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Israel News Rabbis Reform Judaism Social Justice

Israel and LGBT Rights: A Work in Progress

Over the last number of years, Israel’s extraordinarily progressive positions on gays, lesbians, bisexuals and transgendered people has almost made up for the occupation of the West Bank.  I know that sounds ridiculous and, of course, it is.  But the reason I station them side by side is that as a progressive Zionist I have been embarrassed by the growing settlements in the West Bank.  And as a progressive Zionist I have enjoyed overwhelming pride from Israel’s remarkably forward support of gays and lesbians.  The GLBT community is safe and thriving in the heart of the Middle East—Israel—while every surrounding country is hostile and dangerous for our community.

By way of full disclosure, I’m a lesbian rabbi.

So when Education Minister Shai Piron, the number two in Yair Lapid’s Yesh Atid party, spoke recently against the legitimacy of gay and lesbian couples, my heart went out to Israeli gays and lesbians, especially to the youth.  And I would have been embarrassed, except for that I’m buoyed by the rigorous debate in Israel that followed.

Piron’s remarks were, “I think it’s a Jewish State’s right, maybe even its duty, to say to same-sex couples who decide to live their lives together: this is not a family.”

Once I learned that he had offered an apology, I sought to write a piece on the power of remorse and t’shuvah (repentance).  Unfortunately, if you look at Piron’s apology, he does not in any way retract his remarks.  On the contrary, he makes the point that, “it’s not up to me to decide what a family is and what it is not.”  In other  words, he admits that if it were up to him, families like mine would not be considered a family.  All he is conceding is that he doesn’t have the ability or right to make that decision for us.

This should come as no big shock considering that, according to “The Times of Israel,” Piron, an Orthodox Rabbi who was the head of a religious-Zionist yeshiva, said before he joined Yesh Atid that “homosexuality could be fixed.”  Piron and Lapid later stated, when Piron entered public service, that Piron had, “changed his views.”

So then what do we make of the fact that openly gay TV host Asi Azzar expressed support  for Piron despite his comments because his actions in the Knesset, according to Azzar, have been helpful to the gay community?

This reminds me a bit of how we feminists looked the other way at Bill Clinton’s sexual harassment of women because he took such pro-female positions when it came to the law and his bully pulpit.

Piron is not where he should be on the issue of gays and lesbians.  We err if we make allowances for his homophobia just because he is less hostile than other Orthodox Rabbis.  And we make a mistake when we forgive someone simply because they are not as homophobic as they once were.  As an American resident it is not my place to call for the resignation of an MK.  But I think that it is imperative to keep criticism of his position highlighted so as not to make room for a homophobic point of view just because we are grateful for the dialogue.  And if I lived in Israel, I would be protesting his leadership as Education Minister as much as I would protest West Bank settlements.  They are bad for Israel and bad for the Jews.

My parents are Sabras who met while serving in Tzahal and moved to the US in the late 1950’s.  When they became American citizens they had to swear that they were not homosexuals.  We have come a long way in the United States and any gay activist knows that individuals often come along slowly on this issue, while others awaken suddenly.

Okay Shai Piron, kudos to you for not being as anti-gay as you used to be.  And thank you for wishing that you hadn’t hurt people’s feelings.  And I am glad that you sometimes vote correctly on LGBT rights.  But you are not where you should be.  You are a work in progress.  If you can find access to a fast-forward button that gives you the wisdom and courage to be diametrically opposed to the position of most Orthodox leaders, I will be very proud of you.

 Rabbi Karen Bender is one of the contributors to the wide-ranging anthology “The Sacred Encounter”. Her chapter, “How to Respond to Bible-Thumping Homophobia, Or: Judaism as Evolutionary If Not Revolutionary” deals with important and controversial issues of homosexuality in the bible.

SECover

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Israel News Rabbis Reform Judaism

This Mini-War: In Israel, On the Road Between Jerusalem and Tzur Hadassah

My week.

Monday evening sitting in someone’s home in Tzur Hadassah, around 10 p.m. Talking about some great ideas. Suddenly, without warning, the alarm siren goes off. We are sitting in his protected room. He and his wife hesitated to bring their kids until they heard the booms (the booms, as I learned later, can be heard from pretty far away, as my husband in Jerusalem about 20 kilometers away, who had grabbed our three sleeping children and brought them downstairs in our building to the most protected area, heard them too).

I was shaken up. I called Tamir, my native Israeli husband, and asked what should I do? Sleep over? He said, “Mah pit’om…what suddenly?…Come home.” So, after chatting a bit more to calm my nerves, I drove home, keeping my brother in Columbus, Ohio, on the line as I made the 25 minute ride. This week, by the way, I have not taken the “tunnels road” that crosses the green line for 10 minutes going by Beitar Ilit and Hussan. And I have found that the most veteran Tzur Hadassah residents are doing the same.

Tamir’s words to me when I came home were: This is what you do: When there is a siren, you go immediately to the protected space. When it’s over, you carry on as usual. These are the orders of the home command.

