Categories
General CCAR High Holy Days Rabbis Reform Judaism

Lost in the Pews: An Ode to the Non-Pulpit Rabbi

Three years ago, I left my congregation to join the URJ.  I proudly professed to my spouse that I did not believe I would miss much, and certainly not the stress of the holidays.  I would rather spend them as a Jew, as a wife, as a mother.

I lied.  As Walnut Creek temperatures neared scorching and the moon began to wax toward crescent and newness, as Facebook posts decried the arduous task of crafting sermons in time for Rosh Hashanah, I slowly became aware of sadness trellising up my psyche.

At first I thought I felt left out.  So, I offered up my editing services to friends preparing their sermons.  How fun it was connecting with old classmates and colleagues across the country!  But, the sadness kept growing.

Perhaps, I missed being part of the amazing Sinai team (Oakland, CA).  So I wrote to each of my former clergy partners, remising about the thrill of standing in the Paramount Theatre’s green room, laughing to the point of tears as we celebrated the joy in each other’s lives and supported the pain.  We all connected over this, but, the sadness kept growing.

Could I miss the adulation I received when a sermon stood out?  I would miss the praise, but not enough to justify the strength of the sadness.

So why was I sad?  Finally, one Shabbat morning a couple of weeks before the holidays, I realized what or who I missed.  I missed God.  Or more specifically, I missed God’s awareness of me.  I subconsciously believed that because I was working toward a uniquely divine purpose, because I was striving to inspire God’s people toward spiritual height, because I was sacrificing my family and my own holiday experience, God had a particular awareness of and gratitude toward me.  And even more surprising; I was afraid.  I was afraid God would not find me that year.  I would be lost as a Jew in the Pew, not where God knew to look for me.

Consciously, I knew how silly this was.  But, subconsciously, I approached the High Holiday’s with a different type of nora from the awe and fear I had felt since I began working the High Holidays at age 18.  And it was with this feeling of trepidation I found a seat in the pews of a synagogue which never knew me in the role of rabbi, and prepared to seek holiness at a service over which I had no control.

I want to write about my lightning bolt moment when I discovered a new soulfulness and connection with God.  This did not happen.  But the next day as we sat with friends and community by our local reservoir laughing and playing, watching our children giggle ruthlessly, talking about the depth and meaning of what our lives could be… I felt the rise of a new joy, a new connection to the divine energy of Yamim Noraim, a new importance to God for just simply and only being me.

RabbiBerlinColor

This feeling and relationship has evolved over the last 3 years.  I do still miss the connection I felt to the rest of you, and especially my immediate team, as we prepared to create a sacred experience together.  But, I don’t miss God.  God knows where I am. Right where I belong.

 

Rabbi Andrea Berlin is Director Congregational Networks – West District with the Union for Reform Judaism and is the co-director of NCRCR.

Categories
High Holy Days Rabbis Reform Judaism

What Ought My Future Hold? Reflections on the Approach of Rosh HaShanah

Think ought.
Not what is a Jew, but what ought a Jew to be.
Not what is a synagogue, but what ought a synagogue to be.
Not what prayer is, but what prayer ought to be.
Focus from is to ought, and our mindset is affected.  Is faces me toward the present; ought turns me to the future.
Ought challenges my creative imagination, opens me to the realm of possibilities, and to responsibilities to realize yesterday/s dream.
Ought and is are complementary. Without an is, the genius of our past and present collective wisdom is forgotten. Without an ought, the great visions of tomorrow fade.
Ought demands not only a knowledge of history, but of exciting expectation.  Is is a being, ought is a becoming
Ought emancipates me from status quo thinking.
Ought is the freedom of spirit.
Ought we not Ought?                                            (Rabbi Harold Schulweis)

What is this summer like? Hot, hot, hot! But how have we used these dog days of summer as the days and weeks now rush to Labor Day and this year towards Rosh HaShanah but hours later. Have we made the time to catch our breath and found some time for rest, relaxation and reflection?  Are we fully aware of what the calendar tells us and even who we really are, what we ought to be doing and ought to be becoming?

We become aware of the nearness of these moments of transition as our calendars tell us figuratively to turn the page to August (only a month left of summer)  … or in Jewish terms to turn the page to Elul, (the Hebrew month with 30 days to get ready for Yamim Noraim, the Days of Awe, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.)  August is a time to pack in as much of summer as possible. Elul is the time to get yourself ready for the sacred time of the new year heralded by the sound of the shofar for a time of introspection and self-examination.

