Categories
omer

Counting of the Omer

These days, with four small children in our house, I count a lot. I inventory lunches and shoes and loads of laundry. I track little back packs and waters bottles and ouchies. I measure fevers and hours of screen time and outside play. I tally toys and turns and the children themselves every few minutes. Every day fills itself with small, sometimes forgotten numbers.

When each of my children were born, we counted their lives according to hours, or feedings, or dirty diapers. As they aged, the measuring stick dilated into weeks or months, but never much longer than that. Ella, my first child, was only sixteen months when Aidan was born; and the twins, Daniel and David, followed just twenty four months and one week later. Now, for more than half a decade – since my pregnancy with Ella – I counted our lives in days, sometimes in weeks, and occasionally, in months. But the twins marked the last pregnancy my body can healthily carry. As they age, the measuring stick lengthens and stretches with their no-longer-so-little bodies. And steadily, my subconscious practice of counting the time since their birth in days, then weeks, then months faded into the the bittersweet ease of measuring their lives in years.

The practice of the counting of the Omer reminds us of each day’s preciousness. Some days are more exciting than others (I’m looking at you, Lag B’Omer) but every day merits a blessing. Marking and measuring the small things, the circadian passage of time, is what makes up the majority of our lives. Bigger milestones come and go, and I am grateful for them. But the counting of the Omer reminds me again of the joys of measuring our time in smaller increments.

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Rabbi Lauren Ben-Shoshan, M.A.R.E., lived in Tel Aviv, Israel until recently, and now resides in Palo Alto, California with her lovely husband and their four energetic and very small children.

Categories
Passover Pesach

Monty Python and the Ten Plagues

Growing up I was a big fan of Monty Python; I would listen to their recording “Live at Drury Lane” over and over again, so much so that I could recite some of the sketches by heart.  One of my favorites was entitled ‘The Four Yorkshiremen’, and it involved four Yorkshiremen (as the name suggests) talking about how terrible and how difficult their lives were as children.  Each one tried to outdo the other with their exaggerated descriptions of childhood suffering; so that ultimately there can be no truth to the claims which include: paying for the privilege of going to work, living in a shoebox, and working a 29 hour day in the mill.  At the end the punchline is “But you try and tell the young people today that … and they won’t believe ya.”

In a blog post one writer drew a connection between these four Yorkshiremen and the three Rabbis, who discuss the Ten Plagues, within our Hagaddah.[1]  Rabbi Yossi, Rabbi Eliezer, and Rabbi Akiva engage in a conversation in which they exaggerate, or perhaps grow, the number of plagues that actually took place.  The author suggests that this is a way of competing to praise and glorify God, but I think something else is taking place.

As we read about the Ten Plagues, both in our Torah and the Hagaddah, many of us are uncomfortable at the fact that so much suffering had to befall the Egyptians in order that we might emerge from slavery to freedom.  Our Passover ritual of taking a drop of wine from our cups for each plague reveals that our joy is somewhat diminished because of the suffering that the plagues inflicted.  But I think that the words of the Hagaddah are designed to express further discomfort with the plagues and remove us from thinking too hard about the suffering that actually took place.

Immediately after reciting the Ten Plagues we read: “Rabbi Yehuda used to abbreviate the plagues with the acrostic: D’Tza’Ch, A’Da’Sh, B’A’Cha’B.”  While an acrostic does serve as a memory device, the words of the acrostic itself have no meaning.  In this way we remove ourselves from the reality of the plagues.  We remember that there were ten plagues, and we remember the initials of each plague, but what those plagues actually were is lost in the three made up words he uses as a memory device.

This is then followed by the three Rabbis and their story of exaggeration.  First up is Rabbi Yossi who claims that there were 10 plagues in Egypt, along with 50 plagues at the sea.  He uses two verses of Torah to prove this.  While the Israelites were in Egypt we read “the Egyptian magicians said to Pharaoh: ‘This [plague] is the finger of God’” (Ex. 8:15); and then at the Red Sea we read: “Israel saw the great hand that God used against the Egyptians” (Ex. 14:31).  If it was a finger in Egypt and a hand at the sea it stands to reason that if there were 10 plagues in Egypt, then there would have been 50 plagues at the sea.

