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News

#ThisIsWhatARabbiLooksLike

What does a rabbi look like? Do you envision the rabbi of your childhood when you picture a rabbi? Is it an iteration of Tevye, the lead character from Fiddler on the Roof? At the annual convention for the Central Conference of American Rabbis (CCAR) this question was posed in a myriad of ways, especially as the work of the Task Force on Women in the Rabbinate led a program on creating cultural change. 45 years after the ordination of the first female rabbi in North America, too many people struggle to break that old image. One way Reform Rabbis and the CCAR are changing the narrative is the hashtag and amazing photos, #ThisIsWhatARabbiLooksLike (I encourage you to search for this hashtag on your favorite social media platform).

By elevating the voice of the Reform rabbinate in the press, on social media, in the coffee shop, in the classroom, in the hospital room, and in the communal organization, Reform Rabbis are changing the perception of what a rabbi looks like.

A rabbi is tall. A rabbi is short. A rabbi is strong. A rabbi is differently able. A rabbi is a woman. A rabbi is a man. A rabbi is trans. This is what a rabbi looks like. Rabbis reflect the beautiful tapestry of humanity.

As I’ve been thinking and reflecting at the annual convention about these issues my amazing colleague at Temple Beth Hillel sent me the following photo and text.

“Ariela says, ‘this is Rabbi Ellie in the front.’”

As part of young Ariela’s imaginary play, one of her rabbis participates! This too is what a rabbi looks like.

And the next day this arrived:

“Today you are the top doll. She also said you like zebras.”

Thank God, children with the their profound imagination really understand what rabbis look like. May we continue to learn from them.

—

Rabbi Eleanor Steinman is the Director of Religious Education at Temple Beth Hillel in Valley Village, CA. This blog was originally posted  at rabbisteinman.com/blog

Categories
Convention

Reflecting at CCAR Convention

Dear colleagues,

Having spent the weekend with our 10th graders at the L’taken Social Justice Seminar in Washington, I was overcome with emotion joining the Reform Rabbinate.  As we are “Confronting the Future,” our children – our greatest treasures, are reshaping it.  While we have a sacred duty to guide them, we also need to remember that we can learn from them.

I took lots of photos today, and I put them together to try to capture just a little of the breadth of our experience.  (One photo is of our kids in DC – got to get the dramatic juxtaposition in there!)

I also have quite a few selfies.  But the purpose is not self-serving.  I think it’s important that we all take stock of  just how many people have made a difference in our lives.

We have made each other better rabbis.  We have made each other better people.  We have all helped to create souls.

So take some to time reflect.  Who are the people in your rabbinate who have made that difference?  And how did you make that difference for others?

With love and shalom,

Zach

—
Rabbi Zach Shapiro serves Temple Akiba in Culver City, CA.

 

Categories
Convention

#BlogExodus 4 Nisan: The Ones Who Have Helped Me To Grow

Yesterday morning, Rabbi Aaron Panken, President of Hebrew Union College – Jewish Institute of Religion (HUC-JIR), the school at which most of us here at the CCAR Convention—indeed, the vast majority of Reform clergy—went to seminary (and at which I am also currently in Cohort 6 of the Executive Masters program to get a Master of Arts in Religious Education) addressed the Conference at our annual alumni breakfast. We had the chance to study some text, and then we got to what is, to me, the best part.

There are few things that will get hundreds of rabbis, many of whom stayed up much later than usual catching up with friends, awake and eager at 7:!5 am. This is one of them. During the breakfast, as we do every year, we engaged in Roll Call, which Rabbi Panken described this morning as, “That interesting ritual that should be fun.” The origins of this ritual are a mystery, but are steeped in tradition: each year, a representative of the Alumni Association calls out each year of classes ordained from HUC-JIR, and everyone present from that class stands. From the current students who are present to those who were ordained through the decades (at least those who got up for breakfast). Each class stands, to applause from the group as a whole—from current students all the way to someone ordained 60 years ago. Many classes show spirit by waving to each other or cheering. Some classes are gathered together at a table or two—others are spread out, and you can see that some of them have only just seen each other. It’s amazing to see the generations of rabbis, gathered together through a collective memory, while celebrating the unique relationship of each class. We honor our own experience, as well as the chain of tradition that links every person in that room.

