Categories
Rabbis

Unexpectedly Stumbling Upon a Unique Jewish Destination in Italy!

Sometimes, life’s unexpected surprises are to be found at arm’s length or, quite literally, around the corner! But I digress…

Earlier this summer, my two younger daughters and I spent a week in Italy primarily to celebrate my niece’s, their first cousin’s wedding which took place on beautiful, isola d’Elba, the Island of Elba.

Before our departure for Napoleon’s once-temporary home, we spent our first two nights in the bucolic northern Italian town of Crema, my niece’s husband’s parents ancestral home. Less than an hour and a half’s drive from Milan, we could not have asked for a more delightful, picturesque town, one dating back to the 6th century: a veritable maze of narrow, cobbled-stone streets lined with brightly-painted, flower-bedecked homes; elegant, private palazzo’s behind ornate, wrought-iron gates and fashionable boutiques leading to the central “Piazza Duomo,” awash with outdoor restaurants and cafes.

The plaque on the outside of the Museum.

Crema, however, is not your typical tourist’s destination. On the contrary; I suspect that very few Americans have ever ventured into the town but Asians, for example, are now arriving in unprecedented numbers. Why? Because Crema was chosen as the site for the full-length 2017 award-winning movie “Call Me by Your Name,” directed by Luca Guadagnino, who just happens to be a local resident.  Imagine my daughters surprise when they were told that the movie’s two male stars, Timothee Chalamet and Armie Hammer, also stayed at our charming, six-bedroom B&B on Via Vimercati!

Crema, a town of approximately 34,000, has apparently no Jewish residents nor are there to be found any synagogue remains. I was told, however, that a tiny Jewish quarter was once situated directly behind and in the shadow of the Duomo, the Cathedral, that continues to dominate the main piazza.

I had asked my wife, Randy, to purchase a National Geographic map of Italy before our departure. I was interested and curious to know where we were going to be. Imagine my surprise when, after finding Crema in the Lombardy region of the country, I couldn’t help but notice that one of the closest geographical places to Crema was none other than Soncino!  I was astonished; all I knew was that the village associated with Jewish printing was in Italy but, to all intents and purposes, it might well have been hundreds of miles away. On the contrary; it was just around the corner! Literally!

The inscription attesting to the “…word of God from Soncino…” (Sefer Ha’ikkarim, 1485)

I asked my niece’s now father-in-law, Alberto, if he wouldn’t mind taking my father and I to visit the “Museo della Stampa,” the Printing Museum which also houses the “Centro Studi Stampatori Ebrei Soncino,” the Soncino Hebrew Printers’ Study Center. Alberto was only too pleased to help. He promptly called and was told that the Museum was only open that day for two hours from 10:00am to 12 noon. By then it was already 10:15; we hadn’t a moment to lose! It was now or never for we were all leaving bright and early the following morning for the coastal town of Piombino in order to take the ferry over to Elba.

After driving for about 20 minutes through corn fields and non-descript industrial plants, we duly arrived at 8 Via Lanfranco, a tall, old brick building dedicated to the history of the printing press but also to Soncino’s truly unique Jewish history: it was here, supposedly on the very site where the Museum is now located, that the world’s very first edition of the Hebrew Bible was printed! Those of us at all familiar with translated Biblical and Talmudic texts recognize the unsurpassed quality of the iconic “Soncino Press” printers’ mark (with its iconic tower probably connected with the neighboring municipality of Casalmaggiore), universally acknowledged as, arguably, the oldest and most venerable Jewish printing house in the world.

The Museum at 8 Via Lanfranco, Soncino.

The history of Jewish printing is forever linked with the village of Soncino (2018 population just over 7,800 including one Jew, Aldo Villagrossi!) thanks to a Jewish family who, due to anti-Jewish discrimination, had fled the German city of Speyer, near Mainz. Due to an edict authorized by Francesco Sforza, the Duke of Milan, Israel Nathan b. Samuel’s family was given permission to set up a loan business in Soncino in 1454. After some three decades, the family decided to embark on a new business: that of printing and published their first work, the Talmudic tractate Berachot, on February 2, 1484.  However, the so-called “Familia Soncino,” (“Sonchino” in Italian) made history when on, April 22, 1488, they printed “…La Prima Bibbia Ebraica Completa…” the first complete edition of the Hebrew Bible, with vowels! It should be noted that the Soncino’s printing house was the only one of its kind in Italy from the last decade of the 15th century to the first quarter of the 16th century.

