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.

Categories
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.

—

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

Categories
Books High Holy Days Prayer

Mishkan HaLev: Trying the New S’lichot Service

I am sitting in the Metropolitan Opera House waiting for my favorite moment.  Those majestic crystal chandeliers start rising high into the sky and the spotlight reveals an elegantly attired conductor.  The house goes silent, the baton lifts, and the orchestra begins.  The sounds of the music go straight into the hearts of the 3,800 people who are enraptured.  This is my favorite moment:  the overture.

S’lichot is the overture for our High Holy Days and my favorite part of the holiday.  With sadness, I wrestle with the fact that roughly 0.001% of my congregation is present for the overture.  Would those same congregants walk into the Metropolitan Opera House late?  I have to wonder.

How could we draw more people to be present for S’lichot?  Yes, I know.  It’s the food.  Bring them in with food.  But even food won’t keep them there and wanting to come back.  Neither will a good performance.  They can go elsewhere for good food and good performances. We can only hold them with what we do best:  focus on meaning, tradition, faith, and a touching of that spot in the heart where no one else can go.product_image-4

When the chance came to pilot the CCAR’s new prayerbook for Elul and S’lichot, I jumped.  My biggest challenge was going to be bowing out of the regional S’lichot service that had been a tradition for years, notwithstanding that it was a tradition that, if the feet do the judging, was not working for us because no one came.  The opportunity to pilot the prayerbook for Elul and S’lichot was my chance to make a radical change and offer our own S’lichot service.  Our Cantor was game to try it.  Our Ritual Committee was game to try it.  We decided to try it.  One benefit of our regional S’lichot was that our lack of participants wasn’t so noticeable, but if no one came this time it would be patently obvious for all to see.  But they did come.  And I am convinced that Mishkan HaLev is why they will come again next year.

The overriding reason why Mishkan HaLev works is that it is rooted in joy.  The season is so somber and the work so heavy, how refreshing it is to begin our overture for the High Holy Days in joy.  We actually celebrate the fact that we can change our lives.  The name of the prayerbook – Mishkan HaLev – promises a connection to the other Mishkan prayerbooks in our lives, but also the focus on the heart.  Mishkan HaLev focuses us on the joyful heart.

I am privileged to work with an awesome cantor.  He and I read through the pilot copy together.  We read it out loud with just each other.  We agreed that our purpose was not a concert by cantor or choir.  There was far too much material to utilize, so we had to edit ourselves down.  We were able to do so by noting the individual movements of the service: Havdalah, Entering the Gates of S’lichot, the Promise of Forgiveness, the Path of Return, the B’rit of Compassion and the Call of the Shofar.  We chose our selections from each of these sections to provide balance and direction for the service.  We chose musical selections that we wanted to teach prior to Rosh HaShanah and those that would be familiar and make the heart beat faster.

God bless the Yehuda Amichai poetry throughout the prayerbook.  How does he do it?  A profound tying of the ancient and the modern and a message that jumps out and hits you on the head without being moralistic or pendantic.  “From the place where we are right…” is but one example.  The appearance of that poem alone makes Mishkan HaLev worthwhile.

Praying with a prayerbook that we knew was not yet “cast in stone,” was part of the excitement.  Like our human selves who were present because of the possibility of changing ourselves, so too the draft prayerbook.  How will the draft version continue to change before going to the printer?  I don’t know.  I hope there may be more chatimot following English readings to better connect them to the original Hebrew prayers, and I hope that layout decisions may afford the opportunity, as in Mishkan T’filah, for the open spread to all reflect one body of work with the more traditional on the right and the interpretive on the left.

But most significantly:  I believe that Mishkan HaLev helps to open our hearts to the tasks at hand.  I saw it with my own eyes and our synagogue has already put in its order for the printed version.  It will be in our hands to open the gates of 5778.

—

Rabbi Stacy Offner serves Temple Beth Tikvah in Madison, CT.

CCAR Press offers special pre-publication discounts for Mishkan HaLev.  A preview of Mishkan HaLev is now available!

