Categories
Israel

CCAR Israel Leadership Trip

Greetings from Eretz Yisrael, where I’m privileged to be studying and traveling with a group of CCAR colleagues.  What distinguishes this journey from previous ones: an opportunity for us to reflect on “using” Israel as educators —  both in terms of intentionally creating meaningful itineraries as we lead groups (of congregants) here, and in terms of bringing this week’s experience back to our respective communities.

The beautiful lunch that the Druze community served us.

Our itinerary has been chock-full of the pressing issues of the day.  We had mifgashim that have touched on the ongoing Arab-Israel question, gender, LGBTQ inclusion, and the list goes on.  But for the moment, I find myself holding on to the interaction we had with the Druze outside of Haifa.  Many of us (myself included) have encountered the Druze, and their world famous hospitality, in previous visits to Israel.  We have heard of their vaunted sense of service in contributing to the Jewish State (as Arabs) by serving in the Army, often volunteering for combat roles.

This week’s encounter went deeper.  We were privileged to hear from Reda Mansour, a prominent Israeli Druze who holds the distinction of being the youngest Israeli ever appointed as an Ambassador in the Diplomatic Corps.

Mansour was teaching us about the Druze and their desire to be an active part of the communities they are living in.  Beyond their noted IDF service, he talked about the Druze’s longstanding commitment to building institutional relationships with the synagogue and church communities that are their neighbors.  The Druze embrace the notion of surrounding themselves with those who are different from them.

Mansour went so far as to suggest a strong similarity between the Druze of Israel, and the Jews of America.  Both communities, he noted with pride, have long records of engagement in the surrounding world.

Mansour also reminded us that the Druze have a very strict policy: a Druze cannot marry a non-Druze and remain in the community.  Period.  And they do not have a mechanism that would be analogous to our sense of conversion.

A speaker from the Druze community shares his experiences with us.

This seemed paradoxical.  On the one hand Mansour’s community was open to assimilation.  Young people are not required to dress traditionally.  Everyone is expected to engage with the non-Druze community.  And yet, their tradition does not seem to be equipped to deal with the social ramifications of that assimilation.

As Mansour repeatedly invoked his assertion that American Jews and Druze were similar, I couldn’t help but think that in one respect he was incorrect.  We liberal Jews have worked hard to adapt (and we continue to adapt) our Judaism so that it fully engages with modernity.  Our ritual practice has evolved.  And the definition of a Jewish family has evolved with it.  We’ve made room in our homes, synagogues, and communities for significant others who are not Jewish by birth – regardless of whether they are moved to formally convert.  We’ve embraced this willingness to regularly reform our sense of (communal) self, because we recognize that the survival of a meaningful contemporary Judaism depends on it.

I’m grateful for the Druze for the warm hospitality they extended to our group.  And I’m grateful for their devoted service to the State of Israel.  But most of all, I’m grateful that our encounter reminded me how proud I am to be part of a tradition that has the capacity to grow, change, and thrive over time.

—

Rabbi Jeffrey Brown serves Scarsdale Synagogue Temples Tremont and Emanu-El in Scarsdale, New York.

Categories
Rabbis

Looking Back on 50 years in the Rabbinate

As the 50th anniversary of my ordination at HUC-JIR approaches, I’d like to share three of the most rewarding aspects of my thirty-six year rabbinate at Temple Beth David of Westwood, Massachusetts.

Like many Reform congregations, we have a Sabbath morning minyan in the library led by congregants, followed by refreshments and an hour of studying the parasha hashavuah. On the Sabbath mornings when I was not conducting a Bar/Bat Mitzvah in the sanctuary, I was able to attend this Shabbat Morning Chevreh, but I never took it over. It was always lay led.  I think it was successful, because it empowered Temple members to become leaders in worship and teachers of Torah. On Erev Shabbat, because I felt that it was tremendously important for congregants to see, hear, and study the actual Torah, I would read Torah from the scroll and engage the congregation in a brief discussion of the text. I think the result of these weekly rituals was that the congregation gained a genuine appreciation of the Torah scroll as a “tree of life to those who hold fast to it.”

