Tag: midrash

Categories
Rabbinic Innovation Rabbinic Reflections

Rabbi Shawna Brynjegard-Bialik’s Rabbinic Innovation: Marrying Art, Pop Culture, and Torah

The Central Conference of American Rabbis, Reform Judaism’s rabbinic professional leadership organization, is home to more than 2,000 Reform rabbis across North America and beyond. And while Reform rabbis wear many hats, often at the same time—Torah scholar, officiant, pastoral counselor, chaplain, educator, organizational leader, activist—they also serve in a wider range of settings, changing the shape of the sacred work of the rabbinate with innovative new visions for Jewish communal life.

We’re proud to share the stories of CCAR members who are taking our ancient Jewish traditions and imaginatively and courageously building new programs, practices, collaborations, communities, and transformational approaches to Reform Judaism. We’re also sharing how, even in dark times, so many CCAR members find joy as rabbis, and we share their hopes for the future of the Reform rabbinate and Reform Judaism.

Book photo

Rabbi Shawna Brynjegard-Bialik, along with her artist husband Isaac, created Paper Midrash, a Jewish scholar- and artist-in-residence program based in Southern California. Here, she shares her innovative rabbinate, which involves traveling the country to teach Torah by blending text study with art.

How do you describe your rabbinate? What makes it unique?
I work with my husband Isaac, an artist, to develop scholar- and artist-in-residence programs, which we bring to Jewish communities across the United States. We call it Paper Midrash because our flagship program is “Torah Study with Knives,” where we study Torah with a group and then teach them how to design and create their own papercut midrash artwork. It’s sophisticated text study through a unique art practice: I bring the Torah, and my husband brings the art. Our goal is to use art as a pathway to deeper understanding of Torah. I believe that Torah and Jewish values are all around us, and we use pop culture and art to help people recognize them.

How did you create this innovative program?
We started Paper Midrash almost accidentally. My husband and I have been teaching together since we were Hebrew school teachers together in college, and we have spent the last sixteen years teaching together at URJ Camp Newman. Rabbi friends would invite us to teach and create with their communities, and around 2016 we realized that the conversations we were having with each other about Torah and art and Judaism and pop culture were conversations that other people wanted to be involved in. We genuinely love making connections between modern life and Torah and arguing about nuance in storytelling. I think people respond to that authenticity; we often joke that we have the same conversations at our dinner table.

Being married to an artist has changed the way I think about art and creativity. Together we’ve tried to create new pathways into Torah for people who haven’t had the opportunity to create art as adults or to engage in midrash as a creative process. I’d like to think that we use art to lower the barrier to Jewish text.

How has your rabbinate evolved throughout your career?
I never thought art would become such a big part of my rabbinate, but I’ve always had an unconventional rabbinic career. I started out working part-time at a synagogue, and then I worked as an associate rabbi at Temple Ahavat Shalom in Southern California for fourteen years. One of my first jobs was teaching adult Torah study; working with that group really taught me how to teach adults. Working part-time allowed me to spend time with my three children while they were growing up and allowed me to work at a number of different rabbinic jobs over the years. In the last twenty-two years I have also worked as an interim education director; I was the site director at Camp Newman while camp was recovering from the fire; I’ve taught in the school of education at HUC-JIR; served as rabbi for the HUC-LA Synagogue, filling in for rabbis on sabbatical; I’ve contributed to a book about Tot Shabbat and, of course, performing—I’ve performed countless life cycle ceremonies. 

In 2016, we found ourselves collaborating more on the intersection of Jewish text and Isaac’s art practice, so we seized the opportunity to create something new that we could do together. We started by expanding our work with high school students to adults and creating a few “one-off” classes and workshops that we took to friends’ congregations and to Limmud UK. In 2017, we realized we had enough programming for an entire scholar- and artist-in-residence weekend, and we founded Paper Midrash. We’ve been bringing our work to communities ever since.

What is your rabbinic motto or words that guide your rabbinate?
Creating midrash is a way to participate in a two-thousand-year-old conversation with Jewish text. Connecting our ancient and modern stories is how we explore what it means to be human; everyone can find a connection between their life and Torah.

I don’t think of myself as an artist, but you don’t have to be an artist to explore text through art. The Torah begins with God’s creativity, and I believe that tapping into our own creativity is another way to access the Divine within us all.

What do people find unique, unusual, or surprising about your rabbinate?
When I travel to teach at different synagogues, people always ask, “But where are you a rabbi when you’re not doing this?” And I always answer, “This is where I am a rabbi; this is what I do.” So many people still expect a rabbi to be with a congregation, at a pulpit, attached to a specific community. The idea that this is my rabbinate, in so many different congregations throughout the year, continues to surprise people.

