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CCAR Convention News Rabbis Reform Judaism

Celebrating the Class of 1964: “Blessed in Every Way”

At the upcoming CCAR Convention, we will honor the class of 1964, those who have been CCAR members and served our movement for 50 years.  In the weeks leading up to convention, we will share and celebrate the rabbinic visions and wisdom of the members of the class of 1964.

I have spent all but four years of my fifty as a rabbi of Temple Israel in Memphis.

I met my wife, Jeanne, fifty years ago at Temple Israel. Our three sons grew up in Memphis and became b’nai mitzvah at Temple Israel. Our granddaughters became b’not mitzvah there, and a grandson is to become bar mitzvah there next Sukkot. My whole life turned on coming to Memphis in1964.

In the spring of 1959, I had finished two years of pre-rabbinic classes at HUC and the University of Cincinnati. Dr. Samuel Sandmel z”l called me in and suggested that I could start the rabbinic program the next fall a year early. As a result, in 1964, I was ordained a year ahead of schedule. Rabbi James Wax z”l and Temple Israel of Memphis needed an assistant rabbi. In that summer of racial turmoil in the South including the murder of the three civil rights workers in Mississippi, I came to the South.

Welcome to the rest of my life!!

I have been blessed beyond any dreams with my rabbinate. At Temple Israel, I had the challenge and the privilege of orchestrating our transition from a great and historic Classical Reform congregation of the old school to a proud and historic congregation in the mainstream of Reform Judaism. Because I was blessed with a receptive and trusting congregation, the stresses and conflicts that so often accompany that transition were minimal for us.

Thirty years ago, I gave a sermon calling on people to cook for, to drive for, to visit, and to care for other members in time of crisis. I called it God’s Unfinished Business, a reference to our not knowing why bad things happen, focusing instead on what is demanded of us. Hundreds of volunteers have continued that program of gemilut chasadim member to member for three decades. That is one of the proudest achievements of my rabbinate, precisely because it has become part of the lives of so many laypersons as both volunteers and beneficiaries.

My goal for a temple staff was always this: When one of us does well, everyone scheps nachas. For the most part, that has been true with the talented clergy and staff I have worked with. That neshama at Temple Israel was shared by our lay leadership: never adversaries, they have always been true and real partners and friends in the years of my rabbinate and beyond.

Most of my rabbinate was spent in a very large congregation. I am grateful that, nonetheless, I could be “someone’s rabbi.” I could not be what my father z”l was called at his funeral, “a member ex-officio of every family in the community,” but some of my greatest rabbinic moments were being included as a member of a family whether sitting with a couple discussing their coming marriage or sharing with the bereaved after they had suffered a loss.

Not only did the people of Temple Israel welcome me fifty years ago; so, too, did a whole region of Southern Jewry, because Temple Israel is a hub for many small Jewish communities in the South. A highlight of my rabbinate was serving as a long-time rabbinic advisor of SoFTY (now NFTY Southern) and being part of the very beginnings of the Henry S. Jacobs Camp where Jeanne and I still spend an occasional summer week on staff. Our grandchildren, now third generation campers, have joined the many for whom HSJ has been a second Jewish home for over forty years. Since I retired in 2000, I have had the special opportunity to serve Congregation Adath Israel in Cleveland MS monthly and for the yamim noraim. The community there, Jewish and beyond, has become part and parcel of Jeanne’s and my life.

My opportunities to serve our Conference, our movement and my colleagues have been many and wonderfully gratifying. Even in the work of our Ethics Committee or the Commission on Rabbinic-Congregational Relations where we encounter some of the difficult times for rabbis, I found satisfaction in the lay persons who support and work with us, as well as the great mass of colleagues who are overwhelmingly dedicated to our mission. Of course, the honor of being president of the CCAR is a highlight of my rabbinic years, and I prize that honor even as it carried burdens and responsibilities I did not always anticipate.

In my community, I have had the opportunity to teach Judaism for twenty-five years at Rhodes College, to chair the local NCCJ, and to chair the board of Family Service as well as that of the Metropolitan Inter-Faith Association, the largest single social service agency in West Tennessee. I have had the chance to share with able and dedicated clergy from all faiths, going back even to the Sanitation Strike of 1968 which led to the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. To be a rabbi in Memphis in that April and since carries its own sadness but its own mandate and mission.