So, when my friend asked if I thought she should still have her daughter’s birthday party at a park on Thursday afternoon, I said yes – carry on as usual. We’re sitting in the park, the kids are in the mini pool. We’re eating hotdogs, talking about the situation. And, yup, here comes Jerusalem alarm siren #2. We go to the nearest building, huddling in the hallway, until a local says, “Come down to the bomb shelter.” There we go, all set up. My son, almost 7, who is enthralled with his newly acquired reading skills, had to be torn away from his book to go into the building. The second he entered the bomb shelter, he found a chair, sat down, and continued reading. My daughter, when I shouted at her to come, stared at my dumbfounded. Eventually, she came. All the moms tried to play off their nerves once we got to the bomb shelter, saying to their kids, “Isn’t this fun? What a great room!” The birthday mom took a photo – a birthday party to remember! She reminded of my words “carry on”. I stood by them. After the few minutes passed and we heard the booms, we returned to the birthday party.

Carrying on.

I left Tamir with the kids at the party to continue on to a wedding that I was officiating at. The wedding was supposed to be at a moshav where the couple lives, near Tzur Hadassah. The bride called me Tuesday. “Stacey, are you still officiating at our wedding on the moshav, with the situation?” Me: “Are you still getting married?” Yes. “So, of course I’m coming.” The bride called me Wednesday. They decided to move the wedding and found a place in Jerusalem, very accessible to a protected area, unlike the space on the moshav. The alarm had gone off two hours before we stood underneath their huppah, everyone there determined to celebrate with them. (And it was a beautiful wedding).

I went to my congregation in Tzur Hadassah for kabbalat Shabbat services last night. Not too many people were there. (Everyone the night before had cancelled coming to our Torah study – just after the alarm siren). The prayers took on a different meaning. They asked to recite birkat hagomel, the blessing for someone who had gone through a life-threatening experience. We all recited the blessing. And we all recited the response. Certain prayers stood out to me Hashkivenu Adonai Eloheinu L’shalom…. Oh Adonai, our God, lie us down in peace, and rise us up, our Sovereign, to life….We read selections about peace, hope, and faith, which the Reform Movement had sent us. We prayed for peace for all peoples.

Tonight at 7 p.m. was alarm siren #3 in Jerusalem. My son jumped to attention immediately and walked calmly downstairs. My daughter again hesitated. When we are down there, my daughter (age 4) asks, “Why are we here?” My son (age 7) answers, “So we won’t die.” I again, am shaken by the experience. My husband says, “You haven’t gotten used to it, huh?” I ask my son, “Were you scared?” He says, “No.” I believe him. I was about to leave for Tzur Hadassah for an event we have been planning for many weeks now with an artist who arrived from the North. Should we cancel? No, was everyone’s response. We carry on as usual. I sent out the text message – “There’s wine, there’s art, and there’s a safe room – come to the kehilah!”

In the middle of the evening – which really was very lovely – we heard booms without any alarm. People whipped out their phones. There was a hit but not exactly in our area to warrant the alarm. A few people jumped up and left. Everyone else wanted to stay, but you could see that people were having a harder time focusing. We continued on, but not for too much longer.

What to think being here? What message do I want to send my family and friends abroad? I feel I must respond. On the one hand, I am not afraid. I am in awe of my country Israel, which goes to such great lengths to protect its citizens – the Iron Dome is amazing. Of the thousands of recruits who are being called up to serve and go willingly. Of the people in my communities who offer help and who seek my and my congregation’s help to get through this. It’s really a test of nerves. That what the terrorists want – to get on our nerves. Of the daily life that continues here. I think of the Palestinians getting killed, both guilty and innocent. I think that there are hundreds of armed conflicts going on around the world. I reflect: Why? How could a person think this is preferred over living in peace?

What is this thing called humanity? For this we were created? These images of God who are set on killing and terrorizing? Here is nothing compared to other places in the world. A bar mitzvah parent just wrote me – oh yes, remember when we had that sniper running around the D.C. area? Now that was scary!

I suggest to everyone to do what your conscience leads you toward – come here/be here, if you are prepared for more uncertainty than usual, still witness to a thriving moving society where everything is open and happening. Or donate money to causes that helping those who are really caught in the thick of things in the settlements close to Gaza. Petition the leadership, all leadership and every leadership, to give full gas to bring PEACE IN THE MIDDLE EAST.

And, as my congregants and I determined last night, never lose hope or faith.

This blog originally appeared on rabbistaceyblank.wordpress.com.

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Israel Rabbis Reform Judaism

Reflections and Concerns Upon Returning from Israel

I returned this morning from a week in Israel. I had planned to, under the auspices of AIPAC and with 17 other “progressive” rabbis (AIPAC’s term) see first-hand the multitudes of ways that Israel society is coping and excelling despite its continued security and societal challenges. Of course, what I got was a very different trip. I missed the first day due to a funeral back in Chicago. What I saw after that was a series of meetings with people of various backgrounds; the common word for all of them was that the situation is complicated. We met with a Palestinian demographer, GLBT activists, various professors, statesmen and community activists. Because of the war with Gaza there was much that we could not do, or at the very least there were many places we could not visit. Instead, we got to hear sirens, warning that Hamas missiles were incoming. We rushed to bomb shelters or stairwells. It all reminded me of a visit to Israel in late 2000, with the Second Intifada underway. The only difference was this time, thanks to the Iron Dome, the terror wasn’t really terror (at least for those not in the south). The terror was inconvenient. Which is to say it didn’t feel like terror at all.