The late Gothic-style, tower-like building on Via Lanfranco and its carefully planned masonry – with inner tough bricks suitable to support the planking and outer waterproof bricks – together with the larger rooms on the ground floor and the ogival windows on the upper floors, suggest that it might well have been the very site of the Soncino’s printing house and home.  It was renovated and officially opened in 1988, to mark the quincentennial anniversary of the first complete printing of the Hebrew Bible. A translation of the marble plaque affixed to the outside brick wall reads as follows: “This building has been designated as the home of the Jewish printers who named themselves after the town of Soncino and printed numerous books in this village from 1483 to 1492 among which was the first complete Hebrew Bible in 1488. The owner, Dr. Francesco Cerioli, gave it to the local authorities so that it would become the venue for the study of the Soncino Printers. 22 September 1991.” 

A facsimile of the first page of the first printed edition of the Hebrew Bible, April 22, 1488.

I am extremely grateful to Francesca Perotti, the Museum’s Curator, for the time she spent with us and for her invaluable insight. She made a freshly-minted copy for me of “Pagina iniziale della Bibbia stampata a Soncino il 22 aprile 1488,” the very first page from the very first printed edition of the Hebrew Bible which just happens to contain Genesis 1:1-14. I couldn’t help but notice that in addition to the Museum’s own watermark, the lithograph also includes a parody (in both Hebrew and Italian) of the famous biblical quote from Isaiah (2:3): “For out of Zion shall go forth the Law and the word of God from…Soncino!!”

While my visit to Sunsi (as it’s known locally) was all too short, it was truly memorable! Who knew that just down the road from nearby Crema, in a remote corner of what was once the Jewish quarter of a small Lombardy village, the very first edition of the Hebrew Bible was printed over 531 years ago!

—
Rabbi Robert S. Leib serves Old York Road Temple-Beth Am in Abington, PA.

Categories
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.

Categories
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
Books Prayer

Opening My Heart with Psalm 27

Some say there is a distinction for some between being an author and being a writer–authors write books and writers, write.  Many of us, who serve as clergy in congregational and communal settings, especially at this season of the year, strive to resist being authors of sermons, articles or blogs and focus instead on being writers rabbis and teachers and leaders writing from our experiences about the issues and topics that touch us and trouble us, hoping to find the words that will open our own hearts and those who we serve, to do the sacred work of teshuvah.

For several years I  used my writing practice at this season to explore the words of Psalm 27, verse by verse and phrase by phrase and my reflections were recently published as a book, technically makes me an author, but in my soul and practice I remain a writer.  But as Elul approaches I find myself in need of a reminder, of what to do, how to begin writing that will open my heart on each of these 50 sacred days that will lead from Elul to Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Sukkot and finally to the joy of Simchat Torah. 

This excerpt from the introduction and invitation of my book, Opening Your Heart with Psalm 27 is as much about the daily practice it encourages as the work of writing that the season demands of clergy.  It serves as a reminder to me of how to get started and I hope will encourage you as well.

Following the practice of my writing coach from nearly twenty years ago, with a more recent endorsement from John Grisham, I try to write in the same place, at the same time, every day. This builds muscle memory. “Ah yes,” my body says, “I sat in this chair, at this table, facing

this window, this wall, in this room, and I know what to do here.” The light is different, the temperature is different, the material, the fragment for focus is different. I am different today, but this time and this place are the same, and I know what to do here: I write.

I also need a clear uncluttered space in which to write, to limit my distractions (which I highly recommend even if you think all the stuff doesn’t bother you). Billy Collins says it perfectly in his poem “Advice to Writers”:

Clean the space as if the Pope were on his way.

Spotlessness is the niece of inspiration.

I’m not expecting the Pope, but am hopeful that I might encounter something holy—maybe God’s presence will alight on the desk or wrap itself around me or inspire me for just an instant in these five minutes.  And so I prepare to experience Collins’s words:

You will behold in the light of dawn
the immaculate altar of your desk,
a clean surface in the middle of a clean world.
What better way to welcome God’s presence,
to encourage it to join me for even an instant of inspiration.