The Hafetz Hayyim, Rabbi Israel Meir Kagan, earned widespread fame for what today we’d call “personal self-help”.  The story is told that Rabbi Kagan was once in a distant village.  In search of a ride home, he met a wagon driver and asked the driver, who did not know his identity, where he was going.  When he learned that the driver was going to his village, he asked if he might go along.  The Hafetz Hayyim asked the driver why he was going there, and he responded excitedly, “I am going to meet the Hafetz Hayyim to prepare for the High Holy Days.”  Though still not revealing his identity to the driver, he responded, “Oh, I know the Hafetz Hayyim, and believe me, he’s not so wonderful.”  With that the driver punched the Hafetz Hayyim in the face and threw him from the wagon.

When he recovered and reflected on the incident, the Hafetz Hayyim said the driver taught him an important lesson, “Never speak badly about anyone, not even yourself!”  From this we learn that the Days of Awe, our High Holy Days and the idea of repentance call upon us to reflect and deal honorably with others, including ourselves.  To be inscribed in the Book of Life, we need to realize that life is not fiction. God’s inscribing us is about our cheshbon hanefesh, the personal accounting of what is and what ought to be, about how we have been living in the year soon ending … and about how we ought to live in the new year.

It is no easy thing to be human –  so much to tempt us and so difficult to be strong. Our basic humanity hinges upon our being able to discipline ourselves to do the right things, to make the right commitments, to embrace the right people, to do good, to work for tikkun olam, repairing our lives and our world. Elul, and August this year, amidst summer’s heat, is about asking yourself questions:  Have I healed or have I hurt?  Have I helped or have I hindered?  Have I been a model for those who look to me, or have I fallen short of my potential?  As one of my hero’s and teachers, Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel taught, “In a free society where terrible wrongs exist, some are guilty, but all are responsible.”  We cannot allow wrongs to pass unnoticed; we cannot all retreat to the convenience of being busy:  living as a Jew mandates that we be responsible, face the challenges, address problems and make a difference!

RabbiGelfandFor us and our families, and for our world,
Amidst August/Elul & summer’s warmth, may what is be filled with blessings
And may what ought the future to hold  in 5774 be filled
with sweetness, human kindness and peace.

Rabbi David Gelfand is rabbi of Temple Israel of the City of New York.

Categories
Immigration News Rabbis Reform Judaism Social Justice

Mi Sheberach for All Immigrants and the Descendants of Immigrants

The following is a Mi Sheberach for a person who immigrated to the United States, to be used on Rosh HaShanah.  The accompanying introduction could be rewritten not for an individual but for all in the sanctuary: “I want to offer this mi sheberach for all who are in our sanctuary who immigrated to the United States and for all who have a parent who immigrated here, or a grandparent or a great-grandparent, or ancestor.  In essence, this mi sheberach is for all of us.”

Introduction.  For the first aliyah we invite (name) for the honor.  We do so not only for (name), but also to recognize him/her as someone who came to America many years ago to escape the horrors of the Shoah, the Holocaust, in Greece and built his/her life here, facing both challenges and successes.  After his/her aliyah, I will offer a mi sheberach for all who are immigrants and all who are the children of immigrants, or grandchildren, or great-grandchildren, or descendants, in essence for all of us.

After Aliyah: Mi sheberach avoteinu v’imoteinu….may God who blessed our immigrant ancestors, who left their homes because of the pain that was known and entered new lands with pains that could not be imagined, who left Egypt, who left Spain and Russia, Iraq, Greece, and Germany, bless you (name), who has come for an aliyah with reverence for God, respect for the Torah and this Yom HaDin, day of Rosh Hashanah.

May God bless you and all who came to America and found refuge, and all of us who immigrated or whose parents, grandparents, great-grandparents, or ancestors came to these shores beckoned by promise, liberty, and opportunity.

In this holy place and time we acknowledge the depth of our connection with our people’s story both ancient and modern.  We remember on this Day of Remembrance, Yom haZikaron, what it was like for us or for our ancestors to immigrate to this country and are mindful of Leviticus’ strong command repeated in similar verse 35 times in Torah: “When strangers sojourn with you in your land, you shall not do them wrong. The strangers who sojourn with you shall be to you as the natives among you, and you shall love them as yourself; for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.”  (19:33-34).