Gaza security fence.
Gaza security fence.

My concern is for those with children, who cannot be so cavalier about the “they incompetently shoot missiles and if they are actually coming close by we zap them with Iron Dome”. My concern is for the soldiers, like my nephew, who may have to go into Gaza. And my concern is that the violence will not end soon. I came on the trip already believing that American Jews should support Israel much more than they should speak out against Israel. Actually I don’t think they should speak out at all. Unless they make aliyah of course, then be my guest. But I am grateful that Israelis themselves see the bigger picture. Most of those with whom we spoke will not give up hope that some agreement can be worked out.

On our last day (yesterday, actually) we visited a small hospital in Safed. This is a place with doctors and nurses of all religions and ethnic groups, including of course Jewish. For a year and a half they have been treating hundreds of Syrians who make their way to the board. We met with a three year old who was shot in the leg and who is getting excellent treatment. His father was the first Syrian I had ever met. I know he will always be grateful for the menshlikheit of the Jews and Arabs who saved his boy’s leg, if not his life.

One final thought, translated by me from the Hebrew of Prime Minister Netanyahu’s press conference last Friday: Hamas uses civilians to cover their missiles. Israel uses missiles to protect their civilians. That’s the difference.

I cannot wait to return to Israel, hopefully in a time of quiet and opportunity for peace. In the mean time I come away with even greater respect for Israel, a country that, in the words of Dr. Donniel Hartman, wants to be Scandinavia but is stuck in the Middle East.

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Israel News Rabbis Reform Judaism

Note from Israel: A Rabbi Reflects on a Difficult Week

It has been a difficult time in Israel. I have been here in Eretz Yisrael for more than a week now. Arriving just before they found the bodies of Eyal,Gilad and Naftali. When the news of the discovery of their bodies came over the news I was with several colleagues and it was a palpable moment that took our breath away. Israel went into mourning. Jews from the right or left cried with their families. I was surprised how few cars were out in the streets. I was glued to watching the funeral and crying too. And then in the midst of mourning, a young Arab teen burned alive. Retribution by a gang of Jewish thugs; it was cold-blooded murder.

A country and a Jewish people that prides itself on the value “choose life” has within it such depravity – it shocks the nation. The burnt body of Muhammed Abu Khadeir gave Israel another blow and made many realize that the rhetoric that they have espoused has consequences. Words matter and the words of revenge, the cycle of violence represented by this has given Israel pause. This was a reason for more tears for Muhammed, his family and for my Israel who is so conflicted and so battered from every side, even as the Army went door to door on the West Bank searching for the 2 murderers of Eyal, Naftali and Gilad.

IMG_4124But these deeply saddening events have taken place against a background of a barrage of rocket and missile fire from Hamas. Since the agreement of Fatah and Hamas to create their “unity” government, the rockets have fallen through the south with increasing volume. And then yesterday, as Israel called up reservists and gathered at the border of Gaza the rockets reigned down on an ever increasing circle of Israel. Sderot, Beersheva, Ashkelon, Tel Aviv and Jerusalem.

Last night it took me a minute. I heard the sirens. But it didn’t compute. The TV was on. I was watching it and hearing it as if numb and realized this wasn’t just far away but overhead.   Hurriedly I found the safety of the shelter with others in the hotel. Shaken and realizing that Israel has entered a new and frightening phase it was a night of little sleep. All of Israel is vulnerable to the missiles.

Even though I have had many tears this week, I am strengthened in my commitment to Israel by being here. By sharing in the Israel experience, not just in times of quiet and celebration, but in these extraordinarily difficult times. And I know our rabbinic presence in Israel bring strength to Medinat Yisrael.

May Israel be kept in our prayers. For peace outside and within.

Rabbi Denise L. Eger is the founding rabbi of Congregation Kol Ami in West Hollywood, CA and is President Elect of the CCAR. You can follow her travels this week in Israel @deniseeger #rabbinicmission2Israel. Or @AIPAC

Categories
Ethics Rabbis Reform Judaism

Mussar for Rabbis: Order

Alan Morinis teaches that each נשמה (neshamah – soul) has its own “curriculum.” In other words, each of us is out of balance with respect to this or that מידה (middah – soul trait) in ways that are unique to us.

When we come to סדר (seder – order), one can be out of balance in either direction. As Morinis writes, “The soul-trait of order is all about the middle way. Too little order gives birth to chaos, while at the other end, too much order ties us up in obsessive rigidity” (“Everyday Holiness,” p. 87). Most of us have “order” on our “curriculum,” even as each person’s challenges may be so different from another’s as to be opposite.

For rabbis, these extremes can be particularly problematic.

The disorganized rabbi may be chronically late for appointments, fail to submit a signed marriage license, or even miss a life cycle ceremony commitment.

The rigid rabbi may burden others with unrealistic expectations of timeliness and precision. We could become such “yekkes” that we insist on starting a service on time, even if the bus with the family and out-of-town guests has broken down, causing distress to the very family we are ostensibly serving. Order is by definition obsessive if we are valuing precision over human beings.

Alan Morinis has also taught me that imbalance with one מידה (middah – soul trait) is often best addressed by emphasizing another. Awareness of a need to change, while essential, isn’t sufficient to bring about the improved behavior. For example, a person who is chronically disorganized may well be aware of that shortcoming. S/he may even say to him/herself: “I need to become better organized!” We often know such things about ourselves; but if change were so easy, we would simply change.

