rabbi LastName. Most of us have been underpaid and untrained in asking for the compensation we deserved. Those of us with children have gone through agonizing decisions of how to juggle motherhood and our careers, and no matter what the decision, we have been subjected to the criticism of those who think we could have/should have handled it better.

We also have our success stories and our moments of triumph. Those are usually not unique to us as women, but I don’t want to make it sound like our rabbinates are all war stories or tales of conflict and disappointment. There have been people who came to us for counseling because they felt more comfortable talking to a woman. There are those who thrived with a more collaborative style of leadership introduced by their female rabbi. We have had experiences in inter- and intra-faith dialogues with other women that were so much closer and easier than our male counterparts seemed to have.

As Rebecca and Alysa shared their narratives, answered questions, laughed together and delighted their audience, I looked around the room and realized that much of this was new to the women in attendance. Even though there have been women rabbis in Chicago for decades (I moved back here in 1983), and even though some of these women must belong to synagogues where women have served on the rabbinic staff, they were mostly ignorant of the obstacles we have faced and the attitudes that still plague our female colleagues. They had worked with Federation on paid family leave issues, so they resonated to Alysa’s reference to the challenge rabbis face when they give birth or adopt. It was encouraging to them and all of us to hear her frame it as a Jewish issue of supporting families and the Jewish future.

For me, personally, the event was very affirming. I was introduced with several of my “firsts” and was clearly the senior colleague of the many female rabbis present. The speakers kindly referred to me as one of the vatikot (veterans) of the first decade, and I looked upon them almost like a proud parent kvelling while her children succeed. A few days later, at the outdoor Shabbat service prior to the Women’s March on Chicago, one of the rabbis who organized the gathering asked me how it felt to see the next generation of women taking over. I told her how happy it made me to see that there are so many to continue the work I have been doing. It was one of those moments when I could actually see some of the fruits of my labors, and know that the Jewish future in Chicago is in good hands. And yes, she did look like a rabbi.

—

Rabbi Ellen Weinberg Dreyfus is Rabbi Emerita of B’nai Yehuda Beth Sholom in Homewood, Illinois. She is a past-president of the Central Conference of American Rabbis, and was the first woman to be president of the Chicago Board of Rabbis. She and her husband Jim have three grown children and four grandchildren. Her motto for the past several years is: “Grow where you’re planted.”

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The Torah is Political – Rabbis, Jews and Synagogues Ought to Be Too

Given the contentious nature of public debate in this election year and in light of the inauguration of Donald Trump as the nation’s 45th President, my own synagogue and the American Reform Jewish movement have been challenged about the nature of our speech and activism.

What ought we to be saying and when should we be saying it? Should we as a synagogue community speak collectively about the great challenges confronting our nation in the area of health care, economic justice, criminal justice reform, the poor, women’s and LGBTQ rights, racism, immigration, religious minorities, civil rights, climate change, war, and peace?

Or should we refrain, as some have argued in my own community, and concentrate purely upon “spiritual,” religious and ritual matters? What, if any, limitations should rabbis and synagogue communities impose upon themselves?

Before I offer the principles that have guided me over many years, it is important to understand what we mean by “politics.” Here is a good operative definition from Wikipedia:

“Politics (from Greek πολιτικός, “of, for, or relating to citizens”), is a process by which groups of people make collective decisions. The term is generally applied to the art or science of running governmental or state affairs. It also refers to behavior within civil governments. … It consists of “social relations involving authority or power” and refers to the regulation of public affairs within a political unit, and to the methods and tactics used to formulate and apply policy.”

The fundamental question before us is this: Should rabbis and synagogue communities be “political” in the sense of this definition?

I believe we should, and that we have an obligation to speak and act according to the above meaning.

There ought to be, of course, limitations.

First: When we speak our words ought to be based upon Jewish religious, ethical and moral principles, and our goals ought to promote justice, equality, compassion, humility, decency, freedom, and peace not only for Jews but for all people.