The night before, our class had also gathered for dinner (as many classes did)—those ordained in our year, as well as those with whom we shared our year in Israel. I hadn’t seen some of these people since our Israel year, 21 years ago. Others I see regularly. But all of us being together—that’s something truly special. All of us together at breakfast, a significant way to celebrate our connection.

Each year, this breakfast is a reminder: I absolutely come to convention for the inspiration and the learning. To learn from some of the great minds of our time. To gain wisdom from incredible speakers. To delve into text study and ideas in a way that I don’t often get to. To grapple with the challenges of contemporary life. To commiserate over challenges, and argue in debates for the sake of Heaven. To pray in a truly unique and holy community. But, really, if I’m honest, more than all that, it’s about sitting side by side with my colleagues.

It’s an amazing thing, this connection, and one of the quirkier aspects of what is, in myriad ways, a quirky career. As we train for this, we spend 1 year in a foreign country, engaged in an immersive learning environment, followed by 4 years with 1/3 of those people—in a really small and really intense graduate school program. And then we all get scattered around the country (and even further). Thanks to technology, we have a sense of what is going on in each others’ lives—and maybe we see some of these people at other times during the year at other events—but this is the time when we all come together.

The chance to see these classmates, these friends, once a year is precious. Some come nearly every year—others only occasionally. In each case, the convention offers a chance to have an annual reunion of sorts. To catch up with people who have been with us from the very beginning of our careers. To see how we have each grown (and how we haven’t changed). To laugh at old memories. To cry at shared sadnesses. To offer each other a sense of camaraderie and collegiality which is often hard to find.

And, yes, to make connections with those from other generations. To meet senior colleagues whose work we have admired…to see people we went to camp with…to see the rabbis from our own formative years—when we became inspired by Judaism in a way that made us want to become rabbis…to see students who have themselves followed this path.

It’s an amazing thing this annual convention and the conference that forms it. It’s a chance for us to connect to our own experience, to reflect on where we have been and where we are and where we are going, and to remind ourselves of all the folks with whom we get to share this journey.

—

Rabbi Elisa Koppel serves Congregation Beth Emeth in Wilmington, DE. 

Categories
Convention

46 Years of Women Rabbis: A Messy Miracle

The father in the delivery room has a complicated perspective. I know. I have been there twice.

Most of us know little about how our own bodies work – less still, about the physiology of the opposite sex. At childbirth classes, fathers are prepared to help with breathing; and we know that pain is involved. Most men, though, are entirely unprepared to witness all that blood and, for lack of a better term, the messiness of the whole process.

And then, we don’t talk about it, at least not if we’re wise.

Instead, we focus on the miracle. Yes, childbirth is a miracle – not supernatural, but natural; God-given all the same. Two moments in my life have no compare: Seeing each of my sons for the very first time as he emerged from his mother’s body and into the world.

We celebrate the miracle of childbirth but sublimate the messiness. And well we should – at least if we’re talking about childbirth from the father’s viewpoint.

But what if we’re talking about male rabbis’ perspective on the experience of women in the rabbinate? Strikingly similar, at least until recently.

Oh yes, we witnessed the miracles – in some ways, we caused, aided, and enabled it.

Yes, we knew that placement opportunities were not equal, at least in the first several decades.

Yes, we knew about pay disparities, or we should have known.

Many of us, though, did not see the othering, the sexual harassment and even assault. We did not see, perhaps not wanting to see, like the “Pharaoh who knew not Joseph.”[i]

But we did brag about the miracle. Like so many 1950s dads, handing out cigars in hospital waiting rooms. We celebrated that “we” were first.

We rose for standing ovations. For Sally, who was first. For Janet, who was first. For Denise, who was first. And for so many others of “our” firsts.

But we did not speak of the messiness. Upon reflection, we rose to applause – not so much for Sally, for Janet, or for Denise – but for ourselves. After all, “we” were the first to welcome women into “our” rabbinic ranks.