Let me offer examples of how imbalance on the מידה of סדר (the middah, soul trait, of seder, order) may be addressed by emphasis on another virtue altogether.

Perhaps the disorganized rabbi is nevertheless filled with זריזות (zerizut, enthusiasm) for a particular project. This rabbi will not make or keep a schedule for its own sake. S/he may typically be less than responsive to calls and emails. And yet, by summoning the passion s/he is devoting to the project at hand, perhaps the rabbi can summon a level of organization that doesn’t come naturally.

Are you that disorganized rabbi, whose passionately-pursued project is foundering? Perhaps you despair that you can suddenly become punctilious, even to accomplish a cherished goal. Try this method, adapted from Alan Morinis’ prescribed Mussar practice: Journal each evening about the project’s progress. Where is it succeeding, and where is it stalled? Who is questioning and criticizing you and what are their stated reasons for doing so? Even if your initial impulse is to ascribe those critiques to others’ impatience or lack of flexibility, try an experiment: Make a game out of just how timely and responsive you can be. Revel in the repentance of your erstwhile critics, and understand that their newfound partnership is a result of your סדר (seder), of your orderliness, however manufactured.

At the other end of the spectrum, the rigid rabbi may find relief in the מידה (middah, soul trait) of דן לכף זכות (dan l’chaf z’chut, benefit of the doubt). The hyper-organized may become frustrated when others don’t reply with our desired alacrity, constantly complaining that our colleagues or lay partners are poor at follow-through. Unable to imagine misplacing important papers, we may deem a less organized co-worker to be grossly irresponsible. We may not even believe that the bus with the out-of-town guests is lost, but rather assume that cousin Joe or Joanne was dawdling!

Soon, we start that service ruthlessly on time or pepper our partners with harassing emails. The disorganization of others is simply intolerable!

The ultra-organized person isn’t likely simply to accept that others’ standards of סדר (seder, order) are different and equally acceptable. Instead, we may work toward another solution. We may think twice about the motive (or lack of motivation) we ascribe to the less organized person. Make דן לכף זכותך
(dan l’chaf z’chut, benefit of the doubt) a “game.” Be imaginative! Work to make a list of all the possible good explanations for what you have regarded as disorganization. Perhaps the source of your frustration is absorbed in a critical project of which you’re unaware. Maybe he is stressed at home. Perhaps her computer crashed. Maybe the bus really is lost.

I close with a personal anecdote. I’m a pretty organized guy. All the same, from time to time, my office desk has become a disastrous mess. When that has occurred, I haven’t been able to summon סדר (seder, order) itself to clean my desk. I couldn’t convince myself to make order for its own sake. When I began studying and practicing Mussar, I considered what other מידה (middah, soul trait) could help me clean that desk. I identified כבוד (kavod, honor), and came to see that I was dishonoring the people who came to see me — in my case, to see “the rabbi” — indeed, that I was dishonoring the synagogue itself with that disgracefully messy desk. And so, I cleaned it.

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Prayer Rabbis

How to Live Without Regret

A Russian short story portrays an aristocrat who has only a few days to live. When he replays the tape of his life in his mind he realizes he has wasted most of his life in the pursuit of wealth and power devoid of real meaning. He is desperate to rewind the tape but it is too late.

So, think of the time you have until the tape runs out and contemplate how you spend your precious time. The Rabbis said: “Change for the good one day before you die”, and since we never know when that is we must treat every new day as an opportunity to measure the goodness of our deeds.

This reminds us to be careful of how we spend our time and to value life and enjoy it, because once it’s gone it can never be retrieved.

A nurse named Bronnie Ware devoted herself to working in Hospice care in Australia. She wrote a book about what she witnessed first hand: “The Top Five Regrets of the Dying”. When she questioned those entrusted to her as to whether they had any regrets and if they would have changed anything, these are the themes that emerged.

1. I WISH I’D HAD THE COURAGE TO LIVE A LIFE TRUE TO MYSELF, NOT THE LIFE OTHERS EXPPECTED OF ME.
“This was the most common regret of all. When people realize that their life is almost over and look back clearly on it, it is easy to see how many dreams have gone unfulfilled. Most people have not honoured even a half of their dreams and had to die knowing that it was due to choices they had made, or not made. Health brings a freedom very few realize, until they no longer have it.”

2. I WISHED I HADN’T WORKED SO HARD.
“This came from every male patient that I nursed. They missed their children’s youth and their partner’s companionship. Women also spoke of this regret, but as most were from an older generation, many of the female patients had not been  breadwinners. All of the men I nursed deeply regretted spending so much of their lives on the treadmill of a work existence.”

3. I WISH I HAD THE COURAGE TO EXPRESS MY FEELINGS.
“Many people supressed their feelings in order to keep peace with others. As a result, they settled for a mediocore existence and never became who they were truly capable of becoming. Many developed illnesses relating to the bitterness and resentment they carried as a result.”

4. I WISH I HAD STAYED IN TOUCH WITH MY FRIENDS.
“Often they would not truly realize the full benefits of old friends until their dying weeks and it was not always possible to track them down. Many had become so caught up in their own lives that they let golden friendships slip by over the years. There were many deep regrets about not giving friendships the time and effort they deserved. Everyone misses their friends when they are dying.”