Finally, the best thing that happened to me in my rabbinate was showing up for work one day in the summer of 1964, hearing a typewriter hesitatingly clicking in an office that should have been empty, and finding a lifelong love in Jeanne. In these fifty years, we have been joined by three sons, Jeffrey, David and Michael; their three wives, Rona, Shara and, most recently, Lindsey; and three grandchildren, Caroline, Madeline and Nathaniel.

I can only wish for our children and grandchildren and for all my colleagues what I feel at this anniversary. As is said of Abraham, I can say, “Va’Adonai beirach et-Tzvi bakol – Adonai has blessed me in every way.”

Categories
Ethics Israel News Rabbis Social Justice

Learning from the Matter: Our Fallen Leaders

Mine is a strange relation to the tragic 50th anniversary we commemorate today, because I was not alive the day John Kennedy died.  I came into this world a decade later, and when I was finally ready to learn about the 1960’s, I studied as one unit the assassinations of three national leaders: the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Robert Kennedy, and John F. Kennedy.  November 22nd is not a date that sticks in my memory, as I do not belong to that generation that heard reports on radios and then steered cars to the curb with tear-filled eyes.  I carry mental images of Kennedy’s children at Arlington National Cemetery, but would have been hard-pressed (until recently) to remember even in which month this tragedy occurred.

November 4th, 1995: that date I remember very well.  We had just bid farewell to Shabbat in Jerusalem, and before hitting the still-opening city, some friends and I gathered in my sixth-floor apartment.  Before we walked out the door, the phone rang.  I was shocked to hear the voice of a friend who had just returned to the States the previous week.  “What’s going on over there?” he demanded.  When I reported it was just an average Saturday night, he cut right through: “Seth, didn’t you hear the news?  Yitzhak Rabin was just shot at a peace rally in Tel Aviv.”

We are in a month of remembrance for fallen leaders, for symbols of a better tomorrow who were shot down in their prime.  Today we mark the 50th anniversary of the assassination of an American President; earlier this month we marked a significant 18 years since an Israeli Prime Minister was murdered after singing a song of peace.  We are in a season where we confront continuous violence and base hatred.  We risk doing dishonor to our dead if we memorialize their passing with only words of sadness and regret, without doing the difficult work of learning the lessons of these tragedies.

I can only share a single story.  I lived in Jerusalem in the fall of 1995, when Israel’s election season was in full swing.  On my daily walk through downtown streets on my way to the Hebrew Union College, I saw almost every empty wall plastered with posters: for Labor, for Likud, against Likud, against Labor, and—of course—with the positions and politicians of every other party.  Some of these political posters were remarkably troubling: Yitzhak Rabin against giant letters declaring him a “TRAITOR”, Rabin’s face superimposed over the infamous keffiyeh of Yasser Arafat, and—most painfully and inexplicably—the elected Prime Minister of the State of Israel dressed as a member of the Nazi SS.

UnknownSuch base hatred sickened me.  Yet, I remember well, it seemed par for the course for Israeli discourse, especially regarding politics.  The days after Rabin was killed, I remember Israel was—almost to a person—in shock that the assassin was Jewish.  It was simply inconceivable to Israelis that a Jew could perpetrate a heinous crime against a Jew.  “Why,” I recall thinking, “Are so many Israelis surprised?  Had they not seen the literal signs?  When an elected government official can not only be called a traitor but also labeled a Nazi, when such hate is fomented on such a widespread scale, what other outcome could have been predicted but this?”

This week’s Torah portion, Vayeishev, tells a similar cautionary tale of unchecked antipathy.  We are familiar with the famous story of Joseph the dreamer, who regales his brothers with visions of how he will one day rule over them; we also know this leads to his brothers’ conspiracy to sell Joseph into slavery, to deceive their family into thinking he died.  Often lost in this saga is the pivotal role played by a silent bystander: Jacob.  We read in Genesis 37:11 that: [Joseph’s] brothers became jealous of him, and his father observed the matter.  On first glance, the meaning of the verse is obvious: Jacob does nothing about the growing and apparent enmity between his children.  Various commentators, favorable to Jacob, have tried to mitigate this passivity: Saadiah Gaon claims he “entered the matter into his memory”, as if to do something about this strife in the future; Rashi reads the second half of this verse against its context and hints that Jacob was ignorant of the discord in his home.