Parashat Tzav is full of messy details about our ancestors’ sacrifices. “The blood, the fat, and the protuberance of the liver” are hard to escape.

Among those sacrifices, introduced last week in Vayikra but given purpose only in Tzav is the shlamim, or “wholeness offering.” Unlike most korbanot (sacrifices), the shlamim is unconnected to sin. Still, it’s messy.

Tamara Cohn Eskenazi teaches in The Torah: A Women’s Commentary that the shlamim was brought on festivals and to express gratitude. Its bounty is shared.[ii] Even with this celebratory korban, though, Torah is frank about “the blood, the fat, and the protuberance of the liver.” We only read about the communal celebration after slogging through the description of gory ritual.

Our teacher Naamah Kelman reminds us of Vayikra Rabah’s suggestion that the shlamim is the only sacrifice that will be offered in messianic days.[iii] Sin will end. Cause for celebration will not.

We do not live in messianic days. Sin endures. And sometimes, b’ratzon u’vishgagah, willingly or unwittingly, we are its perpetrators.

The Central Conference of American Rabbis gathers this week with many goals, not least of which is to examine the entrails to view blood and the dung that have accompanied the miracle we have seen emerge over forty-six years of women in the rabbinate.

When asked about where men’s voices belong in the “#metoo” moment, our teacher Elana Stein Hain has affirmed that every voice should be heard, while suggesting that maybe we need to “take turns.” Now is women’s turn, at least to go first.[iv]

For starters, without ignoring the important role men in Reform leadership played, we must acknowledge that women are the ones who experience the labor pains. Women have given birth to the miracle that is forty-six years of women rabbis in our Conference.

This week, let us speak frankly of the blood, the fat, and the protuberance of the liver; and let us listen attentively.

Then, may this week’s frank acknowledgements inch us closer to that day when the only korban required of us will be the shlamim, to express our boundless, and finally unfettered, gratitude.

—

Rabbi Barry H. Block serves Congregation B’nai Israel in Little Rock, Arkansas, and is a member of the CCAR Board of Trustees.

 

[i] Babylonian Talmud, Sotah 11a.
[ii] Tamara Cohn Eskenazi and Andrea Weiss, editors, The Torah: A Women’s Commentary, New York: URJ Press and Women of Reform Judaism, 2008, p. 609. Cited by Naamah Kelman, “An Offering of Thanksgiving,” ReformJudaism.org.
[iii] Naamah Kelman, “An Offering of Thanksgiving,” ReformJudaism.org.
[iv] “Judaism, #metoo, and Ethical Leadership, Perspectives from the Created Equal Project,” webinar, Shalom Hartman Institute, January 24, 2018.

Categories
Convention

There’s So Much I Don’t Know about Women (Rabbis)

I get energized when I discover a key to unlocking the meaning of a significant text that previously had eluded me. Having realized how little I knew, I then cannot stop turning the text over and over in my mind to mine it for new insights. Now when the text is as central and poignant as the experience of women in the rabbinate and the key to understanding might be as simple as asking and listening, the insights are simultaneously painful and explosively poignant.

This week, four esteemed rabbinic colleague’s guided us through a program entitled Creating Cultural Change: Engaging with the Work of the Task Force on the  Experience of Women in the Rabbinate. It was the first of many opportunities to engage with this CCAR Task Force, express thoughts and concerns, and help guide the way forward. (Two webinars for non-attending rabbis to participate are scheduled in the coming months.) 

The session was eye-opening, disconcerting, and hopeful. Speaking about hopes for cultural change, one female colleague said she hoped that in five years she could serve as senior rabbi in a large congregation without having to do it like a man. I responded with my first reaction, that  I hoped that within two years I will understand all that you really mean by that statement. 

Sitting that morning around a table, and reflecting throughout the day with colleagues of all genders, ages, and orientations, I discovered the sad but energizing truth: that for all I hold myself in high esteem for my support of female colleagues, there is just so much abouttheir experience that I just do not understand.

So I did what I usually do when I realize I don’t understand. I asked questions. I listened. I learned:

About how often women rabbis are challenged about their competence and professionalism, leaving them to ponder “what really just happened”

About how regularly women rabbis experience denigration by male rabbis (beyond the harassment and abuse).