I know it seems almost counter-intuitive to train oneself to write by writing, but as Mary Daly teaches, just as “we learn courage by couraging” we learn to write by writing.  And so the practices of Opening the Heart with Psalm 27 are not only for lay people to use 50 days a year, they are for us, rabbis who are writers, at this season and in our souls, people who write not only to motivate others but to open our own hearts.  And so this last bit of advice for myself, and perhaps for you my colleagues as well, also from the introduction and invitation (page xviii):

Writers, like athletes and musicians, have rituals that help them succeed at their work. While these rituals may seem to be quirky or repetitive, the routine is often transformed into a spiritual practice. Just as we can train the muscles of the hand to write, we can train the muscles of the heart to reflect, to create, and to connect with emotions, experiences, memories, hope, ourselves, and yes, God. Opening Your Heart with Psalm 27 is a way to begin the training.

—
Rabbi Debra J. Robbins has served Temple Emanu-El in Dallas since 1991 and currently works closely with the Social Justice and Adult Jewish Learning Councils, the Pastoral Care department, a variety of Worship initiatives, and teaches classes for adults. She is the author of Opening Your Heart with Psalm 27: A Spiritual Practice for the Jewish New Year, published by CCAR Press.

Categories
mental health

I’m Not Who I Appear to Be

Sometimes, I think it is the disappointing people that’s the hardest.

I am a high achiever — or, at least, I used to be.  That was a big part of my identity growing up.  I did well in school and excelled at my chosen, geeky extracurricular activity, debate.  I was the valedictorian, I got into an Ivy League College; I was ready to succeed for all the world to see.  I graduated summa cum laude, made junior phi beta kappa, and learned all I could in rabbinical school.  My husband even began dating me, he told me at the time, because he was “attracted to women with higher standardized test scores than his.”  We married, I became a pulpit rabbi, and we had a wonderful baby.  I moved to my own, small, solo pulpit, and they loved me.  Success, success, success.

But, as with everyone, my story has an underside, the places where I have “failed,” where things went wrong.  That Ivy League school:  I left it for another college, also good, but closer to home, when it became apparent that my launching was going be slower and harder than my older sister’s. The baby: she was perfect in every way, but also, as I told her, “not one of those boring babies that slept all the time.”  She wept, I wept, and neither of us could find comfort.  The therapist I found then for postpartum depression, I still see today.  (The baby, however, has launched nicely and is entering law school in the fall.)  And almost 5 years into motherhood and work as a solo rabbi, I had a stroke, which changed my life.

While I recovered well, considering, the stroke put an end to my pulpit life, and much else. I was no longer going to be the primary wage earner in our family.  What can you do professionally when you need 12 hours of sleep most nights?  I felt like I was serving God as pulpit rabbi, using my brains to teach and preach, my heart and emotions to do pastoral care.  And now?  What commitments can I make, when my previously troubling depression has sprouted into bipolar disorder that seems to rule the few waking hours I am left with?  While I don’t believe God “sent me” the stroke, I often wonder what it is God had in mind.  My life, my sense of purpose, seemed so much clearer 18 years ago.  Sometimes I look around and count the people I have let down:  my husband, my child, friends, congregants, myself. 

It is hard to admit my limitations.  When I was younger and first in therapy, back in high school, I remember struggling with my therapist.  Sure, my dad loves me, I remember saying, but if I stopped hiding behind good grades, and told him how depressed I was, would he still be proud of me?  I still struggle with the same issues today.  If I tell my husband that we are in for another round of depression, will he love me, or just be resigned?  He is too good a man to leave me in this mess, I tell my therapist.  But surely I am a disappointment to him.  Instead of success in the pulpit rabbinate, I offer him the ups and down of mental illness made severe by stroke and complimented by physical ailments.  Who would chose that?  Who would chose me?

And yet. . . meaning, the search for meaning, persists, if slowly.  I teach a class here and there, and a student tells me I have changed her life.  I read my Daf Yomi, my daily page of Talmud, and my brain makes a connection with something I learned last year, or last decade.  Listening intently during a pastoral care session, I  feel trust growing between us.  I take my struggles with God and myself onto the bima, and speak of mental illness in the Jewish community and the importance of outreach, of steps small and large in welcoming those of us with mental health issues and our families.  And at the kiddush or the oneg, I am flocked by those who need an ear, who have a parent, a child, wrestling with mental illness.  Those with their own issues call me, and tell me how much it means for me to be open with my own journey — and I listen to the stories as well. I speak with chesed committees about first steps — and beyond — to make their communities more open and welcoming. 

