Categories
Books gender equality

A Mirror, a Prism, and a Telescope: Reimagining Role Models

No one ever told me that I couldn’t be a rabbi because of my gender. That was one of the gifts of growing up in a Reform synagogue in the 1980s. Although our congregation’s senior rabbi adhered to one of the classic male clergy stereotypes—a tall, well-groomed, be-robed figure with four children, and a wife who sang in the choir and taught Hebrew school—I saw many women serving as cantors and assistant rabbis, both in my home congregation and at my Jewish summer camp. One Shabbat, just a few months before my bat mitzvah, I looked at our rabbi and said to myself, definitively, “I can do that.” I felt this revelation in my entire body, as though a switch had been flipped and the light had come on.

I didn’t think of my choice as “feminist,” nor did I see myself as wanting to be a “woman rabbi.” This was simply what I wanted to be when I grew up—a rabbi. Young girls of my generation expected to find the doors to every possible career open to us. We were told to “reach for the stars.” We believed that we would be able to simultaneously pursue exciting professions, loving partnerships, and a fulfilling family life, without any difficulty. The only person who showed any hesitation was my grandmother, who considered religion a “dirty business” for either a man or a woman.

As an undergraduate student at Brandeis University, I began to understand some of the challenges I would face as a woman in this field. During my first conversation with an Orthodox Jew, I asked what he thought of women rabbis and he said, “No such thing.” I realized that in this world beyond my Reform synagogue, I was going to have to fight to prove my authenticity: as a student of Judaism, as a community leader, as a Reform Jew, and as a woman.Sacred Calling

Ironically, this fight only intensified when I began my rabbinical studies in Jerusalem. While questions of pluralism and authenticity were aired in the open at Brandeis, some members of the faculty at HUC-JIR in Jerusalem warned us against engaging Israelis about the nature of our studies. Because many Israelis I met felt disdain toward women rabbis and suspicion of Reform Jews in general, I was unable to share my experience outside the walls of HUC-JIR. I returned to the United States feeling as if I had spent a year living underwater.

When I began teaching Torah to children and adults, the challenge of proving my own authenticity in the context of the Jewish tradition gave way to the challenge of proving the relevance of our sacred stories in the context of modernity and feminism. If my goal was to convince my students—many of whom were young women—that the Bible was pertinent to their lives, I was going to have to help them find characters to whom they could relate and heroines they could admire.

This was not an easy task, and one incident sticks out in my mind.

One morning after religious school t’filah, a feisty twelve-year-old girl approached me with a question—or rather, a comment—about our prayer service: “Why do we bother to include the names of the Matriarchs in the Amidah?” she exclaimed. “I don’t want to be like Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, and Leah. They’re just the Patriarchs’ wives. They didn’t do anything.”

This student’s words helped me to realize that I couldn’t escape from the challenges of being labeled a “woman rabbi.” While I had once shied away from a gendered study of Judaism, I now faced opposition both from those who thought I should not be a rabbi and those who, like my student, thought that Judaism was inherently patriarchal.

This opposition inspired me to look to Jewish literature for models of powerful women. The stories I found—particularly in the Bible— turned what I thought I knew about biblical women on its head. Scattered among the narratives in which women were portrayed “only” as wives and mothers—or, worse, as concubines and prostitutes—were scenes in which women showed agency and effected change, both through their words and through their actions.

When I teach Bible and midrash, I tell my students that we can view the Torah as a mirror, a prism, and a telescope: a mirror in which we can see ourselves, a prism through which we can look at the world, and a telescope that we can point heavenward in our search for God.

Looking back on the stories that inspired me at various phases of my own learning, I realized that I was not only seeking out these stories for my students. I needed to find them for myself. I, too, was looking for the mirror, the prism, and the telescope in our sacred stories, and the women I studied reflected where I was in my own journey, how I saw the world I lived in, and the woman, and the rabbi, that I hoped to become.

—

Rabbi Leah Rachel Berkowitz was ordained in 2008 by Hebrew Union College–Jewish Institute of Religion in New York, where she also earned a Master of Arts in Religious Education. She is the rabbi at Vassar Temple in Poughkeepsie, NY.  Rabbi Berkowitz will be a panelist at “The Sacred Calling: Then and Now” on Thursday, September 8th, 11:00 AM at HUC-JIR in New York.

Excerpted from The Sacred Calling: Four Decades of Women in the Rabbinate, “A Mirror, a Prism, and a Telescope: Reimagining Role Models”.

Categories
News Social Justice Torah

Finding Refuge in Germany Today

The recent Torah portion, Va-et’chanan, is set as the Israelites are about to enter the Promised Land.  The text repeats the command (Deut. 4:41-43) in the book of Numbers (Num. 35:9 ff) to set aside three cities of refuge on each side of the Jordan, a total of six that will be for people to flee from avengers.  We read in Numbers that these cities are there for someone who kills another unintentionally.  For instance, we read in Deuteronomy (19:5), if two men go together to cut down trees, and the axe head flies off the handle, killing one of the men, the other one can flee to one of the cities of refuge for safety.

The Jewish concern for providing places of refuge continues throughout our history.  From the time of the Mishnah, over two thousand years ago, Jews have lived in fear of being held hostage, and the ransoming of captives was considered a cardinal mitzvah.  Indeed medieval synagogues had separate funds dedicated to the redemption of hostages taken by pirates, enemies of our people, or the state.  We understand the dangers of being an oppressed minority.  And many of our grandparents or great-grandparents were forced to leave their native lands and wandered stateless.

As we are commanded to understand the plight of our neighbors, our hearts go out to all people who are forced to leave their country, who seek refuge and safety and a new life in a new land.  It is part of the Jewish ethic that I teach and celebrate.