Rabbi Eliezer builds on Rabbi Yossi’s theory, accepting that there were five times as many plagues at the sea as there were in Egypt, but he adds a new dimension.  Referencing Psalms 78:49 “God cast upon them the fierceness of God’s anger, wrath, and indignation, and trouble, by sending evil angels among them” he claims that each plague was really four rolled into one.  The four dimensions in that verse are “wrath”, “indignation”, “trouble”, and “evil angels”. This leads to the claim that there were 40 plagues in Egypt and 200 plagues at the sea.  Rabbi Akiva goes one step further and divides the verse from Psalms so that there are five dimensions: “God’s anger”, “wrath”, “indignation”, “trouble”, and “evil angels”, for a grand total of 50 plagues in Egypt and 250 plagues at the sea.

This might appear like a competition to see who can glorify God the most, but there is something else going on, which is especially striking when following Rabbi Yossi’s acrostic.  Whether we accept that there were 60 plagues, 240 plagues, or even 300 plagues, with the potential for so many plagues the original 10 plagues in Egypt get lost in the mix, accounting for just a small percentage of the suffering that was actually inflicted.  While we might accept the reality of the Ten Plagues, as the exaggeration goes on we begin to doubt the veracity of what we were originally told.

The structure of the Hagaddah ensures that after reading the plagues we then essentially try to avoid the reality of what was actually done.  Our discomfort with the plagues is not new, the Rabbis who put together the Hagaddah felt the same discomfort and so they used their editorial power to minimize them, avoid them, and even lose sight of them.  And perhaps, after claiming that there were actually 300 plagues the final line, adapted from Monty Python, might have to be: “But you try and tell the people around the Seder Table that … and they won’t believe ya” – any maybe, in some way, that is what the Rabbis were going for.

[1] The blog post is available to read here.

—

Rabbi Danny Burkeman serves the Community Synagogue of Port Washington, New York. 

Categories
News Passover Pesach Rabbis Rabbis Organizing Rabbis Social Justice

Promises of Liberation

Rabbi Seth Limmer

This week is framed by the unfulfilled promises of liberation.

On April 16, we celebrated Emancipation Day, which marks the anniversary of President Lincoln’s signing the Compensated Emancipation Act of 1862, which freed the over 3,000 enslaved individuals who resided in Washington, D.C.

On April 22, which is also the 14th of Nissan, we will sit at our Seder tables to commence our annual Passover festival which marks not only the historic liberation of our people from Egyptian oppression, but also the beginning of our obligation to insure none in the world suffer similar degradation and abuse.

Our Passover meal ends with the hope, “Next year in Jerusalem! Next year may all be free!” We understand it is our obligation to rise up from our Seder and work for that great liberation of humanity which is not yet complete.  For those who marked Emancipation Day, we recognize that—in a society still roiled by racial injustice—the promise of American Emancipation is likewise not yet fulfilled.

It is our work to bring to light the Jewish hope, and the American dream, of enduring freedom for all.  Passover teaches us that the opposite of freedom is oppression; we know in American that the antithesis of living free is being incarcerated.  We also know that our country today suffers—disproportionately in the case of our Black brothers and sisters—from the plague of Mass Incarceration.  That is why we, as a Reform Movement and Reform Rabbis, have banded together to advocate the passage of the bipartisan Sentencing Reform and Corrections Act [S. 2123] in this year’s Congress.

Fighting for the passage of S. 2123 has been interesting for me as a resident of Illinois.  One of my Senators, Richard Durbin [D-IL], is an original co-sponsor of the bill.  My other Senator, Mark Kirk [R-IL], has long been viewed as a key moderate who might ultimately come out in support of the bill.  Our job was to turn the possibility of Kirk’s potential support for this bill into his committed support.

Our work began in January, the Friday before Rev. Martin Luther King Day.  Rabbi Ari Margolis and I met with Senator Kirk’s representatives in his Chicago office, and explained our movement’s support for this needed legislation.  The following Tuesday, over 500 Reform Jews—inspired by their rabbis—called into Kirk’s office to add their voices to those who wished to see S. 2123 become the law of our land.

But January brought no word of endorsement or support, we took further action.  The Leadership Conference on Civil and Human Rights organized a local press conference at which I spoke on behalf of the Reform Movement and reminded our Senator that, “Mercy, redemption and rehabilitation are just as much part of a just society as punishment.” [http://thehill.com/regulation/legislation/267347-illinois-residents-push-sen-kirk-to-support-criminal-justice-reform]  Still, we hear little from Capitol Hill.

Last week, I travelled to Washington, D.C., as part of our bi-annual meetings of our Commission on Social Action.  Our meetings ended on Tuesday with a trip up to the Hill, where we gathered in state Caucuses to lobby on behalf of S. 2123.  Together, Rabbi Shoshana Conover and Deborah Kadin and I prepared for what we feared would be a contentious meeting in Kirk’s offices: too much time had passed for us not to receive an answer.  As we sat with Gregory Tosi, the Senator’s lead counsel, I honestly felt like we would walk away defeated.  Boy was I wrong.