Second: We need to remember that we Jews hold multiple visions and positions on the myriad issues that face our community and society. Rav Shmuel (3rd century C.E. Babylonia) said “Eilu v’eilu divrei Elohim chayim – These and those are the words of the living God” meaning that there are many authentic Jewish values even when they conflict with each other.

The American Jewish community holds no unanimous political point of view, though since WWII between 60% and 90% of the American Jewish community has supported moderate and liberal policies and candidates for political office locally, at the state and national levels. We are by and large a liberal community, but there is a substantial conservative minority among us as well.

The Reform movement (represented by the Religious Action Center in Washington, D.C., the social justice arm of the Union for Reform Judaism) has for decades consistently taken moral, ethical, and religious positions on public policy issues that come before our government and in our society as a whole, though the RAC does not endorse candidates nor take positions on nominees for high government positions unless specifically determined conditions are met. The RAC’s positions on policies are taken based on the Reform movement’s understanding of the Jewish mission “L’aken ha-olam b’malchut Shaddai – To restore the world in the image of the dominion of God,” which means that we are called upon to adhere to high ethical standards of justice, compassion, and peace.

The following guide me whenever I speak and write:

  1. I do not publicly endorse candidates for high political office and have never done so in my 38 years as a congregational rabbi, except once – this year when it was clear to me that statements, tweets, and policy positions of the Republican candidate for President have proven to be contrary to fundamental liberal Jewish ethical principles;
  2. When I offer divrei Torah, sermons, blog and Facebook posts, I do so always from the perspective of what I believe are Jewish moral, ethical and religious principles. Necessarily, there are times when my statements are indeed “political” but they are not “partisan,” and that is a big difference;
  3. We as individuals or as a community ought never claim to possess the absolute Truth about anything. There are many truths that often conflict with one another. Respect for opposing views is a fundamental Jewish value and the synagogue ought to be a place where honest civil and respectful debate can always occur;
  4. When I speak and write in the media, I have an obligation to clearly state that I am speaking as an individual and not on behalf of our synagogue community or any other Jewish organization.

The Mishnah (2nd century CE) teaches that  “Talmud Torah k’neged kulam – the study of Torah leads to all the other mitzvot.” (Talmud, Shabbat 127a) The Talmud emphasizes as well that action must proceed from learning.

Plato warned that passivity and withdrawal from the political realm carry terrible risks: “The penalty that good [people] pay for not being interested in politics is to be governed by [people] worse than themselves.”

Rabbi Joachim Prinz, the President of the American Jewish Congress, who spoke in Washington, D.C. on August 28, 963 immediately before Dr. Martin Luther King delivered this “I have a dream speech, said:

“When I was the rabbi of the Jewish community in Berlin under the Hitler regime, I learned many things. The most important thing that I learned under those tragic circumstances was that bigotry and hatred are not ‘the most urgent problem. The most urgent, the most disgraceful, the most shameful and the most tragic problem is silence.

A great people which had created a great civilization had become a nation of silent onlookers. They remained silent in the face of hate, in the face of brutality and in the face of mass murder.

America must not become a nation of onlookers. America must not remain silent. … It must speak up and act, from the President down to the humblest of us, … for the sake of the … idea and the aspiration of America itself.”

Last week at Temple Israel, Dr. Susannah Heschel, the daughter of Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, told my community that her father believed that the civil rights movement of the 1960s (of which he was an active and intimate partner with Dr. King), enabled the American Jewish community to affirm and reclaim its moral voice.

Perhaps this new administration and government offers the liberal American Jewish community yet again an opportunity to make our voices heard

Rabbi Prinz ended his speech at the Lincoln memorial that day by saying:

“The time, I believe, has come to work together – for it is not enough to hope together, and it is not enough to pray together, to work together that [pledge of allegiance said every morning by children in their schools] from Maine to California, from North to South, may become a glorious, unshakable reality in a morally renewed and united America.”