So I was pleased to learn about IsraAID, an Israel-based non-profit organization that reaches out particularly to address crises around the world.  IsraAID was there for the tsunami in Japan and for the 2014 ebola outbreak in Sierra Leone and for relief following the earthquake in Nepal in 2015.  They take pride in being the first on the scene, the very first responders:  pulling people out of the rubble, helping the rubber boats filled with refugees land on Lesbos.  So for good reason they have added to their work assisting the refugees arriving in Germany.  IsraAID began its work in Germany in February, 2016, when there were 5-7,000 refugees arriving each day.  There are still 85,000 refugees still in Lesbos—trapped there, since the path to Europe has been closed.   By June and July this summer the number of refugees arriving in Germany had fallen to 500 arriving each day.  IsraAID works with the United Nations Commission on refugees and other groups in assisting the refugees, such as Doctors Without Borders, Red Cross, Caritas.

The statistics of this enormous migration are staggering, if a bit confusing.  More than 50% of Syria’s population is displaced.  About 6.5 million people are refugees in Syria, and 4.8 million people displaced in other countries.  Around 250,000 people have been killed in the Syrian civil war, and more than 3,700 migrants were reported to have died trying to cross the Mediterranean to safety and a new life.  According to the U.N., there are almost 5 million “persons of concern,” or registered Syrian refugees.  But not all the refugees are from Syria.  They come from Afghanistan, Iraq, and other countries.  From January, 2015, to March, 2016, the refugees arriving in Europe were just less than half from Syria; less than a quarter from Afghanistan, and 10% were Iraqi.  Who are these people?  What is their background?  Why did they flee?  How has the world helped them?

Recently I participated in a special mission sponsored by the Central Conference of American Rabbis, the association of Reform rabbis in North America.  We went to Berlin to learn about the refugees from Syria and other countries, their situation, plight, and how we might help.  We met with groups of refugees and those who help them:  aid workers from IsraAID, social workers and psychologists, government officials, staff at shelters, and representatives of the Berlin Jewish community.  We toured shelters and visited community centers reaching out to serve these refugees.   We met with leaders of IsraAID and the American Jewish Committee in Berlin to gain a deeper understanding of the response from the Jewish community.

I must confess that I did not have a good understanding of who the refugees are, or why they have left their homes, or what their needs are.  The numbers are overwhelming for us to consider, as well as for the communities of Germany and Sweden to assist and hopefully absorb.  I had thought of these migrants as uneducated victims of political turmoil in their homelands; that they were from tribes in the wilderness, although we all know that the populations of Damascus and Aleppo (both important in biblical and Jewish history) have been forced to flee.  Of all of Israel’s neighbors, I knew the least about Syria.  They were the most intransigent of enemies, the least likely to have any contact with the Jewish state.  Why, I wondered from time to time, are we interested in the plight of people form a nation that is technically still at war with Israel and has taken every opportunity to hurt the Jewish people?

These were not the refugees I met.  I learned that 86% of the Syrian refugees have secondary or university educations.  Most of these refugees are young—under 35 years old—and hoping to live in Germany or Sweden, where there are jobs and opportunities for education, as well as governmental assistance.  Over half the refugees are under 18, and 43% are under 14.  And I learned that those nations that have agreed to help are shouldering great burdens, while their neighbors watch from a distance.  Germany and Sweden have accepted over a million Syrian refugees, while the remaining 26 EU countries have offered just over 30,000 places, or 0.7% of the Syrian refugee population.  The United States has set aside all of 10,000 places.

There are more men than women whom we met and saw:  men who have braved the perilous journey, leaving their wives and children behind while they establish themselves and a place for their families.  There are 60,000 unaccompanied minor refugees in Germany.  The German nation, with a population of 80 million people, is seeking to help and absorb over one million refugees.  By comparison, the U.S., with a population of 320 million, has agreed to accept 10,000.

Let me tell you about a couple of the refugee men whom we met.  Wasim lived in Swaida, Syria, a center of Druze population near Damascus, once with a population of a million residents.  Now there are only 600 people left in his village.  In 1994 he graduated as a teacher of English at the age of 23, and he would like to teach in Germany.  Some time ago he protested against the Assad regime and thus needed to leave the country.  While he was waiting for his exit papers, he was kidnapped and learned that Isis was “at his door,” as he told us.  He applied for asylum a year ago, and his Syrian passport was taken away from him.  He is stateless, without a nationality.  He is 45 and left behind his wife and three children, aged 16, 11, and 8.  He made his way to Turkey, with his cousin—also an English teacher—where they contacted a smuggler who agreed to take them to Europe.  They spent several hours on a rubber boat from Turkey to Greece and then four days in Greece, before they made it to Germany.  (We learned that the journey from Turkey to Europe usually takes about a month.)  Once in Germany, Wasim spent eight months in three different shelters, including some time in a basketball stadium, remade to accommodate as many as 2,000 people.  Despite great odds, and a severe shortage of apartments in Berlin, he and his cousin have been able to rent a flat for €450/month.  To qualify for asylum, he needs to study German diligently and take a series of examinations to prove his proficiency.  He takes classes for 5 hours each weekday and has achieved considerable success, a couple of notches below where he would need to be to be approved as a translator.  He communicates with his wife and children each day via WhatsApp on his smartphone.  His great concern is that his 16-year-old son will not be able to immigrate to Germany once he reaches his 18th birthday, and the wait for asylum status can be over two years.

There was a law in Germany, as in many other western countries, reuniting families, which would have taken precedence in allowing him to bring his family from Syria.  But two months ago that law was changed and then challenged in the German courts so it is now in legal limbo.

We also met Wasim’s cousin, also a member of the persecuted Druze minority. who is also an English teacher by profession.  As he began to tell us his story, he broke down as he reflected on his wife and children who are trapped in Syria and live in constant danger.

We learned that the religious differences are very significant among these refugees.  The Muslims are of many different backgrounds and do not get along with the Druze, a minority, and less with the Yazidi refugees, who are not Muslim and whose beliefs have subjected them to persecution for centuries.  We also learned that despite German laws that guarantee free religious practice for Catholics, Protestants, and Jews, Islam is not an official recognized religion by the German government– in part because the Muslim community is not organized.  While there have been Muslims living in Germany since the 1960s, most of them are from Turkey and came as “guest workers,” without wanting to become residents.  Their mosques are funded by Turkey, and they are seen as guests rather than integrated into German society.