Instead, as we finished advocating for our cause, Greg shared the following with us: “You’ll be happy to hear—and you’re the first to hear—that the Senator decided today to become a co-sponsor of the bill.”  That direct.  That plain.  After months, the victory we sought… a first small win on the campaign for much more.

We left the Hart Office building delighted.  I thought I was the one with good fortune—I also ran into colleagues Matthew Cutler and Michael Latz, who were lobbying with the Jubilee USA network for relieving global poverty.  It was my colleague Rabbi Conover who had the best luck: she ran into Senator Kirk himself, while he was on the way to a press conference to announce his support for S. 2123.  On behalf of all of us, she thanked him for his vote.

As we dwell in a season of unfulfilled dreams, I am fully aware that this victory is small.  Next, we need to ensure S. 2123 makes its way to the Senate floor.  Then we will likely need to fight for its passage.  And then, the problems of Mass Incarceration won’t evaporate; they will only be mitigated.  Dr. King taught that the moral arc of the universe is long, and we need to be in this for the long struggle if we want to make sure that arc bends towards justice.

I left Capitol Hill last week, a few Days before Emancipation day and a week prior to Passover, feeling just as I do every year when the Seder comes to an end: I’m appreciative of the strides we’ve made towards liberation for all, but aware that we have a lot more marching to do to pass everyone through the split sea to the Land of Promise.

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Rabbi Seth Limmer serves Chicago Sinai Congregation.  He is also the Social Justice committee chair for the CCAR. 

Read more about the Commission on Social Action and Rabbis Organizing Rabbis trip to Washington D.C.

 

Categories
Reform Judaism Social Justice

Beyond Colorful Socks and a New Outfit

“I like Rabbi Prosnit’s colorful socks,” said a congregant during last week’s synagogue program. This comment was a response to one of our panelist’s statements that whenever she wears the color pink or has a new outfit, a congregant usually remarks on her clothing, yet rarely do her male colleagues receive comments about their attire. She is absolutely right. Rarely does anyone say anything about my ties, shoes, or sweaters, though occasionally, I do get comments about my colorful socks.

Last week, our congregation organized a program titled The Sacred Calling: Four Decades of Women in the Rabbinate in anticipation of the release of the new book with the same title from the CCAR Press. We were privileged to welcome co-editor of the book, Rabbi Rebecca Einstein-Schorr, who facilitated a dialogue with three rabbis from our Temple community, Rabbis Ellen Lewis, Mary Zamore, and Sarah Smiley. The four rabbis took part in a candid conversation, sharing reflections about their education at HUC-JIR, the challenges they have faced as leaders of congregations, and the continued work that synagogues and our Movement need to undertake for women rabbis.

During the conversation, I discovered that the language on my smicha is different than my female colleagues. (Rabbi Mary Zamore has written an article about this in the forthcoming book.) My appreciation deepened for my Temple Emanu-El predecessors’ hard work to create a strong family leave policy at our congregation. I became more aware of the uncomfortable, funny, and challenging conversations that my colleagues have, and continue to have, because of their gender.

Yet, the biggest takeaway for me was the importance of this conversation for our congregants. For many in attendance, particularly our younger Temple members, they never knew the struggle that women rabbis had to go through to establish themselves in their careers. It was an eye-opening conversation as well as an opportunity for self-reflection for our congregants on how they may treat their rabbis differently depending on their gender. People were so drawn in by the stories from our rabbis that they did not want to leave.

I am extremely excited for the release of The Sacred Calling: Four Decades of Women in the Rabbinate and look forward to using the book in our adult education, confirmation, and b’nai mitzvah programs. This book will be a great tool to share the legacy and history of our first women rabbis and also a way to spark conversations with our congregants. I hope that our discussions will transcend colorful socks and a new outfit and will help to create a rabbinate that is fair and equitable for all.

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Rabbi Ethan Prosnit serves Temple Emanu-El in Westfield, NJ.

To pre-order your copy of The Sacred Calling: Four Decades of Women in the Rabbinate visit our website.

Categories
Passover Pesach

The Ivrim: Holding Time and Tension in Perfect Balance

This week, we mark our final days in Egypt. For generations, we have languished in slavery, served our masters from the narrow confines of our chains. We have built, heaved, sweat, and cried – bled, birthed, pushed, and died all in a land that is not our land, for a king who is not our king. Stifled, oppressed – this is our people’s story of alienation, of being the stranger.