About the lengths some women must go to receive maternity leave or pay equity (that has been a mainstay of our congregation since we hired our first woman rabbi).

About the apparent blindness of male rabbis who don’t realize that if women receive equity, then the median compensation level rises, and with it, all our compensation levels.

Most poignantly, though, I discovered that there are so many challenges for women as rabbis that I cannot even begin to comprehend. If I really want to help right these wrongs (and I do), then I am going to have to ask a whole bunch of questions and be willing to listen to the answers.

Because beyond the big name Harvey Weinsteins we encounter in our rabbinates (yes, we do have our own), there are so many subtle (and not so subtle) ways that women rabbis face discrimination, delegitimization, harassment, abuse and more. 

So I declare:

I do not understand. 

I am trying to listen and learn. 

I approach this open heartedly and open mindedly. 

I thank my colleagues who share, make me aware, open up to declare, what I wondered and fear: that even those of us who consider ourselves the “good guys” are most probably blind to realities of your lives. 

And I thank the Task Force on the Experience of Women in the Rabbinate for helping me wake up. So, like with all texts, I keep discovering out that there is so so much I do not understand.  I am energized by the prospect of asking, listening, learning and advocating.

—

Rabbi Paul Kipnes serves Congregation Or Ami in Calabasas, CA.

Categories
Convention

Energetic Shacharit at CCAR Convention

There is something exciting and totally terrifying about leading worship at the CCAR. First, it’s a huge honor to be invited. Then there are the thoughts of, ‘who am I to lead all these rabbis in worship?!?!’ But the moment it begins, the moment we all start to sing, it all comes together and I breathe!

I was thrilled to include my Cantor and clergy partner, David Reinwald in the morning service. It was awesome for us to share what he and I create and do together on a weekly basis. We have a rhythm in how we pray together and we wanted to share that with this sacred community of rabbis.

We were surprised to see the listing of our shacharit as the Energetic Shacharit. Wow! Someone knows me! We weren’t exactly planning any kind of movement, but the group seemed open to a few laps around the hotel, burpies and sun salutations! However, without our running shoes, the energy was found within each person in the room and it filled every space inside and outside the room.

As the service progressed, voices caught their breath, warmed and elevated. There is nothing like 50 voices rising up in prayer and harmonizing with one another. Our bodies warmed and we swayed with each note and word. When do we as rabbis find the time to be in prayer without being worried if we have everyone on the right page? Shacharit this morning became a gift to ourselves as each individual claimed this prize.

Within this energy of prayer I allowed myself to be vulnerable and share in my own journey of personal growth. Each of us are a work in progress; as Dan Nichols writes, “I’m perfect the way I am and a little broken too.” I love who I am but I know that there is always work to be done. I’ve been finding the courage to acknowledge my brokenness and own the work it takes to grow. And it is in this sacred space and within this sacred community that I know I can do this because I look around and see how we are all perfect the way we are and a little broken too.

This day has been all about health; body, mind and spirit. To open this day in prayer, to raise up our voices and give thanks for the gifts we have and reach for strength to be and do better, this was shacharit at CCAR. What a gift and I thank you all for sharing it with me. I hope you found your breath, your voice, and your courage to see how you are perfect and embrace the brokenness to always be a work in progress.

Now go and breathe!

—

Rabbi Heidi M. Cohen serves Temple Beth Sholom in Santa Ana, California.

Categories
Convention

Instruments of God

This morning, I woke up at 6:00 AM and made my way to the hotel gym for a short workout. Before you congratulate me, full disclosure: I flew into Irvine two days ago from the east coast and so 6:00 AM was really the equivalent of 9:00 AM. My exercise was as much self-preservation as anything – or at least that is how I have always thought about it. When I work out, I feel healthier. When I feel healthier, I have a better outlook on the world. What’s more, I have come to observe that on those days I do not get any intentional physical exercise in, I am, shall we say, less fun to be around. And so I ran through my short circuit of weight lifting before heading back up to my hotel room to prepare for the day.

