Categories
chaplains General CCAR Healing Rabbis Reform Judaism

On the Eve of Thanksgiving, Further Post-Election Reflections

On this eve of Thanksgiving, I am reflecting deeply and with profound movement of spirit and heart upon two weeks of listening, processing and holding the feelings raised by the election. In my role with the CCAR, it was a tremendous privilege to help organize the call we offered to our members and to share in the leadership of that call with our insightful, skilled and heart-open colleague, Ellen Lewis. All that Ellen taught us that day has remained present to me in the passage of these weeks and has helped immensely. To summarize a couple of key points, Ellen reminded us to be attentive to the truth of our own feelings and to remember that those feelings can inform how we act but need not control our actions. She invited us to self-care and compassion, and to hold close the knowledge that, in times of heighted feelings (particularly anger, fear and anxiety), we are all prone – and this includes those we serve – to acting out and displacement. I know those teachings will have proven helpful to those who were on the call (or who availed themselves of the recording as found at on the CCAR member’s site) as they have to me.

Upon reflection, I have a couple of additional thoughts to offer, particularly to those who have been in pain over the results. First, I have felt and noticed heard people speak of feelings that resemble those of mourning. And I would caution us against buying too fully into that metaphor. As many of us know from pastoral work, when someone is gravely – even life-threateningly ill – it is not uncommon for people to slip into anticipatory grief. It is almost as though the psyche is saying, “If I just experience the anger or the sadness now, maybe I won’t fall into despair when the inevitable death happens.” And it is a dangerous place to go. Chevre, the patient(s), our own souls and the soul of our country are gravely wounded, but the wounds have not yet proven fatal nor even been pronounced mortal. As was the case after 9/11, certain ideas we had about how things were may well have died two weeks ago, or at least been seriously altered. But we are here, as is the nation. We need to avoid falling into the anticipatory grief which will prevent us from doing whatever is to be our tikkun in responding to the wounds.

And one piece of the tikkun – in the framework of Rebbe Nachman’s teaching, especially on this eve of Thanksgiving, we can be looking for the od m’at (see Psalm 37) – the little place where evil/despair/rage do not hold sway, and from that little place “azamra l’Elohai b’odi” (Psalm 146) sing our way into inviting abundance back into the world – abundance of love, of hope and of commitment to justice. On this Thanksgiving, may the little place sing to each of us and help us inch our way toward healing and sacred purpose. And then, back to the work.

Rabbi Rex Perlmeter is CCAR Special Advisor for Member Care and Wellness

Categories
Books shabbat

Creating Holy Moments

A way to deepen the Shabbat experience involves less talking and more silence—something focused more internally. It is a practice called mindfulness. The following essay, exerpted from Gates of Shabbat, Revised Edition, explores how mindfulness can be part of your Shabbat practice.

 

Be Like God

The opening narrative in the Book of Genesis introduces us to a hard-working and busy God, creating the entire world, according to the Torah, in just six days. The Book of Exodus introduces us to another aspect of God’s identity. Here the Torah reminds us, “On the seventh day [God] ceased from work and was refreshed” (Exodus 31:17). The Hebrew words of this verse, bayom hashvi-i shavat vayinafash, are part of the V’shamru prayer sung on Friday night; they are also used to introduce the Kiddush on Shabbat morning.asset_image

The words tell us about God and speak to the human condition as well. They suggest that on the seventh day, we can be like God. We can become still; we can settle in, breathe deeply, and be refreshed. The rituals for the Shabbat table blessings are built around the Torah’s suggestion that God’s actions on the seventh day of creation are a model for all of us—men and women, teenagers, and even children. Work six days with a full heart at whatever you do and then stop. Stop and do something godlike, shavat vayinafash, sit still and breathe, become refreshed, and then return to the sacred work that fills our days, expressing creativity, working for freedom, repairing a broken world.

 

The Invitation

Shabbat is an invitation to slow down, to become more mindful of your self and your place in creation. The table blessings and rituals are tools to help make the transition from busy to not. It can be challenging to accept this sacred invitation, which is why it helps to keep the following in mind:

  • Slowing down is important.
  • Silence is good.
  • Posture makes a difference.
  • Any attempt at prayer is enough.
  • Even smiling helps!

Accepting the invitation to Shabbat and preparing to celebrate at the table can help us change pace and enable us to pay attention to how we move our bodies, use our breath, and quiet our minds. It’s a tiny taste of how we could live our lives, more attuned to the natural world, with greater connections to other people and greater awareness of God’s example.