Could it be that meaning lies not with the grand journey I pictured so long ago, but in just being myself, open, honest, as God created me?  My flaws, my weaknesses, my failures, it turns out, may be the most important parts of myself that I have to share.  I am not an icon to be worshipped.  I am fully human, letting down people left and right.  And in telling others that truth, I may yet find redemption.

—
Rabbi Sandra Cohen teaches rabbinic texts (Talmud, midrash, commentaries), offers pastoral care, and is venturing locally and nationally into the world of mental health outreach in the Jewish community.  She and her husband live in Denver, CO. 

Categories
Prayer

For Danny, Elyse, and Devra z”l

This poem was written after hearing the tragic news about the sudden death of the child of dear friends and colleagues. Their lives were suddenly and irrevocably changed as they were thrust into intense grief and loss. The phrase, “Yea though I walk through the valley of the Shadow of death,” found in Psalm 23 has always evoked images of a journey of grief. The mourning process helps us to walk through the Valley, not to be stuck in it.  For some the journey is longer and more painful than for others.  Most of us are unprepared for the shock of a tragic loss. We do not walk alone, however. We are accompanied both by those who travelled before us and those who hold us up along our painful journey.



For Danny,  Elyse and Devra z”l

גם כי אילך בגאי צלמוות
(Psalm 23)

Those who walk through the Valley of Shadows wear no shoes.
Their feet are cut and torn as they stumble through the darkness. 
With no time to pack a bag or say goodbye, they begin their journeys unprepared.

Some are dressed in finery: jewels gleaming like stars in the dim light.
Others are in pajamas, work clothes, prayer shawls or bathing suits.
Some clutch briefcases, papers, blankets or teddy bears.

And everyone wears their grief.

With each cautious, painful step, they move further into the abyss.
The chasm narrows.
Stretching out their fingers they trace the grooves carved by previous pilgrims
 – handholds hewn into the cold canyon walls.

Sometimes they march in silence.
Other times, singing hauntingly beautiful melodies, their voices echo to the very vaults of heaven.

The river that created this place does not flow from on high:
It was formed and filled by the tears of those whose bruised souls traversed the trail. 

No one walks here alone: 
Stumbling pilgrims are quickly caught and held aloft by those who travel beside them –
They are caressed and carried through the brambles and branches that, unexposed and hidden from sight, add to the chaos and confusion of the journey.

In time (for some) a light appears in the distance – piercing through the veil of darkness.
Hope – long buried, rises to the surface like a beacon

And with it, the weary marchers ascend to find a world that has been changed forever by their absence.
They return with pale faces and broken hearts.
But now, as experienced travelers, they will always have a suitcase packed and ready.

—
Rabbi Joe Black serves Temple Emanuel in Denver, Colorado. 

Categories
LGBT Social Justice

We Just Told the Supreme Court: The CCAR Opposes Employment Discrimination against LGBTQ Individuals

Among its various activities, the CCAR signs on to various briefs filed amicus curiae.  The term means “friend of the court.”  Amicus briefs are designed to inform a court about relevant facts and law that the parties to the case might not have had reason to focus on.  The CCAR signs on to several of these briefs a year, both in the U.S. Supreme Court and in state and lower federal courts.  I serve as the amicus coordinator for the Conference.

In the Supreme Court term that just ended, we signed onto a brief in Commerce Dept. v. New York that opposed the effort of the Administration to add a citizenship question to the 2020 census.  The Court agreed that this effort was illegal.  Of course, not all our briefs convince the courts, but they all get our opinions before them.

The start of the coming Supreme Court term, around Rosh Hashanah, will hear oral arguments on three consolidated cases that deal with employment discrimination against LGBTQ people.  The issue that all of them present is whether Title VII of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 protects these employees because such treatment constitutes prohibited sex discrimination. 

In Altitude Express, Inc. v. Zarda, a skydiving instructor was fired because of his sexual orientation.  In R.G. & G.R. Harris Funeral Homes, Inc. v. Equal Employment Opportunity Commission, a funeral director was fired after she informed her employer that she was transgender.  The employer had insisted that she present to the public according to her gender at birth.  In Bostock v. Clayton County, a county child welfare services coordinator was terminated when his employer learned that he was gay.  Two of the federal appellate courts hearing these cases determined that these firings were prohbited by Title VII; the other held that Title VII didn’t bar the termination.  The Supreme Court will resolve this dispute.