This afternoon, I found myself questioning my exercise motives.

Rabbi Elliot Dorff, in his talk on Jewish Values and Ethics in Contemporary Health Care, began with a reminder that because God made us (Gen. 2:4), our bodies, along with all other creation, belongs to God (Deut. 10:14). Rabbi Dorff brought a text from Mishneh Torah (Deot 3:3) which begins: “He who regulates his life in accordance with the laws of hygiene with the sole motive of maintaining a sound and vigorous physique…is not following the right course.” In short, we should not be seeking health for the sake of health – or aesthetics, or lengthened life, even. Rather, continues the text, “A man should aim to maintain physical health and vigor in order that his soul may be upright, in a condition to know God.”

When I woke up and padded down to the gym for my morning workout, God was not on my mind. Instead, I was concerned about the ways in which I would personally benefit from the exercise – better mood, improved appetite, ability to sit in a number of long learning sessions. I was tending to what Rabbi Dorff called the “pragmatic” motivations for maintaining a healthy lifestyle.

I am but one part of a larger whole, an instrument of God. And God’s instruments work better when they are in tune. Dorff argues that in Judaism, the motivation for improved wellness can be – should be – to lengthen the time we have on earth to do God’s work. So many of us exercise for the sake of being able to walk farther. Judaism suggests that we instead should exercise for the sake of being able to march – literally or metaphorically – for justice.

As a rabbi and human, as an instrument of God, I am grateful for the reminder: the work we do on our own selves and in our own congregations must be for more than our selves and for our congregants. We are each instruments of God. When we reframe our most mundane, physical health-related activities toward the larger goal of honoring God and doing God’s work, our 6:00 AM workouts can become holy and purposeful.  And in doing so, we may well better our ability to engage in the work God has required of us – to act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly.

—

Rabbi Dusty Klass serves  Temple Beth El in Charlotte NC, and is a CCAR Convention “first-timer.” She is deeply grateful to the conference for opportunities to learn and grow and re-think the ways in which she moves through the world Jewishly.

Categories
Convention

Modeling the Behavior at CCAR Convention

One of the most important aspects of my rabbinate is continuing education.  I firmly believe that in order for me to be able to teach and serve as rabbi to my congregants, I must first model the behavior.  While I do try very hard to read and study as often as possible, I am so delighted and blessed to be able to spend these precious days together with my friends and colleagues from around the world.  I attend the CCAR Convention to learn, pray and reconnect (or in some cases connect for the first time) with friends and colleagues.

As this was the first full day of the CCAR Convention 2018, I knew it would be a very full and fulfilling day.  Shacharit services this morning were inspirational and spiritual.  Being present while we recognized and honored our 50 year colleagues was awesome.  Seeing a full bimah of colleagues attending this convention for the first time was definitely exciting.  And of course, listening to the rousing and stirring words of President Stern opened our eyes to the possibilities and wonder of the coming year.

This year, the CCAR Convention intended to focus our efforts on being engaged in our communities throughout the world in renewing our dedication to the rights of all – whether they be civil, religious, political, etc.  As such, the opening session entitled “Rabbis and Civic Engagement” was intriguing and challenging at the same time.  California Comptroller Betty T. Yee and Mayors Eric Garcetti of Los Angeles and Darrell Steinberg of Sacramento taught us about some of the challenges and successes facing California.  I believe that the challenges facing California are not a California problem.  These challenges are facing many if not all of our communities.

Civil discourse in the United States – and abroad – is vital.  We cannot turn our backs or close our eyes to the problems that so many of our congregants, friends and neighbors are facing.  As we are constantly reminded in our Liturgy, we must remember we were strangers in a strange land and God took care of us.  We have a tremendous obligation to face these problems with our neighbors head on.

I had the opportunity in the afternoon to attend two truly educational sessions.  The first session was “Freehof Institute: The Jewish-Christian Dialogue in an Age of Sharp Divisions.”  Rabbis Mark Washofsky and Denise Eger taught us of their own experiences with the Halacha regarding the Jewish-Christian Dialogue.  Rabbi Eger explained that the process of Halacha is a process of arguing and discussing legal/ethical issues for understanding and to continue the living tradition of Halacha.  Rabbi Washofsky helped us to understand the necessity of translating Halachic sources to make sense for our time, as our rabbis have been doing for centuries.

