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CCAR Convention General CCAR Rabbis Reform Judaism

See You in Chicago!: From the First CCAR Convention Registrant

I must admit it’s more than a little embarrassing to receive an e-mail from a classmate (and Jerusalem roommate!) telling me I was the first colleague to register for our upcoming CCAR Convention in Chicago. It’s one thing to be an enthusiastic member of our Conference (which I am), but it’s another matter entirely to be the loudest guy cheering at the pep rally.

But I’m glad Joui Hessel reached out to let me know I was the very first registrant, because it’s given me a chance to reflect on why I rushed to make sure that I would be a part of yet another meaningful, productive, and refreshing CCAR convention.  And I can boil all that down to two things: learning with colleagues, and doing with colleagues.

The learning at Convention is always top-notch.  Be it the speakers (Michael Chabon last year was a highlight for me) or the smaller sessions, there’s always something new to think about, a new perspective provided, and thoughtful friends (unfortunately scattered across North America) with whom to discuss.  And then there is the incredibly important informal education: catching up with colleagues in the hallways, restaurants and [let’s admit it] bars, to see what’s happening in their lives, and to talk about common challenges we face.  There’s no better course of professional development than conversing with CCAR_LB-0660colleagues of all ages to help orient me before I return back home.

Learning is good, but doing is more important.  (That’s in Pirkei Avot, I’m pretty sure, but this isn’t a scholarly article.) And the “doing” that we rabbis get to work on together changed profoundly for me last year in Long Beach.  There we launched the first campaign of Rabbis Organizing Rabbis, which has led to a massive year of continued effort and focus on helping Comprehensive Immigration Reform pass through Congress.  The Convention not only allows our strategy team to meet face-to-face (in place of bi-weekly conference calls), but it more importantly allowed all of us to connect to colleagues who soon became comrades-in-arms in this crusade.  It was incredibly energizing to see a room full of rabbis engaged in an issue; it’s more encouraging, many months later, to see how many of those rabbis have found meaningful ways to remain connected to and involved in the work since Long Beach.

254I find that time away from home and hearth and study allows me time to get better perspective on my life and career.  For thirteen straight years, I find no better partners in finding that perspective than my friends who share CCAR Convention with me.  Because these times are so precious to me, I’m proud I was the first to register.

And I hope you’re the next one to do so!  See you in Chicago!

  Rabbi Seth M. Limmer is rabbi of 
Congregation B’nai Yisrael of Armonk, New York.  

Categories
News

Spiritual but Not Religious: How Religion Lets Us Down

141_spiritualnotreligious_wideThe Pew Research Center’s Portrait of Jewish Americans, its survey and analysis of American Jewish attitudes and beliefs, has emerged as THE topic of conversation in the Jewish world. Some celebrate the survey; some wring their hands over what it says about us Jewish Americans.

The Union for Reform Judaism released a preliminary analysis for the Reform Movement.

Jewish Religiosity or Lack Thereof

Most fascinating are questions about the religiosity or lack thereof of our Jewish brothers and sister. According to the study, only a slim majority of U.S. Jews say religion is very important (26%) or somewhat important (29%) in their lives. We might surmise that almost half of the Jews do not consider themselves religious.

In a related category, we see that Jews are not significant worship service attenders. Roughly one-third of Jews (35%) say they attend religious services a few times a year, such as for the High Holidays (including Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur). And four-in-ten say they seldom (19%) or never (22%) attend Jewish religious services.

Similarly, those Jewish practices defined by the study – beyond the popular Passover Seder and, for some, fasting on Yom Kippur – do not attract significant adherents. Only a quarter of Jews (23%) say they always or usually light Sabbath candles, and a similar number say they keep kosher in their home (22%).

Yes, it seems that a vast majority of U.S. Jews consider themselves “spiritual, but not religious.” Just what does this mean?

What’s the Difference Between Being Spiritual and Being Religious?

I think spirituality is the sense that we are all part of something greater. Spirituality can lead to behaviors and thought-processes, which connect us with a larger reality. Spirituality can but does not necessarily include a connection to a higher power or divine.

Now religion is a collection of beliefs, rituals, and prayers intended to help people retain a feeling of connection to an intensive spiritual encounter. Religion aims to connect us with our spirituality. For Jews, our Torah teaches that generations ago, our people – the children of Israel, the Jewish people – had a spiritual encounter with the Holy One that embedded within us a clear sense of who we were and how we should live forevermore.

Jewish rituals are intended to lead us back to the central experience of the Exodus from Egypt and our later spiritual encounter at Mt. Sinai. Jewish religious prayers return us to these spiritual events, as well as our arrival into the Promised Land, and our covenant with God.

Religion Sometimes Spoils Spirituality

So why do so many people say they are spiritual but not religious? Religion can be its own worst enemy. Sometimes religion just gets in the way of the spiritual quest. When the religious rituals become overly dry and ritualistic, they tend to suck life out of a potentially spiritual moment. When religious leaders become overly concerned about saying just the right prayer or about standing in exactly the right position when they pray, our traditions can strangle the spirituality right out of us.

I don’t believe that God cares how big our sukkah is or how long we sound the tekiah gedolah on the shofar. Nor does God does ask us to separate out our women, to eschew the non-Jew, or to extend our power over others for so-called holy purposes. Of course, when religious leaders – rabbis, teachers, communal leaders – speak such nonsense in God’s name, they further alienate Jews from the religious part of Judaism that could be strengthening their spirituality.

religionAndSpiritualityDiagramWhat do we do?