 

Your Preparation

Even the physical act of setting out the candlesticks, the Kiddush cup, and the challah can help you begin to move into Shabbat with intention. The mindfulness meditations, which are offered along with the Home Service, can lead you further. You might try using one each week; perhaps do the same one for a few weeks in a row, or rotate them at other times. Some Fridays the process will feel right. You’ll know it has “worked.” Other times you may have less success. Remember that it is a practice, so we keep practicing, being grateful when we succeed and forgiving ourselves when we don’t.

 

Creating the Moment—Even Before Saying the Blessings

Experiment with the following steps when your friends and family arrive at the table ready to welcome Shabbat.

Stand with your feet planted about shoulders’ width apart. (This can also be done by those who

choose to remain seated.) This is a sturdy and deliberate stance.

Push your shoulders down and lengthen your spine to actually feel taller.
Close your eyes in order to focus better on your breath. If that is uncomfortable, just lower your

gaze to give everyone at the table some privacy.

Unclench your jaw, and loosen the muscles around your mouth.

Take one or two or even three long, slow, deep cleansing breaths in and out—inhaling so

deeply that you can actually feel your heart lift and ribs rise in your chest. It’s good to hear the sound of the breath, making its way from the world into the body and out again.

Open your eyes or raise your gaze.

Smile.

Turn to the Home Service or one of the readings or meditations in Gates of Shabbat.

Read aloud—slowly, very slowly—paying attention to the pause of each comma, the rest after

each period, the open space between each paragraph.

When you are done reading, pause again—counting to five in your head. There is no rush.

Take another deep breath in and out.
Smile again.
Notice how Shabbat has arrived.

Shavat vayinafash. Now you are into the moment. Hold an image or a word in your mind and then . . . then it is time, depending on which meditation you are using, to strike the match, raise the Kiddush cup, or remove the cover from the challah and begin to bless.

—

Mark Dov Shapiro is Rabbi Emeritus of Sinai Temple in Springfield, MA. He is the editor of Gates of Shabbat, Revised Edition, published in 2016 by CCAR Press.

Excerpted from Gates of Shabbat, Revised Edition, edited by Rabbi Mark Dov Shapiro and published in 2016 by CCAR Press.

 

Categories
Reform Judaism Social Justice

Standing as Witness and Capable Ally in Voter Protection

Today is Election Day. Along with my wife, colleagues at The Temple Rabbis Peter Berg, Loren Filson Lapidus, Lydia Medwin, an inspiringly large number of our congregants, Reform rabbis and other Jewish leaders from across North America, including CCAR’s own Rabbi Steve Fox, I am in Macon, Georgia, to partner with the Lawyers’ Committee for Civil Rights Under Law to provide non-partisan election protection. We will be in the field to monitor polls to ensure that those who desire to vote are able to cast their ballots for their candidate of choice, freely exercising their Constitutional right to vote. Our work is part of the Religious Action Center’s Nitzavim campaign, a national voter rights initiative of our movement’s Racial Justice Campaign.

What I say about all of this work is simply an incredulous, “Really?!” In 2016, is the freedom to vote still an issue? Why yes, my dear, sheltered, Northern California boy, the unfettered right to vote is still in peril and a cloud of voter suppression tactics with racist overtones hangs above Macon.

Here in Atlanta at The Temple, we have been working within our own version of the RAC’s Reflect/Relate/Reform model. Responding to our congregation’s call to honor our legacy of the Civil Rights Movement by getting current on racial inequality and working harder and smarter to create a just society for all, we spent the better part of the past summer and into the fall doing difficult and sometimes painful reflective work. It has not been easy to own up to our own implicit biases, racism, and our failures to stand as witness and inabilities to act as capable allies and I suspect we have a ways to go. I know I do. Truth be told, six months ago I do not believe we would been able to see or have been able to respond to race-based threats of voter disenfranchisement. But the threats are real.

Since the Supreme Court’s decision in Shelby v. Holder no longer requires certain jurisdictions to demonstrate to either the Attorney General or a federal court in Washington, D.C., that any proposed voting change is not discriminatory before that change can be implemented, we are now living in a society in which a core measure of the Voting Rights Act has been undone. We now can see better what we could not have seen before we undertook this work. Much of today’s racism flourishes because for too long we acted like the Civil Rights Movement was a singular and eternal victory for righteousness and that the problems, inequalities, and injustices of today were not based on racist, discriminatory, and under the guise of modern colorblindness, legal practices.

We have a long road ahead of us to fulfill the vision of the Beloved Community, but we are walking together in partnership with each other and with churches and organizations representing and led by people of color. I could not be more proud of the Reform Movement’s awakening to racial inequality and as we head to Macon to fulfill our commitment, I know with every ounce of my being that our work will be on the right side of history.

—

Rabbi David Spinrad serves The Temple in Atlanta, Georgia. 