But, this week, though our bodies are still ensnared, our eyes are set on revelatory fire. There is something new in the air. Freedom is coming. This week is the last week of our captivity. In these final days leading up to Pesach, we step into the project of our redemption – a seemingly unending march to the land of our promise.

There’s a paradox here. Every year we leave Mitzrayim, we leave Egypt, and every year we find ourselves back there again. Where was your Mitzrayim, your narrow place, last year? By what or by whom are you held captive this year? Back and forth – and forever in between.

This is the story, the very essence of our people. We live in tension, in movement. From the narrow confines of slavery, toward the land of our redemption – from the darkness of exile to the blinding light of revelation. Most of the time we are betwixt and between.

We are the the Hebrews, the Ivrim.  The word Ivrim comes from the root ayin, bet, resh, which means to cross over. The very name informs us that we are in constant motion, unending transformation, and enduring transition. We are named for this tension, this unending march toward a more just, a more righteous reality.

As Ivrim, we are called to move across borders and boundaries, across time and space – called to relive a collective past and a shared memory in every act of ritual, in every reading of text, and in every moment of prayer. We are an unending past and revelatory future – a collection of movements, words, and memories transmitted from the murky depths of creation passed down to us in the accents of our great-grandparents.

When I think about crossing boundaries, about breaking free from captivity, I think about my great-grandfather, Nathan Chanin. Nathan came to America at the turn of the century after serving an eight year sentence in Siberia for his revolutionary activities. He was a leader of the Jewish Labor movement, a prominent union organizer, and well-known educator.  He worked for the  Workmen’s Circle for over 15 years, serving as both the organization’s Education Director and Secretary General.

Nathan’s passion for the Yiddish language, his unceasing pursuit of justice, and his love of Yiddishkeit have flowed down through the generations of my family, spilling over into our religious, political, and cultural identities. It is at this time of year, this time of exodus, of liberation, and of transition, that I am most reminded of Nathan’s legacy.  Every Pesach, my family narrates, sings, and celebrates the story of our redemption in Yiddish. From the perfectly pronounced story of the four sons, each voiced by my mother and her siblings, to my broken and heavily accented four-questions — we speak a more just future into being through the language of our past.

In addition to the Yiddish of our past, my cousins and I add supplementary texts, prayers, and music to our family seder. Every year, we bring new words that have moved us, songs that have inspired us, and rituals that have transformed us. We bring in Leonard Baskin’s drawings from the CCAR’s Passover Haggadah and the ritual of Miriam’s Cup and the gender-inclusive language of The Open Door. Our Seder is two moments in time at once – multiple voices held together in perfect tension.

This blend of past and future, of Nathan’s secular Yiddishkeit with the current longings and passions of his great-grandchildren have taught me that perhaps freedom and redemption come not as the result of a long march or entering a promised land, but are cultivated and honed over time in our ability to move in and out of the boundaries and to live as Ivrim, in constant transformation.

At the end of his novel “Go Tell It on the Mountain,” James Baldwin imagines a moment of unending revelation and redemption that stands in perpetual tension. He writes:

“No power could hold this army back, no water disperse them, no fire consume them. One day they would compel the earth to heave upward and surrender the waiting dead. They sang where the darkness gathered, where the lion waited, where the fire cried and where blood ran down. They wandered in the valley forever, and they smote the rock forever. And the waters sprang perpetually, in the perpetual desert. They cried unto the Lord forever and lifted up their eyes forever. They were cast down forever, and the Lord lifted them up forever.”

Revelation, Baldwin says, happens in tension – in the unending march toward freedom.

As we embark once more from the confines of Mitzrayim, our narrow places, I would like to offer you the opportunity to fully embody the identity of the Ivrim, the boundary crosser. From Egypt to revelation, from the promised land to exile — we are blessed with the ability to find redemption and freedom in moments of unending tension.
May this blessing be available to each of us.

—

Hilly is a second-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 also a rabbinic intern at the Central Conference of American Rabbis.

Categories
News Passover Pesach

Dayenu: Enough is Enough

If the Passover seder had an anthem, my vote would be for Dayenu– the jubilant, infectious melody responsible for resuscitating seders everywhere, year in and year out.  Dayenu wakes us out of our seder stupors and inexplicably inspires all to join their voices in song: “Dai-dai-yenu, Dai-dai-yenu, Dai-dai-yenu, Dayenu, Dayenu!!!”