Rituals find meaning when they point us back to the holy, the spiritual. Rituals are significant when they inspire our spiritual core.

It becomes the responsibility of religion – and religious leaders – then, to return to Judaism’s roots, to rethink/reform/renew Judaism’s ritual components, and to embrace the holy in the midst of the rest.

How do we do that?

Let us know what you think…

Rabbi Paul Rabbi Paul J. Kipnes is the spiritual leader of Congregation Or Ami in Calabasas, CA.  This post originally appeared on his blog, Or Am I?

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CCAR on the Road Israel News

Traveling with Colleagues: Start Up Israel

In 2010, we had the opportunity of traveling to Israel on an Israel Familiarization Trip.  The trip’s goal was to help us learn how to lead congregational trips.  Rabbis have a dual relationship with Israel, that of student and teacher.  We turned to each other to learn how to bring these two roles together as we toured the country. Many of the sites we visited were ones we had visited on previous occasions.  IMG_4110However, we had to learn to bring these sites to our congregants. 

We discussed the potential for the “Disneylandification” of Israel and how to avoid creating a superficial visit to the country.  We discussed how to intentionally design trips from the ground up to create a unified learning experience for our community.  We discussed how to use the trips to create meaningful ongoing relationships with the country rather than one-time memories.    Each night we prayed together and included in our prayers reflections from the day’s experiences.  By traveling and learning with colleagues this trip provided us to with the tools we would then use to create Israel experiences for our own congregants. 

Additionally, there is a difference between traveling with colleagues and traveling with congregants.  When we travel with congregants, we become the teachers, and the experts, on everything.  Our members turn to us because we have been there more than they have.  When we travel with colleagues, we learn together and reflect with one another.  We can be both the student and the teacher.  We teach and learn with one another and we push each other to think about our experiences in new ways.  Each day we were able to connect with colleagues and build relationships.  Being able to spend time traveling together, talking on the bus, spending meals together, really deepened our sense of community and built collegial relationships among strangers in just a few short days. 

IMG_4198Traveling in Israel is an experience like no other.  We all know that.  Any trip to Israel is rejuvenating; it inspires our Judaism, calls us back to our roots, uplifts us spiritually, offers us a unique experiential and immersive learning opportunity.  We’ve taken those lessons we learned on our first trip together and put them to use- but not in a trip designed for our congregants- rather in a trip designed for you- our colleagues.  We hope you will join with us from January 26-February 5 as we travel together with other colleagues and learn about Start Up Israel.  Together we will push each other to realize how the entrepreneurial culture of Israel can influence our own rabbinates and how we can discover a unique aspect of modern Israel culture.  More information is available on the CCAR website.

We hope you will join with us from January 26-February 5 as we travel together with other colleagues and learn about Start Up Israel.  Together we will push each other to realize how the entrepreneurial culture of Israel can influence our on rabbinates and how we can discover a unique aspect of modern Israel culture.  For more information visit the following website:

See you in Israel in January!

Categories
News Rabbis Reform Judaism

Perspectives on the Pew

And how do we keep our balance? That I can tell you in one word: Tradition!

—Fiddler on the Roof 

Is Judaism a religion? Is Jewishness a matter of culture? Are the Jews a nation? These are modern questions….

—Leorah Batnitzky, How Judaism Became a Religion

October 1st was a funny day.  I woke up to a stuffed e-mail inbox filled with messages from family, friends and colleagues, who all sent me a link to the same article in that morning’s New York Times.  The Pew Research Foundation had just published the results of a major population study entitled, “A Portrait of Jewish Americans”, and it seemed everyone wanted to talk about it.  An hour later, when I walked into a meeting at the offices of UJA in White Plains, everyone in a room filled with Jewish professionals either had their nose in the newspaper, or was waving around the front page as we wondered what it all meant.

I imagine the Jewish community will be responding to the data from this survey for quite some time, just as we did following the Jewish Population Studies undertaken by the United Jewish Communities in 1990 and 2000.  But there is one major headline from this survey that I think is more interesting and complex than even the people at Pew realize: the discovery, which represents a significant increase, that 22% of American Jews describe themselves as “having no religion”.  This revelation, as you might imagine, is the source of great consternation in the organized Jewish community.

But this number is not surprising to me, and, in some ways, not even troubling.  I will tell you why.  Often, people come into my office—especially when they are joining the synagogue—so we can begin building a meaningful relationship.  We talk of families, upbringings, relationships with synagogues and much more.  And a line I hear more often than not—importantly, from people who are about to join a temple!—is something along the lines of the following: “Being Jewish is really important to me, but I’m not religious.”  To me, this is the same phenomenon of someone replying, “no” to the Pew poll’s question, “Are you Jewish by religion?”  And to me, for years, this is a fascinating phenomenon.