The second session was “Problematic Texts and the Religious Other in Jewish-Christian-Muslim Dialogue.”  In this session, we studied some of the texts from the Torah, the New Testament, and the Koran.  For me, the tremendous take away was that while it is absolutely possible to misinterpret or misread our sacred texts, the more challenging option (and perhaps the one that is most often not attempted) is to read, reread and then reread again our texts with the sincere attempt at understanding.  If we are unable to understand the “true meanings” of our texts, then it is incumbent for us to know that we have not tried hard enough to understand.  We should open our eyes to the “other” in attempting to understand our own sacred texts.

Dinner out with our colleagues was a great way to wrap up a very full day.  It was nice to kick back and enjoy good food and great company.  I am sure that the next days of our convention will bring many more occasions for spirituality, study and fun!

—

Rabbi Erin Boxt serves Temple Beth El in Knoxville, TN.  This is his 5th CCAR Convention.

 

 

 

 

 

Categories
Convention

Delving Into Israel at CCAR 2018 Convention

Monday at the CCAR Convention offered several opportunities to delve into our movement’s evolving relationship with the modern State of Israel. After having attended the AIPAC policy conference in Washington DC a couple weeks ago, I felt a very contrasting viewpoint among the scholars, rabbis, and thinkers here in Irvine, California. At AIPAC we focused solely on security matters, Israel’s advancements in science and technology, or Israel’s vibrant culture; but today we focused on apathy regarding Israel among Millennials, BDS on campus, and the difficulties our liberal movement faces with Israel’s right wing government.

I remarked at one of our sessions that after experiencing the euphoric atmosphere that characterized the AIPAC policy conference, the sessions today (all of which were entitled “Celebrating Israel at 70”) felt more of a bikur cholim visit then they did a birthday party. That being said, the sessions were very interesting. The presentations on BDS on campuses were enlightening and highlighted the great work that is being done by so many in the Hillel world on our college campuses. One of the more humorous moments occurred when it was pointed out by the moderator that the AIPAC representative and the J Street representative were sitting right next to each other unknowingly.

It is certainly possible after attending the sessions today on Israel that one could walk away with a gloomy assessment of where Israel us going as it begins its eighth decade. But an interesting juxtaposition can be felt by the participants at the convention when they leave the session and walk into the lobby of the hotel. There they will find several travel company representatives who are very busy engaging Reform rabbis and talking to them about their plans to lead trips to Israel with their congregations. In fact, it is very common to go on social media (which is not an uncommon occurrence here) and see my good friend Guy Millo from ArzaWorld  posting another picture of a rabbi holding a sign that reads, “I am leading a trip to Israel.” Although we are talking seriously about the issues that Israel faces, it is clear that among the Reform rabbinate love for the modern state of Israel is strong.

Most of my colleagues have strong feelings and concerns about the current government and its policies, and they are trying to make sense of our evolving relationship with Israel. But it seems to me that their love for the State of Israel is unconditional.  Perhaps it is this love that causes us to care so deeply about Israel’s challenges and not focus solely on their triumphs.  One interesting thing that I heard today was that several students from other liberal rabbinic schools are transferring HUC-JIR because they felt that their schools were too anti-Zionist. From what they knew about HUC-JIR they knew that they would find a home where the students, faculty, staff, and alumni are willing to question Israel’s policies, but not their love for the State of Israel. This gives me a sense of reassurance that though I may have serious policy differences with my colleagues on Israel, I know that their love for our Jewish homeland is passionate and enduring.

—

Rabbi Jeremy Barras serves Temple Beth Am in Pinecrest, Florida. 

 

Categories
Books Passover Pesach Social Justice

Moral Resistance and Spiritual Authority: The Obligations of Our Exodus

In anticipation of the release of CCAR Press’s newest book, Moral Resistance and Spiritual Authority: Our Jewish Obligation to Social Justice, we’ve invited Rabbi Jonah Dov Pesner, co-editor of the book, to share an excerpt of the book on Passover. Moral Resistance and Spiritual Authority is now available for pre-order from CCAR Press.