5. I WISH I HAD LET MYSELF BE HAPPIER.
“This is a surprisingly common one. Many did not realize until the end that happiness is a choice. They had stayed stuck in old patterns and habbits. The so called ‘comfort’ of familiarity overflowed into their emotions, as well as their physical lives. Fear of change had them pretending to others, and to their selves, that they were content, when deep within, they longed to laugh properly and have stillness in their life again.”

Yes, death can instruct us how to live. We can follow the examples of others to live more meaningful and fulfilling lives. We can summon the strength and courage we have within to enrich our lives.

Whatever time you have remaining may you be true to yourselves and make every day a blessing.

This blog originally appeared on runningrabbi.wordpress.com.

Categories
Ethics Rabbis Reform Judaism

Mussar for Rabbis: Humility

Beginning a process of תיקון מידות (tikkun middot, repair of one’s soul traits) starts with ענוה (anavah – humility). Without humility, one cannot confess that one’s מידות (middot, soul-traits) require repair, so The Mussar Institute’s programs begin with that essential מידה (middah, soul trait). Even if I don’t imagine myself flawless, a haughty attitude would prevent my openness to Mussar teaching and its required rigorous practice to address my impatience, my lack of generosity or gratitude, or my failures of truth, for example.

My rabbinic humility was challenged from the moment that a new Temple Board member asked me whether we could undertake Mussar learning in my former congregation. Could I retain my regard in the eyes of this congregant if I confessed that I knew nothing beyond the most basic definition of Mussar literature? What kind of a rabbi isn’t well versed in any aspect of our Jewish textual tradition? I was chagrined as I haltingly admitted to being that kind of rabbi.

The congregant pointed me to the Mussar Institute. I was impressed with a lecture by Alan Morinis that I saw there, and I approached him about the possibility of a scholar-in-residence weekend. Seeking to maximize “bang for the buck,” I proposed to teach some of the texts in the months leading up to his visit. He would offer a Shabbat Eve talk during services, to reach a wide audience, and then we would hold a Shabbaton exclusively for those who had already studied the material.

Morinis seemed to like the plan, explaining that, to do what I proposed, if I would first have to take “Everyday Holiness” online and then take מנחים (manchim – leaders) training to enable me to offer a Mussar Institute course to my congregants.

What chutzpah! Who did this Alan Morinis think he was? “I’m a rabbi,” I thought; “Give me a text; I’ll study it, and then I can teach it.” Divine intervention is the only explanation for my I summoning humility I did not then possess, agreeing to Morinis’ lengthy demands.

The payoff has been beyond measure. My נשמה (neshamah – soul) continues to need repair, and always will; now, though, I do possess just enough humility to accept that somebody else — in this case, Alan Morinis and the Mussar Masters who preceded him — have a system better than any I could have created on my own. Through daily affirmation, repeated study and introspection, and journaling, coming to grips with my failures, I continually seek to become a better husband, a better father, a better rabbi, a better human being.

Humility or ענוה (anavah) is not exclusively about eschewing haughtiness, important as that is. The Mussar Institute’s recommended daily affirmation for ענוה (anavah – humility) is, “No more than my place, no less than my space.” The second half of the phrase suggests that one who is “too humble” isn’t humble at all. Now that’s a חידוש (chiddush, a new insight), particularly important for rabbis.

Moses, we know, is called “very humble, more than any other person on the face of the Earth” (Numbers 12:3). The context of that characterization is Korach’s rebellion, an incident during which Moses is anything but meek. He stands in his rightful place and chides the rebels for stepping beyond their own.

Rabbis could be tempted to “go along to get along,” not to take controversial stands or stand up to injustice or unethical behavior within our communities. Morinis cites a story from the Talmud (Gittin 55b-56a) to illustrate how failure to lead, excessive meekness, is a failure of ענוה (anavah – humility) which can have disastrous results.

We are taught, “The humility of Rabbi Zechariah Ben Avkulus caused the destruction of the [second] Temple in Jerusalem.” Actually, Zachariah’s failure is of taking up “less than his space.” The specifics of the story are unsavory. The Romans, encouraged by a Jewish accomplice, present the priests with a “Sophie’s choice,” either to sacrifice a blemished animal proffered by the Romans, thereby violating Torah, or insult the Romans and incur their wrath by refusing the offering. A harsh solution is proposed: Kill the Jewish accomplice, so that he can’t report to the Romans that the sacrifice has been declined. A decision is sought from Rabbi Zechariah, who analyzes the terrible consequences of each choice but declines to rule. The sacrifice is declined. In keeping with the accomplice’s plan, the Romans, convinced that the Jews are in open rebellion, proceeded to destroy the Temple.

Thankfully, contemporary Reform rabbis aren’t faced with such dire consequences. At the same time, we may well be tempted, like our predecessor Zechariah, to avoid difficult choices. Do we step into our proper role, responding with compassion-tempered תוכחה (tochechah – rebuke), each time we receive that oft-forwarded offensive email about how few Arabs and how many Jews have been awarded Nobel prizes? Do we respond with both caring and integrity when asked to make inappropriate accommodations for a Bar/Bat Mitzvah in a family of wealth and power? When a member of our staff is unjustly attack by a leader who could threaten our own tenure, do we clearly name the insult, at our own peril?