Categories
Reform Judaism Social Justice

Nitzavim: Standing Up for Voter Protection and Participation

As we approach the Presidential election this Tuesday, I think we are all experiencing a bit of fatigue.  The stakes certainly seem high to all of us in Ohio.  Whereas election news is garnering a lot of air time and thought time everywhere, in Ohio, the election has become an entity unto itself.  When I moved back to Cincinnati 12 years ago from Massachusetts, I realized the kind of weight and responsibility of living and leading in a “swing state.”  In Massachusetts, we never saw commercials or billboards for the Presidential election.  In Ohio, one is inundated with political ads.  It is exhausting.  At times, it is disheartening.  But, we might also look at this election as a time to lift up voices and to listen.  To speak and to hope.

Through our congregation’s involvement with our movement’s Nitzavim campaign to Stand Up for Voter Participation and Protection, we have come to understand that this election can be a time to try to understand our neighbors, to open up dialogue with those who might be different than us.  We are looking at this election as a springboard to build relationships across denominations, religions, race and class so that we might uplift every voice. We are building opportunities and coalitions as we get out the vote and volunteer to monitor polls.

For those of us who have been concerned about racial injustice in our country, this election will be a touchstone.  I will vote in Cincinnati, which has been identified as an area most at risk for voter suppression.  This election is our opportunity to face some of our own biases and our neighbors’ and to stand up for the right to vote as well as exercising our own obligation to be part of the political process.  As Rabbi Yitzhak taught, “A ruler is not to be appointed unless the community is first consulted” (Babylonian Talmud Berachot 55a).  Our democracy will be measured by access to the polls in the inner cities and by the desire to make a difference.

Our tradition challenges us to embrace pluralism, even when it is difficult; even in a “purple” state.  Tosefta Sotah 7:7 teaches, “Make for yourself a heart of many rooms.”  On November 9th, this will be the real goal for all of us.  We should be like Hillel, who always respected and uplifted Shammai’s voice despite their disagreements.  The Talmud teaches that the halacha followed Hillel because “Beit Hillel were kindly and modest, they studied their own rulings and those of Beit Shammai, and were even so humble as to mention the actions of Beit Shammai before theirs” (Bablylonian Talmud Eruvin 13b).

In Ohio, we pray that we argue and vote for the sake of heaven.  But we challenge ourselves to move past this election with humility, kindness and respect.  And we dream of hearts of many rooms, moving together to lift all voices.  That is the true obligation and responsibility of this Election Day and the days to follow.

—

Rabbi Sigma F. Coran serves Rockdale Temple in Cincinnati, Ohio.

Categories
News Social Justice

A Vote For, or a Vote Against

Something strange has happened this election year.  Instead of focusing on how uniquely qualified, informed, compassionate, and passionate the candidates are, both Republican and Democratic parties have been hoping people will vote for their candidate as a vote “against” the other.

This is not what any of us want.

We want to hear about the candidates gifts, about their visions, about the work they are already doing on behalf of the American people.  We want to be inspired, uplifted, and above all else we want to feel proud of our nominee.

It reminds me of Noah.  The Torah tells us three things about Noah: he “walked with God”, he was “blameless in his generation”, and that God found that Noah “alone has been found righteous before Me in this generation.”

Over the years, many rabbis have noticed the qualifier in that statement “in this generation,” and have asked, “If Noah lived in a different generation, would he still have been considered righteous?”  In other words – was God’s choice to save Noah a vote for him, or just a vote against the other guys?  Was Noah truly a righteous person, or did he merely look good in comparison to the corrupt, violent and lawless community he was living amongst?  Noah is often compared to Abraham.  When Abraham learned that God was going to destroy the corrupt towns of Sodom and Gomorrah, Abraham fought for them, even saying to God “Far be it from You to do such a thing, to wipe away the righteous along with the wicked!” Noah is not depicted as arguing with God, as warning the people to repent, or as Rabbi Berechia questions, Noah did not even pray for his generation to be saved and repent.

As Rabbi Mordechai Yaffe (Levush he-Ora) put it so bluntly, “His righteousness bore the stamp of mediocrity.”

Moreover, while there is something to say for someone who remains “blameless” in a time of corruption, is being “blameless” all it takes to be righteous?  Or do we expect a righteous person to do more?  Be proactive?

Peter Singer, professor at Princeton University, author, and utilitarian philosopher argues that to be truly righteous, we must be actively seeking opportunities to do good.  For Singer, it is not enough to “do no harm,” we have to do good.

Many in our country are voting for a candidate because they did not do something the other candidate is accused of doing.