I have long wondered what it means for a Jew to claim that being Jewish was vitally important at the same time they downplayed the role of religion.  I used to think these people were ceding the definition of “religious” to the Orthodox, and were basically distinguishing themselves from Jews who wear black hats and earlocks, or wigs and long skirts.  But soon I came to realize that something deeper was happening.  As I became more and more comfortable probing the statement “I’m Jewish but not religious” with people, I began to discover (in my very unscientific sampling) that people were expressing either an ambivalence about belief in God or a disconnect from the power of prayer.  Sometimes, “I’m not religious” was code for saying, “Judaism is incredibly important to me, even though I’m not sure I believe in God and don’t really feel anything significant is happening when I sit in the sanctuary for services.”  To my ears, that statement translates as follows: I’m a committed Jew, but no synagogue or individual has ever helped me understand how I can consider myself fully Jewish if I have doubts or reservations about faith and prayer.  And if that’s what people really mean when they say “I’m Jewish but not religious,” then it’s a miracle that only 22% of American Jews feel this way!

jew-overview-2For as long as there has been a Jewish people, Jews have had serious questions and conflicts about faith and prayer.  Pharaoh in Egypt was the first one to call us a people; the same generation he enslaved, once they were free and found themselves at Mt. Sinai meeting God, fell into such a quandary of faith forty days later that they built the Golden Calf.  Before this generation, Abraham—the first Jew—questioned whether God would deliver on the divine promise for a large family, considering Abraham was 100 years old and had no son.  His daughter-in-law Rebekkah, and her daughter-in-law Rachel also confronted God with fundamental, existential anguish.  Our Prophets castigated our ancestors for roughly 200 years of questioning God; our biblical books of Job and Ecclesiastes wonder aloud how anyone can believe in God, given the state of the world.  As much as Jews have been a people of The Book for millennia, so too have we been a people of questioning and doubt, especially regarding the God we call Adonai.

But this lack of faith, or evolving faith of every individual, has done little to stem centuries of Jewish commitment to a Jewish way of life.  Generations of Jews have embraced Torah—literally and figuratively—even though they didn’t necessarily embrace God or prayer at the same time.  Judaism has long been much more about living a certain way of life, following a certain path, halakha, a way of walking through our world, than it has been about subscription to any sort of creed of belief or fidelity.   We are obligated to mitzvot, commandments, even if we have our doubts about Who issued those commands.  Agnostics and athiests light Shabbat candles, lead Passover Seders, and engage in the work of Tikkun Olam as much as do the fully faithful.  Our tradition considers all these people Jews, with no distinction.  They are all part of the Jewish people, regardless of belief.

Importantly, the Hebrew language has no word for “religion”.  The word dat, which is Modern Hebrew for “religion” is in fact a loan word from ancient Persian that snuck itself into the book of Daniel in the mouth of a Persian politician describing our people.  The Hebrew way—and thus authentically Jewish way—to talk about Judaism has nothing to do with religion: we are a people.  We are called Am Yisrael, the people of Israel, or B’nai Yisrael, the children of Israel.  We are a conglomeration of ethics, morals, rituals and practices accumulated by people willing (sometimes in the least friendly of environments) to call themselves Jews.  Princeton Professor Leora Batnitzky rightly teaches us that Jews only began to consider themselves a religion (which is a European, Christian way of understanding faith) when Jews began to live in closer emancipated quarters with non-Jews in the modern age.  Going back through history to Abraham, fewer than 22% of Jews in history would even know what the word religion (in any language) meant, let alone consider themselves “religious”.  Instead, we would likely define ourselves as Tevye did so aptly in the great Broadway musical: we Jews are a tradition.

So I am one Rabbi, and perhaps the only Rabbi, who is not terribly concerned that many modern Jews do not define themselves by a term neither Jewish nor particularly descriptive of Jewish practice: religious.  Instead, I am encouraged that so many Jews (69%) express that leading an ethical life is essential to their Jewishness, that an equal number (70%) attended or hosted a Seder last year, and that more than half (56%) say that working for justice (what we call tzedakah) is core to their Jewish identity.  These Jews are all maintaining Jewish tradition and building their Jewish identity, which has been the real work of our people since the days of Abraham and Sarah.

  Rabbi Seth M. Limmer is rabbi of 
Congregation B’nai Yisrael of Armonk, New York.  

Categories
News Rabbis Reform Judaism

Ode to the Congregational Rabbinate: A Response to the Pew Study

In recent days there has been a disturbing trend in Jewish communal life.   The synagogue is both charged with the future of Judaism and blamed for its decline.  Even in these tempestuous times, I believe, the synagogue is where we continue to nurture and sustain Jewish life.

I recently celebrated ten years in the pulpit and I can tell you that my triumphant moments have not come in single instances of programmatic creativity or sermonic brilliance.  Lasting relationships forged over a decade of shared joy and sorrow are the foundation of my service to the congregation and to the Jewish people.

Rabbi William Braude, the former senior rabbi of Temple Beth-El of blessed memory was a great mind in our tradition.  He marched for civil rights and was a brilliant scholar–you probably have a Midrash collection translated by him on your shelf.  With all of his accomplishments, he never forgot what was most important. Rabbi Braude would often say that, as rabbis, our job is to keep a small flame flickering.

RabbiMack-withTorahWe keep the flame alive when we stand grave side with a widow in a snowstorm with barely a minyan.  Or when we shed a tear at the graduation for a student we have known since consecration.  Or when we rejoice in the new baby of a couple we married.  It is the quiet moments when we connect with our people that actually keep the Jewish people alive. We can call it “engagement” or “relational Judaism,” but the simple (or not so simple) reality of caring for our flocks on a daily basis is what builds meaningful community.