We acknowledge on this day that we live in an America where immigration policies are broken.  As we stand today before an open sefer Torah on our holy day—May we remain open to the possibility of comprehensive change in our immigration system.  May we remain open to the suffering of eleven million people who are undocumented, some say illegal, whose lives and whose children’s’ lives are limited every day because of their uncertain status. May we strive to balance our needed protections with their real, daily challenges as we work for clear, empathetic, and realistic policies.

May the Holy One of Blessing inscribe and seal you (name) and all of us into the Book of Good Life, together with all our fellow citizens, all who seek that claim, and all in our communities.  And let us say, Amen.

Rabbi Adam Stock Spilker is the rabbi at Mount Zion Temple, in St. Paul, Minn. 

Sign-on in support of comprehensive immigration reform

There are few issues that confront our country today that are more urgent or compelling than the need to fix America’s broken immigration system. This issue holds deep resonance with both the Jewish experience of migration and our tradition’s sacred texts with their repeated command to love the stranger.

We have set an ambitious goal to obtain signatures from as many rabbis and cantors as possible – of all Movements – on this letter to Congress in support of comprehensive immigration reform. Please join the over 1,200 of your colleagues who have already added their names. You can sign the letter and find more information at rac.org/clergysignon

Categories
News Rabbis Reform Judaism

Month One: Thoughts from a New Rabbi

I have frequently been telling others that now that I am a rabbi, my dreams have become a reality.  Yet, I’m not quite sure how real this reality feels.  There are days in which I still feel like the student Rabbi who visits his pulpit for the weekend, or the rabbinic intern who has a myriad of responsibilities that exposes him to all aspects of congregational life.  I sometimes have to be reminded that when someone refers to someone as “rabbi,” they very well could be talking about me.   Even with the numerous signs in my synagogue that addresses me as “Rabbi P.J. Schwartz,” I still think I am in the dream and this is not my reality.

During my second unit of CPE, we spoke a lot about the power of a title such as rabbi.  I always asked, “Where does P.J. fit in all of this?”  I have learned that being a rabbi and being P.J. are not separate things, but two aspects of who I am that are inextricably linked together.  In some sense, my name has become my title, and my title as become my name.  Believe it or not, I know which rabbi my administrative assistant is referring to when she speaks about my Senior or I.  “P.J.” and “Rabbi” have become interchangeable terms and I’m getting used to the idea that maybe I am no longer visiting my student pulpit or no longer an intern.

Transitions are difficult, and I can’t deny the fact that transitioning from student to working professional or in my case rabbinical student to Rabbi has been overwhelming and exciting, scary and thrilling, and nerve-wracking and affirming.  As my eyes begin to open, the dream begins to fade, and the reality sinks in, I am constantly reminded of the fact that we are in the month of Elul.  We are supposed to reflect upon our transitions, our growth, and our lesser strengths.  We are supposed to think about what it means to have a support team, reexamining how we manage our time, and explore what we can do to renew ourselves for the year to come.  I’ve always looked at my Judaism as a road map for how I should live.  In this case, my Judaism is guiding me, one day at time, as I fully integrate myself into this new role.  My excitement only grows as we head to the kickoff events of the year and I start to meet more congregants.  Soon enough, the hallways will be filled with kids from the Early Childhood Center and Religious School, my days will be filled with planning meetings, programs, and kids hopefully will be calling me Rabbi P.J.! (which, of course, is my solution to the name and title dilemma).

May my reflections inspire you to reflect in this month of Elul, and may the year to come be as sweet as you want it to be, inspirational as you need it to be, and awe-filled as it can be.

Rabbi PJ Schwartz is Assistant Rabbi at Temple Israel, in Westport, CT.

Categories
Ethics News Prayer Rabbis

No Text is Worth a Life: A High Holy Day Pledge

As we turn to thoughts of a new year and a new start, here is a pledge to refrain from texting while driving. Texting while driving is responsible for a quarter of all car accidents today, and is six times more dangerous than drunk driving. Please share this pledge from the High Holy Day pulpit, or make it part of your personal Rosh HaShanah spiritual preparation. Perhaps be making this verbal oath in a sacred space amidst a community of witnesses, we may contribute to saving lives.

 

Whoever destroys a single soul destroys a complete world.

Whoever preserves a single soul preserves a complete world. – Talmud Sanhedrin 37a

 At this season we ask: who by fire and who by water?

Today we also ask, who by texting while driving?

An epidemic is sweeping our country.

DWI, Driving While In-text-ified causes 1.6 million accidents a year.

Driving While In-text-ified causes 330,000 injuries per year.

Driving While In-text-ified causes 11 teen deaths every day.

75% of teens say Driving While In-text-ified is common among their friends.