A couple of months ago I was arrested in the grand rotunda of the Russell Building of the United States Senate. Nearly one hundred Jewish clergy and leaders joined in song and prayer, demanding that the United States Congress pass the DREAM Act, which would grant citizenship to the nearly eight hundred thousand Dreamers who came to the United States as children and are every bit American as my own daughters. As we sang “Olam Chesed Yibaneh” (“We will build this world with love”) over and over again, hundreds of Dreamers stood cheering us on from the balcony, ringing us like a human halo. In an intentionally ironic twist on the famous cry from Moses to Pharaoh, we chanted, “Let our people stay!”

When we were handcuffed, removed by the Capitol Police, and placed under arrest, we understood that we were following directly in the footsteps of our ancient Israelite ancestors. Ironically, our being put into fetters was inspired by the Hebrew slaves, who rose up from their slavery in Egypt and cast off the chains of Pharaoh’s bondage in their journey to redemption. As our hands were locked in cuffs and we were led away, we chanted the verse taken from the Song at the Sea “Ozi v’zimrat Yah, vah’yi li lishuah,” “God is my strength and might, and will be my salvation” (Exodus 15:2). There seemed no words more fitting than those our ancient Israelite ancestors sang as they passed through the parted seas of their redemption.

Even as we were led into police custody, our group understood that we were walking in the footsteps of countless generations of Jews before us, generations who internalized the Rabbinic mandate in the Passover Haggadah that “it is incumbent on every generation to see itself as if they themselves—every person—had personally escaped from Egypt” (Babylonian Talmud, P’sachim 116b). Our deeds of civil disobedience were an act of moral resistance to the injustices being perpetrated on the Dreamers, along with tens of millions of other immigrants and refugees. We acted on the spiritual authority inherited from recent leaders like Rabbis Richard Hirsch, Abraham Joshua Heschel, and Maurice Eisendrath, who marched with Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. because they internalized the most often repeated commandment in all of Torah: “You shall love the stranger, because you were a stranger in the land of Egypt” (Leviticus 19:34). Jews have marched throughout history because the core narrative of our people, the defining master story of our tradition, is the archetypal tale of redemption. Our Exodus from Egypt is the story of the transformation of the world-as-it-is, in which “strangers” are continually crushed by oppression, into the world-as-it-should-be, one where all people know justice. The power of the Jewish master narrative lies in its inherent call to every generation to live empathy; because our ancestors were strangers, we—in this era, and in every era—are to love the stranger.

Jews not only retell the master story of redemption throughout our ritual and cultural life; we have relived it throughout history. Our history has served to reinforce the most central exhortation of our Exodus narrative: we are obligated to love the stranger as ourself.

Among the many gleanings of the Exodus narrative that ground Jewish life and values, three stand out as the sources of the spiritual authority demanding that Jews resist injustice and champion morality in every age (and regardless of the challenges we face). First, we learn not only that resistance is required by our faith and experience, but also that it is always possible. Second, we are reminded that our empathy extends beyond the “stranger” to all those who are vulnerable in our midst. Finally, we instill in our souls that the Exodus is not simply about freedom from bondage; our master story culminates with the agency to enter into a covenantal community in which all people are bound to one another.

—

Rabbi Jonah Dov Pesner serves as the Director of the Religious Action Center of Reform Judaism. He has led the Religious Action Center since 2015. Rabbi Pesner also serves as Senior Vice President of the Union for Reform Judaism. Named one of the most influential rabbis in America by Newsweek magazine, he is an inspirational leader, creative entrepreneur, and tireless advocate for social justice.  Rabbi Pesner is the co-editor of CCAR Press’s  upcoming book, Moral Resistance and Spiritual Authority: Our Jewish Obligation to Social Justice, as well as a contributor to Seven Days, Many Voices: Insights into the Biblical Story of Creation.

Moral Resistance and Spiritual Authority: Our Jewish Obligation to Social Justice is now available for pre-order from CCAR Press.