While marching at the statehouse, posting on facebook, or writing books can be nourishing for us–I am not convinced that these activities alone sustain the Jewish people. It is note writing, phone call returning, and  bar and bat mitzvah student meetings that really make a difference.  It may seem mundane in the moment and it certainly isn’t sexy, but it is essential.

A recent article about “boring” High Holy day services caught my attention because it railed against congregational rabbis in our most grueling season.   Amazingly, no one seemed to leap to our defense (probably because rabbis themselves were all too busy writing boring sermons.)

The Pew Study and its aftermath and the New York Times article on the B’nai Mitzvah Revolution simply seem to fuel the fire against congregational rabbis who dutifully serve our people.

There are organizations and newspapers that spill much digital ink ranking the most prominent Rabbis in various lists throughout the year. While this may garner Facebook posts and Tweets galore in the moment, I don’t believe that it does much for the future of the Jewish people in the long run.

Instead, I would like to give a shout out to my unnamed colleagues, classmates and friends.  Let us recognize the committed congregational rabbis who serve our people in the trenches with love and faith.  The rabbis who are there for our people, day in and day out.  The rabbis who are on the bima Shabbat after Shabbat and who still happily greet their community at the oneg.  The rabbis who will answer the call in the hour of need–be it in the hospital, the synagogue or the grocery store.  The rabbis who know your name and that your husband just lost his job or your son was accepted to Yale or your mother was just diagnosed with cancer–and care deeply about you and your loved one.

Those are the rabbis who keep that small flame flickering for the next generation.  Kol hakavod.  I am proud to serve with you.

 Rabbi Sarah Mack serves Temple Beth-El in Providence, Rhode Island.

Categories
Ethics Rabbis Reform Judaism

Hanging on to Hope: Facing Illness and Adversity

In 1978, I bounded across the finish line of the New York City Marathon wearing a T-shirt proclaiming me “The Running Rabbi.” I was just as tireless in my calling as a rabbi in Newburgh, New York. I had marched for civil rights in the 60’s, rallied to free Soviet Jews, and in 1980 visited the hostages held in Iran. I’d never been sick in my life. I felt indestructible. That was then.

Just six years later my illusion was shattered as I lay dying of leukemia. By a miracle of timing doctors saved my life with an experimental drug and I returned to my congregation to fulfill the new task God gave me – counseling those who face adversity.

For over 20 years as a rabbi, I had helped others through crisis. I was supposed to have all the answers. Yet when I got sick, I discovered I didn’t have them. I felt confused, frightened, and desperate. Who would comfort me?

My experience with serious illness has made me want to share with you what I learned about facing illness, or for that matter any adversity. Here are some of my thoughts and suggestions which I hope will help you or your loved ones if, God forbid, you have to face a threatening crisis.

  • Cheer yourself on. Ultimately you must learn to comfort yourself. No matter how many people are around during the day, reality can be very hard to face in the loneliness of the night.
  • Keep up your self-esteem. Be kind to yourself. Hug yourself if you can’t find anybody to hug you. Don’t feel cursed if you have a disease with a foul name. Don’t think of yourself as worthless or worth less because you’ve been stricken. Don’t be passive about your medical treatment or afraid to tell your doctors your needs.
  • Don’t feel guilty if you’re too sick to do things. You have value simply because you are, even if you cannot be “productive” in the way to which you were accustomed. Learn to cherish your very existence.
  • I really believe my fighting spirit meant the difference between life and death for me. My nurses told me that once when I was delirious, I pounded on the bed rails yelling, “Come on, Hirshel!” I was cheering myself on like my wife and daughters cheered for me when I ran the marathon.
  • Conversely, however, don’t make things impossible by believing your attitude is everything. You can’t control everything. Just some things.
  • Set goals for yourself. No matter how small, any goal helps you feel a sense of achievement.
  • Writing a book about my illness with my friends, the Rudins, gave me something to live for. I would wearily clutch the manuscript in my hospital bed and show it to my nurses. It took a lot out of me to write even a few words, but I know that completing Why Me? Why Anyone? helped keep me alive.
  • Life Projects. Keep up interest in your life projects. If you are able to return to work in some capacity, do it. Even if you have just five good minutes a day, use that time and build on it. If physical limitations prevent you from doing tasks in your usual way, try to devise new ways to do them. Reorganize, delegate, ration your energy sensibly.
  • Doing, learning, re-learning will help you to feel alive and regain self-esteem. When my physicians noticed how depressed I was in the hospital, they said, “Be a rabbi — go and counsel other patients.” That made me feel important again. My friends fighting cancer and other diseases tell me the same thing: Helping others cope is the one good thing they can do, the one good thing they feel qualified to do, and the one good thing they find real fulfillment in doing.
  • Keep your sense of humor. Learn to laugh at yourself and enjoy life. One morning when the doctors made their rounds, I said to them, “I think these antibiotics are doing something to me! Something strange is happening to my body!” They burst into laughter. I was wearing a Frankenstein mask !
  • Be thankful for each day and greet it joyously. Since my brush with death, every moment is special to me. Live life to the fullest, even if it might be for just a short period of time. How long you live is not as important as what you do with your time, or what you are in that time.
  • Today I feel I know what’s really important in my life. I’m learning to say “no” to people — I don’t want to fritter away my life letting other people tell me how to live. For me, being with the ones I love is the most important thing. And I make a point of telling these people often how I feel about them “while I still have the chance.”
  • Accept the comfort offered by friends and family. The strong support of all who loved me and prayed for me kept me going through my darkest hours. Don’t be afraid to let others know how vulnerable you are. It’s not a sign of weakness to allow them to do what they can to make things easier for you.
  • The Song of Songs says, “Set me as a seal upon thy heart, for love is stronger than death.” This I believe now more than ever.
  • Search for meaning from your adversity. We can find meaning and hope even in our darkest days. I didn’t ask for this painful experience. But I can choose my response to it. I can choose to grow from it and shape it into a positive force in my life.