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Rabbi John L. Rosove serves Temple Israel of Hollywood of Los Angeles, CA.  This blog was originally shared on www.rabbijohnrosove.wordpress.com 

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American Values Religious Voices

On Thursday, November 10, 2016, I walked into class at the Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion in New York disoriented and in despair. Just two days before, I had arrived at school wearing an old pantsuit with an “I voted!” sticker on my lapel, full of excitement.

That afternoon, I was scheduled to teach the biblical concept of “an eye for an eye,” part of a two-part lesson in Teaching Bible to Adults that compares how ancient interpreters and modern biblical scholars treat a challenging biblical concept. My co-teacher, Lisa Grant, and I quickly agreed to scrap the lesson plan and instead share with our students the biblical texts we were thinking about on that day.

I first said to my students: “We study Torah so that we can turn to our sacred text at times like this, when we and those we serve most need guidance, comfort, and support.” I then recounted a story told in Exodus 15:22-25: Immediately after crossing the sea and celebrating with gratitude and wonder, the Israelites hit the road, only to find themselves without water for three days. When they finally encounter a source of water at a place aptly named Marah, they cannot drink the water, because it is bitter. After the people complain to Moses, he cries out to God for help. God shows him a piece of wood, which Moses then throws into the water, and the bitter water becomes sweet.

“American Values Religious Voices” is my stick.

That class got me thinking about the potential role that Bible scholars might be able to play at this moment in our nation’s history, particularly given the number of elected officials, like soon-to-be Vice President Mike Pence, who purport to bring a strong religious sensibility to their work. So the idea developed of gathering the collective wisdom of teachers of religious scripture to articulate to our political leaders what we believe are core American values rooted and reflected in our various faith traditions. What if we could send a one-page letter to the new President, Vice President, Cabinet Secretaries, and Members of the House and Senate for each of the first 100 days of the new term? What if we could put 100 pictures of that diverse group of scholars all on one page, to show what America really looks like and what really makes America great?

It just so happened that HUC-JIR’s Symposium One took place the weekend after the election. Not only was its topic relevant, particularly with the first day’s focus on “The Role of Progressive Religion in an Increasingly Fundamentalist World,” but it just felt good to be with colleagues and students. The gathering gave me a chance to pitch my idea to President Aaron Panken, who immediately offered to fund the project.

At the Society of Biblical Literature-American Academy of Religion annual meeting a few days later, I shopped the idea around to as many scholars as possible. Throughout the conference, I started collecting what would eventually become a chart with names of 255 potential contributors. At the same time, I sent an email to my friend Lisa Weinberger, Creative Director and Founder of Masters Group Design in Philadelphia. Not quite realizing the scope of my request, I asked: “Would you be willing to lend your design expertise to help create a website and develop the other graphic elements the project might entail?” Lisa responded “Yes!” right away, and since then has spent the past two months working tirelessly with me to turn an ambitious idea into a concrete reality.

You can see the results of our efforts and learn more about the campaign at www.valuesandvoices.com.  I invite you to subscribe to the letters, provide a link to the campaign on your synagogue or organization communications, and preach, teach, or write about the campaign and the content of the letters. Follow us and like us on social media, and encourage your followers to do the same, using the hashtag #valuesandvoices:

In Exodus, when our ancestors wandering in the wilderness face a dire situation, God does not simply fix the problem. God shows Moses a stick. Moses is the one who picks it up and throws it in the water. What is your stick?

—

Rabbi Andrea L. Weiss serves as Associate Professor of Bible at the New York campus of Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion.   She also served as Associate Editor of The Torah: A Women’s Commentary, now available from CCAR Press.

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Reflections from Rabbi Ferenc Raj

It has been my destiny to always serve congregations in cities and towns that start with the letter “B”:  Budapest, Hungary; Brooklyn, New York; Belmont, Massachusetts; and Berkeley, California.

In Budapest, under Communism I learned perseverance, and that it is our duty to always pursue justice even if there are personal risks. I came to realize that learning is a gift no one can take away from you and that we must always follow our dreams. And I learned by its absence, the great importance of freedom.