I shared the story of each case in order to remind us that court decisions are not just abstract intellectual matters.  How the Supreme Court rules will have a major impact in the lives of real people.

We signed onto a brief arguing that LGBTQ discrimination is indeed illegal under Title VII.  The URJ, WRJ, and MRJ joined us in this.  But this was a very special sort of brief, the kind that an amicus brief should be.  It was written specifically for religious organizations and clergy.  Denise Eger let members of the Conference who are on the Facebook page know about this brief and gave them an opportunity to sign on as individuals.

The brief explains why several religions, including ours, views equal treatment of LGBTQ individuals as a religious imperative.  It refers to actions and positions taken by these religious organizations, including the CCAR and the URJ.  It counters arguments made by other faith groups that their religious beliefs in effect require them to discriminate against LGBTQ people.  It responds that allowing such discrimination in effect favors those religions at the expense of ours and of others who share our views.

We cannot know how the Court will rule.  We can know that we have told it that allowing some to discriminate against LGBTQ people on religious grounds will also constitute discrimination against our way of practicing our religion.

—
Rabbi Thomas Alpert serves Temple Etz Chaim in Franklin, MA.
Read more about the brief on the CCAR’s website.

Categories
Immigration Social Justice

For You Were Strangers…

How fitting. My last official public statement as the CCAR Chief Executive was about protection for the immigrant and the refugee.

I say “How fitting” because my own family’s history is one of flight and immigration.

My sister Karen and I are children of immigrants–our mom fled from Dortmund and our dad immigrated to the States from Vienna. One of our uncles would have been, by today’s standards, an “illegal” immigrant. Our great-grandmother was forced to return from the safety of America to Germany and died in a Concentration Camp.

Our parents saw great opportunities in this country for themselves and for their children—both of whom, to their great surprise, became rabbis!

There is no ambiguity in my world. I am alive because somebody stood up for my parents.

For many of us, such stories are part of our family’s histories. We retell them, and we will never forget them. Today, again, people are arriving in our country, seeking to fulfill for themselves the American dream that we were so blessed to be able to realize for ourselves.

As we grew up in our parents’ home, we were aware that voting was a privilege.  We had come to this country as immigrants. We became Americans. And we were proud to participate in American democracy.   

Sadly enough, on Thursday, we saw the Supreme Court betray its responsibility to protect the right of all people to participate in American democracy. The Supreme Court’s recent ruling allowed for the continued practice of gerrymandering, which means that some people’s voices in our country go unheard. As Justice Kagan said “Part of the court’s role in that system [of government] is to defend its foundations. None is more important than free and fair elections.”

For decades, the Reform Rabbinate–in partnership with courageous lay leadership, our cantorial colleagues, other Jewish professionals, and our interfaith clergy partners–has led the Jewish community in our shared efforts to protect the immigrant, and the right of all citizens to participate in our government.

Today, we–as Reform Jews, and, often, as children of immigrants and refugees–stand for immigrants and refugees of this generation. We raise our voices for all those who suffer from hate and discrimination, whether it’s because of their country of origin, gender, race, sexual orientation, religion, or any other aspect of their identity. Today we look to the next generation of leadership in Reform Jewish life. As Rabbi Hara Person begins her work as the new CCAR Chief Executive, and a new generation of rabbis enters their rabbinates, I am confident that we, as Reform Jews and as children of immigrants, will remain at the forefront of the battle for our values as Jews and as Americans – without any ambiguity.

—
Rabbi Steve Fox is the Chief Executive Emeritus of the Central Conference of American Rabbis.

Categories
gender equality

See Something, Say Something: Having the Courage to Name It

As a rabbi, who also happens to be a woman, I am living through an unprecedented time, recognizing that I have the honor of standing on the shoulders of giants, those clergy who have paved the way for me to gain access to the rabbinate relatively easily. They fought some of the hardest won battles, proving that women are equally as capable of being great rabbis. There was never any question that I would have the opportunity to serve as a rabbi to a community, and instead, I have the privilege of worrying about the variety of struggles that we, as women rabbis face, particularly when it comes to the implicit biases surrounding gender.