Half of young drivers have seen their parents Driving While In-text-ified.

Driving While In-text-ified makes you 23 times more likely to crash.

Driving While In-text-ified slows your brake reaction speed by 18%.

Driving While In-text-ified is the source of nearly 25% of all car accidents.

Driving While In-text-ified is 6x more likely to cause an accident than driving drunk.

Driving While In-text-ified is the same as driving after 4 beers.

Driving While In-text-ified is the same as driving blind for 5 seconds at a time.

At 55 mph, that’s like driving the length of a football field completely blind.

Who by fire, who by water? Who by texting while driving? On this holy day, as we reflect on our deeds and resolve to better ourselves and the world, we invite you to put your hand on your heart and join us by repeating this sacred pledge:

 

We will not Drive While In-text-ified.

We will use only hands-free devices in the car.

No text is worth a life.

No text is worth a life.

No text is worth a life.

We will not Drive While In-text-ified.

יְהִי רָצוֹן מִלְפָנֶיךָ יְיָ אֱלֹהֵינוּ וֵאלֹהֵי אֲבוֹתֵינוּ. שֶׁתּוֹלִיכֵנוּ לְשָׁלוֹם. וְתַצְעִידֵנוּ לְשָׁלוֹם.וְתַדְרִיכֵנוּ לְשָׁלוֹם. וְתִסְמְכֵנוּ לְשָׁלוֹם.

וְתַגִּיעֵנוּ לִמְחוֹז חֶפְצֵנוּ לְחַיִּים וּלְשִׂמְחָה וּלְשָׁלוֹם

 Yehi ratzon milefanecha Adonai Eloheinu veilohei avoteinu v’imoteinu shetolicheinu leshalom vetatzideinu leshalom vetadricheinu leshalom vetismecheinu leshalom vetagi’einu limechoz cheftzeinu lechaim ulesimchah uleshalom.

May it be Your will God of our fathers and mothers that You should lead us in peace and direct our steps in peace, and guide us in peace, and support us in peace, and cause us to reach our destination in life, joy, and peace. Amen.

Rabbi Zoe Klein serves Temple Isaiah in Los Angeles, CA.

Categories
General CCAR News Rabbis Reform Judaism

A Second Act, Again: Reflections of a New Hillel Rabbi

When I left the corporate world as a director at 33 many people wondered why.  I was climbing the ladder, had a great job, good reputation, excellent track record and an exciting life. But my desire to become a rabbi trumped all that and I made a big change to start a “second career.” I not only left my job, I left my entire way of life and my community.  I completely changed my identity from executive expat to start on the path of becoming a Reform rabbi.  After five years at HUC-JIR and 13 years in a wonderful congregation in a small town in Connecticut I had transformed into a congregational rabbi with a solid reputation, a loving community and a sense of accomplishment topped by a beautiful new building. Many would have thought that this would be the time to reap the rewards of one’s hard work and simply enjoy the life I have created. But once again, I have managed to turn my life upside down.

Last month I accepted the position of Executive Director and Senior Jewish Chaplain of Joseph Slifka Center for Jewish life at Yale. This is a Hillel on steroids, with one of the largest staff, budget and scope of activities of any Hillel situated on one of the most prestigious campuses in the world with mind boggling students, faculty and resources. In the same month, I also led a trip to Israel, had rotator cuff surgery, put my house on the market, said good bye to my dear congregation, started my new job at Yale, and prepared to send my first and only child to college.  

Why? Depends on who you ask.  If you ask my all-knowing daughter she would say, “That is what my mom does.  She just does things that don’t seem normal.”  Others might point to the incredible opportunity that this position represents.  Those who know me from my congregation would quickly answer that our rabbi loves working with young people.  Some might find deep psychological explanations dealing with the empty nest syndrome. 

I think of all the responses I have gotten from people the one that had the biggest impact on me was the person who said, “This is really courageous”.  What struck me about his remark was that I had never thought of this decision or any decision I have made as courageous.  I think I am simply being normal. This is what normal means to me- challenge yourself, keep growing, live as if Judaism matters because it does, love people (imperfections and all), carpe diem, try, then try harder, know that you are not alone. 

Growing up, our family’s two core values were adventure and education.  As a family of six we lived and traveled all over the world and my parents were great teachers.  I think a final piece of my legacy that has impacted my decision is that I am now three years older than my sister was when she died, and almost the same age as my mother when she died.  My father also died in his fifties.  So this too I have learned and internalized as a motivating value- life ends. Right in the middle of doing your life, it can be over.  My heightened sense of mortality does not make me morbid, rather it makes me eager, curious, passionate, intense and yes, I guess, fearless. 