Humility is tough for rabbis — yes, because haughtiness may be an occupational hazard; and also because excessive meekness may be wrongly regarded as a rabbinic virtue.

Rabbi Barry Block serves Congregation B’nai Israel in Little Rock, AR.

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News Rabbis Social Justice

Rabbinic Leadership – Fifty Years Ago and Today

Today marks the 50th anniversary of the historic arrest of CCAR rabbis in St. Augustine, Florida, where they traveled at the request of Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr. This talk, inspired by the moral leadership of this group, was originally presented as a sermon on Shabbat B’haalot’cha, June 6, 2014, to a Joint Board Meeting of the CCAR, URJ, HUC-JIR, along with the members of the Cincinnati Reform community who joined together for Shabbat.

Fifty years ago this month, Rabbi Israel Dresner was attending the CCAR Annual Convention when he received a telegram from his friend the Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr.: “We need you down here with as many rabbis as you can bring with you!”

Sixteen rabbis, along with Al Vorspan, director of the Religious Action Center, then a newly formed joint enterprise of the UAHC (URJ) and the CCAR, proceeded to St. Augustine, Florida. Why did they respond to Dr. King’s call? In the words of our seventeen leaders[1]:

“We came because we … could not pass by the opportunity to achieve a moral goal by moral means…

Leadership at its core has a moral quality – as exemplified by these seventeen Reform Leaders.

How do we act as moral leaders? Rabbi Charles Mantenband, a rabbi little known to most, had served in Hattiesburg, Mississippi, where my wife Vicki grew up (and in other communities). Active in the Civil Rights Movement, in 1964 he laid out a four step agenda for leadership with what he called an “innocent rhyming device”:   “aware, care, dare, share.” The Rabbi explained: Aware is to “be informed”; Care is to “indicate your concern”; “Dare is to “take risks”; and Share is to “give of yourself.”[2]

Aware is to be informed.

To be informed requires a lifetime commitment to ongoing education and an awareness of the world in which we live.

For our rabbis, anchored in Torah, it also means learning new leadership skills that involve strategic thinking, organizational management, financial sustainability, and community-building.

For our lay leaders, anchored in our contemporary society and business models, it also means learning Torah and the Jewish values that guide our work.

In addition, to be aware and informed requires self-awareness. In this regard, we model ourselves on Moses, as it says in this week’s Torah portion: Moses was a very humble leader, more so than any other human being on earth (Numbers 12:3). In today’s contemporary language, we would say that we as rabbis and as lay leaders must practice tzimtzum. The contraction of the self to make room for other people and for God in leadership.

Care is to indicate your concern for others.

Why, our commentators asked, is it so praiseworthy that the Torah portion emphasized in the opening verses that Aaron lit the lamps as God had commanded? Because Aaron in his new elevated, superior role retained his humility and still adhered to the customary practice of the people without deviating.

Midrash notes that Aaron was a man of the people. He did not separate from his community but stayed amongst them and with them: When there was a conflict between two people he “would not rest” until he returned them to friendship. When someone did not know how to pray, Aaron became that person’s teacher. If, according to Midrash, someone did not understand Torah, Aaron would explain it.[3]

Today as leaders we strive to model Aaron’s attention to the uniqueness of each individual as we build caring, welcoming, and inclusive communities.

And our concern is not limited to just our local community, but also to groups of people who have been cut off from the community, disenfranchised, or denied their rights. Throughout our history as a rabbinic leadership organization, the CCAR has championed the fundamental principle that every person has been created in God’s image, is entitled to dignity and equality and respect. For that reason, the CCAR this week joined as a plaintiff in a Federal lawsuit that challenges North Carolina’s law banning same-sex marriage. (That law violates the First Amendment’s guarantee of the right of individuals and congregations to freely practice our religion.)

To care is to act upon our concern.

safe_image.phpDare is to take risks.

Leading to a new future is not easy; it involves taking risks; it may involve failure as well as success. It does not always make one popular. And as we know, our people can complain. As it says in the Torah portion, the people took to complain bitterly about their transition. And discontent can spread quickly. Torah teaches that Moses quickly heard the people weeping, every clan, and at the entry of every tent (Numbers 11:1-10).

Today’s leaders must have the capacity to live with such complaints. In contemporary terminology, our leaders must learn to live with disruption, to hold it in our hands, to manage and lead through that disruption to new beginnings.[4]

Share is to give of yourself.

This weekend, leaders of the CCAR, HUC-JIR, and the URJ will have the opportunity to explore what calls each of you to leadership, what you are willing to share of yourself as you take responsibility.

We also acknowledge that shared leadership is a historic Jewish value. Moses himself cries out that he could not “carry all these people by myself.” God told him to create an advisory board of seventy elders (Numbers 11:16).

Shared leadership is not always easy. Certainly, as we look to the future, the qualities of leadership between rabbinic and professional leaders, on the one hand, and lay leadership, on the other, overlap. But each has unique roles in our organizations. In the Torah portion, Moses stations the 70 leaders around the tent; perhaps the first indication of strategically placed leadership. Each person with his or her own unique role, just as Moses and Aaron too had special roles.