I was particularly reminded of this recently, when I sat with some of our lay leaders discussing a potential business opportunity – a relatively new preschool had approached us about renting some of our classroom space. As we entered into the conversation, the topic of the school’s viability arose and almost immediately began to focus on the gender of the two founders, both of whom happen to be young moms. I sat there watching the conversation volley back and forth, noticing a common repetitive trope, “Are these young moms really capable of creating a successful school?” It became clear, as the conversation continued, that this was not so much of a question as it was a negative mark against the founders of this business endeavor, as if to say that young women were not capable of running a business, but others may be.

As a woman, I often find myself questioning whether it is the right moment to speak up, carrying around with me centuries-old baggage of both explicit and implicit biases. I wonder if others might think that I am upset because I am a woman, or because I am young, or perhaps because I am a younger woman rabbi. In the middle of our conversation, I finally burst out, “Can we please stop referring to these two individuals as young women?!”  After a moment of stunned silence, the people around our table resumed the conversation, now referring to these two individuals as the entrepreneurs or school founders. Underneath my exasperation was the understanding that the conversation had, unintentionally, turned to capability based on gender, rather than any measurable data. They saw the implicit bias that had crept up in the heat of the moment, immediately altering the way in which they referred to the school’s founders.

During my time in rabbinical school and in the rabbinate, I have had countless encounters in which a gender bias is clearly present – comments on looking younger than my age, being called a “chick” while leading text study, or remarks about the way in which I style my hair; each time I have to weigh whether it is worth it to call out the bias or let it pass. With each comment, I ask myself whether my calling out the bias will result in a change of opinion or behavior. If I believe that my calling out the bias will result in a change, then I point it out, as I did with our lay leaders.

I know that it is not always easy, nor effortless, to figure out the best way to highlight the implicit biases that still exist within our communities. But it is only with our constant conversation and the courage to point out the implicit bias that we will pave the way for the next generation of rabbis and leaders.    

—
Rabbi Jessica Wainer serves Northern Virginia Hebrew Congregation in Reston, VA.  

Categories
Books

Psalm 27: Music and Spirituality

In anticipation of the release of CCAR Press’s forthcoming publication, Opening Your Heart with Psalm 27 by Rabbi Debra Robbins, we invited Cantor Richard Cohn to share an excerpt of the chapter that he wrote.

Music offers us a powerful connection to spiritual practice. Melodies are both fluid—moving through time with flexibility and intention—and grounded—anchored in structures of rhythm, scale, and key. They embody aliveness within a defined structure, mirroring the flow of life itself.

In combination with the harmonies that support them, melodies can convey beauty, form, and emotion. They can touch on areas of comfort, hopefulness, serenity, warmth, and joy (among many others!), even suggesting more than one feeling at the same time. They are received and interpreted differently by each of us, and their resonance can vary from day to day, or even from one repetition to the next. In addition to emotion, form, and beauty, music miraculously transmits something from the formless dimension of spirit into the physical realm of song.

Rabbi Robbins has chosen the last verse of Psalm 27 to be a musical thread in our encounter with the complete text. Why anticipate the conclusion when we’re only starting out? One possible answer is to reflect on the closing words in their relationship to each stage of the journey: How do we move step-by-step toward a strengthening of the heart that lifts us in hope toward an awareness of the holy? Singing (or listening to) a melody corresponds exactly to that process, as we travel from note to note in search of a destination that exists in potential from the very beginning, but that can only be reached by tracing the entire path. As with the psalm itself, repeating the melody again and again can deepen and expand our understanding of the journey.

There are many ways to utilize the recording that accompanies this book. You may wish to begin with mindful listening, perhaps closing your eyes and bringing attention to the sound itself, to the shaping of individual syllables and words, or simply to the unfolding stream of music. You may find yourself starting to hum along, and you can add the words whenever you like. With each repetition, or from day to day, notice what’s new (or old!) in your encounter with the music. If you’d like to sing it on your own, rather than with the recording, see what happens when you try a different tempo or if you sing it more softly or loudly, more contemplatively or emphatically. Before long, you may know the music by heart. It may become an increasingly internal experience, becoming fully integral to your daily practice. If the melody begins to seem a bit less interesting, scale back to singing it only once a day, or sing it an extra time to see if you can bring something fresh to your interpretation.

May this singing practice be heart opening and soul lifting, as you explore the inspiring textures of Psalm 27.

—
Cantor Richard Cohn serves as Director of the Debbie Friedman School of Sacred Music at the Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion in New York. He’s also served as president of the American Conference of Cantors, and he has been a featured conductor at the North American Jewish Choral Festival.