What is the most rewarding aspect of your rabbinate?
I am always inspired when people find themselves in Torah. Creating art requires a level of vulnerability. It is rewarding to be there when someone sees their story in the words that our people have studied for so long—when Torah is so present that it’s like a mirror to their experience—and they are able to communicate that in the art they create and share with others. It is deeply satisfying when people find a new way to experience Judaism.

What brings you joy in your rabbinate?
I’ve always loved studying with people. Not just in the moment, but everything leading up to it: preparation, scouring sources and getting lost in the text, following random tangents. I really love trying to make sense of texts both ancient and modern, and then sharing it with others who are looking for their own answers to questions that we have been asking ourselves for thousands of years. In my rabbinate, I get to do this with people in the communities they belong to, and to teach and learn from so many people.

What makes you feel the most hopeful about the future of rabbinate?
I’m fortunate to be able to visit many Reform Jewish communities each year; seeing how dedicated my colleagues are to their synagogues and how vibrant those communities are always gives me hope. I am amazed at my colleagues’ creativity and how they tap into the unique needs of their synagogues. There are some amazing things happening in Reform synagogues of all sizes.

Categories
Books CCAR Press Poetry Torah

The Challenges of Writing Modern Midrash: Alden Solovy on ‘These Words’

Liturgist and poet Alden Solovy discusses the inspiration behind These Words: Poetic Midrash on the Language of Torah, his writing process, and his hopes for the book’s impact.

What inspired These Words?

The language of Torah, its richness and nuance, begs not only for exploration, but for celebration in poetry. Throughout Jewish history, Torah has been our single greatest writing prompt for scholars, mystics, poets, musicians—all of us.

This is your fourth CCAR Press volume. How does it differ from your other works?

The previous volumes provide poetic liturgy. This book combines expository writing with poetic interpretation of Torah. I explore seventy words of Torah with deep dive essays into each word, followed by a poetic midrash inspired by that research.

What was the most challenging part of writing this volume?

Switching back and forth between left-brain Torah study and right-brain poetic interpretation was a constant challenge. What challenged me most, however, was the research. Each word is a universe, spectacular in depth and meaning. I felt compelled to keep learning and learning about each word.

How did you select the words in the book?

My selection process was more art than science. I began with a set of 120 words that interested me, supplemented by words suggested by friends. From there, the words themselves guided me to add, remove, or replace them, prompted by my explorations.

How did writing this book impact you?

Writing These Words was a profound and transcendent experience. I experienced what I can only describe as a “Torah trance” mind state. Intense. Beautiful. Challenging. Frightening. After the book was completed, I then faced my first post-writing melancholy. Later, rereading the book in print, I found an unprecedented joy and elation having written a volume of modern Torah midrash—I didn’t know that was in me. 

How do you hope These Words will impact readers?

Wouldn’t it be beautiful if reading this book inspired others into their own journeys of exploring words of Torah? I hope the book will be used in Torah study, for writing sermons, as part of interfaith dialogue, and as a source of readings used in worship. Most of all, I hope the book inspires more poetry rooted directly in learning Torah.

Alden is available to visit communities for speaker events and book clubs. For more information, please email bookevents@ccarpress.org.

Alden Solovy is a liturgist based in Jerusalem. His books include This Grateful Heart: Psalms and Prayers for a New Day, This Joyous Soul: A New Voice for Ancient Yearnings, This Precious Life: Encountering the Divine with Poetry and Prayer, and These Words: Poetic Midrash on the Language of Torah, all published by CCAR Press. Read more of his writing at tobendlight.com.

Categories
Torah

True, Whether It Happened or Not

Critics hate the scene. It’s manufactured. It never happened. Fake news.

I’m talking about the episode in The Darkest Hour, when Winston Churchill, brilliantly portrayed by Gary Oldman, abandons his chauffeur-driven car in a traffic jam and takes his maiden voyage on London’s Underground to get to a cabinet meeting on time. There, he interacts with ordinary citizens who buttress the Prime Minister’s faith that surrender is not an option. The British people would rather fight to their own deaths than subjugate themselves to the Nazi monster.

No, Churchill didn’t take the Underground. Still, the encounter is true. Prime Minister Churchill was indeed inspired by the resolve of ordinary British subjects. History’s largest civilian sea evacuation of a military force at Dunkirk — compellingly portrayed in two films this year, both Dunkirk and The Darkest Hour — proves the point. The British people were truly willing to risk their lives to save themselves and their island from tyranny.