In Brooklyn I learned that even in a free society not all are treated equally and that it is incumbent upon us to stand up for the oppressed.  It was in Brooklyn that I began the journey of becoming an American Rabbi while still remaining true to myself and to my European heritage. I also learned that freedom of religion brings its own challenges; when asked: “What is your religion?” one can choose “none” as the answer.

While I was not free in Budapest, I was still able to enjoy freedom of spirit. Neither the Nazis nor the Communists could take away my spirit, my love of learning and teaching, my faith in God and in the future of the Jewish people.  In Brooklyn, I was able to teach, guide and inspire both young and old as we faced together the challenges of assimilation in America that still threaten the continuation of our religion.

In Belmont I found my own Rabbi, Earl Grollman, the Rabbi Emeritus of the congregation.  He became my close friend and confidant.  Earl lovingly taught me about crisis management, death and dying, and bereavement counseling.  How often, as I comforted my congregants and friends, Earl’s words have echoed in my mind: “Never say to a person who comes to you to share his or her burdens: ‘I know how you feel’, because you don’t.”

In Berkeley I was given the greatest gift: complete rabbinical freedom that allowed me to be myself.  The congregation supported me in my decision to complete my PhD dissertation and gave me the time to do it.  Nowhere else have I witnessed such hard working lay leaders and staff.  Nowhere else have I seen such deep commitment to social action. Nowhere else have I seen such dedication to study, to community, to our people and to our faith.

We rabbis are teachers whose ultimate task is to teach by example. These are the questions that each of us should ask ourselves: Do I only say the words or do I live by them?  Is my life truly guided by Torah?

In the Book of Isaiah, we read God’s words:  Anokhi, anokhi hu m’nachemchem…. I, I am the one who comforts you.  What can we learn from the repetition?  Scholars have interpreted it to indicate that we each possess a public “I” and a private “I.”  If we are sincere, these two personas are in unison.   It is our task to be able to bring our “two selves” into alignment with one another and with God’s hopes for us.  We must ask ourselves if what we say, in other words our public image, is in concert with what we do, our private self?  How often I talk about loving God, Torah and Israel and of living a life of mitzvot.  Anokhi, anokhi… Is my life imbued with reverence for the Blessed Holy One?  Do I perform the mitzvot or do I merely tell others to do so?  Are Rabbi Ferenc and the man Ferenc Raj one and the same?  In all my 4 “Bs” I have striven to be a role model and as I look forward, I hope God will give me the strength, wisdom and determination to continue on this path.

I am grateful to God who gave me the opportunity to teach in two continents and bring the Torah to our people.  I am grateful to God for my wonderful family, for my teachers, colleagues and students from whom I learned so many invaluable lessons.  I am grateful to God for all life’s experiences – both the bitter and the sweet – that have allowed me to “go from strength to strength.”

—

Rabbi Ferenc Raj, PhD is celebrating 50 years in the rabbinate.

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Israel News

The Mistaken Equivalency of Anti-Semitism and Anti-Zionism

National blue and white flag of Israel outdoors

Earlier this year I had occasion to speak at a synagogue in Johannesburg, South Africa. The subject was my motivation and experience as an American Jew who made aliya to Israel more than thirty years ago. The presentation included a description of my Jewish and Zionist education and concluded with an explanation that my primary motivation was a personal desire to be a participant in the making of modern Jewish history. What better place could I do so, I concluded, than by living with my family in the State of Israel.

Immediately following my presentation the hands went up. One after another of the participants in the audience challenged me with biting comments and striking allegations all of which I thought were both surprising and of course incongruous. How could I possibly call myself a Zionist when to do so is to embrace an ideology advocating apartheid? How can I identify with a regime which is oppressive and dismissive of the human rights of the Palestinians? Is not Judaism and Zionism incompatible? Are not Zionists acting just like the white nationalists did in apartheid South Africa?

The people asking the questions seemed sincere. It appeared to me that they were genuinely struggling with themselves both intellectually and spiritually. On the one hand they were trying to find an acceptable way to identify as Jews. On the other hand they could not reconcile their identification with a Jewish State that in their minds, no less than in official political circles, was perceived as the very incarnation of evil. No doubt, there are growing numbers of Jews in other diaspora countries who share the same dilemma which may not be the case with many non-Jewish critics of Israeli policy.