Our group visited shelters where the refugees are housed.  The shelter I visited is in a former cigarette factory, a huge concrete building with very high ceilings.  This shelter houses around 600 refugees now, but could have 1,000 people, or even more.  Men, women, and families with children (There are more than 200 children in the shelter.) are housed in separate sections.  The refugees live in what we would call temporary cubicles, each one just large enough to fit in three bunk beds—six men or six women per cubicle.  There is no door to the cubicle and no ceiling and no place to keep personal effects.  Bathrooms and showers are located in another section.  All the residents, 600 of them, eat their meals at the same time.  We were in the huge dining room an hour before dinner, and the noise from just the early arrivals was almost deafening.  There are only 5 social workers on site to tend to the psycho-social needs of the residents.  Up until now (they are building cubicles for them to meet with residents), there were open hours for social workers to meet with residents in a spot in the dining room, without any privacy.  Many of the children are not able to attend school, where they would like to be, because there is no space for them in the school.

There is a considerable security presence, with lots of guards visible, yet the residents seem to pass in and out of the building and from section to section comfortably.  We learned that there has been crime in the shelter, mostly against the refugee residents or among rival religious groups.  Crime by immigrants has dropped 18% and crime within the shelter is down 10% this year.  While a fifth of Germans report that they fear these foreigners, hate groups in Germany represent less than 2% of the population.   At the same time, we were told that over one million Germans are currently volunteering with the refugees.  Unfortunately I must report that some in the German Jewish community are ambivalent about these new refugees.  While we learned that one congregation has volunteered to assist, we also heard several negative comments from Jewish community leaders about the refugees and the threat they supposedly posed.

There are dire needs:  shortage of social workers who are able to address the overwhelming needs of these refugees, so many of whom have just experienced great trauma and are experiencing post-traumatic stress syndrome.  There are over 300 shelters in Berlin for these refugees.  As you would imagine, the burnout from these overworked social workers and counselors is pervasive.  There are even fewer social workers and counselors who speak Arabic, one reason that the assistance from IsraAID is so valuable.

As we learned about the background of these refugees (65-75% of whom are from Muslim countries), their harrowing journeys, their plight, and their fears and hopes, we were all moved.  We learned about the religious minorities among the refugees, the various backgrounds, and the complexities of their situations.  Why is IsraAID there—with its full-time staff in Germany of 8 people, including two social workers, and 5 summer college interns?  Because IsraAID believes in engaging Israelis to work with other peoples to improve our broken world.  IsraAID believes in connecting young Jews and young Jewish professionals in humanitarian work, to broaden their perspective.  IsraAID believes that the work and picture of caring Israelis will help Israel on the world scene.  IsraAID has partnered with USAID, UNICEF, and governments such as Japan and Greece and non-governmental organizations to provide humanitarian assistance throughout the world.  They are non-political, receive no funds from the Israeli government, and do not do their work for the good publicity it might engender.  Their work, their commitment, and their mission remains inspiring to me, as to our entire group.  They are not looking primarily for funding, since most of their funds come from large sources.  But they do need volunteers and especially they need for us to know about their work.

At the end of our mission, several of my colleagues were struck by the turn of history that Germany and Berlin in particular are now the places of refuge for so many fleeing violence and terror in their lands.  We marveled that a city that was so recently a place of terror for our people is now a place of safety and hope for our Arab cousins.  May the message of the need for cities of refuge that we read Va-et’chanan resonate in our lives today.  May we work together to repair our broken world.

—

Rabbi Fred Reiner serves Temple Sinai in Washington D.C. 

Categories
Books High Holy Days Machzor Mishkan haNefesh

Meet the Editors of Mishkan HaNefesh: Rabbi Janet Marder

From the girl who used to read novels during High Holy Day services to an editor of the new, groundbreaking, machzor, Rabbi Janet Marder is now one of the leading names in Jewish liturgy. Mishkan HaNefesh: Machzor for the Days of Awe will be used by over 400 congregations this upcoming High Holy Days. It is time to get to know the editors better. Rabbi Janet Marder shares with us what inspired her in her work on the machzor and what she hopes inspires readers and worshipers.

 

Q: Tell us about yourself and your background in Jewish liturgy.

A: I didn’t grow up in a Reform congregation – we belonged to a Conservative synagogue until I was a junior in high school – and we were not regulars at Shabbat services.  We did go to services every year on the High Holy Days – and I spent quite a number of those services reading a novel, rather than the machzor, feeling quite uninvolved in what was going on. I know what it’s like to be in a congregation, but not really feel like you’re part of it.

Moving to a Reform synagogue was a huge transition – lots of English prayers, quasi-Chasidic tunes, and “creative services.” I really didn’t get to know the Reform siddurim until I was a student at HUC-JIR, and had the chance to study the Union Prayerbook and Gates of Prayer as sociological texts with Dr. Larry Hoffman. I was fascinated by the idea that one could analyze a prayerbook – including features such as typography, page design, relative size and placement of Hebrew and English, choreographic instructions for worshipers, and linguistic choices made by translators – and gain insight into the community for which the prayerbook was developed. I also began to understand the siddur as a document that both expresses and forms Jewish identity, an effort to articulate the values and self-perception of the worshipers.  Ever since then, I’ve been interested in how all the elements of worship – words, music, chanting, silence, room design, seating arrangement, lighting, choreography, style of the worship leader – contribute to the experience of prayer.