I have often taught that “truth” and “historical accuracy” are not the same thing. Torah, rather than contemporary film, has typically been my text. Take, for example, two different midrashim, rabbinic interpretations, of God’s revelation and the Children of Israel’s acceptance of Torah. In one, the Holy One offers Torah to one nation after the other. Each nation asks what’s in it, quickly rejecting Torah because of its prohibition of murder, stealing, and the like. Only Israel welcomes Torah without question. Another midrash, on the other hand, imagines that God lifts Mount Sinai off its foundation, holding the entire mountain over the Israelites’ heads, threatening to bury them under it if they will not accept Torah.

Did either version of these events actually happen? Did the rabbis even imagine that they had? No. The rabbis weren’t writing history. They were teaching religious truths. One midrash argues that there are times when we must proceed on faith alone, following a God Who has earned our trust. The other acknowledges that Torah can be a burden which we may be hard-pressed to observe.

I understand why the reviewers abhor The Darkest Hour’s Underground scene. Truth is under assault in America today. National leaders eagerly purvey falsehoods to reinforce the narratives they want our population to embrace. Our prayer book is among the many Jewish sources that extol truth, insisting that it’s “first and last.”

The Darkest Hour doesn’t pretend to be a documentary. It’s not a history book with footnotes. Instead, it’s a work of art, creatively portraying an historical period to teach timeless truths. We might call it midrash.

As we journey the Book of Exodus, and extending through Passover, we may be repeatedly subjected to arguments about whether the Exodus ever happened. Rabbi David Wolpe, who (in)famously gave a sermon suggesting that it had not, faced a Herculean task in the December 24 New York Times, reviewing a new book that claims that at least some version of the Exodus did happen, The Exodus, by Richard Elliot Friedman.

The Exodus, like Churchill’s descent to the Underground, might never have happened. The story, though, is indisputably true. God is our hope and our salvation, assigning to the Jewish people a Moses-like responsibility to partner with the Holy One to bring liberation to all the world. That’s true, whether it happened or not.

—

Rabbi Barry H. Block serves Congregation B’nai Israel in Little Rock, Arkansas, and is a member of the CCAR Board of Trustees.

Categories
Holiday

The Lulav and Jewish Unity

We hold the four species of the lulav together, as we wave them in every direction, symbolizing that all Jews – indeed, all humanity – must be united if God is properly to be praised. Nevertheless, I’ve never resonated to the specifics of the midrash in Vayikra Rabbah, detailing the four types of Jews which the species are said to represent: the etrog, with taste and smell, representing Jews who study Torah and perform mitzvot; the palm branch, with taste but no smell, symbolizing those who study Torah but do not practice what they’ve learned; the myrtle, with good smell but no taste, symbolizing those who perform mitzvot but are not learned in Torah; and the willow, with neither taste nor smell, symbolizing those who lack both learning and Jewish observance.

Let me suggest an alternative.

Perhaps the etrog represents those who participate actively in Jewish worship, study, and performance of mitzvot as well as the stewardship of the Jewish community. The palm, then, might stand for those who practice Judaism actively but aren’t engaged in the business of the synagogue or other Jewish institutions. The myrtle would symbolize Jews who give their time to Jewish communal governance but don’t often worship, study, or observe the mitzvot.

Dan Hotchkiss, author of Governance and Ministry, writes about a woman who has participated in building perhaps more Habitat for Humanity homes than any other volunteer. However, she has never attended a committee meeting. She wants to do the good work; governance doesn’t interest her. The converse is true of others, though they may engage in at least token volunteer work in Habitat’s service. The mistake we make, Hotchkiss teaches, is that we often ask people to be on committees, then frustrate them with unclear expectations: People who are eager to do the work end up being asked to make decisions, and vice versa. The palm branch and myrtle remind us that different Jews prefer engagement in different aspects of our community, and that we should embrace both.

But what of the willow, that symbol with neither taste nor smell? Which Jews does it represent? Each congregation I have served is blessed, and I do mean “blessed,” with more than a few “willows,” members who are neither eager to practice Judaism actively nor be involved in governance. Active congregants sometimes speak of these folks derisively, emphasizing that they attend “twice a year,” if ever. I, on the other hand, see these “willows” differently. Yes, I’m eager to find ways to engage everyone in Jewish life. Still, I am grateful for the “willows” who haven’t totally disengaged from the community, who stand up and let themselves be counted as Jews – and, in the case of the congregations I have served, continue to pay their annual financial commitments faithfully, even as they rarely “take advantage” of the “privileges of membership.”

On this Sukkot, let us rejoice in every Jew in our midst, appreciating even the “willows,” as we embrace members of the Jewish community of every proclivity. May we all pull together, appreciating one another, rejoicing that we do band together in diverse ways to serve the Holy One of Blessing.

—

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