By facing death I learned how to live. My illness taught me the real meaning of being a rabbi. It’s not who can be the best scholar; it’s who can touch people, who can comfort them. I used to be too “hyper,” the running rabbi, breezing by people. Now I take time to talk and listen more deeply. I know what it’s like to hurt. I understand people’s fears, and can now begin to reassure them out of my own struggle and confusion and fear. “God wants heart” is a saying in the Talmud that I now truly understand.

Will I run another marathon? Sure, I want to, but it doesn’t matter to me how long or how fast I go. Now I’m running the true race — trying to be a good husband and father, and a companion for those who walk the path of serious illness.

I hope that as you walk this path , whether illness or crisis or depression ,that you let the “Power” within you that you surely possess carry you over the rough spots, and stay with you, too.

And I hope your struggle with adversity, or your journey to the edge of life, helps you learn secrets of precious love, secrets of precious peace.

 This blog originally appeared on runningrabbi.wordpress.com.

Categories
High Holy Days Rabbis Reform Judaism

Holy Atheism!: The Role of Faith in Judaism

As Yom Kippur, our only holiday which focuses on our relationship with God, fades behind us, I am reminded of a 2007 article I read in Newsweek. Christopher Hitchens quoted these words Mother Teresa had spoken:

“For me, the silence and the emptiness is so great, that I look and do not see, – Listen and do not hear – the tongue moves but does not speak.”   “Such deep longing for God – and…repulsed-empty –no  faith- no  love- no  zeal.”

Mr. Hitchens points out that such doubt for Mother Teresa would indeed have caused crisis, not only for her, but for the catholics for whom she was such an inspiration.  “Mother Teresa doubted God?!”  In the height of heresy, Mr. Hitchens goes so far as to accuse her of (gasp) atheism!

I was puzzled reading Mr. Hitchens’ article.  Mother Teresa doubted God.  So what? As a child I feasted on stubborn Jonah, angry Moses, poor confused Saul, and the one from whom we inherited our name; the struggling Jacob/Israel. I expected to play Divine hide-and-seek with the God of my understanding.   And yet, Mother Theresa’s words reverberated deeply through my soul.

I’ve always seen faith as secondary to Judaism.  Great if you feel it, irrelevant if you don’t.  I can never get too excited about avowed Atheist Jews.  One doesn’t really need God in order to live a Jewish life.

To live a Jewish life, one need only follow mitzvot, doing so with a little compassion is even better.  It wasn’t Mother Teresa’s struggle or doubt which pulled at me.  It was her pain.  It was her pure human pain.

And this is the point of who we are as Jews.  Angst, emptiness, sadness, loneliness, silence…it is only natural that these words will relate to our search for the divine.  But for us, angst, emptiness, sadness, loneliness, and silence….these words should shock us, drive us into action when they relate to the feelings of human beings.

When he was hosted in the U.S. during WWII, my father was raised by Morris Bagno, one of the leaders of the International Ladies Garment Workers’ Union. Uncle Morris’s entire life was dedicated to bringing dignity and justice to the laborer. Except for family s’machot (joyful events), he refused to enter a shul or synagogue, and, believing that religion drove a wedge between class unities, declined to send my father to cheder (Jewish day school).  He never even mentioned God.  But, this man’s influence on my father and on my family is one of the reasons I became a rabbi. Uncle Morris’s sense of social justice was the epitome of “Tzedek, tzedek, tirdof” (Justice, justice, shall you pursue). He lived Torah so absolutely that he was, in most aspects of his life, the walking personification of Torat Chayim—the  the living, breathing Torah.

In fact Uncle Morris was such an atheist, he would not have understood why Mother Teresa was so worked up.  If Uncle Morris heard her lament, he would have heard the cry of human suffering – and the silence surrounding it.  This, not divine longing, but a human being hearing silence…this would have moved him.   Just as it should move us.  Around us at every moment, near and far, are those who hear only silence and emptiness, those who wish to cry out, but cannot speak.  As a Jew, I know this silence is not God’s; it is ours.

We have neighbors and friends struggling with physical and mental illness, parents who cannot feed their children, and politicians so warped and distracted by their own job security that they cannot hear the weeping all around them. We have masses of citizens gassed and killed by their government’s own hand. “The silence and the emptiness is so great.” Is it ever.

And because it is, we do not have the luxury of struggling long with faith.  As Jews, we are commanded not to believe, but to do. While most religions also command us to action, to response, to feeling and hearing, and then helping – we are commanded with no expectation of belief.  We are commanded with prophetic urgency not to tolerate anguish in this world.