My primary focus at HUC-JIR was modern Hebrew literature, and after ordination I went to graduate school in comparative literature, specializing in modern Hebrew, Yiddish, and English. I’m fascinated by words and I love a good sentence. I read constantly (poetry, fiction, and non-fiction); I have a deep love for Hebrew, and I care a lot about cadence, rhythm, tone, and word choice in English prayers.MhN Standard - RESIZED FINAL

One formative experience for me was serving a gay/lesbian congregation in the 1980s, during the first terrible years of the AIDS epidemic, when many young people were dying and there was as yet no treatment for those who were sick. I experienced profound theological challenges as I tried to respond to my congregants’ questions and to help them find strength to endure suffering. My comfortable philosophy of “live as if there is a God” no longer felt adequate to me. Since then I’ve done a lot of reading and soul-searching, and have actually come closer to faith than I was in recent years. But I’ve also been a congregational rabbi for 26 years, and I have a lot of empathy for agnostics, skeptics, and those who don’t feel addressed by the traditional prayers.

 

Q: Mishkan HaNefesh is a result of seven years of team work of an ensemble of editors. What was your role in creating the new machzor?

A: I was deeply involved in choosing poetry and readings, and took special pleasure in finding some beautiful poetry that expresses profound religious yearning, doubt, amazement, and anger.  I especially enjoyed incorporating the words of contemporary scientists into the machzor, because I’m fascinated by science and love to read about it. I’m also quite interested in modern Jewish thought, so it was great to have the opportunity to draw on the writings of important 20th century thinkers and figure out how to make their work accessible in a liturgical setting. I hope that some of their most significant ideas and most eloquent phrases will come to be familiar to our community in the years to come.

It was fun to create many readings based on traditional midrashim – I love the idea of making this material more accessible and relevant to worshipers.  I also wrote quite a number of original pieces for the left-side – including some of the more theologically controversial ones and some that explore the relationship between science and Jewish mysticism. I translated some prayers and wrote many of the sublinear commentaries, seeking to make them not only informative, but also inspiring. I hope people will take time to explore them!

When I was invited to work on Mishkan HaNefesh, I was initially quite apprehensive, because my congregational responsibilities keep me very busy. I agreed when I realized that my husband, Shelly, and I could work very closely as a team. I have enormous respect for his learning, taste, and judgment, so his involvement was very reassuring.

 

Q: What would you like people to take away from the experience of using Mishkan HaNefesh at High Holy Day services?

A: I really wanted Mishkan HaNefesh to be a teaching book – one that would enrich the worshipers’ understanding of, and connection with, Judaism’s “big ideas.” I wanted it to provoke deep thought and questions, rather than rote recitation. I wanted it to open people up to the possibility of faith, and also to help worshipers understand that doubt and anger are time-honored Jewish modes of theological engagement. Most of all, I wanted people to feel personally addressed by the language of the prayerbook – I hoped it would speak directly to the minds and hearts of worshipers. The challenge is to offer this material in a way that is inviting and conducive to personal reflection. That’s why I hope that worship leaders will be selective when they design worship services, rather than choosing too much material and having to rush through it.  I like Heschel’s counsel: “To pray is to know how to stand still and to dwell upon a word.”

—

Rabbi Janet R. Marder serves Congregation Beth Am in Los Altos Hills, CA. She is one of the editors of Mishkan HaNefesh: Machzor for the Days of Awe, and a contributor to Divrei Mishkan HaNefesh: A Guide to the CCAR Machzor.

Categories
Prayer Rabbis

Prayer Revisited

For years, I led people in prayer. It was always clear to me that prayer operates on three levels—personal, communal, and universal.

On the personal level, I have always found prayer (mostly silent prayer, or meditation, while all alone) to be a form of spiritual therapy. In moments of extreme mental pain or extreme joy, it connected me with something much more powerful than myself, and anchored me in a safe harbor. While alone, it reassured me I was never alone.

On the communal level, it connected me with my people – amcha yisrael. Not only those with whom I prayed, but also with the entire Jewish people worldwide. It was always clear to me that personal prayer by itself is not enough. Prayer is much more powerful when it becomes a group experience, a spiritual support system, if you will, in which one does not pray only by oneself, but also as part of a community of faith that is able to fulfill the Talmudic dictum that the world stands on three things—Torah, or knowledge; avodah, or worship; and gemilut hasadim, or acts of love and kindness. All three are interrelated, and all three must come into play to make prayer effective.

As I became a student of religions, especially in recent years as a cruise rabbi, which gave me the opportunity to travel around the world and observe people at prayer everywhere, I found out that millions of people worldwide pray both individually and communally. I also discovered amazing similarities in both personal and communal prayer, East and West. While the form may differ, the essence is the same. All people everywhere pray for healing, for peace of mind, and so on. The two things I took away from this experience are, one, prayer is a universal expression of the human heart, which, in a sense, makes the entire human race one global community of faith; two, both personal and communal prayer continues to play a central role in the lives of people everywhere, as it has for centuries, and most likely will continue long into the future.

This brings us to the third level of prayer, namely, the universal. Here is where I find prayer to fall short of human expectations. By universal prayer I mean praying for what is known in Judaism as tikkun olam, repairing the world, putting an end to violence and war, and establishing a world order of—to paraphrase the Christian expression—peace on earth and good will towards all people. For years, I stood at the pulpit and I concluded the service with the words expressing the wish for a world at peace. As I grew older, I became more and more frustrated by the realization that I was mouthing words, and that the words I was uttering did not have the power to redeem the world.

Back in the 60s, when I first became a rabbi, I was very proud of my colleagues and teachers who played a leading role in the struggle for social change in America. America has come a long way because of their sacrifice, although it still has a long way to go. I am equally proud of my movement for the decision to ordain women, a decision which has greatly revitalized the movement. Thirdly, I am proud of my movement for its continuing work in making our liturgy more relevant and more inspiring than ever before. All these are significant steps towards repairing the world. But there is still one step missing, as I discuss in my new book, Why People Pray. We need to link up with all people of good will around the world, both people of the other faiths and of all movements for social betterment, and pursue a new universal language of prayer, in which there is no triumphalism or exclusivism, but rather the recognition that we are all travelers on a small planet, one species created by one cosmic source, custodians of this small planet, who can no longer afford to wage wars and engage in violence. This will be the first right step towards a true tikkun olam.