But, at the same time, the Torah’s reference to Eldad and Medad, reminds us that all people have the potential for leadership. As Moses declared: “If only all God’s people were prophets; that the Eternal put the divine spirit upon all of them” (Numbers 11:29).

As we look to the future of Jewish leadership in North America and throughout the world, we hope and we pray that God will put the divine spirit upon each and every one of you, every one of us, who will lead the Reform Movement into its new future.

Rabbi Steven A. Fox is the Chief Executive of the Central Conference of American Rabbis.  

[1] The seventeen include: Rabbi Eugene Borowitz, Rabbi Balfour Brickner, Rabbi Israel Dresner, Rabbi Daniel Fogel, Rabbi Jerrold Goldstein, Rabbi Joel Goor, Rabbi Joseph Herzog, Rabbi Norman Hirsh, Rabbi Leon Jick, Rabbi Richard Levy, Rabbi Eugene Lipman, Rabbi Michael Robinson, Rabbi B.T. Rubenstein, Rabbi Murray Saltzman, Rabbi Allen Secher, Rabbi Clyde T. Sills, and Mr. Albert Vorspan.

[2] The full text of Rabbi Mantenband’s presentation can be found in the CCAR Yearbook, 1964.

[3] Rashi and others have observed that Torah commends Aaron for adhering to the customary practice without deviation. There is a good explanation of this, as well as the commentary of Rabbi Meir at Premishlan, in Abraham Torsky’s Living Each Week commentary on this particular Torah portion.

[4] Also, we hear a great deal today about entrepreneurship in the Jewish community and that rabbis themselves must be entrepreneurs. In the 19th century, Richard Cantillon first defined an entrepreneur as a “bearer of risk”.

Categories
Rabbis Reform Judaism Social Justice

An Introduction to the Jews of the South: A Good First Impression

The president of the congregation met me at the airport. It was late summer, 2000, my first visit to Hebrew Union Congregation, my new biweekly student pulpit in Greenville, Mississippi. No sooner had we pulled away from the tiny terminal, past the defunct air force base, onto the access road, than we were pulling off again, into a cotton field in full bloom. I had never seen anything like it. Next thing I knew, I stood waist-deep among gently bobbing plants, an undulating field of white stretching to the horizon, the green leaves beneath like a sea obscured by bright foam.

“Have you ever picked cotton?” he asked.

“No.”

He urged me to pull one soft boll for myself. I asked if this was his field. He laughed, knowing from a lifetime of Mississippi autumns that soon, during the harvest, the roads would be paved in white, stray cotton blowing along the lane markers, fields still generously tipped with snowy fibers, as if awaiting gleaners.

“It’s okay to pick one,” he assured me. I hoped he at least knew the field’s owner, and followed his instruction.

How do you make a good first impression? Or a powerful one? I’ll never forget my introduction to the Deep South, to the Jews of the south. I got the message loud and clear that cotton was—historically, and still in large part to that day—the lifeblood of the region (and if our “field” trip weren’t enough, my congregational president, a history major in college, had plenty of tales of times past to finish the job). The blood wasn’t pumping as strongly as it once had, and the town was in decline. The synagogue had just said goodbye to their last full-time rabbi. I was their first student rabbi. Nevertheless, in the hearts of many in the Mississippi Delta, cotton was . . . if no longer king, at least a true royal.

Of course, the legacy of cotton is inextricable from the legacy of slavery, which is one of the factors that set the region up, 100 years after abolition, for its troubled relationship with the African-American civil rights movement of the 1950s and 60s.

We continued on to the synagogue, a gorgeous domed 1906 structure with enormous stained-glass windows and a full-sized pipe organ. The congregation had once claimed the largest synagogue membership in the state, and the sanctuary seated hundreds of worshipers. The synagogue building had all the amenities you might expect: assembly hall, kitchen, classrooms, board room, and a sizable library. The library had recently seen the installation of an impressive historical exhibit, curated by two congregants.

The president led me to a glass-sided display case, filled with some of the more physically vulnerable artifacts: old snapshots and siddurim, yellowing posters, manuscripts. He opened the case, and pulled out two items.

The first was a pamphlet, published by the Association of Citizens’ Councils of Mississippi, titled “A Jewish View on Segregation.” The anonymous author self-identified only as a “Jewish Southerner,” but was presumed by Jewish locals, based on personal details disclosed in the essay, to be a resident of the Delta.

The second was a letter, dated November 1963, from the president of Greenville’s Hebrew Union Congregation to the Board of Trustees of the Union of American Hebrew Congregations, protesting the arrangements for the banquet speaker at the upcoming Biennial Convention. The letter did not report the details, already well-known by the parties involved, and my guide filled them in for me: The Reverend Martin Luther King Jr. had been invited to speak at the gathering later that month in Detroit. The record shows that he spoke, Greenville’s protest notwithstanding. The letter, however, received a thoughtful, two-page reply from Rabbi Maurice Eisendrath, also on display  in the library; and the congregational board secretary, a Detroit native, in defiance of her board colleagues, attended.

“Why are  you showing me this?” I ventured, hesitantly. The current president did not strike me as the sort who would be proud of this chapter in his congregation’s history. But I wasn’t sure what to expect.

“Can you believe this?” he chortled. “Some folks in the North think this is still who we are. But we’ve changed. It’s pretty amazing how much the South has changed.”