Dayenu—it would have been enough had God only delivered us from slavery, but God did more.  Dayenu—it would have been enough had God only given us Shabbat, but God gave more.  Dayenu—it would have been enough had God only bestowed upon us Torah, but God bestowed more.

When I reflect on Dayenu today, I struggle, because I see not enough emphasis on “enough” and too much emphasis on “more.”  What does “Dayenu” mean in a world where bigger is (usually) better and more is (often) what we are looking for?  How do we understand Dayenu in a society that prizes conspicuous consumption and fetishizes acquisition in every medium imaginable?  When we are conditioned to believe that more stuff and more riches and more power will lead to a happier life, how do we even begin to set limits and embrace moderation? How do we adopt the idea of “Dayenu,” or “just enough” in a society that can never seem to get enough (accolades, money, power, status, etc.)?

And what does “enough” mean in a world where our children are asked to be everything to everyone–studious, sporty, intellectually curious, musical, artistic, socially conscious, tech savvy, and how about entrepreneurial?  We want them to master a sport (or two or three), a language (or two or three), an instrument (or two or three) and a hobby (or two or three).  But we also want them to be well mannered, concerned for others, deeply connected to their friends and community, and passionate (and if that passion can be parlayed into a career, even better).  We cannot bear to waste the potential we see in them; we cannot bear to have them miss out on any opportunities availed to them.  We desperately want the best for them and we want them to be their best.

But when and where in this scenario do we say “Dayenu”—he is doing enough or Dayenu, she has enough on her plate?  When do we say “Dayenu,” this schedule is woefully too busy for a young adult and much too hectic for a child?  At what point do we say, “Dayenu” too much of a good thing is not good?  On the other hand, what would it mean to accept that “enough” is enough?  To be smart enough, athletic enough, pretty enough, strong enough, quick enough, funny enough, popular enough, or good enough—what would it mean to say, that is perfect?  What would it mean to teach our children, when you look in the mirror and see the person reflected back at you, that person is “enough”- to succeed in life, to excel in friendships, to create a solid foundation, to be a happy person.  You are enough, period.

And what about ourselves? The expectations we have for ourselves and our families and our congregations often have very little grounding in reality.  What is good enough for others is simply not good enough for us.  “Enough” is not a standard bearer; “enough” is not worthy of praise.  “Enough” is not gasp-inducing or eye popping. Enough is just adequate.  It is merely satisfactory.  It meets the criteria but it does not surpass.  We don’t want enough; we want extraordinary.  And yet, Dayenu…

There is nothing wrong with reaching for the stars.  There is nothing wrong with pushing oneself to succeed and surpassing expectations. There is nothing wrong with perseverance and determination and high-octane drive.  We need that passion to accomplish all we set out to do.  We require that motivation to ignite the spark within our souls.  But we meet a breaking point when the pursuit surpasses the prize, when we find ourselves on a relentless path towards the next best thing-at all costs.

When do we stop and say, Dayenu?  This rung is high enough, this place is good enough and this pace is quick enough?  When do we acknowledge ourselves and our families and our careers and say, we are enough—enough to appreciate and to accept and to cherish and to love?  When do we say, enough is enough with always wanting more, with never being satisfied, with never giving ourselves the opportunity to savor the moment?  When do we say, with true conviction, Dayenu?

We can look back to our Torah for a little help in the matter, and a little inspiration.  When Moses called upon the Israelites to bring gifts towards the erecting of the Mishkan, the holy Tabernacle, they responded with unbridled enthusiasm.  They brought and they brought and they brought some more.  Ultimately, Moses had to stop the flow of gifts; the people had brought too much; “their efforts had been more than enough for all the work to be done.”  (Exodus 36:7)  In this case, God only wanted enough, no more, no less, just enough.

God got it right with the Mishkan.  Passover gives us an opportunity to get it right with Dayenu.  This Passover, may we all go from strength to strength to…Dayenu.

—

Rabbi Sara Y. Sapadin resides in New York City.  She most recently served Temple Israel of the City of New York.  Sara now volunteers as the CCAR RavBlog Member Volunteer.  Interested in writing something for RavBlog?  Learn more. 

Categories
Passover Pesach

Seder on the Dining Room Floor

Years ago, unplanned repair work on our house in early spring devastated our kitchen and dining room, ripped up our living room carpet, and threatened to destroy our plans for a comfortable, traditional Passover Seder. Add to it that more than half the guests were under 6 years old and could barely sit still long enough to dip the karpas in the salt water and we quickly realized that our Passover celebration needed to be creatively re-imagined.