—

Rabbi Mordecai Schreiber, a member of Temple Beth El in Boca Raton, Florida, is celebrating 50 years as a CCAR rabbi.

Categories
News

Sinat Chinam

We have just observed Tisha B’Av- the ninth day of the Hebrew month of Av. One of the least understood of the Jewish holy days, Tisha B’Av commemorates the destruction of the First and Second Temples in Jerusalem, the release of the edict of the expulsion from Spain in 1492, and other terrible events in Jewish history. Jewish tradition asks: Why was the second temple destroyed? The rabbinic answer? Sinat chinam— baseless hatred. The rabbis believed that hateful speech can destroy a temple, can destroy a community, can destroy a nation.

I remember when I first was studying the amendments to the United States constitution in 7th grade. Our teacher, Mr. Buncis, taught us a profound lesson one day: that even our most dearly held rights have limits. When we challenged him on that statement with regards to the 1st amendment’s guarantee of freedom of speech, asserting, as 7th graders are wont to do, that freedom of speech is absolute, he said, “not according to Oliver Wendell Holmes.”

At that time, we didn’t know who Oliver Wendell Holmes was, and, Mr. Buncis being who he was, wasn’t about to make it easy on us. He cancelled class, sent us to the library, and told us to not come back until we knew whom Oliver Wendell Holmes was, and why Mr. Buncis would reference him in this context.

So off we went to the library, unaccompanied. Off we went to look at actual books. If we had only had Wikipedia back in those dark and hormone-filled days, we would have been back in a flash. But we had to wade through actual tomes, card catalogues, biographies. I made my way to the World Book Encyclopedia, selected the volume for the letter “H,” and began to read what you may already know.

Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr. was an associate justice of the Supreme Court from 1902 to 1932. As I began to read about him, someone else from my class, from deep in the recesses of the stacks of the Brookwood Intermediate School library, shouted out “clear and present danger!” I didn’t know what that meant, so I went back to reading about Holmes. There is so much to say about him; he was a veteran of the American Civil War. Among other things during his long tenure on the Supreme Court, he advocated broad freedom of speech under the First Amendment. Reading this, I wondered why Mr. Buncis pointed us in his direction? Wouldn’t Holmes have agreed with us 7th graders– that there should be no limits on freedom of speech?

It might seem that way, but it turns out that even Oliver Wendell Holmes, champion of free speech in America, understood that there were limits.

In 1919, Holmes wrote for the majority in the Supreme Court in a case called Shenk v. United States. In the opinion he writes, quote:

The most stringent protection of free speech would not protect a man falsely shouting fire in a theater and causing a panic. […] The question in every case, [Holmes writes] is whether the words used are used in such circumstances and are of such a nature as to create a clear and present danger that they will bring about the substantive evils that Congress has a right to prevent.

Shouting fire in a theater– I’d heard that phrase before, but didn’t know where it came from. Clear and present danger– I loved that movie, but I didn’t know that Oliver Wendell Holmes had coined the phrase.

So it turns out that our right to free speech isn’t unfettered; when our speech is designed to cause panic, when it seeks to incite evil, we are not free to utter those words, and more, we must be held accountable for our language, lest the walls of our temple coming tumbling down.

There are moments when words bother me, when a person says something I simply abhor, but I choose not to pick that fight, because I know that the person has the right to speak their mind, even if I think they’re wrong. It’s the First Amendment at work, just like Oliver Wendell Holmes would have suggested.

And then there are other moments- times when I can’t stay silent, when, I believe, people of faith and conscience can’t stay silent, because what is going on in society is so seismic, so utterly inconsistent with our values, that silence becomes consent. There are moments when someone is shouting fire in a theater, and we have to recognize it for what it is– intentionally panic inducing, evil inciting, creating a clear and present danger.

This is such a moment. This is a moment when I wonder what I would tell my children if they later asked me why I said nothing.

Let’s be clear. There are deep differences in political philosophy in this congregation and in this country. There are those who believe that government should be minimally involved in the lives of American citizens, and those who believe that government has a larger role. I respect those differences; they stem back to the founding of our great nation, to the room where it happened.

As a rabbi, I want to foster healthy, respectful dialogue about these political differences; I intend to help my community be perhaps one of the few places in our modern lives where we can disagree without being disagreeable. I intend, too, for the community I lead to be proudly political without being partisan: I believe that Judaism demands both things of us. What I am addressing here is not about partisanship. It is about about is how we should treat, approach, respond to a person– any person, of any political persuasion, who falsely shouts fire in a theater to cause panic, to incite evil.

There’s a long and inglorious history of American politicians saying things that are vile and reprehensible. But even against that, the current political climate is extreme.

With which shouts shall we start? There is a candidate for President who implied that gun rights fanatics might consider taking the law into their own hands should the wrong presidential candidate be elected or the wrong judge be appointed. That any presidential candidate of any political party might speak in such a way that leaves it open to interpretation and the debate of talking heads whether or not he meant to advocate for the assassination of his political opponent is morally, spiritually, ethically, and religiously irresponsible at best, and criminal at worst. I condemn this furor-whipping, and I look forward to seeing the condemnation of his words by peoples of all faiths and no faith, by people from every political persuasion. The first amendment right to free speech is limited in certain ways, and this rhetoric steps way over the line.

Yes, the first amendment gives anyone the right to say vile, reprehensible things– denigrating women, mocking people with disabilities,  berating war heroes and their families. That is their first amendment right, as hard as that is to believe, as much as it makes me angry as a Jew, as a human being.

But when a presidential candidate uses his or her pulpit to expound racial hatred over and over again; when they consistently vow to ban an entire group of people from entering this country based on their religion; when a person proudly proclaims they can shoot people on the streets of New York with impunity; and when they imply that violence against someone they disagree with might be warranted, such a person has gone beyond the realm of politics and political party. They have gone beyond what our founders meant when they crafted the 1st Amendment. Mr. Buncis taught me that. Oliver Wendell Holmes taught me that. And our vast Jewish experience teaches us this lesson as well.