Can we lift the emptiness and silence?  Read anew Mother Teresa’s words, hearing them as an echo of the suffering in this world…   “For me, the silence and the emptiness is so great, that I look and do not see, – Listen and do not hear – the tongue moves but does not speak.”

So I ask you now…what are we going to do about it?

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

Categories
General CCAR Prayer Rabbis Technology

How a Whole Congregation Wrote its Rabbi’s Yom Kippur Sermon

The Genesis of a Social Sermon

Utilizing a process called the Social Sermon, I developed my Yom Kippur morning sermon this year in partnership with Facebook Friends, TED talkers and a group of insightful congregants. To be blunt, this year, the whole Congregation Or Ami wrote its rabbi’s Yom Kippur sermon.

Where Great Sermon Ideas Come From Rabbis explore sermon ideas from within the Machzor (prayerbook) and Torah, through conference calls organized by Jewish non-profit organizations, and at sermon seminars run by local Boards of Rabbis. Ideas are generated from Jewish text study, current events, issues in the public sphere, bestselling books, and powerful movies. Some clergy ask friends, colleagues, congregants for ideas. Deciding upon topics and themes for High Holy Day (HHD) sermons can be a multi-month process. The social sermon encourages rabbis to engage the congregants (and other contacts in the social media sphere) in the process of exploring the topic and teasing out important themes.

Fleshing out a Topic Over the summer, as our community struggled to deal with illnesses and deaths of beloved congregants, I knew it was time again to explore Unetaneh Tokef, the haunting HHD prayer most remembered for its opening lines: On Rosh Hashana it is written and on Yom Kippur it is Sealed… Who shall live and who shall die.  I read this text as a cosmic wake up call: God reminds us that “stuff” happens. Unetaneh Tokef forces us to face this reality and to decide: how are YOU going to deal with it? The prayer offers three responses to the severity of life’s decree of misfortune, pain and death. We may reach around (teshuva or repentance – by fixing our relationships with those around us), reach inward (t’filah or prayer – by finding our center and the truth within), and reach up (tzedakah or charitable giving – by lifting up others we lift ourselves).

PaulKipnes1But how did this play out in real life? What lessons do people learn from enduring the hardships or challenges that life throws out way?

Facebook Friends Chime In For assistance, I turned to Facebook (and Twitter) where my personal and congregational pages yielded some poignant answers to the question, What did you learn from going through hardship or challenge? Responses poured in from all around the congregation and around the country. The question struck a few heart strings as people posted publicly and some privately about the tsuris (problems) in their lives. Face-to-face conversations with other community members elicited many significant lessons learned. From these responses, as well as those from people I spoke with over the course of a few months, three categories of hardship rose up as being particularly challenging: financial ruin, turmoil from dealing with children with special needs, and horrible medical diagnoses.

TED Talks Provide Inspiration Around that time, I was watching some TED Talks and became inspired by the stories I heard. About people in challenging situations, who found meaning and purpose nonetheless. The most moving sermons include powerful personal stories to illustrate the central message. It occurred to me that rather than my telling those inspiring stories, I would ask a few congregants to tell their own stories. After all, High Holy Day services offer just the forum for Jewish TED Talks. Thus was a sermon born.

I invited three congregants reflect on what they learned personal through their personal challenge. Their initial drafts were poignant. Each participant had learned powerful lessons on how to overcome the “stuff” of life on which Unetaneh Tokef focuses. Guiding the speakers to understand how their experiences embodied teachings similar to those in Unetaneh Tokef, I worked with them to weave references into their sermonette.

Simultaneously, I crafted a short introduction – utilizing a sledgehammer, if you believe it – to sharply make the point that Unetaneh Tokef comes as a Divine wake-up call. Like a sledgehammer, Unetaneh Tokef comes to break down the walls of naivety and denial that keep us from accepting a simple truth: that between this year and next, so many will live but many will die. Some will experience success; others failure. So many will encounter the unpredictability and pain of life. We are left to discover how do we keep ourselves from becoming angry, embittered, and crotchety, from giving up?

Congregants Tell their Own Stories At different points in the service, these congregants and our President shared their stories:

Their presentations were poignant. Worshippers sat at the edge of their seats, listening in silence. Certain moments were unforgettable: When Eric and Jill Epstein spoke just after their 14 year old son Ethan led the congregation in prayer. When Mike Moxness was moved to tears as he recalled the overwhelming mix of sadness and gratitude. When Congregation Or Ami President Hedi Gross, in the traditional end-of-service Presidential sermonette, recounted her Jewish spiritual journey, including their struggle with fertility issues, unexpectedly reemphasizing the theme of the sermon and service.
Suffice it to say, the responses to the Jewish-TED-talk/HHD-social-sermon touched and moved so many worshippers.

What Lessons were Learned?