How about what they have done? Pirke Avot teaches us that a truly wise person, someone who truly loves Torah, their deeds will be greater than their wisdom (3:9).  This teaches us that if you really want to know who someone is, don’t listen to their wisdom.  We can all be taught to give the polished answer, the one that will impress – but that answer doesn’t mean anything unless it is backed up by deeds.  You want to know who to vote for?  Our rabbinic masters are saying – look at their deeds – what have they done to back up the wisdom they are spouting?

18th century Chasidic master Rabbi Elimelech of Lizensk tells a beautiful story that illustrates two kinds of righteous people.  Imagine a freezing winter.  In this freezing winter, one righteous person is compared to someone who wraps themselves in a fur coat, therefore keeping themselves warm and protected from the harmful elements.  This is the person who does no harm.  They are not hurting anyone else, they are doing the right thing for themselves, and they are kept warm and protected.   But there is a second righteous person.  This individual collects wood and builds a fire.  They warm themselves and invite others to gather round.  This is the person who seeks to do good.  This is a person who is not only concerned with their own righteousness, but with that of others.

Noah had a chance to warn the people, but didn’t.  He still did what he was told to do, he still built an arc, gathered either 2 or 7 of all living creatures, and he is still a righteous man.  But we have had better leaders, leaders like Abraham who fought for Sodom and Gomorrah, leaders like Moses who plead to save the Jewish people from both Pharaoh and from God’s wrath.

And so, who are you voting for?  Are you voting for someone simply because of what they did not do?  Is your vote a begrudging vote?  Or are you voting for someone because of the good they have already done, because their deeds are at least as great, if not greater, than their words?

Either way, I pray that you vote.  I voted early this year.  I voted for a candidate that I am incredibly proud of, and would be proud to call my president.  As I left the voting booth, I said a shechechianu:  Our praise to You, Eternal our God, Sovereign of all: for giving us life, sustaining us, and enabling us to reach this election season.

—

Rabbi Rachel G. Greengrass serves Temple Beth Am in Pinecrest, Florida      

Categories
Torah

Cheshvan: Rehearsal in Honoring the Mundane

Synagogues are failing in the most subtle of ways. Under the guise of being supportive and loving communities we have made every effort to be there at times when we are needed the most. And, for the most part, we have been successful. We understand sadness, greeting mourners with compassion, visiting friends when they take ill. We also thrive in moments of joy. We dance with wedding couples, and take off from work to attend our neighbor’s son’s bris.

Yet, the problem with these moments is that though they punctuate our lives but do not define them. Much more of our time is spent between peak experiences, not in them. As important as the death of a parent, the birth of child, the loss of a job, or the finding of love is, these are the low hanging fruit of a supportive community. A community that is truly supportive, open, and present, must learn to embrace the mundane alongside the summits and valley of existence.

Lucky for us, we just began the month of Cheshvan. Cheshvan is a rehearsal in honoring the mundane. By containing no holidays, the month is replete with slight highs and subtle lows and it has a tremendous amount to teach us about how we can give honor to experiences that we too often neglect but that nevertheless define our lives, a lesson that most Jewish communities could learn from.

Cheshvan honors the struggle we face during cycles of growth and decay.

In ancient days the month of Cheshvan was called by the name Bul which was understood as a pun by Rashi: fall is time when grass withers (in Hebrew Baleh). Though we know that spring will come and the grass will be renewed, our ancestors chose to honor the fact that every cycle must have a nadir. Cheshvan forces us to ask the question: do we do enough to honor the subtle cycles of our lives: the stress of the accountant in April or the teacher in August, the anxiety our high-school seniors as they work to figure out where they will attend college, the health conditions that tend to flare up from time to time and then go away on their own. Though not nearly as acute as a loss or terminal illness, our Jewish communities need to name these stresses and provide rituals and outlets for those dealing with them.

Cheshvan honors the expected but no less miraculous events of living in the world.

Though we begin to mention rain in our prayers during the holiday of Sukkot, it is not really until Cheshvan that any significant rain starts to fall in Israel. True, the first and last rains of any season are remarkable. They even get their own terminology. The first rain is called Yoreh and the last, Malkosh. Yet rain, is miraculous at any time. It is sustaining, it is life-giving, and it is necessary.  Cheshvan is traditionally a time to concentrate on the gift of rain. It is an exercise in mindfulness, noticing that even when it rains for the fifth or sixth time that month that each and every drop is significant.  Cheshvan provides a fertile soil to cultivate the practice of acknowledging small blessings: the subtle kindnesses of your neighbor, the beauty of a communal song, the mysterious working of the human body. Cheshvan teaches that Ii we are so busy focusing on the loudest moments of our lives, the quiet blessings will be silenced amidst the noise.

Cheshvan honors the distant losses of long ago that still gnaw at us from time to time.