When a candidate for the most powerful elected office in the world speaks in this way, they are falsely shouting fire in a theater. They seek not to convince us of their perspective, but rather, they intend to incite panic and fear. They seek to sow seeds of anger. They seek to fan the flames of hatred. When they do this, they are not even pretending to expound a particular political philosophy; they skip right over that legitimate endeavor to incite mistrust, to dehumanize races and classes and genders and ethnicities. Sinat chinam— baseless hatred– is such a person’s stock in trade when they use this language. And, as we see over and over in videos from rallies this election cycle, these strategies work. People who are fed angry, hateful messages are whipped into an angry, hateful frenzy.

I urge you to take time now to consider the sinat chinam, the baseless hatred, that is being spewed in our nation today. Consider well whether you will be silent, for fear of being accused of violating the right to free speech, or whether you will speak out. The walls of the temple of American democracy are trembling.

—

Rabbi Joel Mosbacher serves Temple Shaaray Tefila in New York City. 

Categories
Rabbis

Reflections on 50 years in the Rabbinate

50 years anniversary laurel wreath icon or sign. Template for celebration and congratulation design. 50th anniversary golden label. Vector illustration.

I was born in Bombay, India (now called Mumbai). I graduated with a Bachelor’s Degree in Psychology from St. Xavier’s College which is affiliated with the University of Bombay. Rabbi Hugo Gyrn, the first full time Rabbi in Mumbai, encouraged me to study at Hebrew Union College in Cincinnati.

As an undergraduate student I took an active leadership role in the Social Service League. We spent Saturday afternoons mixing milk powder with water and distributing this milk to children who lived with their families in ramshackle huts on the outskirts of a large cotton factory. In the summer we spent a week in a small village building a dirt road that would eventually connect the village to the nearest town. It was at this Jesuit College I was able to translate the values and ideals of Judaism into concrete action.

These experiences had a profound effect on my future rabbinic career. I was ordained at Hebrew Union College in 1966 with a Master’s Degree in Hebrew Letters. I was awarded the honorary Degree of Doctor of Divinity in 1991 for 25 years of rabbinic service.

My first pulpit was the Glasgow Reform Synagogue, the only Reform congregation in Scotland. Despite attacks and opposition from the Orthodox establishment, the congregation has grown. After this unique rabbinic experience I served as rabbi at two congregations in Western Pennsylvania, Beth Zion Temple in Johnstown and Temple Israel in Uniontown.

It was after ten years in the active rabbinate in Glasgow and Johnstown that I decided to practice what I had been preaching in the pulpit. As rabbi of a small congregation in Uniontown I was able to pursue many other professional and volunteer paths. I was appointed Administrator of the Fayette Mental Health/Mental Retardation Program (now called The Behavioral Health Administration). As a volunteer on the board and as the board president I discovered that Fayette County did not have many of the mandated services for people with disabilities.

With a Bachelor’s Degree in Psychology and a Master’s Degree in Hebrew Letters I assumed the challenging position of County Administrator. I taught myself the complex mental health system, proposal writing and the development of budgets of twelve million dollars. This enabled me to greatly expand the county program by establishing all the mandated residential and non-residential clinical services.

I served at Temple Israel in Uniontown for 27 years as Rabbi and 11 years as Rabbi Emeritus after retirement. I was Chaplain at Western Center in Canonsburg, Somerset State Hospital, State Correctional Institutes at Somerset, Waynesburg, Laurel Highlands and Fayette. I also served as Director of UVW Hillel, Spiritual Counselor at Albert Gallatin Home Care and Hospice. I was one of the founders and first Executive Director of Interfaith Volunteer Caregivers of Fayette which provides volunteer service to the frail elderly that enables them to stay in their homes rather than assisted living or nursing homes.

In Uniontown I was active in a number of social and civic organizations. I was President of Uniontown Area Clergy Association, Co-chair of the United Way of South Fayette, President of the Uniontown Rotary Club, Assistant Governor of Rotary District 7330, President of Executive Committee for Agency coordination, President of the MHMR Board, President of Interfaith Volunteer Caregivers of Fayette, Vice President/Treasurer of the Uniontown Jewish Community Center and an active member of the Fayette Lodge of B’nai B’rith.

While in Cincinnati I married Helaine Mazin of Louisville, Kentucky. We will celebrate our 54th anniversary in September. Our children Lisa Kaye and Braham Mazin were born in Paisley, Scotland. Lisa is married to Mark Chertok. They have two children, Adam David and Tova Rose. Our son, Rabbi Braham Mazin David, is married to Naomi Blumberg. They have two children, Asha Nissin and Avinoam Pukar.

Helaine and I now live in Pittsburgh and have become members of Rodef Shalom Congregation where we celebrated the 50th anniversary of my ordination at a special Shabbat Morning Service on June 18, 2016.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       —

                                         Rabbi Sion David is celebrating 50 years in the Rabbinate.  He retired in 2014. 

 

Categories
Books Torah

Teaching Chumash Skills using The Torah: A Modern Commentary

The Chumash, which I used when I first began to learn Torah in-depth, has a special place on my shelf.  The notes on its pages are invaluable, not just for their information, but also as a connection to a time in my past and to the teachers with whom I learned, among them Rabbi Judith Abrams, z”l, whose lesson about the words and letters of the Priestly Benediction remain an important part of my kavannah whenever I bless someone with them.

When I arrived at my congregation, there was a religious school book list which asked our 7th-graders to purchase a Chumash. Though, I would soon learn that they never used it or learned how to use it.

If we want the Chumash to be a meaningful tome with which our students connect, and if we hope that it does more than gather dust on a shelf, we need to teach our students to engage with it and make meaning.

I don’t necessarily anticipate the same kind of connection from our students that we as clergy may have with a Chumash.  But, the hope is that by engaging with the Chumash they will gain a connection to it.  This cannot happen if a wrapped copy is handed to them on the bimah and put into the backseat of the car on the way to their party.