  1. Social Sermons Work: A number of worshippers later described the Facebook discussion on Facebook as a meaningful way to get them to prepare for the Holy Days.  Others reflected on the Facebook discussion as an inviting way of previewing am upcoming sermon theme.
  2. Jewish TED Talks Inspire: In comments about the High Holy Days, this multi-speaker sermon topped the list of worshipper kvells (positive comments). Unanimously, post-service comments called the congregant presentations inspiring, powerful, very real, and intensely thought-provoking.
  3. Rabbinic Tzimtzum Fosters Deep Reflection: As clergy “pull back” from their up front role as sermonizer to work in partnership with congregants to craft a Jewish teaching, the message becomes that much more influential. In an increasingly DIY (Do It Yourself) Jewish world, involving other Jews in the teaching/preaching/liturgy leading roles cements their relationships to the community, the synagogue and the rabbi.
  4. Weaving in New Technologies and Methods Animate Communities: Darim Online and The Convenant Foundation introduced me to the Social Sermon. TED Talks inspired me to invite congregants to speak. Just Congregations of the Union for Reform Congregations taught me about listening campaigns. eJewish Philanthropy constantly pushes me to explore new perspectives and methods. Visual T’filah of the Central Conference of American Rabbis propelled me to rethink the entire worship experience. Finally, Rabbi Eugene Borowitz’s 1973 essay, Tzimtzum: A Mystic Model for Contem­porary Leadership, has long goaded my rabbinic style to pull back to invite others in.
What’s next? Already, congregants are wondering which congregant speakers will elucidate which themes next year.  And so am I!
But I do not expect to wait until the High Holy Days to invite my congregation to write my next sermon!
Rabbi Paul Rabbi Paul J. Kipnes is the spiritual leader of Congregation Or Ami in Calabasas, CA.  This post originally appeared on his blog, Or Am I?
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Ethics General CCAR News Rabbis Reform Judaism

A Reform Congregation Emerges from the Flood

On Rosh HaShanah we celebrated Creation, and by Yom Kippur we had been hit by the flood.

The deluge began Thursday afternoon.  I posted pictures to Twitter and Facebook, amused by the enormous puddles everywhere.  Two hours later, it was clear that this was no joke.  The four lane road in front of our Congregation, Har HaShem, was now a rushing river. Muddy water poured in everywhere.   Our Executive Director Gary Fifer and I waded through more than a foot of water in the parking lot, grabbed the sifrei torah from the ark, wrapped them in plastic and put them in a high place.  We cut the power and headed for high ground.

IMG_8399The situation at Har HaShem remains critical as we recover from this 500-year flood. In all, we estimate that we sustained about $150,000 to $200,000 worth of damage and we now know that our insurance policy will cover only a tiny fraction of this.  We have established a fund, to which you may donate here (or through our website). Our entire lower level, with eight classrooms, was destroyed. Carpet, drywall, furniture, shelving, school supplies, congregational archives – gone.  Our sanctuary, social hall and South Building flooded as did two residential houses we own.  Our parking lot was covered with inches of mud and debris.

While all of this has been painful and difficult, there were no significant injuries or deaths in the Jewish community. We pray that God grants strength and comfort to the many in the region who have lost so much more.

A little light dispels great darkness, our Sages taught.  Indeed.  Many people have come together to bring the synagogue back to life.  The neighborhood system we created this past year enabled the 30 neighborhood  captains, responsible for creating community and fostering Jewish living in their neighborhoods , to quickly and locally identify need and volunteers.  It was moving to see members in need being helped by neighbor-congregants they may not have known hours before.  At the synagogue itself roughly 50 member volunteers have worked tirelessly to get us cleaned up.  Our Youth Group kids spent the unexpected no-school here, inspiring other volunteers by working their hearts out.  Nechama, a Jewish Response to Disaster, has done untold good in Boulder and have been lifesavers for Har HaShem.  They’re helping us rebuild.

IMG_8277More light: we are a homeless overflow shelter in the winter and summer months and offered several homeless folks who are guests during the year an hourly wage to help downstairs.  We are deeply impressed by their energy and dedication.  My family won’t forget having them over for kiddush and lunch in our sukkah (I live next door to the synagogue) during a lunch break.

The entire Boulder community came together during this crisis.  Students from CU Chabad, members of the neighboring Conservative congregation, whose synagogue was also badly damaged, strangers off the street – so many have reached out.  The Federation has been wonderful, the JCC is by our side, Jewish Family Service has been a lifeline to many.

Several folks from across the country have reached out.  Rabbi Hara Person of the CCAR and Rabbi Jan Offel of the URJ helped us get some books to replace those that were destroyed. Rabbi Deborah Prinz of the CCAR has reached out to help.  And I’ve been so moved that several of you have extended a hand as well.

We have a lot of work ahead.  Most significant is addressing the huge financial setback. If you are moved to donate, you may do so here (or through our website), or through URJ Disaster Relief.  Of course there are other challenges, from finding space for our delayed religious school start, to an overextended staff, to maintaining other programming during the coming weeks.

The deep connections between the creation story of Bereishit and the flood story are well known.  Bereishit Rabbah teaches that initially God’s light was unobscured and could be seen from one end of the earth to the other.  Acts of evil, including those of the generation of the flood, caused that light to be removed and concealed.  Here, in these early days of the new creation of 5774 and in the wake of our flood, we have seen the unmistakable glow of divine light in the many acts of righteousness within our community and from far beyond.   May we be strengthened to rebuild in the coming weeks and months.

Rabbi Joshua Rose is the rabbi of Congregation Har HaShem, in Boulder, CO. 