We wondered: how were we going to make a Seder experience that taught our multi-generational gathering about the holiday’s central messages? That we journeyed from slavery to freedom, and that we must help others do the same. Sitting around a traditionally set table was just not in the cards.

We discovered that with creative and open minds, a willingness to merge tradition and innovation, and an accessible flexible Haggadah, an engaging Passover Seder can be had.

We threw borrowed gym mats over the living room concrete, placed Seder symbol-laden coffee tables around the room, and let the kids roll around while we told stories, read interesting tidbits from the Haggadah, and experienced the tactile sensations of the rituals. We realized that like for any other meaningful celebration – a birthday party, for example – the key to memorable success was to intermix food, family, songs and stories, ritual and readings in a meaningful way. We discovered that tradition and innovation needed to go hand and hand.

STJCoverWe also realized that our Seder needed a Haggadah that was filled rich and varied readings, colorful interpretations, easily accessible instructions, and enticing visualization from which we could sample. We have become enamored with Sharing the Journey: The Haggadah for the Contemporary Family (written by Alan S. Yoffie, illustrations by Mark Podwal) published by the CCAR Press. This rabbi-approved Haggadah is as accessible and creative as our personally cut-and-pasted booklets of our younger years with a few fantastic differences: Adults and children alike always seem to discover age appropriate material that uplifts and inspires. Teens and college students appreciate its ability to challenge contemporary understandings, while the grandparents like that it has enough traditionalism to recall their Seders of old. We like the fact that we can use it both at one night’s creative and another evening’s more traditional sit down Seder.

Over the years our Seders have changed. Our guests still enjoy the unique touches that invite contemplation: the football on the Seder plate, (suggesting that just as the Angel passed over the Israelites, perhaps we need to ensure that we hit our intended moral target), and history books strewn around the room (sparking a great discussion of whether the Exodus is historical or not and whether that matters). We just schepp nachas (are bursting the pride) that to this day our kids, relatives and friends enjoy these longer and deeper annual opportunities to explore the abiding lessons of Passover.

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Rabbi Paul Kipnes is Vice President of the Central Conference of American Rabbis, and serves Congregation Or Ami in Calabasas, California. Paul also co-wrote Jewish Spiritual Parenting: Wisdom, Activities, Rituals and Prayers for Raising Children with Spiritual Balance and Emotional Wholeness.

Categories
Israel

The New Zionism

Suddenly, it all started to make sense as we were enjoying dinner at a tasty Ethiopian restaurant in the center of Tel Aviv with a long-time friend from Westfield and his companion, Rachel. As a teenager, Rachel had made aliyah with her family from Canada to Israel.

A light flicked on in my brain as she announced: “When I made aliyah to Israel 35 years ago, I was a Zionist. Then I lost my Zionism and now…I have found it again.”

“Where did you find it?” I asked.

Her response:  “In the high tech, start-up companies that I work for.”

My wife and I had just completed a week of study, prayer, dialogue, and exploration with 330 Reform rabbis.  The Central Conference of American Rabbis gathers in Israel every seven years to learn, to engage, and to reaffirm our commitment to the Jewish State.

This was perhaps my 35th visit. (My first was three years after the State was established and I’ve long since lost count.)  This time I knew something was different, but I couldn’t put my finger on it until that moment.

A new Zionism has emerged. It is taking many forms, but most dramatically I discovered it in the start up companies that are transforming Israel into a high tech powerhouse and an engine for improving the quality of life for millions of people worldwide.

The most dramatic example we learned about is ReWalk, a commercial bionic walking-assistance system that uses powered leg attachments to enable paraplegics to stand upright, walk and climb stairs.  ReWalk is transforming the lives of those paralyzed by stroke, falls, and spinal cord injuries.

Steak TzarTzar is a start-up that delivers affordable and sustainable grasshopper (yes, grasshopper!) protein. Their goal is to enable populations globally to enjoy high quality, environmentally friendly nutrients that can substitute for animal source protein.

Start-ups become global powerhouses. Consider waste-water reclamation. Israel is today a water and irrigation superpower, No. 1 in the world in recycling waste-water.  Israel partners with Kenya to develop desalination on Kenya’s 500 km. coast along the Indian Ocean, and to support Kenya’s new Water for Schools Program to connect all its public schools to water.  It all began with a start-up from the old Zionism days in the Negev. Netafim, the Israeli-developed drip-system, enables underdeveloped countries worldwide to irrigate fields with a fraction of the water normally used.