Rabbi Leah Cohen is the new Executive Director and Senior Jewish Chaplain at the Joseph Slifka Center for Jewish Life at Yale University. 

Categories
Ethics Immigration News Rabbis Reform Judaism Social Justice

High Holy Day Inspiration from Rabbis Organizing Rabbis

As we enter the month of Elul, we are aware that Tishrei is almost upon us. Sitting in front of our computers, we might think to ourselves “Stop mulling and just write the sermon!” But writing High Holiday sermons really does require that we ponder what to preach. Every year, we ask ourselves the same questions: what message will resonate with our congregants, what are we passionate about saying, and what wisdom do our texts and tradition have to offer us.

This year, there is a new question to add to the list. In the past, I did not think much about what my colleagues were saying in their sermons. I might check in with a few friends, or bounce ideas off some people, but I was never speaking as part of the North American Reform Movement. This year, it will be different.

In 5774, like many colleagues, I will be speaking about the topic of immigration reform. This issue calls to us as Jews. We are immigrants. We fled slavery in Egypt to journey into freedom. More recently my great-grandparents fled the pogroms and mandatory military service in Russia to find a better life here in the United States. We know what it is to wander and to be treated as outsiders.

We also have a chance to make a real difference. The Senate has passed a comprehensive immigration reform bill. The House will be debating moving a bill to the floor in September, perfect timing for us to have an impact. Imagine what hundreds of rabbis can do together as we preach or teach about immigration reform this High Holidays.   

I’m going to be honest and say that while immigration reform is not my issue, justice is. Acting together powerfully is vital to who I am as a rabbi and who we are as Reform Jews.  At the CCAR Convention in Long Beach, we asked the question: Do we want to act together as a Reform Movement? The answer was a resounding yes, as hundreds of colleagues across the country joined the efforts of Rabbis Organizing Rabbis, a project of the Reform Movement’s social justice initiatives: the Justice and Peace Committee of the Central Conference of American Rabbis, the Religious Action Center, and Just Congregations.  Since then, we have worked on passing legislation through the Senate. Teams of colleagues in seven states met with key swing senators and their staffs. Many of us gathered in Washington DC for a lobby day, or participated in a national call-in day. Nearly 400 of us are staying connected through the Rabbis Organizing Rabbis Facebook group. We have worked together to amplify the rabbinic voice for justice, but there is more work to do.

Now we have another chance to act together to make a real difference in the debate in the House. In the weeks to come, we’ll share more with you about which legislators are crucial to the passage of compassionate, common sense immigration reform. But in the short term, there is something that only we as rabbis can do: speak from the heart to our congregants about this defining issue of our times.

So, will you join our effort and make preaching and teaching about immigration reform part of your High Holidays this year? To make it as easy as possible we have compiled text resources and sample sermons. If you willing to join the effort please share your thoughts and plans on the Rabbis Organizing Rabbis Facebook group so we can log your participation. And, it never hurts to reach out to another colleague or two to ask them to join us as well.

As we move into Tishrei we have the opportunity to begin our year by speaking out for justice. Join us in showing our legislators, our congregants and ourselves what it means to be part of a national movement and to put justice at the center of the Reform rabbinate. 

Categories
Ethics Immigration News Rabbis Reform Judaism Social Justice

Judaism and Immigration Reform

Judaism has something to say about Immigration Reform. And, it starts with Welcoming the Stranger, and Protecting the Weak.

Immigration Reform has been a hot issue, these past few months. A Comprehensive Immigration Reform bill has recently passed through the Senate, and the house is now debating what, if any, bill it might pass. What does Judaism have to offer this conversation?

Clearly, there isn’t a single “correct” Jewish position on Immigration Reform. That’s especially true when we’re talking about specific policies or legislation. Judaism doesn’t tell us precisely how long is too long for a path to citizenship to take. Judaism has little if anything to offer in helping us decide what percentage, precisely, of our money should we be spending on border security, as opposed to other aspects of Immigration policy.

But, Judaism does have quite a bit to say about values — which values should be important to us, and which values should undergird our society.

One of the values integral to Judaism is Hachnasot Orchim—welcoming the stranger. Welcoming the stranger has always been part of Judaism. In the Book of Genesis, we hear of Abraham, the first Jew, who was sitting in the entrance of his tent, when three strangers passed by. He immediately invited them in, and treated them like royalty — preparing a meal for them himself, not even letting his servants do it for him. That was probably fairly common and expected — we still see echoes of this kind of behavior in that part of the world. Our people inherited this tradition, and we built it into our theology.