Learn more about the book on our website.  The order form for large orders can be found here.

Categories
Israel News

The Mistaken Equivalency of Anti-Semitism and Anti-Zionism

National blue and white flag of Israel outdoors

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

Categories
News

Let The Optimism In You Die Hard

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

 

Categories
News

Why I Wear a Yarmulke

Photo Credit: Rick Karp

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

Categories
News

Reflections on 50 Years in the Rabbinate

Because my classmates and are celebrating our 50th year in the rabbinate, it’s not at all surprising that I find myself in a reflective mood.

After all, a half of a century seems to be a very long time in most of our lives; and, thinking about so much which has happened to us – individually and collectively – since Dr. Nelson Glueck declared that we were ready to serve as rabbis during our unforgettable Ordination Service at Cincinnati’s Plum Street Temple in 1967, it is only natural that most of us are experiencing a torrent of memories washing over us right now.

Ever since Dale Panoff advised all of us that the CCAR plans to honor us during its annual gathering this coming March in Atlanta, over and over again two related questions have surfaced from the depths of my very being:

“Have I used the rabbinate as a vocational vehicle to propel me from one opportunity to another in my determined desire to serve God, our unique Jewish people, and so many of God’s other wondrous peoples?”

“Or, did the rabbinate use me to play a number of extraordinary roles in a quest to enhance the totality of my own life while I have been engaged in trying to lift up adults and children whom I’ve encountered in those congregations I’ve led and in communities which have been allowed me to shine a light into some very dark places throughout this journey that has thus far spanned 50 years?

I may have thought that I was in total control of my career/vocation; however, when I carefully consider its constant twists and turns I am left with the realization that nothing has happened either solely under my direction or merely by happenstance.

Instead, the road which I’ve traveled was really not only of my own choosing but it has been influenced by a confluence of sacred and secular forces, as well as by a variety of challenging situations that I’ve encountered along the way.

During this half-century – particularly when my heart and mind have been open to all kinds of possibilities – the rabbinate has permitted me to be emotionally, intellectually and spiritually grow and to clearly see the world as it really is.

It has been then when I have enthusiastically responded to the needs of a vast array of persons and groups, and when I have been constantly emboldened by the ultimate realization that I have been doing work assigned to me by God.

Have there been times of confusion, of disappointment, of exhaustion? Of course!

But, most often they have occurred at those times when I have failed to energize my better self or when I have tried to satisfy some superficial ego need instead of being totally in touch with my reality and remembering that what I must do is to actualize some potential – mine and/or other folks.

Of uppermost importance have been those young people and adults who have turned to me for guidance, support, and a clear vision of what they and I are able to achieve when we keep our cooperative efforts viable and exclusively focused on an assortment of worthy end goals.

At the heart of what I began to become 50 years ago was essentially the beginning of an evolving affirmation; it has been rooted in the belief that all of us, dear colleagues, have been ennobled by the teachings and demands of Judaism’s biblical and contemporary prophets – those consistent advocates of human rights and social justice, who – according to Abraham Joshua Heschel – taught those who would listen to them that “the self is not the hub but the spoke of a revolving wheel.”

I have witnessed how that wheel is constantly propelling all of us towards a better tomorrow. And, I have been reminded over and over again that ours is the responsibility to make sure that – without exception – it is used to convey each and all of God’s progeny to a place where an abundance of blessings awaits us whenever we give evidence that we deserve them.

So, reflecting on everything that has occurred during this span of a half-century – even when I never for a moment ignore those losses which I have been forced to sustain – if you were to ask me: “Allen, how are you?” without hesitation, my instantaneous response is: “I am blessed!”

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Rabbi Allen I. Freehling serves as Rabbi Emeritus at University Synagogue in Los Angeles, California and is celebrating 50 years in the rabbinate.