A second significant pillar of my rabbinate was the founding and sustaining of chavurot. Our congregation in southwest suburban Boston is comprised of Jews from many different neighboring communities in which the Jewish population is no more than two per cent. By joining a Temple chavurah of five or six couples, Temple members immediately acquired a new Jewish family that was there for them in times of celebration and in times of grief. I found that the most successful way of establishing a chavurah was to match people who were at the same stage in their lives. I required each chavurah to commit to the study of a Jewish book or text which would be the focus of discussion at a monthly meeting. Without this commitment to Jewish study, I felt there was a danger that a chavurah might develop into nothing more than a schmoozing club. Chavurot also engaged in many other kinds of Jewish activities such as gathering together for Sabbath and festival home celebrations or finding ways to contribute to Temple life by participating in a social action program, by leading a worship service, or by volunteering for a Temple project. Some chavurot have lasted for thirty years and are still going strong, while others have had a shorter life span, but even when a chavurah lasted for only two or three years, chavurah members were able to develop deep and abiding Jewish friendships and as a result of their experience, felt more connected to the Temple and Jewish life.

I also devoted a great deal of my active rabbinate to participating in the founding of several new Jewish institutions in the Boston Jewish community.  My most notable contribution was my role as the Founding Chair of the Rashi School, the Boston Area Reform Jewish Day School. Today, thirty years after we opened the doors, the Rashi School is host to over three hundred children in a beautiful school building in Dedham, MA that shares a campus with a cutting edge Hebrew Senior Life residential facility that has made possible a wonderful intergenerational program. The Rashi School concentrates on making its core values of  limood, tzedek, kehilah, kavod and ruach Elohim come alive in every aspect of school life. I was also blessed to serve on the founding boards of the Gann Academy, the excellent pluralistic Jewish high school located in Waltham, Massachusetts and Mayyim Hayyim the Living Waters Boston Community Mikveh and Education Center.

Looking back on my rabbinate at this fifty year anniversary, I take a great deal of satisfaction from the three aforementioned activities: the encouragement of the study of Torah at Temple Beth David, the establishment of Temple Beth David chavurot which brought lasting friendship to many congregants while strengthening their connection to the Temple, and my contribution to the enrichment of Jewish life in Boston by joining with others in the founding of the Rashi School, the Gann Academy, and Mayyim Hayyim.

I also have a deep sense of gratitude to my wife Barbara for supporting me and aiding me throughout my rabbinic career.

—

Rabbi Henry A. Zoob is celebrating 50 years in the rabbinate.

 

Categories
Social Justice

A Prayer for Shabbat Tzedek and MLK Weekend in the Face of Renewed Hatred

This Sabbath, Jews around the world will complete the reading of the Book of Genesis, hold the Torah high, and pronounce, “Chazak, Chazak, v’Nitchazek, from strength to strength, may we be strengthened.” This custom directs us in ways beyond the symbolic. We do not merely close a book of Torah and move on. We glean Torah’s lessons, we realign our lives to its call, and we use that strength to sanctify our lives and to heal our world.

In dark times throughout Jewish history, Jews have been sorely tempted to close the book and move on. Many have indeed succumbed to that lure, hiding behind their indistinguishable, outward characteristics and melting into the population. In this day and time, until recently, some believed that civilization had risen above the venomous hatred that plagued the Jewish past.

As anti-Semitism, Islamophobia, racism, and homophobia reemerge as the pop-culture of the day, we again face that juncture where some will yield to the temptation to fade quietly into the background. Yet, the parents of the hundreds of preschool children evacuated at Jewish Community Centers this week due to bomb threats cannot silently pretend that their children’s pristine world has not been shattered. The Neo-Nazis marching against Jews in Whitefish, Montana on the Martin Luther King, Jr. holiday, will not be silent about their hatred. Toting guns, they will parade through town ready to confront any and all who flinch.

The Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. challenged each of us not to flinch in the face of hatred. He taught us to work unwaveringly for that prophetic vision, teaching:

“Courage is an inner resolution to go forward despite obstacles.
Cowardice is submissive surrender to circumstances.
Courage breeds creativity; Cowardice represses fear and is mastered by it.
Cowardice asks the question, is it safe?
Expediency asks the question, is it politic?
Vanity asks the question, is it popular?
But, conscience asks the question, is it right?”

Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
Radio Broadcast, KPFA, Santa Rita CA, January 14, 1968.

As we approach this confluence of the challenge “Chazak, Chazak, v’nitchazek;” of the commemoration of the birth of Martin Luther King, Jr; and the rise in arrogant acts of violence and blatant oppression; let us pray with all our hearts:

Chazak, Chazak, v’Nitchazek!
Give us strength, our God, from the wellspring of our heritage.
Let the Torah gird us, bidding us to stand strong in the face of the promulgation of hate.
In Whitefish, Montana, link our prayers with those from all faiths and backgrounds to replace:
Vulgarity with human dignity
The narrow-minded with the open hearted
Vanity with right
The cowardliness of submission with the creative power of courage
The destruction of hate with the healing source of love.
May this be our prayer
May this be our strength
May this be the blueprint for our deeds.

 

—

Rabbi Lucy H.F. Dinner is Chair of the Justice and Peace Committee of the Central Conference of American Rabbis, Vice Chair of the Commission on Social Action of Reform Judaism, and serves Temple Beth Or in Raleigh, NC.  This blog was originally shared by the RAC.

Categories
Rabbis

The Road Not Taken

I grew up in a loving Orthodox family in Boston.  When I was 9 years old, my world changed.  I was playing in the streets with an African-American friend at my grandparents’ home in Roxbury.  Someone came running down the street, shouting racial slurs in filthy language against my friend.   Scared, I ran into my grandparents’s house.  My father took off after the person.

At 9, I knew something was wrong in the world.  I didn’t discern it all.  I went to my Rabbi.  After I left him, I decided I wanted to become a Rabbi and do something with my life to overcome hatred and prejudice.

At 13, I tried with a lifeguard to save a 9-year old from drowning in Maine.  After he was rushed to the hospital, he was pronounced dead.  One of the doctors said to me, “Don’t worry, God wanted another young person up there.”  Right then, I stopped believing in God.  In time, I came to believe in Godliness is how we treat one another.  The only option for me was to become a Reform Liberal Rabbi, the best decision of my life.

In the 1960s, I was drawn to Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and Reverend Jesse Jackson.  I opposed the Vietnam War and marched with them.  I was drawn to suffering and those who had virtually no voice.  I went to Moscow to meet, assist, and sponsor Soviet Jews.

When I served in Miami as an assistant Rabbi, I met with gay individuals and preached a sermon in 1968, ” The Jewish Community and the Homosexual ”  It opened a door, though there were many threats against the sermon.  I have never stopped passionately supporting the LGBT community.

When Saigon fell, I traveled to Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia and met with refugees.  Rabbi Erwin Herman and I traveled with Vice President Walter Mondale to Geneva to assist with Vietnamese refugee resettlement.  The Boat People became our people.  Our own Boat People were on the St. Louis.  We went to Camp Pendleton, where I took in a family to my home.  We resettled 13 families at Temple Judea in Tarzana.  Rabbi Herman and I, with the support of Rabbi Alex Schindler and the UHAC, traveled the country to meet with our colleagues and assist them in resettling Vietnamese refugees in our Reform Congregation.