You see, there is a natural, human tendency to favor those to whom we are the closest. We tend to take care of our own, and to be wary or afraid of “the other.” The mitzvah of welcoming the stranger is, in part, a counterbalance to this reflex. It reminds us that this person, whom I do not know is, among other things, a human being. And that means that they were created in the image of God. The moment I encounter him or her, I have an obligation to him or her. There is no one — not a single, solitary person — from whom I can completely turn away, and to whom I have no obligation.

These people — these immigrants — who are not, at least not yet, part of our nation are still people. And we have an obligation towards them. We have to welcome them.

We can’t welcome everyone equally, of course. No one is suggesting that we don’t have any Immigration policy — that we open our borders and make everyone and anyone a citizen. But, our starting place has to be one of care and welcoming. We have to work to figure out how we can bring the greatest number of people possible into our country, and into our lives, rather than starting from a place of rejection and isolationism.

It would be incredibly ironic for us, as Jews, to be less than welcoming when it comes to immigration policy. Because, we’ve often been the victim of it. We’ve been the victims of restrictions on our own migrations for centuries. We’ve fled persecution and been told, time and again, “you’re not welcome here.” Even when others were trying to wipe our people off the map, we’ve been told to go somewhere else. Just not here.

And, in less dramatic times, we still had to leave one home to seek a better life elsewhere. Very few of us in the Jewish community have an American heritage which goes back more than a few generations. We are a people of immigrants in a nation of immigrants. It is our repeated memory of being a stranger in a strange land which is supposed to drive our moral dedication to helping others to never feel like strangers themselves. Or, as it says in Leviticus (19:33-34), “When strangers sojourn with you in your land, you shall not do them wrong. The strangers who sojourn with you shall be to you as the natives among you, and you shall love them as yourself; for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.”

Because we were strangers, we know how it feels. And so, we are commanded to help other strangers. We have an obligation to immigrants not in spite of the fact that they are strangers, but precisely because of it.

We also have to remember that many immigrants, whether legal or illegal, are among the most vulnerable in our society. And that’s another, perhaps even greater reason that we are obligated to help them. We are told over and over that we are obligated to protect the weak — the Bible commands us to protect the widow and the orphan, because those categories were the weakest, and the most vulnerable, in ancient society.

By contrast, “They’re not my problem” appears exactly never in our text.

It’s so easy to get caught up in the specifics of policy, discussions about “who should get in first” and rhetoric about amnesty and such that we can forget a very basic, fundamental fact: we’re talking about people here. Were talking about people — not “illegals,” but people — who are suffering. People who, perhaps because they came here illegally, are not afforded, or do not know about, the legal protections to which they are entitled. They are exploited and abused, with startling regularity and severity. Even if we hold them accountable for entering this country illegally, it should still shock our moral centers that human beings are treated in this way. Workers are abused physically, and are threatened with deportation should they utter any protest, or seek help. Children are left without their parents, often put in dubious foster care, because their parents were deported, while they weren’t. Husbands and wives are kept apart for years and years because the one who came here, legally or not, doesn’t have the right, or perhaps just the resources, to bring their loved one over. Young women are forced into slavery and the sex trade, because as far as society is concerned, they don’t even exist. It’s an abomination.

As I said, the policy issues are deeply, deeply complicated. And, no one policy, or set of policies, is going to solve all these problems. But, that simply doesn’t give us the right to lose our sense of empathy for people who are suffering. The fact that we can’t make the problem go away in no way diminishes our responsibility to make it better. We have to remember that behind every story, behind every argument, behind every policy debate live real people with real lives. And they’re in real pain.

That, more than anything else, drives my support of Immigration Reform. It is a belief that, flawed, imperfect and incomplete as it will inevitably be, it is a step in the direction of justice, and of mercy. It is a step in the direction of forging a society which more closely holds to the ideals and values set out in our tradition.

Your conscience will tell you how to act, when it comes to laws and policies. Judaism can’t tell you, and neither can I, which candidate to support, or which bill to protest. but, I urge you to do something. Call your Senator, or call your representative. Urge them to act. Urge them to act in a way which will make our country, and our society, a place which welcomes the stranger, protects the weak, and strives to be a shining example of our greatest ideals.