It is true that many non-Jews throughout the world are bitter critics of Israeli policy. As such, many exaggerate and generalize about Jews and what they believe to be normative Zionist ideology. Their conviction is that Zionism is a racist ideology and the plight of the Palestinian people is proof positive of this fact. Thus, it is a short distance between identifying Jews as a group with the Jewish state and ergo their presumed support for the oppressive policies of the state. In their minds this legitimizes their struggle in support of the long suffering Palestinians.

As Jews we may prefer drawing a distinction between our religious or ethnic identity and the specific political policy of any given government of Israel. Nonetheless, such efforts are judged to be ingenuous by our critics. This is hardly surprising considering the fact that Israeli policy today is defined by right wing revisionists who have perpetuated the occupation of the Palestinian people for the most part of nearly 50 years. For the greater part of this half century, they have successfully advanced their ultra-nationalist and irredentist vision of Zionism. Sadly too, the contours of this policy have increasingly resulted in a growing number of separatist realities.

In spite of the aforementioned, I do not accept the idea that being critical of, or opposed to, Israeli policy, automatically makes one an anti-Semite. I would suggest that taking such a position is incorrect as it feeds the illusory idea that what is being alleged about Jews and Zionism has credence. After all, there are Jews who are Zionists and Israeli, like myself, who are strongly opposed to the principles and policies of the current Israeli government. We are in fact, passionate critics. I explained these positions to my South African Jewish interlocutors. I spoke about how I became a Zionist in the tradition of the Labor Zionist Movement. Our ideological vision is rooted in the principles of social and economic justice, liberal democracy and the pursuit of a just peace. I am opposed to the occupation and consider the settlement program to be destructive of our vital interests and threatening to our security. And of course I acknowledge the fact that settling Jews in occupied territories is in contradiction of international law as defined by the Geneva Conventions. For me and a not inconsequential percentage of Israelis and Jews worldwide, progressive Zionism is as legitimate and normative as Revisionism is for others.

Perhaps if Israel’s Jewish and non-Jewish critics were better educated about the differing streams of Zionism, they would be less inclined to generalize based on the policies of Israel’s current government.

Perhaps too, they would begin to understand the differences by learning about the accusations made by our right wing critics here in Israel. Among other allegations they assert that we are self-hating anti-Zionists and anti-Semites! It is likely that they make these charges because we expose their activities and reject their views as submissive to the ideological fantasies of intolerant political and theological extremists.

There is a profound distinction to be made between anti-Semitism, anti-Zionism and criticism of the policies of a particular Israeli government.

—

Rabbi Stanley Ringler is an Israeli Reform Rabbi and Social and Political Activist.

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Let The Optimism In You Die Hard

I‘m an optimist. I resist the “half-empty” glass. I look for the best in others. At times, I suffer the consequences, but seeing the good helps me to feel better and remain upbeat even in times of hardship and crisis. As a manager of people, I’ve found that it’s far more effective to encourage others’ sparks of creativity and goodness, intelligence and decency than to be overly critical and negative.

I’m well aware, of course, that everyone errs, uses bad judgment, succumbs to ego, appears foolish, behaves destructively, and gives license to their darker angels. But I stay hopeful anyway as a necessary hedge against despair.

The most effective means to counter one’s own demoralization and to help others do the same, especially as the election cycle has concluded and a new administration is about to begin, is to become more engaged in social justice advocacy work than we ever have been before, that we might help to prevent a deterioration in our democracy and our compassionate society.

There are so many just causes and just organizations as well as just officials at the local, state and federal levels who share our vision and democratic pluralist values with whom we can align.

Most especially, we Jews have no choice but to act as Jews and be ready to advocate on behalf of the vulnerable and the shrinking middle class, and to stand united against efforts to eviscerate the social safety net.