Jacob’s silence in the face of growing hatred was a contributing factor to the enslavement and imprisonment of his favorite son.  His guilt is not on the level of Judah, who negotiated the sale, or the other brothers who were willing accomplices. However, it seems clear to me that Jacob bears responsibility for failing to try and mitigate a remarkably hostile situation.  Likewise, only one assassin killed Yitzhak Rabin.  While those who helped create and foster that hate didn’t have their fingers on the trigger, they are nonetheless accessories to the crime.  And, as we learn from the story of Jacob’s stony silence, those of us who literally walked through Israel’s environment of animosity on a daily basis—and could pretty well guess where it might lead—are not without blame ourselves.

Those who fan the flames of hatred bear responsibility for the ultimate incarnation of the hostility they generate.  But those who stand by idly while they watch temperatures boil, in my opinion, need to bring themselves to account as well.  I cannot comment on the killing of Kennedy; that was not my time.  But as we—on this 50th anniversary of his life being stolen—gather to learn the lessons of painful assassinations, we should examine the epidemic of enmity in our world today, and figure out how we make sure we do not replicate Jacob’s sin of keeping silent.  On this day of sad memorial, let us work to unsure there will be fewer days of sad memory for our children and grandchildren.  Let us commit to counter the culture of ceaseless hatred that threatens to unravel the very fabric of our civilized society.

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

 

Categories
CCAR on the Road Ethics Rabbis Reform Judaism

Recalling MLK Jr and Maurice Eisendrath

An e-mail arrived from the indefatigable Art Waskow reminding us that April 4th is the anniversary of the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr..  The reminder included a photo from a demonstration at the Arlington National Cemetery along with valuable excerpts from King’s prophetic remarks about Vietnam delivered at Riverside Church.

From L to R: Rabbi AJ Heschel, Reverend Martin Luther King Jr., Reverend Ralph Abernathy, Rabbi Maurice Eisendrath, Rabbi Everett Gendler
From L to R: Rabbi AJ Heschel, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Reverend Ralph Abernathy, Rabbi Maurice Eisendrath, Rabbi Everett Gendler

The photo showed Rabbi Heschel to one side of King, and this prompted me to look at another photo of that demonstration.  In this fuller one, King is flanked on the other side by Rev. Ralph Abernathy and Rabbi Maurice Eisendrath carrying a Torah, and beside them a youngish flag-carrying rabbi from Princeton, NJ (the latter, I).

I feel moved to share this with you on what will be the 45th anniversary of King’s tragic removal from our midst because we often forget to mention Maurice in the reminiscences about King.  The Arlington National Cemetery ceremony was important, moving, and not heavily attended by public figures.  Notably absent were any representatives of the Urban League or the NAACP.  They disapproved of King’s challenging publicly the morality of our policy on Vietnam since LBJ, supporter of civil rights, was also the primary advocate of that very policy.  But at this particular event there was Heschel’s blessed supportive presence, and there also was Maurice Eisendrath carrying a Torah in further support.  Those of us who knew and cherished Maurice are fewer with the passing of the years, so this seems an appropriate time to mention him with the respect and affection that so many of us felt for him.

That Maurice came with a Torah to this particular act of moral witnessing captures perfectly some of his most admired qualities.  This march, held on the sacred ground of our national cemetery, was solemn, not high spirited.  It absorbed the painful testimony of surroundings that expressed human dedication, courage, suffering and sacrifice..The stated proposition of the march, that our engagement as a nation in Vietnam betrayed the basic American values for which these deceased had offered their lives, was not at that time a crowd pleaser.  Pragmatic institutional calculations probably said, not great for UAHC fund raising, especially among big givers, and Maurice dearly loved and devoted his life to that institution. But justice is justice, the truth must be proclaimed, and so Maurice proclaimed it in his characteristically vigorous, energetic way.  The real bottom line for UAHC (now URJ), after all, was prophetic Judaism, and Maurice was accountant par excellence in those calculations.

At this especially difficult period in King’s life, severely criticized by the leaders of the major civil rights organizations, suffering daily threats to his own life and to his beloved family, can we imagine what the presence of Rabbi Heschel, Rabbi Eisendrath, and the sefer Torah must have contributed to King’s morale and sense of Divine support?  The attached photo may convey some of the mood.

As in life all of us were and are able to offer support to the righteous among us, so do the memories of those righteous ones, of King, of Heschel, and of Eisendrath, bless and sustain us.

Rabbi Everett Gendler is retired and lives in Great Barrington, MA.