Historically, the month of Cheshvan has seen its share of loss and heartache. It is traditionally the month when our foremother Rachel died and the time when the Chaldean’s slaughtered King Zadekiah’s sons and led him off in chains to Babylonia (2 Kings 25:7). While some of these losses are distant, they are by no means insignificant. Cheshvan reminds us that even years later, losses in our lives can impact us. It articulates the truth that even at times that are not traditionally set aside for memory (like yahrzeits or holidays) we might still be called to remember. Cheshvan is the picture you forgot and remembered, it is the flashing memory in the supermarket that sneaks up on you.

Cheshvan honors the seeds we plant for the future that give us hope and sustain our souls.

Cheshvan was traditionally a for plowing and planting, a time to turn our attention away from last season’s harvest toward the next season. Cheshvan is a time of great expectation. It is an avenue for our hopes and a platform to dream. It gives us the small joy of envisioning next year’s feast, of conjuring an image of the food that will make future holiday celebrations. Do we do enough to honor the future excitements in our own lives? We mark engagements and honor weddings, but what do we do to acknowledge the anticipation that joins these two events. We understand promotions and job loss, but what about the small victories between: finishing a project, a successful meeting, a good quarter? Cheshvan is a time to acknowledge that the smallest things can also add richness and excitement to our lives.

Cheshvan honors the expectations that we had that were not fulfilled and the challenge of waiting.

According to our tradition, Solomon finished building the Temple, a seven year project, during the month of Cheshvan. Ready to consecrate it, he waited for God’s instruction. Yet, God made him wait twelve months to celebrate until the month of Tishrei. Each year, Cheshvan asks the question: What do we do when our expectations are not met and we are forced to wait. Cheshvan stands beside everyone who has ever experienced the mundanity of waiting and the cycles of failure. It is the infertile couple who must try another month, the single person who is subjected to another bad date, the unemployed neighbor who fails to get another job interview. Solomon needed comfort each month and so do they. Cheshvan reminds us not to forget them.

Good communities are present in moments of deep pain and joy. Powerful and profound communities are ever-present at each moment of our lives. Jewish communities, each Cheshvan should use the month to examine how they deal with the in-between moments. Too many Rabbis, me included, take the month after the High Holy Days to take a much needed breath. Yet, this is precisely the time when we can make in impact on those that need us the most. Every community should take the month of Cheshvan to reaffirm its commitment to the mundane.

—

Rabbi Marc Katz is the associate Rabbi at Congregation Beth Elohim in Park Slope. 

Categories
Torah

Bereshit and My Beloved Cubs

An ode to the intersection of this week’s Torah portion, Bereshit, and my beloved Cubs:

In the beginning. . .

There was a team that experienced an abundance of success. They went to the World Series three times in a row. But they fell from grace after two straight championships. Expelled from the Garden of Greatness, they lost their way, squandering opportunity after opportunity. They experienced a deluge of misfortune, a famine of talent and success as they turned away from the land of the World Series, winding up in the bondage of ineptitude. They wandered, searching to find the promised land for 71 years, escaping the oppression of poor management and indifferent ownership, never losing hope.

Suddenly, a new team arose who knew not the Cubs of the past. Together with new ownership, sabermetric analysis, young talent, and innovative management, the long suffering crew has found its way to back to the World Series, standing on the precipice of the promised land.

By next week, we will all know the outcome of this part of our story, yet to be written. But what we do know is that sure enough, a new baseball season will come next Spring with new opportunities for redemption, renewal, and understanding, just as we have opportunities to find the same in our own hearts during this next year of reading our Torah.

Here’s hoping that the team that taught me to understand the narratives of our people, always striving to return home to the promised land, will have found their Jerusalem. And whether they do or not, as we say at the end of Passover … Next year in the World Series!

—

Rabbi Ari Margolis serves Congregation Or Shalom in Vernon Hills, Illinois.

Categories
Social Justice

Why I Do Not Mourn on Tisha B’Av

Tisha B’Av, the 9th day of the Hebrew month Av, is a Jewish day of mourning associated with the Babylonian Destruction of the First Jerusalem Temple in the year 586 BCE. It is also the day when the Second Jerusalem Temple was destroyed by the Romans in the year 70. And, it is said, the Jewish expulsion from Spain took place on the 9th of Av, 1492.

I do not observe Tisha B’Av; I do not fast or mourn on that day. Events associated with Tisha B’Av may be considered disasters for some, but, to me, those events all demonstrate the remarkable resiliency of the Jewish people and the historic opportunities that might never have been realized without exile.

This year, I happened to be in Berlin the week of Tisha B’Av, and I found myself visiting the Pergamon Museum — specifically the Gates of Ishtar, the monumental gates to the ancient city of Babylon.