I traveled with Reverend Jesse Jackson, joining him in his quest for greater involvement in civil rights and human rights.  I joined him to speak at the 25th memorial service in Philadelphia, Mississippi in memory of Schwerner, Goodman, and Chaney.  I traveled throughout the Middle East with Rev. Jackson, meeting with Yasser Arafat, Bashar al-Assad, and leaders of Israel and Lebanon supporting peace efforts.  Our interfaith group went to Belgrade, Yugoslavia, to meet with Slobodan Milosevic to free the 3 American POWs.  We brought them home.  Our interfaith work continues, more important today than ever as Muslims, Sikhs, and other communities are the target of hatred in America.

The road not taken.  Being ordained a Rabbi 50 years ago has opened my world as a passionate, liberal Jew to make a difference.  I am blessed to have been a dreamer and realized those dreams as a Rabbi.  Never could I have imagined a life that has so fulfilled me.  No other profession could have prepared me to travel on the Road Not Taken.  The journey continues.

Today, I pursue my civil rights and human rights work with my wife, California State Controller Betty Yee, in pursuit of economic equality for all.

I thank the Hebrew Union College, Temple Israel of Greater Miami, Temple Judea in Tarzana, Kol Tikvah in Woodland Hills, and my teachers, students, and colleagues.

—

Rabbi Steven B. Jacobs is celebrating 50 years in the reform rabbinate.

Categories
News

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.

Categories
spirituality

Worship Workout: A New Year’s Resolution

There is a seemingly endless number of ways technology has encouraged good health, physical fitness, and well-being – each attempting to be our New Year’s Resolution. Gyms with apps that show how often we attend, track our workouts, set goals, and guide us to meet them. Food apps from simple calorie counters, to specific diet apps, to overall healthy eating and nutrition apps. And then, of course, there is Fitbit. The most famous device of its type, Fitbit makes a collection of wearable health devices that can track a multitude of information about one’s physical activities. In its most basic form, it is a step counter. You put on the fitbit bracelet in the morning when you wake up, and before you go to bed you check it and see how many steps you have taken. You can set a goal of reaching a certain number of steps per day (or not). You can meet the goal (or not). You can share your daily steps with others to encourage you and your friends to make and meet goals (or not).

No matter how Pavlovian a fitness app or gadget is in encouraging us to engage in behavior that will keep us healthy, at the end of the day it is on us whether we make and actually follow through on any health related New Year’s Resolution (or not).

Now maybe you had no need of a New Year’s Resolution and have already fallen down the rabbit hole of one of the many paths to physical health between SoulCycle, fancy gyms, apps and Fitbits, Class Pass, and so forth. Maybe you are deep down one of those rabbit holes, and love it. Maybe you aren’t and don’t want anything to do with any of it. Regardless of which applies to us personally, it is true that physical health is important – not just on January 1, but all year. But there is another fitness resolution that we usually aren’t bombarded with, much less our congregants. That is, our spiritual fitness. One of the reasons keeping healthy is so important is so that if something does go wrong physically, we are in the best shape to be able to handle it. So too with spiritual health – when life presents us with a crisis, having a grounded sense of Jewish identity, community, and worldview, aka “good spiritual fitness,” gives us a foundation on which to handle the chaos even tragedy that life can present us with. As rabbis we understand this intuitively, but many of our congregants don’t understand how important this bedrock is until after going through a crisis without it. Just like keeping a healthy body takes attentiveness and action, so too does keeping a healthy soul. Both require the steps of getting started and staying committed, followed by constant reward.

An easy path to a spiritual fitness through any of our synagogues is worship. Just like a Fitbit, gym, or diet, the first step is to simply start, which if our guests or members are starting from nothing can be daunting. Like getting a Fitbit for the first time and having no idea how to link it to a phone, or – and this is a personal experience – going into the gym for the first time and literally not knowing how to use any of the equipment except the pool.

I was so new to gym culture that if I hadn’t had a welcoming, pleasant experience I doubt I would still be going (even if it does have the only close lap pool with rabbi-friendly opening hours). Beginning or renewing Jewish worship engagement has the same barriers to many. We have families and individuals  whose first synagogue entrance in many years or potentially entrance ever will be through our doors, at any time, which is why a warm, inclusive, inviting experience is so important the first time and every time, else there would never be the second step: staying committed.