We have to push hard on behalf of the welfare of the 42 million food insecure Americans who have no idea when or from where their next meal will come.

We have to support women’s rights to equal pay for equal work, and their right to choose, as well as the equal marriage rights of the LGBTQ community.

We have to stand up for the environment, for science, for technological advance, for higher education for everyone regardless of their ability to pay, for critical thinking, and for fact-based truth.

We have to protect immigrants, peoples of color, and strangers, and to challenge those who claim that any human being is “illegal.”

The pendulum swings both ways and we can’t forget the ancient words of the Biblical prophet that called for justice, compassion and humility before God.

We have to remember Dr. King’s words that “the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice.”

That is the message of hope. The optimist in me dies hard. I hope that it dies hard in you too!

—

Rabbi John L. Rosove serves Temple Israel of Hollywood of Los Angeles, CA.

 

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Why I Wear a Yarmulke

Photo Credit: Rick Karp

While I was riding the subway home from school yesterday, six very large white men stepped onto the subway together. There was no act of violence, no hate speech, no physical sign of them having any leanings towards white supremacy, but I was immediately scared and watchful. I wondered if they had seen my yarmulke.

As the men stood there chatting it was a moment of revelation for me. I could have quickly and quietly taken it off and secreted it into a pocket, and for all intents and purposes they would have seen me as a smaller, less masculine version of them. I chose to continue wearing it. Why, I wondered, in the face of even just a psychologically invented fear, did I continue wearing it?

In the moment, my brain fired off a series of answers. I like that it reminds me, and others, of who I am. I like that it represents my connection to the Jewish people. I like that if I do something good, or kind, people will associate it with Jews at large. I like that the folk etymology (which is almost certainly an ex-post-facto invention) is a Hebrew-Aramaic mashup meaning something to the effect of “Fearer of the King.” And fear I do feel.

Very recently, for the first time, fear for my safety almost drove me to remove the little crocheted piece of cloth from my head. Blocks from HUC-JIR in New York, at my partner’s workplace, someone had defaced the New School’s student dorms by spraying swastikas on the doors of Jewish women and women of color. The same day, a friend of mine from college was walking through Washington Square Park, also just blocks from the campus of HUC-JIR in New York, and was accosted by a man who stopped and stood directly in front of her, stared at her, laughed in her face then said, “You’re funny looking, Jew. Ugly Jewface.”

Hate crimes have been on the rise for the past year, and sharply in the past week. It’s undeniable, even though some may try to argue that they aren’t any more prevalent, but are just being reported by the media more often. I haven’t seen any reports of physical violence against Jews during this spate, but there certainly have been on other people targeted by the newly emboldened white supremacist masculinists (or, as others refer to them, the alt-right).

Americans are living in a fear right now that has been a lifelong reality for many due to institutionalized homophobia, misogyny and white supremacy. It is time that we as Jews do some heshbon haemunah. Do we really believe in tikkun olam as a theological principle? Is yirat ha’shamayim (or, yirat hamelech) something we give lip-service to, or an idea we take seriously? To put our theological money where our mouth is in relation to these concepts is to look at the new reality we are facing in America with a gaze set well beyond parochial interest. It is to reclaim who we are in this place and in this time. If we are the Nation of Israel, and our God is the All-Powerful force which created Heaven and Earth, and all of humanity, we must accept that our partnership in this project is to fix that which has been broken in the universe, not just in our own enclaves. In other words, as the prophet Micah said, we must “preserve justice and do righteousness.” To do this is to put the fear of God above other fears, which is to see the forest for the trees, and to realize that our action (or inaction) today has an impact well beyond the life and time we are currently inhabiting.

So I will leave my yarmulke on, and it will serve the purpose its folk-etymology intends. I will wear it, and use the fear I feel to remind me that there is much work to be done to fix that which has been broken. Even though we may not see the task completed, and the process will be hard and scary, it is incumbent upon all of us to never stop working.

—

Andy Kahn is a fourth year rabbinic student at HUC-JIR. He also served the CCAR as an intern during the last two academic years.