Old Zionism was built on an agriculture driven, kibbutz-based model that attracted pioneers who reclaimed the land and supplied Israel’s population with tomatoes, oranges, and cucumbers. Those early settlements provided a refuge for Jews persecuted in other lands and a security buffer against Israel’s regional enemies.

What motivated Rachel’s family and most olim (immigrants) from the West to settle in Israel has disappeared. Israel no longer secures her borders with settlements, no longer absorbs large numbers of olim, and no longer propels its economy with agriculture.

New Zionism is based on a global economy that rewards innovation in technology, especially in health care, environment, security, and communication (software for your voicemail was developed in Israel).  Israeli brainpower and entrepreneurial spirit provide a new foundation for building a prosperous and hopefully secure Israel.

But two clouds hang heavy over this New Zionism and the  Jewish State. One is the continuing occupation of the West Bank. The enduring conflict between Jews and Palestinians, and the failure to progress toward a two-state solution is a threat to the stability  and democratic character of Israel. The other threat is the disproportionate leverage which the ultra-Orthodox exert in the government coalition resulting in relentless attacks on human values, pluralism, and progressive Judaism in Israel.  These are the flaws in Israeli society which lead Israelis like Rachel to wonder if they can still embrace Zionism and which discourage American Jews – especially those under age 45 – from enthusiastic support of the Jewish State.

But here too, there is hope in the form of a New Zionism. Sixty-five percent of Israelis support a two-state solution and a whopping 86% support freedom of religion.  This is reflected in the Israelis we spoke with who are committed to strengthening the state by curtailing settlement expansion and aggressively working for peace. Theirs is a vision which aligns with the democratic, pluralistic values of most American Jews.

In recent years, Reform Judaism has made enormous progress in Israel.  Since 2009, our congregations have doubled to nearly 50. In November, Hebrew Union College in Jerusalem will ordain its one hundredth Israeli Reform rabbi. In a recent survey, 34% of Israeli Jews said that the Progressive movement is the Jewish movement they most identify with. (23% stated that they identify most with Orthodox Judaism).

At our convention, Reform rabbis prayed shacharit at the area of the Kotel which the Israeli government has officially designated to be operated by progressive Jews for egalitarian and pluralistic prayer. The Supreme Court has ruled that every public mikvah must be open to non-Orthodox Jews. A handful of Reform rabbis and synagogues now receive financial support from the government.  These breakthroughs were unimaginable 20 years ago. Even civil marriage is a realistic possibility in the near future.

My friend Rachel is once again a Zionist. She can see that a growing number of Israelis are committed to democratic values, the end of the occupation, and pluralistic Judaism. She recognizes that with courageous, enlightened leadership, Israel can once again be a beacon of hope not only for its citizens, but for people in need throughout the world. She senses that most American Jews share her vision.  She hopes – and so do I — that we will make our voices heard.

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Rabbi Charles A. Kroloff is Rabbi emeritus of Temple Emanu-El in Westfield, New Jersey, and past president of the Central Conference of American Rabbis.

Categories
Convention Reform Judaism

Reform Rabbis Worldwide Renew and Recommit to a Jewish Democratic Pluralistic Israel

Over 300 Reform Rabbis – North American, Israeli, European, Australian, Russian and from elsewhere – gathered in Jerusalem and Tel Aviv for the CCAR Israel convention. With renewed vigor, we speak in a clear voice, about our commitment to Israel, Judaism, Israeli democracy, Jewish pluralism and peace. Our resolutions expressing love and support for Israel and condemning the Boycott, Divestment, and Sanctions campaign against Israel, make it clear that we are ohavei Yisrael (lovers of Israel), Zionist, passionate and pluralistic, realist pursuers of peace.FullSizeRender-6-1-300x151

As Vice President of the Central Conference of American Rabbis, I arrived in Israel with an expansive mission:  To paraphrase the words of the Ahavah Rabbahprayer, we Reform Rabbis gathered in Israel l’havin ul’haskil, lishmo-a, lilmod ul’lameid, lishmor v’laasot ul’kayeim – to understand and discern, to heed, learn, and teach, and, lovingly, to observe, perform, and fulfill our eternal commitment to this Jewish state.

egalitarian_kotelTogether and in smaller groups, we traveled yamah v’kedmah tzafonah v’negbah (west, east, north and south) to explore, understand and advocate. We prayed together – men and women, in tallit, kipah and for some, with tefillin – at the Kotel’s newly designated Ezrat Yisrael, an egalitarian space. We studied together with some of Israel’s greatest thinkers. We marched in support of a tolerance, embracing the gifts of each religion. We spoke with Jews, Christians, Muslims, and other religious and secular Israelis. With the disenfranchised and the disillusioned. With people of all political persuasions, who live all over Israel and on both sides of the Green line. With Palestinians whose messages were sharp and unwavering.