Any worship experience should be meaningful and effective, be it Yom Kippur, Torah Study, or an intimate Friday night chapel service. Each experience should be able to stand alone, just like any one workout will have a measured impact. But we know with physical wellness the real benefit comes from frequency, consistency, and familiarity – long term. Work outs are smoother, easier. To get there, maybe you have a workout buddy or a trainer. It is the same with pursuing a healthy Jewish spirituality. Seriously, we can ask any of our Bar/Bat Mitzvah students about how they feel at any Shabbat service after their Bar/Bat Mitzvah, versus the daunting experience of going to someone else’s Bar/Bat Mitzvah Service a year earlier when they were still in the process of learning the Hebrew prayers (with, hopefully, both personal trainers and practice buddies).

Of course, there is something that spiritual fitness offers that goes beyond what physical fitness can offer, because it is beyond the tangible. Hopefully we have felt it – that special moment where everything is just right. Maybe it’s from the music, or the Hebrew, or the community being together, or simply being relaxed…then it happens. The Zen moment. The I-Thou moment. A moment where we connect – with ourselves, with other human beings, with our understanding and/or experience of God.

A quick story. There was once a man who went to services every single Shabbat evening and Shabbat morning. Noticing this, his friend at the congregation mentioned that he must really like connecting with prayer every week. “Oh no,” the man responded, “I don’t actually connect with prayer every week. I always enjoy services, but I don’t always connect with the prayers. I can never tell if this service or that one will be one where I really feel the connection. That’s why I go every week – so when there is a moment to connect, I will be there…ready.”

For our congregants (or, gasp, for ourselves) it doesn’t have to be January 1, or even Rosh Hashanah, to be a good time for a Worship Workout Resolution to engage in and reap the benefits of a meaningful and dynamic experience of Jewish worship at a Reform temple.

—

Rabbi Jim Stoloff serves Temple Israel of the City of New York.  

This article has also been shared with the members of Temple Israel of the City of New York. 

Categories
Reform Judaism spirituality

Rabbi, I Don’t Need Religion to Be a Good Person

Rabbi Mordecai Schreiber, Celebrating 50 Years in the Rabbinate.

I cannot recall how many times over the years I’ve heard the words: “Rabbi, I don’t need religion to be a good person.” I am sure we have all heard different versions of this statement, and it probably gave us pause. As a young rabbi, it sounded to me like a copout. After all, we all are expected to strive to be good people. Religion, as I understood it and still do, has as its main goal to make us good people. Certainly, religion can be easily misused or misapplied. But the founders of the great religions taught kindness and compassion and inveighed against evil. We Jews are taught, “Do not separate yourself from the community.” What binds the community together are our shared beliefs, customs, and traditions. Being part of the community teaches us we are all responsible for one another, and provides the opportunity to help others rather than look out only for ourselves.

Looking back, however, it has become clear to me I had been too judgmental in considered this statement a copout. Instead of dismissing it as a convenient way to “separate oneself from the community,” I should have focused on the words “a good person.” No one should be scorned for wishing to be a good person. Imagine, if everyone were a good person, there would be peace in the world. I should have said to the makers of that statement, “I applaud you for striving to be a good person. This is the worthiest cause of all.” I could have then gone on to say, “You need to find the best way for you to be such a person. I, personally, find religion to be helpful for me to achieve this goal, but everyone is different.” In other words, I shouldn’t have taken it as a rebuke or a criticism of me as someone who represents religion, and let the conversation end at that.