Rabbi Jason Rosenberg is rabbi of Congregation Beth Am in Tampa, Florida.  This is a version of the sermon he gave at Congregation Beth Am on Friday, July 19th.

Categories
Books Prayer Rabbis Reform Judaism

Mishkan T’filah for Children: Do Students in K-2 Need a Different Siddur than Students in Grades 3-5?

This question has been raised by several people and it is a really good question.  When our committee sat down to work on the new siddur Mishkan T’filah for Children we asked ourselves (as good educators do) “What are our goals for this siddur?”  As we explored that question through many discussions we came to the conclusion that we would, in fact, need two siddurim.  That one siddur for grades K-5 would not work well.  The reason is something which we have learned from the Early Childhood Education world.  The following is from the NAEYC (National Association for the Education of Young Children).

ccar-mishkantfilah-frontcover-2-children_1“Developmentally appropriate practice, often shortened to DAP, is an approach to teaching grounded in the research on how young children develop and learn and in what is known about effective early education. Its framework is designed to promote young children’s optimal learning and development.  DAP involves teachers meeting young children where they are (by stage of development), both as individuals and as part of a group; and helping each child meet challenging and achievable learning goals.”

DAP does not just apply to early childhood education, but to all education.  Simply put, we need to understand where children are developmentally and meet them there if we are going to be successful in engaging and educating them.  This applies to their intellectual, social and SPIRITUAL development.  If you spend time with a 6 year old and then spend time with a 10 year old it does not take long to see that they are in very different places developmentally.  A six year old will be a much more concrete learner while the ten year old is starting to think critically and will ask questions like “Which came first, Adam and Eve or the dinosaurs?”

The amazing comChildrenTalitmittee of rabbis who worked on this siddur quickly came to the conclusion that one siddur would not work for all ages.  Different developmental needs needed to be met by creating two different books.  The book for the younger children, which Michelle Shapiro Abraham did an incredible job creating will reach our youngest children at a level they can understand and connect to.  The book for the older children will have more Hebrew, English readings at a different level and questions which will engage our older thinkers.    The goal was the same for both – to engage children and families in prayer and encourage their spiritual growth.

 

Rabbi Paula Feldstein serves Temple Avodat Sholom in River Edge, NJ

 

 

 

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Rabbis are Parents Too!

I have officiated at more than 100 britot (brises) for newborn baby boys and girls (and plenty of older adopted children as well). None made me more nervous than the bris I recently led.

Ask anyone about my anxiousness. My office assistants would laugh as they shared how concerned I was that every synagogue room was clean, dusted, and set up properly. Our cantor would remark that I was doubly attentive about the choices and placement of music. The parents would note the abundance of calls and texts to ensure that every aspect of the ceremony detail was … perfect.

Why all the Nervous Energy and the Extra Detail Work? Julia David Noam Sanctuary IMG_0293

Because we were naming Noam Daniel Weisz, son of my partner rabbi, Julia Weisz and her husband David. I was officiating at a ceremony for a colleague with whom I spend inordinate amounts of time visioning, problem-solving and planning. One for whom I have tremendous respect and appreciation. I was honored with great responsibility: balancing the communal need to welcome our “temple baby” with Julia and David’s own needs as parents. Yup, this bris had to be extra special.

Split Personalities: The Bifurcated Existence of Jewish Professionals

Communal leaders – rabbis, cantors, educators, Federation leaders and others – spend vast amounts of time building relationships, creating community, and designing meaningful Jewish moments for others. When our own s’machot (joyous moments) approach, we are pulled in two directions. On the one hand, with the communities in which we work, we want to share our joy, find consolation, or be role models of how to mark both experiences. On the other hand, Jewish professionals have the need and right to have a personal (non-rabbinic) life cycle experience.

Julia and David set a perfect tone of balance when they decided to divide the brit milah ceremony into two parts: the bris (circumcision) which would be held in a separate room for family only, and the naming which would take place in the sanctuary as a public ceremony. Such Solomonic wisdom from so young a couple!

The Bris: Blessings Between Family Members

The bris was intimate, musical and moving. We were connected midor lador (from generation to generation) and mimedinah lamedinah (across state borders) as Noam’s out-of-state relatives, including Super Nana and Super Zayda (great grandparents), watched the live streaming webcast of the ceremony and as Noam’s Aunt Jo FaceTimed in from Texas, where she was required to participate in the first days of her graduate school nursing program. His three living grandparents schepped nachas (shared the joy) in person with the rest of us.