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News

Post-Election Reflection

I’ve had a few weeks to reflect since our post-election call; I imagine you all have.  I have experienced a heightened awareness of something I feel at a lower level the rest of the time, and that is the knowledge that there are times I miss being on the bimah and there are times I don’t.  This is one of those times where I do – and I don’t.   I miss the sense of exciting opportunity but not the dread of momentous responsibility that rests heavily on rabbinic shoulders at a time like this.  This post-election moment continues to be a wonderful-terrible time to be a rabbi.  It’s wonderful because people need us; ditto for terrible.

Let’s start with wonderful.  Most rabbis are kol bos.  Because we are called upon to do many different things and may even do many different things well, we often feel an amorphous sense of purpose.  We look at other colleagues who seem to have found a particular visionary path – those we think of as a social action rabbi, a scholarly rabbi, a pastoral rabbi, or an entrepreneurial rabbi – and we find ourselves wishing for a similarly defined objective.  This kind of thinking  (largely a fantasy) often devolves into an excuse for the self-punishing question, “How come they have it figured out and I don’t?”

Well, this may just be the moment you’ve been wishing for (and yes, I know what they say about getting what you wish for).  If you have ever longed for a clear definable purpose, you have it now.  You don’t have to consider yourself a “specialist rabbi” to find a renewed sense of mission in the days ahead.

That doesn’t mean that it is clear exactly how you should carry out that mission.  That specific decision will depend upon who you are and what the needs and desires of your constituency might be. This is not an emergency although our feelings may be urgent.  An emergency requires instantaneous response; we have time to consider our next step. It also makes no sense to think that every rabbi will or should take the same path. But it does make sense to start thinking and talking about your own possible courses of action.

What principles should you keep in mind in figuring out where you want to focus your own energies?

First, we all know the usual difficulties of finding committed volunteers. We often grumble as we find ourselves doing what we had hoped our laypeople would do. What’s different now is that our laypeople have been roused to action by this election.  We have a chance to partner with them in choosing a course of action.  This means that we need not take on the burden of changing the world alone; it may start with us but it can’t end there.  Adding more to our plates is not a long-term solution; finding a genuine sharing is the goal.

Second, we have an opportunity to widen the Jewish tent. If we can publicize our plans to make a difference in the world, we might draw people to our communities who previously have seen no purpose to organized religious communities. We can show them the power of community in a new and real way.

Third, we have constituents who disagree with us. That isn’t a problem if they are making themselves heard in ways that are appropriate. Working with people who are cooperative is something we do well. It’s when we are working with the uncooperative that we run into trouble.  Some people really do desire to talk; others simply seem to be discharging aggression with us as the target.  It’s important to find a way to relate to these more aggressive people without letting ourselves be abused on the one hand or responding aggressively on the other.  The best response for us is to avoid “fight or flight” and instead hold our ground and choose to engage.  We can say things like: What should happen if you and I disagree? Why should that be what happens? Could something else happen? Should we agree on everything? How could that be possible?

Fourth, whatever your feelings might be, you can’t let them get in the way of the task at hand.  Yes, you need to be in the moment and have your feelings.  But it’s also important to keep the future in mind at the same time. As the rabbis did centuries ago, we have a religious mandate to dwell in both places, balancing today’s concerns with planning for those of tomorrow.

And finally, find a place where you can speak your truth in an unfettered way (RavBlog is a good place to start).  One of the challenges of being a rabbi involves knowing when to speak and when to stay silent, how to say things and to whom.  No one can operate with that level of self-restraint every moment of every day. Find those safe places where you can feel relieved of that responsibility even just for the moment.

Many of us felt such overwhelming grief in the aftermath of the election that we used the analogy of death and shivah.  Our intention was never to trivialize grief, although some mourners heard it that way.  Having had a few weeks to sit with this, I prefer now to use the language of loss.  We grieve losses the way we grieve death to some degree.  Yet while this election may carry some sense of finality, it is not final like death. It is hard to escape the fear of more losses to come. We need to plan for them.

Buy that parcel of land in Anatot. Lead with hope for the future.

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Rabbi Lewis is a certified psychoanalyst in private practice in Bernardsville, NJ, and New York City. She is a member of the Society of Modern Psychoanalysts  and the National Association for the  Advancement of Psychoanalysis.