Life, one learns over time, is an ongoing search. We all search for something, and our search takes us in many different directions. For some, interacting with a spiritual leader may be a positive experience, and for others it may be the opposite. Most difficult of all is one’s experience of God. As children we are taught to believe in a good God who cares for you and who is interested in your well-being. But our faith is constantly being put to the test. Life, even under the best of circumstances, is the school of hard knocks. As Rabbi Harold Kushner reminds us, bad things do happen to good people, leaving that person with the unanswerable question, why is God doing this to me? Losing faith in not uncommon, and it is often painful. We Jews who have experienced the greatest tragedy of our long existence in our own lifetime, have every reason to lose faith in a good and caring God. But many of us have made a conscious decision not to give up faith. “In spite of everything I continue to believe.” I believe that in the end good will prevail, no matter how difficult it may be.

I will remember next time someone says to me, “Rabbi, I don’t need religion to be a good person,” I will look kindly at that person in the eyes and utter the words I should have uttered long ago. This will definitely make me a better person.

—

Rabbi Mordecai Schreiber is celebrating fifty years as a Reform Rabbi. 

Categories
Rabbis

Fifty Years in the Reform Rabbinate

Let me begin this blog by saying that I grew up in Cincinnati, for many years the beating heart of Reform Judaism in America, attended religious high school classes at HUC, and had the Rosh Yeshivah of HUC-JIR in my family (Nelson Glueck, z’l, was my uncle. Despite all of that, I did not consider becoming a rabbi until my senior year in college. Even then, was not committed to becoming a Reform rabbi. Somehow or other, Bill Cutter, a fellow Eli, cherished friend and 3 years later an usher at my wedding, visited me and urged me to enroll at HUC-JIR. Meanwhile, I had applied to Columbia and Cornell to obtain an advanced degree in English literature in pursuit of a doctorate!

What prompted me to direct my attention to the Hebrew Union College and eventual ordination as a rabbi was my recognition that teaching was my specialty, and rather than teach an academic career, why not teach from the well-spring of my own tradition, about the people and faith I was raised in and thoroughly enjoyed. I considered applying to JTS, but was not willing to commit to the regimen of kashrut and Shabbat observance which had not been part of my upbringing. I briefly considered the Reconstructionist movement, but I knew very little about it, and didn’t particularly want to be studying in Philadelphia. In the end, I enrolled at HUC-JIR, and because I wanted to spend a year with the American Friends of the Hebrew University program in Jerusalem, my return to Cincinnati was delayed until the fall of 1962.

That said, let me address the primary assignment here: what have I learned in the course of my 50 years of service to Reform Judaism, which includes a year as a Chaplain resident at Johns Hopkins Hospital, six years as a prison chaplain to Jewish inmates, and nearly six years as the Spiritual Director of an Assisted Living and Memory Care facility?

I have learned what wonderful resources my colleagues are and how willing they are to respond to my inquiries. Even now, in retirement, I frequently communicate with colleagues when questions arise.

I have learned how many people, congregants and others, are willing to embrace a new rabbi who is ready to listen to what they have to say, and who doesn’t judge them in any way, or make them feel guilty.

I have learned how difficult it is in some settings to persuade a Temple Board to “do the right thing,” and how important it is to be cool-headed when others are upset.

I have learned that there are many satisfactions about being a rabbi in a large congregation, and at least as many satisfactions about being the rabbi of a small congregation.

I have learned how important it is to keep in touch with everyone in the community you serve, as much as is physically possible to do so, and attend to the needs of congregants facing medical or other issues.

I have learned that studying the weekly Torah portion with congregants can be an exalting experience, and that each year, the portion yields new insights.

What have I accomplished?

I have helped many, many people to become more serious about their Jewish beliefs and practices and more willing to make the synagogue an important part of their lives.

I have created meaningful liturgies for hatching, matching, and dispatching Jewish individuals and families.

I have made meaningful connections with other clergy in almost every community that I have served, especially in Long Beach and State College.
I led Passover Sedarim in Catholic and Protestant settings every year. I was also involved with the AIDS community in a city with several AIDS hospices, performing Bar Mitzvahs and conducting funerals for this beleaguered community, often rejected by their own families.