Mohel (urologist) Dr. Andy Shpall explained the ritual, led the ceremony, and, in 30 quick seconds, circumcised young Noam with calm and professionalism. Cantor Doug Cotler, master musician, played background music and added in appropriate Jewish songs to focus our attention on this transcendent, joyous moment.

Cantor Doug and I caught each other’s eyes, and together recognized the blossoming kedusha (holiness). We wordlessly agreed to extend this portion of the day’s festivities to encircle the sparks of holiness. An extra song added. Then family members each blessed baby Noam with words that completed the sentence, “May you be blessed with…”

Eyes welled up as Mom (Julia) and Dad (David) blessed their baby. Family gathered close together and we pulled Aunt Jo’s iPad picture closer. Touching, hugging, holding each other, they all embraced Birkat Kohanim blessing. Eyes welled up poured out tears, as family celebrated the simcha.

Transition Time: Returning to the Rabbi Role

As family members were ushered downstairs to the sanctuary (where our lay leaders ensured that front row seats awaited them), we gave the Mom and Dad transition time. They spoke with the mohel about care for their circumcised infant. They took moments to hug each other. They held little Noam. Breathe in the blessings; breathe out the pre-bris worries. Breathe in; breathe out. Breathe in; breathe out.

The Naming: Schepping Nachas (Sharing the Joy)

The naming gathered a substantially larger group, mixing Rabbi Julia’s and David’s colleagues, friends, Or Ami congregants and family. Cantor Doug bonded the group by teaching them Nachas, Nachas, his new, original song for celebrating any significant moment of meaning. Paired with Siman Tov uMazel Tov, Nachas, Nachas brought old world yiddishkeit to our decidedly new American Jewish ceremony.

Grandparents shared readings about the significance of a name. Following the tradition – part superstition, part practical – of waiting until the bris to announce the baby’s name, David and Julia shared Noam Daniel’s name and its derivation from his deceased great-grandfather Oscar/Naphtali and his deceased step-grandfather Daniel. The congregation ooo’ed and ahhh’ed as the baby slept and cuddled. Hebrew blessings confirmed his Hebrew name and our prayers for his speedy recovery from the circumcision.

Allowing “Julia, our Rabbi” to Be “Julia, his Mommy”

How do communities care for the caregiver? Just as some adults have difficulty parenting the parent, congregations do not naturally know how to care for their Jewish professionals. Without such tools in their toolbox, it rests upon the shoulders of the leaders – clergy and president/board chair – to set the expectations. So as part of this ceremony, we explained to the assembled that today – and for the weeks (and years) following – Rabbi Julia and David need to be able to be like any other parents. Today especially, we celebrate with them and allow them just to relax into the most sacred of roles – the parents of a child.

Therefore, as part of the naming ceremony, we shared the congregation’s vision for Rabbi Julia’s maternity plan. We reminded the community that for the next three months, while on maternity leave, “Rabbi Julia” becomes “Just Julia.” We who have been so lovingly and tirelessly cared for by our Rabbi Julia, will want to care for her by allowing David and her to focus solely for baby Noam and each other. So as we see her in the mall, out at dinner, up online, we will NOT discuss Temple issues or updates with her. All temple related issues or concerns can be shared with her assistant or with Rabbi Paul Kipnes. Message delivered, we moved toward conclusion.

Birkat Kohanim: A Benediction for a Baby and Family

Since the blessings of the community are as significant as are those of the clergy, we asked everyone to stand up and form one complete, unbroken chain of hugs or hand-holds, reaching all the way forward to Noam’s grandparents and from them to Noam’s parents, and to him. Quickly the large gathering became even more intimate. The assembled repeated the words of Birkat Kohanim (the Priestly Benediction) to Noam.

It was a moment of kedusha (holiness). To purposely misquote our patriarch Jacob, Achen, yeish Adonai bamaqom hazeh vanochi ken yadati – Surely God was in this place, and we all knew it!

Throughout the service, we lovingly treated Rabbi Julia and David as just two parents (not a rabbi and her spouse). We articulated the hope and expectation that she gets to be mommy first for her child, rabbi next. You see, Rabbis and other Jewish professionals (as mommies and daddies) can have rich, deeply meaningful spiritual lives, if we just need to educate our communities, articulate the expectations, and pre-think a process to address issues that might arise.

How does your community work to care for your caretakers and leaders?

Julia David Noam IMG_0149 - Version 2

 Photos by Michael Kaplan

Rabbi Paul Kipnes serves Congregation Or Ami in Calabasas, CA.