I stood at the Ishtar Gates in the Pergamon Museum. I imagined my ancestors in 586 BCE led into captivity from the modest backwater of Jerusalem, marching their way in the barren desert from the Jordan River to the Euphrates. Suddenly in the distance they saw in the intense sunlight, a brilliant blue, massive structure shimmering and rising out of the sands. They were led along that triumphal processional boulevard lined with walls decorated in brilliantly colored bas relief of mythical wild animals.

These gates were the first things the exiles of Jerusalem 586 BCE must have seen as they entered the great Capitol city of Babylon. Surely they were mourning their fate and doubting their future and the future of their people and faith. They had worshipped the Hebrew God in the Temple of Jerusalem. God “resided,” if you will, in the Holy of Holies built upon the Temple Mount. But all that was destroyed. To the conquered defeated captives it must have seemed that Judaism had come to an end at the hands of the mighty Babylonian army. But Judaism didn’t die. Instead, it was re-born.

Though they were in Exile from Jerusalem, it would be in Babylon that Judaism would undergo one of its earliest creative transformations. They discovered that the personal, tribal God of Judea could be encountered anywhere. God was universal, not limited to one earthly location.

Babylon was where they also developed major concepts of Jewish religion. There, Judaism began the slow transformation from Temple sacrifice to Torah, study, and synagogue. Rabbis and teachers would eventually replace a dynastic system of priests.

I was struck by the idea that here I was, 2,700 years later, standing at the reconstructed ruins of a mighty civilization, the Babylonian Empire of Nebuchadnezzar. In 586 BCE, one could stand at the mighty Gates of Ishtar and imagine Babylon lasting forever. A Judean exile from destroyed Jerusalem would have been justified to put on sack cloth and ashes and assume that Judaism had come to a dead end. Yet here I was, a rabbi of Judaism, 2,700 years later, representing a vibrant culture and civilization. History allows for irony.

Many destructions and exiles would follow. Tisha B’Av marked the Roman conquest of Jerusalem in 70 CE and the exile from Spain in 1492, but in every case, Judaism adapted and responded with creativity and innovation. Eventually the experience of exile brought much of the Jewish world to the shores of America.

The story of American Jewish life is truly remarkable.  There has never been in all history a more vibrant, dynamic, creative Jewish community than this one. This is not just the most prosperous and successful Jewish community, but America itself has achieved much of its own success due to our contributions—and the contributions of all its immigrants over these 600 some years. We have fully adopted the words of Jeremiah: “Seek the well-being of the city of exile. If it prospers, so too will you prosper.”

Exile has brought us to America. With its many flaws, this country has truly been a place of blessing, and, like Abraham, the Jewish people have blessed America with talent, energy, loyalty, and creativity. That is why I do not mourn on Tisha B’Av.

Let me now return to Berlin and the second week in August. I had a specific purpose for being in Germany this summer. A group of fifteen Reform rabbis went on a very short study mission organized by IsraAID, a remarkable organization focusing on disaster relief throughout the world. In Berlin, they are engaged in continuing aid and support for the refugee community and for those who serve them. This is perhaps the greatest humanitarian crisis of our generation.

It was a privilege to get to know the people from IsraAID. They were uniformly young, most under 30. They were Israeli Jews, Palestinian Citizens of Israel, Druze Israelis, Christians, Jews, and Muslims. We met American college kids spending their gap year as volunteers working with IsraAID on programs for the refugees as well as for German children learning about the stories of the exiles. There were some Jews of Berlin and Israelis living in Germany. There was one 85 year old Jewish Holocaust survivor who spends one day a week at a community center teaching German to Syrian children.

IsraAID workers are training others, teaching German, computer skills, helping with job searches, and childcare, offering much needed psychological support for those who have experienced the trauma of war and terrifying escape. We visited a community support center for LGBTQ refugees.

Who were these Syrian refugees? Our assumptions, prejudices, stereotypes were often wrong. Many of them are middle class and educated. Many spoke English or German. Nearly all of them hoped to stay in Germany or Europe. While the Germans hoped the war would end and the Syrians could eventually return back home to the Middle East, most of these exiles wanted to begin a new life. Their greatest desire was to escape the terror and war.

Why do we care? Why would a bunch of young Israelis – Jews, Muslims, Christians, Druze – care about Syrian refugees? Why did a group of American Reform rabbis, from throughout the US, care about the refugees? It is our narrative, our story, our memory, our teaching. How do we remember our own past? Why do we remember our past? We were exiles. We were strangers in a strange land. We were outcasts in the Land of Egypt, and in countless lands since then. We remember the plight of exiles, dispossessed, and refugees. We are commanded to fight for the rights of the stranger, to protect the outcast, to provide for the homeless, the landless. We knew Egypt and Babylon, Rome and Spain.