I helped to de-segregate the Long Beach school system by serving on a citywide committee specifically for that purpose. And while I was in Long Beach I was very active in interfaith work, and in addressing the challenge of teenage pregnancy. I also was closely connected with the local Hospice program, and involved with the conversion of scores of applicants.
During my “final” pulpit assignment in Winchester, Virginia, working with clergy, the pharmacy and nursing department of Shenandoah University as well as the American Cancer Society, I created a weeklong program to address the challenges of cancer in the community. It was a profound learning experience for me, the acme of my professional life beyond the pulpit.

I have helped people understand the difference between healing, which can be accomplished in almost any circumstance, and “curing,” which is a different matter entirely, and will not always be possible.

I have created a significant set of strategies to assist older people through the challenges of aging, and more strategies to help them acknowledge, and then celebrate the last chapter of their lives sand the journey that follows death.

I have learned to accept my own failings and missteps, and, though I can still do better, I have learned to stop judging other people’s behavior, because I don’t know that I would have acted any differently than they have done, given their situation.

What I am looking forward to:

The first thing I am looking forward to is spending more quality time with my four children, their spouses, and my grandchildren, who live in Alexandria, VA and Basking Ridge, New Jersey. Everything else is second to that. And I remain active in several clubs, local interfaith work, and doing a lot of reading of biographies of famous people. I also have a subscription with the Folger Shakespeare library to attend at least 3 plays a year in D.C., plus lots of musical events at our local University, and our really terrific Museum of the Shenandoah Valley.

And now that I have become a retired Reform rabbi, I look forward to each day’s opportunities and challenges, and meeting annually with other NAORRR members where we can continue to address both personal and Reform Jewish priorities. I keep in touch, by phone or email, or both, with scores of people I’ve met along the way, always being exalted in the conversations. I look forward to making people laugh, because laughter is good for the soul and the body.

I have developed a series of strategies to deal with aging, and a year ago presented a shiur on “strategies to achieve a happy ending”. My approach now is as follows: when the malach ha-mavet knocks on my door, I will invite him/her in for schnapps!

—

Rabbi Jonathan Brown is celebrating 50 years in the rabbinate. 

 

Categories
spirituality

Sitting With the Unknown: Continual Revelation of the Not-Yet Revealed

I have a quote on my bathroom vanity that reads, “I have no idea what’s going to happen, and I love it!”  In the middle there is a stick person with his hands triumphantly in the air.  Care to guess how many times I have exclaimed back to this piece of paper, “I do not love it!  I do not love it??!”

I framed this quote and its invitation to sit with the unknown precisely because, it is so, so difficult! We want the comfort of believing that we determine our destiny, or if we do X, Y, and Z this way, we will get what we want.  And while many of our actions shape our fate in profound ways, more often than not, we cannot control what happens to us or our loved ones.

There are some whose faith holds that God has a plan for them, and this is the reassurance that they need in times of uncertainty.  And yet, there are also many of us who do not believe the Eternal directly intervenes in human affairs, or that the Divine is even capable of intervening.  In fact, the Torah goes to great lengths to reassure the searching Jew that skepticism is healthy, legitimate, and even cele­brated in Jewish life.[1]  Rabbi Daniel Gordis asks, “Why does Ju­daism validate doubt? Judaism takes doubt seriously because it takes people seriously.  It recognizes that if Jewish life is to touch us, then it has to meet us where we are. That “place,” Jewish tradition understands, is often a place of bewilderment, of hurt, of skepticism.[2]

And yet, this place of bewilderment or skepticism also invites us to unite with the Eternal.  Reaching out to the Transcendent in moments of uncertainty is deeply Jewish. Our relationship with the Divine Mystery is not supposed to be easy blind faith.

Judaism doesn’t ask us to deny our doubts or fears.  Instead, it invites us to feel God’s presence precisely in these challenging moments.  Bringing mindfulness to these moments offers a helpful path through the struggle.  When we feel powerless, the practice of gratitude can open our hearts connecting us to the simple and profound—our ability to see the light glinting off a tree’s verdant leaves or feel the cool sweetness of a breeze across our face, or to taste the sweetness of a summer peach.