It’s pretty amazing, I thought, that this near-total stranger trusted me to see through the stereotype that the documents present, to perceive whatever reality I might encounter in my own experience here, just now beginning. It reminded me of how we’ve preserved the shame of the golden calf in the Torah, for all to see, like an inoculation, a warning or reminder of what we’ve been, against what we might, but mustn’t, become.

I’m reminded of this now, as we prepare to observe the fiftieth anniversary of Freedom Summer, when hundreds of young people, disproportionately Jewish, traveled south to register African-American voters. I’m back in Mississippi, where I have lived full-time for seven of the last fourteen years. The cotton still flourishes in the Delta, and the South is still changing.

"Shabbat Cotton." Photo by Bill Aron. Courtesy Goldring/Woldenberg Institute of Southern Jewish Life. Do not reprint without permission.
“Shabbat Cotton.” Photo by Bill Aron. Courtesy Goldring/Woldenberg Institute of Southern Jewish Life. Do not reprint without permission.

Rabbi Kassoff serves Hebrew Union Congregation in Greenville, Mississippi, as rabbi, and Beth Israel Congregation in Jackson, Mississippi as Director of Youth Education.

Categories
Prayer Rabbis Reform Judaism

Getting Through Tough Times

Pain, medicine, and depression were consuming me. The doctors told me I was winning my battle with leukemia, but I felt I was losing emotionally. The depression that had overtaken me seemed worse than physical disease.

As a rabbi I thought I had been trained to deal with depression. I was used to members of my congregation coming to me in times of suffering. People counted on me for comfort and understanding. Yet, here I was, unable to deal with my own depression.

Gradually, I was able to summon the strength within me. “God,” I prayed, “I’m trying to get up this mountain, but every time I get near the top, I get knocked down again. And, I’m not asking you to get me all the way to the summit, but could you hold my hand, and, please, don’t let me fall any further into the abyss?”

As I prayed, I searched for the divine spark within my spirit, for the power that I possessed, and which I believe all of us have. And within me I found goodness and radiance and warmth.

In the Jewish tradition, prayer doesn’t mean somehow finding God’s unlisted phone number or rubbing a magic lamp to bring forth a genie. It means looking into yourself, determining the meaning of your life, finding out what really is of value, and discovering what you believe. Prayer is the “self judgement” that empowers us to reach higher, search deeper, and be true to ourselves.

Here are my suggestions for lifting yourself up in times of adversity:

LET YOUR SPIRIT SING. You don’t need a designated place or specific words. Sometimes the song we sing is joyous; sometimes it is a lament. Sometimes the song is loud and strong; sometimes it is weak and weary. Be in touch with your feelings and help yourself by opening your heart.

BE YOUR SPECIAL SELF. The story of the creation of the first human being, Adam, reminds us that each of us is unique. Every human being represents the potential of the whole world.

I vividly recall the time when a young woman came to me talking about taking her life. She was very depressed and felt worthless. I told her that no matter how low a person sinks there is always something special and worthwhile in everyone. I took note of her smile, commented on her touching way of revealing her feelings, and told her that she was special. When she left my study I prayed I had said the right thing. Years later there was a knock on my study door. She had returned to thank me for helping her get through a very difficult time in her life..

REMIND YOURSELF WHAT REALLY MATTERS. When I was depressed in the hospital, I called to mind the good things in my life, what I had to live for. I pushed myself to remember Thanksgivings with my family, vacations in Colorado, running up the ski lift in Aspen, my daughter whirling around the ice skating rink. I thought of my wife and friends who were praying for me. I thought of the nurses who comforted me, and the doctors who struggled to keep me alive.

CONFRONT YOUR FEARS. When one of my congregants asked me, “What do I do in the middle of the night when no one is with me and I’m scared?” I told him, don’t try to run away and hide under the blanket. Sit up in bed and let all the nightmarish things happen right before your eyes. See everything that terrifies you. Then, when you have all this in front of you, acknowledge your fears. You have a right to feel frightened and depressed about awful things that have happened. But then realize that despite all that you are still very much alive!

GIVE OF YOURSELF. After my illness, I rededicated my life to helping others, especially those with cancer. Someone is always in need, someone whose plight is worse than our own. By helping others we give meaning to our lives.

LEARN SOMETHING NEW. A young woman, the mother of four children, came to see me. She had recently been diagnosed with breast cancer. Along with her chemotherapy treatments,  she treated herself to ski lessons. She wanted to experience something new to take her mind off her illness, to reaffirm her life. “There I was,” she told me, “hanging onto the tow rope, climbing that hill, exhilarated by being outside on a crisp winter day – thankful for the day, thankful for my life.”

Through my illness and depression, I learned to see the true worth within myself, to reflect on the meaning of my life, even to find meaning in my illness.

In a sense, my weakness made me a stronger person. I have learned that what “doesn’t destroy me, strengthens me.” Now, I empathize with other people in a way I was never able to before. I look for the goodness in people and in life. I look for the oneness of all humanity, and I find it.

When you are down, may you find strength in all you do and say and feel and think – and then the miracle will happen; the sun will shine for you; the world will once again be beautiful. Look for it. It will happen. I know.

HirshelJaffe2

This blog originally appeared on runningrabbi.wordpress.com.