And we must also remember our own experience in America. We know the results of fear and xenophobia which shut the gates to America after WW I and in the early 1920’s, and we are profoundly aware of the tragic consequence when America was not a shelter for the Jews of Europe about to be sent to their death. The arguments that were made then might seem familiar to us today. The echoes resonate in today’s headlines. There were those then who claimed that there might be dangerous spies or terrorists among the refugees from Europe. In the early years they pointed to Emma Goldman among the Jews, or Sacco and Vanzetti for Italians. The anti-immigration forces raised fears of organized crime or Irish terrorists. They said: Lock the gates. Turn inward. America First. In the late 1930’s, Charles Lindbergh, Henry Ford, and Father Charles Coughlin claimed that German spies might be hidden among the Jewish refugees attempting to escape Hitler and the Nazi death machine. They claimed that Jewish refugees were a danger to American security.

We are the children of Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebecca, Jacob, Leah and Rachel. We trace our roots back to Babylon and Ur and Nahor, Aram Naharaim –the birthplace of Abraham and Sarah. Nahor is today a place where South Eastern Turkey meets Northern Syria. It is the region that today is Aleppo. It is now a place facing destruction, genocide, and death.

We too were wandering Arameans, outcasts and strangers. Let us never forget who we were and what we have been called to do and become…in order to remain partners with God in repairing the brokenness of this world, freeing the captive, clothing the naked, welcoming the stranger. Abraham was commanded: “Lech lecha.” Leave Nahor, your land, your birthplace, the land of your fathers, and go to a new land. There I will bless you, and you shall, in turn, be a blessing. Today’s refugees from Nahor, Aleppo, and elsewhere must be rescued, welcomed, and resettled. May they too become a blessing.

—

Rabbi Samuel N. Gordon serves Sukkat Shalom in Wilmette, IL.

Categories
Rabbis spirituality

A Reminder of Some of the Most Important Work We Must Do

As I move more deeply into my third year of working with the CCAR to provide companionship and guidance in the area of self-care, the Yamim provided an opportunity to reflect upon my tremendous gratitude for this privilege and the gifts it brings me every day. Among those – the opportunity eight years after leaving pulpit work to offer something to those of you who continue to shoulder that rich, rewarding and challenging responsibility. I also find myself reflecting upon the toll the work and all that goes with it can take upon us, and how that has played out in the lives of some with whom I have worked since entering into this role with the Conference. One thing that rises clearly for me is the awareness that a primary source of the pain I encounter in some of our colleagues is the result, in no small part, of inner personal work set aside in the face of professional demands, which feel more immediate and – often – overwhelming.

And yet, dear friends, we all know somewhere in our gut that the external work will eventually suffer for inner work not done. Last year I posed to you the question, “What am I doing or should I be doing to set my own spiritual and psychological house in order and to make sure that it is a Sukkot shalom?”.  The last couple of years, sitting with ever more of you, confirm me in the clarity that the cheshbon nefesh in which many of us feel there is no opportunity to engage during the Yamim must, nonetheless, happen – v’im lo achshav, eimatai? If we fail to do it, the apparent security of the structures we have erected in our lives – families, marriages, careers – are at risk of rot and ruin. Those external sukkot are, ultimately, only as strong as the inner sukkah of our souls.

So, once again, I invite you into conversation. This can come about through the possibility of one-on-one work in short-term spiritual direction or counseling or through participation in offerings I coming forth over the course of the next year, such as the online Mindfulness Class beginning October 26th. As we head into this Shabbat Sukkot, we remember the oft-told tale of Zusya, lamenting the fact that he wasn’t Moses. Neither are we, and if even Moses couldn’t do it alone, as we read in the parashah this Shabbat, how can we hope to do so. We need those quiet moments, to be sheltered in the sukkah of the cleft of that rock, to hear and feel the message of companionship and support which is a manifestation of Holiness in our lives. It will be my honor to share such moments with you. Hoping to hear this year from many of you, I wish all of you a joyous, healthy and fulfilling 5777 in which you are able to set free sparks of holiness and healing for all, Mo’adim l’simchah and Shabbat shalom.

—

Rabbi Rex Perlmeter, LSW is the CCAR Special Advisor for Member Care and Wellness, providing short-term counseling or spiritual direction to rabbis in need. He can be reached at rperlmeter@ccarnet.org or 410-207-1700.  Rex will be leading “Building a Jewish Mindfulness Practice” webinar series with CCAR, starting Wednesday, October 26 — sign up now!

Categories
Social Justice

T’shuvah in an Age of Mass-Incarceration: The Radical Possibility of True Return

Now that we have confessed our sins and beaten our chests, I propose that we, as a movement, act. Let us bring true t’shuvah into this world.