Using a Chumash is a skill that has to be learned.product_image - Copy

At my weekly Torah study, I noticed that many of those attending didn’t fully understand the jargon nor did they possess the skills needed to navigate a Chumash.  In fact, many seemed intimidated by it.  So together we learned how it works and how to use it.  It’s important not to take for granted the facility we have with a Chumash.  For many of our congregants, odds are they have rarely opened or even seen a Chumash outside of the sanctuary. All the more so our b’nei mitzvah!

So, what do we do?  First, we transitioned to the Plaut (Torah: A Modern Commentary) Chumash both in our sanctuary and on our book list.  This sends a message that as a congregation, we use a commentary to which congregants and students can relate.  Next, we needed to work within the religious school to make use of this book we asked families to purchase.

In addition, beginning a couple of years ago, the Chumash became a textbook for the 7th-grade.  I introduce it to the students when together we pick the verses from their Torah portion which they will chant.  I show them the book, discuss why it’s titled: “A Modern Commentary,” and use the maps to help them see where their portion takes place.  Then I use the structural outline from The Torah: A Women’s Commentary to help them pick the section they will read when they are called to the Torah.  Not incidentally, I also ask why they think that the second volume is called “A Women’s Commentary” and explain that almost every other commentary on my shelf was written by a man, and so these two volumes work together to give a complete, multi-faceted, modern approach to Torah that values everyone’s input.

When they reach their 7th-grade classrooms, they use the Chumash in a few different ways and for a few purposes.  First, they use it to learn more about their parashah and where it falls in the context of the Torah, ultimately creating a story board of their entire parashah.  They also learn Chumash skills.  How does one read this book with Hebrew and English and columns?  How do we talk about something in the Torah in a way that everyone understands and everyone can find?  What are chapters and what are verses and what do they tell us?  Why are there essays?

As a rabbi, it’s quite special when I meet with the students later in the year to work on their divrei Torah and I hear them correctly refer to chapters and verses. This skill is not innate; and it is a skill that I believe all Jews should possess.  Helping our congregants powerfully and confidently engage in Torah is our goal.  Using the Chumash as a central text in our 7th-grade means that our students engage not just in words of Torah, but in the practice of Torah and the art of studying as Jews.

—

Rabbi Daniel Bar-Nahum is the Rabbi and Director of Education at Temple Emanu-El of East Meadow, New York.

Categories
News

The Making of a Young Fundraiser

It was the summer of headlines.  “6 Year Old Boy Raises Thousands for Cancer Charity Run,” “Young Fundraiser,” “Long Island 6 Year Old Raises Money for Cancer Research.”  But, the story goes so much deeper than those simple words.  It is rooted in a history of kindness, of caring, of friendship and family and loss and love.

It might have begun three years ago at that first race when this boy, my son, saw his father run along with our closest of friends, really not friends at all, more like family.  He sat in the stands, watching the participants run on the field of Yankee Stadium.  Understanding only a little, as much as a three year old can, that this day, this race, was something that mattered.

It may have been the following year, when he was just one year shy of being able to participate, to raise money just like his father, to “help people who were sick,” as he would put it.  Wanting so much to be a part of what he saw.

Or it might have been the day last year when he began raising money as well.  The first time he explained to someone what he was doing and why he was doing it;. He was trying to help in finding a way to make sick people healthy once again.

But, in actuality, I believe the story began so many years before that.IMG_2067

When I was a young girl, I stood at a birthday party confused as to why another little girl had no hair on her head, just a scarf.  While our closest of friends, really more like family, witnessed her best friend dying.  A moment, or really moments in time that would shape the person she would become and would change her family forever.   The loss of a little girl, Jill, who lived for only 11 years, but inspired so many.  Who wrote a poem before her words were silenced.  A poem about a bluebird.  “He sings the story of life,” she wrote.  Wisdom beyond her years.  Words that we hear as the team, Bluebirds In Pinstripes, runs each year.

My son runs because they have never forgotten.

Because years later, this little girl’s best friend decided she wanted not just to remember, but act; to hold onto the memory of who Jill was and to work to shape the future of cancer research so another 11 year old girl would not have to watch her best friend dying.

Because Jill’s best friend’s sister, holding Jill’s memory close, did not just race on her own.  Instead, she came to my son, speaking with him about what it meant to take on this holy act of running and raising money and remembering.  And instead of encouraging her friends and family to give to her, she supported his fundraising efforts, so that little boy would understand the joy of making a difference.

He runs because they live their lives with her memory in their hearts, her voice in their heads, inspiring them to act in the world.

And the story continues from there.  Because his actions in raising money mattered to his family, to his grandparents and cousins and aunts and uncles as they had learned these values and behaviors.  Through their words of encouragement, their phone calls and inquiries, they taught a 6 year old the lesson that he may accomplish so much in his life, but the actions he takes for others, deeds of kindness and love, g’milut chasadim v’ahavah, speak in volumes to the person he is and the person he will become. Caring for others, a core piece of what it means to be Jewish, matters in this life.

4He runs because his family not only understands this value, but loves him enough to help him discover this truth as well.

There are so many key values that can be taught in a classroom, but there are so many that cannot.  Our Torah portion this week speaks to the latter.  We read in Va’et’chanan “But take utmost care and watch yourselves scrupulously, so that you do not forget the things that you saw with your own eyes and so that they do not fade from your mind as long as you live.” (Deuteronomy 4:9) We are instructed to remember, not just what we have been told, but what we have lived, what we have experienced, what we have seen with our own eyes.  What a significant lesson for our students, our children, our community—providing the space and the opportunity to experience life with its joys and challenges and array of emotions.

That little boy has now raised thousands for research that we hope one day will make a difference in the lives of those battling this awful disease.  What an accomplishment for a boy so young.  But, even so, the truth of his successful fundraising efforts is so evident.