 

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High Holy Days Machzor Prayer Reform Judaism

Machzor Blog: To Sin or Not to Sin

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The editors of Mishkan HaNefesh, the new CCAR Machzor, have thought long and hard about the Hebrew word chet — often rendered as “sin” in English translations of the Machzor.  During the piloting process, some respondents have wondered if the editors’ intention is to eliminate from the Machzor the word ‘sin.’ We have chosen to take a more nuanced approach.

First, it is important to note that the word ‘sin’ does in fact appear multiple times in Mishkan HaNefesh. For example:

In the Erev Yom Kippur service, it appears on p.41b, several times on p.46b, (“it transforms one’s deliberate sins into merits”; “the years of sin are transformed…”; “propel the sinner toward God. Sin is not to be forgotten…” etc.); several times on p.48b (“We sin against You…”; “Who shall say…I have not sinned?”; “Our sins are an alphabet of woe”), p.55a (“Forgive my sin, no matter how great”) and p.65b (“the day when God helps us and forgives our sins”).

In the Yom Kippur morning service, it appears on p.5 (“cleansed of their sins”), p.15 (“Be your sins like crimson…”), p.22 (“must specify the sin”). p.23 (“have tasted sin”), p.25 (“humans inevitably fail or sin”), p.156 [the Viddui – “You have fallen because of your sin”), p.157 (“I admit my sin”), p.160 (“claiming to be free of sin”), p.161 (“a willingness to recognize one’s own sins”; “the isolation of sin”; “the sins are listed alphabetically”; “Everyone confesses all the sins”); p.169 (“For the sin we  committed against You…”); and “p.170 (“we stand together…to confess our sins”).

In the Yom Kippur Mincha service, it appears on p.7 (“to make atonement for the Israelites for all their sins”); p.16b (“You will hurl all our sins…”); p.36a (“the sinner”; “sin, remorse, retribution”; “desisting from sin”, etc.); p.36b (“sinfulness,” “the sin of another”); and p.51b (“We sin against You…”; “Who shall say…I have not sinned?”; “Our sins are an alphabet of woe”).

We haven’t yet completed the draft services for Avodah, Eleh Ezkerah and Neilah, but it is likely that the word “sin” will continue to appear as our work goes forward.

The more important question, from our perspective, is whether the word “sin” is always appropriate to describe the various misdeeds enumerated in the Machzor. For example, look at the Al Chet in Erev Yom Kippur (p.47a), and ask yourself if all (or any) of the acts listed there are, in fact, sins. They include “insincere promises,” “speaking foolishness,” “empty talk,” “acts committed through our routine conversations,” “insincere apologies,” and “thoughtlessness.” Or look at p.50a in the Yom Kippur Mincha service, where acts listed in the Al Chet include: “a selfish or petty spirit,” “stubbornness,” “cynicism,” “unworthy thoughts and ruminations,” “offensive speech,” “taking advantage of others,” “through eating and drinking, ” and “losing self-control.”

The dictionary defines “sin” as “deliberate disobedience of God’s will; transgression of a religious or moral law; something regarded as shameful, highly reprehensible or utterly wrong.”  We would characterize certain acts as sinful, such as murder, rape, child abuse, betrayal, deliberate cruelty, and, under some circumstances, adultery and theft, but others, it seems to us, are better described by other English words. We are fortunate, as English speakers, to have at our disposal a language far richer in vocabulary and semantic variation than the Hebrew of the prayer book.

Mishkan HaNefesh attempts to capture many shades of meaning in a nuanced way by using a large variety of words to translate the three primary Hebrew words for wrongdoing (chet, pesha, avon). We do not believe, as some have suggested, that we are minimizing the severity of wrongdoing or portraying all wrongdoing in a therapeutic light. Note that the words we use to capture these different shades of meaning include “evil,” “wickedness,” “depravity,” “crimes,” “brute power,” “malevolence,” “guilt,” “shame,” “failings,” “offense,” “brokenness,” “immorality,” “destructiveness,” “malice,” “wrongs,” “treachery,” “transgressions,” “mistakes,” “cruelty,” “missed the mark,” “stumbled,” “fallen,” “failure,” “harm,” “misdeeds,” “errors,” “defiant acts,” “inner darkness,” and, of course, “sin.”

In all our work on the Machzor, we remember the tremendous variety of people who will be in our congregations, and the misdeeds they will be remembering. Those engaged in viddui and teshuvah may include sexual compulsives who have betrayed their spouses thousands of times, wife beaters, serial rapists, soldiers who have engaged in torture, embezzlers, addicts and child abusers – but also 13 year olds who have been rude to their parents, teased another child on the playground, made snide remarks behind a teacher’s back or cheated on a test, as well as adults who have inflated their resumes, been inattentive to an elderly aunt, received multiple speeding tickets, pilfered office supplies, neglected a friend with cancer, been ill-tempered with their spouse, failed to get to the gym often enough or paid less than their fair share of temple dues. These are certainly not admirable acts, but we hope you would agree that to describe the full range of human misdeeds by the word “sin” simply empties the word of its meaning.

We hope, in fact, to restore some sense of power to the simple English word “wrong.”  There is a difference between right and wrong, and the Machzor wants us to remember that. So do we.

Rabbi Janet Marder is Senior Rabbi of Congregation Beth Am in Los Altos Hills, CA.  Rabbi Shelly Marder is the Rabbi at the Jewish Home in San Francisco, CA.   They are both editors of Mishkan HaNefesh, the new CCAR machzor.