In an age of mass incarceration, in which a definable group of people, many of whom are the descendants of former slaves, live in a state of non-freedom, our belief that people can change, strive for blessing, and engage in t’shuvah is not just counter-cultural, but downright radical. When we deny someone, especially a young person, the opportunity to grow and perform t’shuvah, we not only deny that person a future, but deny our country limitless amounts of potential as well.

Throughout the year, but especially now, individually and collectively, we are pushed to take stock of our souls, to account for our sins. We are counseled to both ask for and give forgiveness, to turn back and right ourselves on a path of justice and embrace those who have returned to walk with us.

In his work, the Mishneh Torah, Maimonides outlines the process of t’shuvah as one of repentance, confession, and return. When an individual engages in the work of t’shuvah, Maimonides writes, he or she not only recognizes and seeks forgiveness for wrongdoing, but also examines, interrogates, and erases the very impulses from which the wrongdoing emerged. When confronted with the same situation again, therefore, the sin no longer arises, and the path of return is set.

Where could we, as a society, apply Maimonides concept of t’shuvah? What would notions of guilt and punishment look like in a criminal justice system founded on the possibility of return? The Rabbis of the Talmud in tractate Sanhedrin address these questions through imagining a world in which t’shuvah rewrites and informs biblical notions of justice in the case of the ben sorer u’moreh, the stubborn and rebellious son.

Outlined in chapter 21 of Deuteronomy, the case of the ben sorer u’moreh features a swift and exacting punishment for a son who refuses to listen to his parents. In just four verses, this young man is condemned to death by stoning, and executed before the entire community.

Hundreds of years later, the Rabbis of tractate Sanhedrin take on the case of the ben sorer u’moreh, questioning both the logic and outcome of the biblical narrative. Noting the age of the boy, the lack of any judicial process, the role of the parents in the case, and the exact nature of the crime, the Rabbis determine that this case never actually happened – no one could be condemned to death in just four verses. Why, then, the text asks, do we read about this boy?

The objections raised by the Rabbis in the case of the ben sorer u’moreh have much to teach us on the topic of t’shuvah. One of these objections, in particular, caught my eye. One Rabbi offers the possibility that he was executed at such a tender age to prevent future wrongdoing, so that he could die an innocent man. This explanation, too, however, is rejected – we cannot judge a person based on his future deeds, there exists always the possibility for t’shuvah.

In many ways, there is no possibility for movement, personal-growth, blessing, repentance, and return in our criminal justice system – as a society, we execute the ben sorer u’moreh: we sentence the child to death before giving him a chance to repent and return. For the past few months, I have been teaching a course at Rikers Island, New York City’s main jail complex, to ten men who are incarcerated at one of the facilities on the island. Together, we have been learning about the criminal justice system, and reading the book, The New Jim Crow. These men, my partners in learning, have opened my eyes to the many ways in which true repentance and return for them is almost impossible. How can we welcome back those in need of healing and return? How can we, like the Rabbis of tractate Sanhedrin, recognize the potential of the ben sorer u’moreh.

In her book, The New Jim Crow, Michelle Alexander argues that the system of mass incarceration thriving in our country today works to create an under-caste in our society; a group of people largely composed of men of color who are subject to, “a lifetime of shame, contempt, scorn, and exclusion. In this hidden world,” she writes, “discrimination is perfectly legal” (142).  Even for a first-time, non-violent offender, someone who may not even spend time in prison, the result of a conviction could mean the loss of, “federally-funded health and welfare benefits, food stamps, public housing, and federal education assistance…if he is convicted of another crime, he may be subject to imprisonment as a repeat offender. He will not be permitted to enlist in the military, or posses a firearm, or obtain federal security clearance. If a citizen, he may lose the right to vote; if not, he becomes immediately deportable” (143).

When we, as a Jewish people, engage in t’shuvah and believe in our ability to remap the impulses imprinted at the very core of our beings, we open up the possibility for others to do the same. We are a people who take our souls into account, who grow and forgive, fall off the path and welcome those who have returned with us. But is this enough?  What if every congregation in America committed to hiring someone who had been incarcerated for a non-violent crime?

Now that we have confessed our sins and beaten our chests, I propose that we, as a movement, act. Let us bring true t’shuvah into this world.

 —

Hilly Haber is a third-year rabbinical student at HUC-JIR in NYC. Originally from New York, Hilly has a Masters of Theological Study from Harvard Divinity School and has worked in temples from Boston to Boulder.  Hilly is a rabbinic intern at the Central Conference of American Rabbis and is teaching at Rikers Island, New York City’s main jail complex.