He is in those articles because of what he has seen, what he has experienced.  He is in those articles because of those who race besides him.  He is in those articles because of the people in his life who have the courage to remember and to honor.  He is in those articles because of those who love him enough and care about him enough to show him the importance of loving and caring for others.  He is in those articles because of a little girl named Jill who did not have a chance to live the years she should have lived, but in the years she did, made such an impact on those who knew her and loved her.

The headline is as simple as “Young Fundraiser,” but the story is as deep and rooted as any story of love, of memory, of hope, of life.  “He sings the story of life” Jill wrote.  And she sings the story of life, still whispering in our ears.

—
Rabbi Debra Bennet  serves Temple Chaverim of Plainview, in Long Island, NY.

Categories
Israel

Tu B’Av: Making Love Last

This Thursday night marks the arrival of a Jewish holiday so minor that most Jews don’t even know it exists! This holiday, Tu B’Av (the fifteenth day of the Jewish month of Av) is considered to be the Jewish equivalent to Valentine’s Day. Even though it’s observance has grown exponentially in recent years, most Jews still don’t observe it in anyway. In reality, how many of us wouldn’t want to celebrate a Jewish Day of Love?!

 

Tu B’Av’s beginnings go back thousands of years. We learn about this holiday from the Talmud. Rabban Shimon ben Gamaliel shares:

There were no happier days for Israel than Tu B’Av and Yom Kippur, for on them the daughters of Jerusalem would go out in white clothes, that were borrowed, so that none should be embarrassed if they did not own white garments… The daughters of Jerusalem would go out and dance in the vineyards. And what would they say? “Young man, please lift up your eyes and see what you choose for yourself. Do not set your eyes toward beauty, but set your eyes toward a good family, as the verse states: “Grace is deceptive and beauty short-lived, but a woman loyal to God, she shall be praised” (Proverbs 31:30).

No wonder Tu B’Av was considered to be one of the happiest days of the years! Men and Women would gather in a beautiful vineyard. Wearing white garments, they would sing and dance. New couples were created; Love was truly in the air!

The Israelites gathered to find Mr. or Mrs. Right. They didn’t have access to J-Date or Tinder or any of the other technological apps of our day. Instead, they found “The One” by meeting each other in-person at a Vineyard. You’d think that looks would be a defining factor as they searched for love. But that wasn’t the case! The Talmud tells us that they didn’t set their eyes towards beauty, but towards a good family. You’d think that being well dressed or well put-together would be important. However, each of the women wore the same borrowed dress, no one stood out in anyway.

No, what truly mattered was the values they each possessed. The men and women looked for a significant other that had a deep commitment to family and friends. They searched for a partner who was loyal not only to God, but to the community of which they were a part. It was the heart that mattered, not the exterior.

I’m not so naïve to believe that looks or beauty didn’t matter to the ancient Israelites. We recognize human nature and the need for a physical connection in lust and longing. But, there is something different about love! Tu B’Av reminds us that for love to exist, there must be something more. A foundation built upon looks or beauty, will not stand the test of time. Love lasts when our relationship is about the heart and the values we each possess. Love lasts when we know in our heart of hearts that our significant other protects us, supports us, and is by our side no matter what.

Tu B’Av might be a minor Jewish holiday, but it’s also a perfect time to celebrate love! Find that special person in your life and thank them: perhaps it’s flowers, or chocolates, or a romantic dinner. But whatever it is, may this day be a reminder of what makes love last: by caring for each other, supporting each other, and making your loved one the center of your world.

—

Rabbi Andrew Gordon serves Temple Sinai in Roslyn Heights, New York.

Categories
Reform Judaism

Selling Judaism

For a long time, the perception has been that marketing and Judaism are like oil and water — they just don’t mix.  Active outreach was seen as seedy at best and, at worst, as a violation of our value not to proselytize. Now, necessity has forced us to leap over that intellectual hurdle. If people aren’t coming to us, we must go to them. The question for our day is not if to market, it’s how to market.

In seminary I read an article that stayed with me. It was a list of all of the things rabbis should not be. Don’t be a therapist. Don’t be a maintenance professional. Don’t be a CEO. Don’t be a marketer. Well, I’ve acted in all of these roles at times and I think the reality is that those of us who are passionately driven to pursue the perpetuation of our congregations must improve at all of these skills for ourselves and our professional staffs. So here we go, here are some things I’ve learned (and actually grown to love) along the way about marketing Judaism.

Clip art is not art

These cut-and-paste cartoons are inexpensive and fast. When potential participants see images that were grabbed from online without much thought, they see just that — a rushed, under-resourced experience.  An image says it all: the lack of connection with our target audience and the lack of resources (or knowledge) to hire a marketer.  When we use clip art or other sub-professional tools, we weaken our brand and diminish the seriousness and depth of our offerings. Cheap marketing suggests cheap content.

Social media requires skill and strategy

In 2011 I was asked to increase the level of millennial participation at Shabbat services at my synagogue.  I used social media but did not understand the mechanism behind the machine. After working in depth on the content and structure of the program, I got a crash course in social media. The sites themselves often teach you how.  If you can afford to consult with a marketing professional, even better. Now we have 200+ millennials at our services on the regular. Thank you Jewish marketing!

Animation is not for children only

I was an animation snob. I thought that cartoons were for kids. In fact, I had become so sensitized to the kitschy images that the Jewish non-for-profit world seems to love, I bristled when a colleague suggested an animated “explainer video” for our new at-home religious school program. This was supposed to be a serious offering. A high-level, in depth attempt at improving Jewish education. It was a project I had thought about, researched, imagined, designed, and focus-grouped for months. Could a cartoon convey all of that to our community? Check it out for yourself, what do you think?

Rabbis put so much effort into our sermons, as we should. But how can we put countless hours into our sermons and only a moment into getting people to hear what we have to say? The word is powerful and always will be, but marketing is one word that we cannot afford to see as dirty. It is necessary and must be embraced. Those of us with a sense of vision should ensure that our marketing matches our message.

—

Rabbi Diana Fersko serves Stephen Wise Free Synagogue in New York City.