Acceptance of the present moment is another mindfulness practice. It requires patience and strength to sit with discomfort because we do not always know when our thoughts or circumstances will change. Practicing acceptance while sitting with discomfort or the unknown invites us to move into the Divine Mystery even as the unknown scares us. We are afraid things will never change even though we know things always change!  To master our fear, we tell stories and make explanations. However, it can be more skillful to let go of knowing.  Freedom comes with surrender to the unknown.

Martin Buber teaches, “the world is not comprehensible but it is embraceable.”  We do not always need to know how things will turn out, instead we can focus on how we respond in the moment. We can only feel the Divine when we are truly present.  God does not appear when we are worrying about the future, God is manifest in moments when we inhabit the here and now.

Sometimes we cannot summon tools to sit with the unknown, move into the mystery, or connect with gratitude. Sometimes, we are lost in a downward spiral.  If we are able to reach out to our friends, teachers, colleagues, and fellow seekers in these moments, they remind us that this is only temporary.  We have had other challenging moments and will again. They remind us that while the darkness may feel stifling or terrifying, it will shift.  They reassure us that they have been there too; moments of unknown darkness are part of the experience of being human.

We may draw solace in the thought that the Divine weeps with us too sometimes.  God is present in our tears and fear.  With this consolation, we are no longer alone. Here we find peace in the unknown.

The Sefat Emet, a nineteenth century Hasidic rabbi, claimed that the destiny of the Jewish people lies precisely in our openness to the continual revelation of the not-yet-revealed.  The constant quest is openness to the Mystery.  Openness to the unknown.  And we can choose for it to be terrifying and miserable.  Or we can use it as an invitation to feel God’s presence—from gratitude, remaining present, and communal support.

There will probably be many more times when I will holler at the stick figure on my bathroom vanity.  In these times, my thoughts will be projecting all sorts of terrible possibilities in the future, or that a particular situation feels intolerable.  Instead, may these moments open us to the continual revelation of the not-yet-revealed– with patience, with acceptance, and with wonder.

—

Rabbi Jessica Kessler Marshall joyously serves Temple Beth Or in Everett, Washington.

 

[1] http://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/from-belief-to-faith/

[2] Ibid.

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Rabbis

My Rabbinate at 50 years

The gift of being a Rabbi was not a conscious decision but rather a tender and loving commandment “This is what you will do!”  This “command” came from the unknown, yet illuminated depths of my soul.

My life was not to be in medicine, as I had previously thought, but to be a servant to my people, Israel.

The more I came to know myself,  the more compassion,empathy, honor and respect I had for those I was privileged to serve.  I chose to be an advocate for choice, acceptance and love; an enemy of rejection, authoritarianism and control.

My rabbinate was nurtured by my spiritual father, Ellis Rivkin who opened up worlds to me too numerous to mention; opening my soul to the supernal and material. His understanding of the dynamics of Jewish and human history as an ever changing balance between preservation, adaptation and mutation grounded in the Principle of Unity in Diversity was and remains the leitmotif of my career.

So, my rabbinate from ordination to now was to welcome the different,encourage diversity and encourage and embrace novelty. My commitment to Jewish tomorrows demanded of me to embrace what was repulsed and rejected for decades by our Jewish community.  Thankfully that is changing.

Serving Temple Sholom for 28 years was a gift filled with blessings and love.

But no blessing is greater than my wife, Ann.  Her love, nurture and support have sustained me to today. She is my life! Our children, grandchildren, and great grandsons keep our cup of life filled to the brim.

As I confront the ever present reality of mortality and discover other dimensions of my soul  now coming to light, I say with joy and gratitude my life has been a Shehecheyanu.

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Rabbi Mayer Selekman serves as Rabbi Emeritus of Temple Sholom in Broomall, PA.  He is celebrating 50 years in the rabbinate.