Our hearts were filled with Ahavat Yisrael (love of Israel), and with Tikvah (hope) for Israel’s vibrant future.

Beyond the listening and learning, we shared clear messages:

We are ohavei Yisrael (lovers of Israel) and our support for Israel is unconditioned and unconditional.

We are Zionists, committed to nurturing a vibrant, Jewish democratic state that lives up to the highest ideals of democracy and social justice.

We are passionate Jews, staking out claim to a pluralistic vision of an Israel where there is more than one way of being Jewish.

We are politically active Jews, prepared to open our mouths, flex out muscles, and commit our money to further the dream of a democratic Jewish pluralistic socially just state for all its citizens.

We are realists, recognizing that a strong secure Israel, while living in a very dangerous neighborhood, can nonetheless work diligently and forthrightly toward helping effectuate the dream of Palestinians for a separate state alongside the Jewish state.

Yes, with undying devotion, we Reform Jews love Israel. We oppose BDS. We support the right of women to pray and practice in a non-coercive Judaism. We oppose the coercive control of the Rabbinate over Jewish life. We discern that Jewish democracy is the way forward. We embrace the humanity of Palestinians and believe in peace.

We return home – until our next trip – passionately rejuvenated in our passion for this beautiful Jewish homeland.

And we pray:

Oseh shalom bimromav hu yaaseh shalom aleinu v’al kol Yisrael, v’al kol yoshvei teivel, v’imru amen. 

May the One who brings peace to the High Heavens, bring peace to us, to all Israel, to all who dwell on this earth. And let us say… Amen. 

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Rabbi Paul Kipnes is Vice President of the Central Conference of American Rabbis, and serves Congregation Or Ami in Calabasas, California.

Categories
Death Healing News

A Response to Terror in Brussels on Purim

We pray for the people of Belgium and for the families of those killed and injured in the horrific terror attacks in Brussels.

Today, as Jews around the world gather to celebrate Purim, we will pause to remember before engaging in the frivolity and laughter that we are commanded to enjoy on this holiday. On Purim we are reminded of the reality of evil and the serendipitous nature of the line that divides those who are delivered from harm from those who fall victim to hatred and cruelty. Sadly, and tragically, those killed and injured in these brutal attacks did nothing to deserve what befell them. Terror is radically evil precisely because there is no correlation between the perpetrators and their prey. There is no cause, no justice—only random destruction.

We Jews know this kind of evil. We are schooled in it from our history. The martyrs of our people from the pogroms, to the Shoah, to terror in Israel were not singled out for anything that they did. Their fate was sealed because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time when demonic hatred was unleashed. It didn’t matter their age, their gender, or their political orientation. So, too, in Brussels, the line between those who were killed and those who survived was completely random.

This is the chilling reality that we encounter as we read the Megillah. How many things had to go just right at just the right time for the Jews of Shushan to escape without harm from the decrees of the evil Haman? What if Mordechai had not learned of the plot to kill the King? What if Esther had not been at the court of King Achashverosh? What if the king had not granted her access and been attentive to her plea?

Yes, Esther’s example is one of great courage, but also of good luck. Some see the divine hand behind all the vicissitudes in the Megillah, and in life. I do not. God did not save individuals from death in Brussels, and God didn’t single out others to be killed; just as God doesn’t speak or act in the Book of Esther. Divine compassion is manifest in the world and in the Megillah when people bring it. God’s presence is felt in all places when people act in godly ways.

The Book of Esther has a dark ending. The Jews of Shushan go on a rampage of revenge against their enemies, killing thousands. It is a chilling reminder of how violence can breed more violence, and how the demand for justice can turn cruel if it is not tempered by compassion.

The ultimate answer to hatred is not more hatred. It is love. The best response to sadness is to increase joy. For every act of callousness and violence, let there be remembrance, increased vigilance, and the pursuit of justice by just means. Like Esther, let us be courageous in the face of threats to life, liberty, and dignity. And let us ever be God’s partners in making the world a kinder and gentler place for all.

Chag Purim Sameach!

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Rabbi Arnie Gluck Serves Temple Beth-El in Hillsborough, NJ.